The Cowboy Genie's Wife: A Paranormal Romance (The Dirty Djinn Series) Page 3

  “Fine. I don’t want to be out here with you anyway.”

  “Message received.” He shoved by her, arms full of feed. She beat back the guilt at watching him work by himself. This was his farm—he ought to do this. Every single thing she said had been the gospel truth. He was still a smug, overconfident, rich jerk who...

  Who scratched beneath the beardy thing on one goat while kissing another between the ears?

  Nope. She wouldn’t buy into that. She knew him too well.

  Her stupid eyes watered for no good reason. Must be allergies. She refused to shed another tear over this man, so she turned around and headed back to the large table in the rear of the barn. He had to have tissues or towels somewhere.

  He did, above a small sink.

  And a mirror.

  Good.

  Right?

  She could clean herself up and see what she was working with.

  Great plan.

  Until ancient, blazing, and very disembodied green eyes stared back at her from the oblivion.

  Don’t panic. Try repeating that a half dozen times while keeping your heart from running out of your chest, but whatcha gonna do? Eyes without heads are freaky as hell. After pretending to fix her hair in the mirror, she dropped her gaze and washed her shaking hands. The eyes continued to bore into her—almost burning, but she pretended not to notice. Her mind jumped with best guesses of what to do next.

  Back when they first met, Fazil told her not to acknowledge anything she even suspected as magic. People would do anything to get their hands on a genie and his lamp. She had every protection when he was around and next to zero when he wasn’t. That meant years of never turning when she thought she saw something out of the corner of her eye and forgoing every double take of things that didn’t make sense.

  This time must be no different.

  She reapplied her lip gloss, backed up, and once she’d rounded the corner and was out of the mirror’s line of vision, ran as if the devil himself chased her.

  Chapter Four

  He couldn’t win. All the annoying things she’d harangued him over, he fixed. Or tried to fix. He’d Grizzly Adams’d himself for her, but she still copped an attitude. “I give up. I swear.”

  If she heard him, he wasn’t sure. Safe money said “no,” considering all the hoofing she did on the way out the door. He grabbed ahold of the streaking flash of neon pink that was his wife as she ran by.

  “Eyes,” she whispered.

  “Huh?”

  “What kind of weird, jacked-up magic are you running up in here?”

  “Baby—”

  She fought against him, struggling and kicking. “Let go. There are eyes staring at me from the back of the barn. I’m not crazy.”

  “You are.” But that didn’t mean she was lying. “If I put you down, will you stay?”

  “Hell no. Why are you so blasé about this? Eyes, man. There are eyes chilling by the faucet. I have a problem with that. You should too. Now, let me go.”

  There was a better than good chance she didn’t see what she thought she did, but he wasn’t in the mood to argue. “If there’s something back there, all you’re doing is wasting my time in finding out what.”

  “I’m not doing anything other than trying to get away.”

  “And if there is something, we kinda need each other to fix it, don’t we?” The bundle against his chest stopped its twisting, exchanging kicks for grunts and sighs. Good. As a djinn, his magic came from the hopes of humans. He couldn’t do jack-crap without her. He still didn’t trust her not to bolt and threw her over his shoulder as he headed to the back. He’d expected more kicking, at least the obligatory fists against his back, but she sagged against him like a wet noodle. “Nothing?”

  “Nope. I’ll just hang here like dead fish.”

  “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.” But the harsh words didn’t resonate in his heart. The last time he’d had her like this, he carted his giggling wife to their bedroom in the lamp.

  How had they strayed so far away from their happiness? What would it take to get back to where they belonged?

  “Fazil? Why have we stopped moving?”

  “Sorry. Just ... thinking...” As much as it hurt, he put her down when he reached the back and put his game face on. Until he saw what they were dealing with, he didn’t want Rosa in direct line of harm. “On my word, wish it away,” he whispered.

  He turned the corner to peer into the mirror, coming face to face with, yep, green, nosey eyes. Eyes he knew well. They flashed and blinked at his arrival before disappearing in a swirling haze of smoke. “All clear.”

  “No!” Rosa rushed forward, kicking up dirt and shaking her head toward the now empty mirror. “Something was there. I saw it. You’ve got to believe me.”

  “Oh, I do. That something would be Janet Dickey.”

  “Another djinn?”

  “Hardly.”

  Rosa redid the fallen bun atop her head, eyes shifting from the mirror to him and back again. “I wish...”

  “Careful. Wish for the protection of my lamp and all my property.”

  “Done.”

  “And done,” he said, hearing the hollow relief in both their voices. “Janet’s the old lady who owns the next property over.”

  “A witch?”

  “Not quite.” How best to explain this? Human vocabulary didn’t allow for the wide range of Others that existed. “The Northmen said it best. She’s a klok gumma. Wise woman. In the old days, she would have been the equivalent of ... well ... midwives bring in new life with a touch of magic, see? They know healing and how to use the land and herbs. She’s human, like you, but also, like you, a little more.”

  “Witches create power, like your in-laws in Galveston.”

  “Yep.” His eyes crinkled at the mention of the crazy wives of Tig and Faruq. He might have called them up at this, but with both women preggers with their third kids, he’d have to deal with Janet on his own.

  “But klok gummas can’t? You sure about that? Glowing eyes in mirrors and all.”

  “Klok gummas can see magic. Some of the amazing ones can command it. This ought to be a little beyond her. I’m not worried, but—”

  “Concerned?”

  He shrugged it off for her benefit, but he would keep a better eye on the old woman. “Anyway, you can’t get up here without passing her land. I almost never get visitors, at least not ones in sports cars.”

  “She can’t spy on you whenever she likes. Call her out on it.”

  “Can’t.”

  “Oh, this better be good.”

  “She thinks I’m something but doesn’t know what. I need to keep it that way. I don’t think she’s evil, just stupid. But if I’ve learned one thing in all my years, fear and small mindedness cause more harm than evil. She came up to me one day last year and basically said that she didn’t appreciate my type of magic here. She’s got a good thing going, blending in and all. The lady thinks I’m here to cause trouble.”

  “So, tell her you’re not.”

  “I’m not telling her anything. The less she knows about me, the better. I need that woman to know about my lamp, like I need a fucking hole in the head. Jack shit crazy. Rosa, whatever you do, stay away from her. She’s scared of me, and there’s nothing more dangerous in the world than a scared woman.”

  There was 0.2 percent chance she’d listen to him. But heavens, he hoped so. Hiding the corpse of a seventy-year-old Sunday school teacher wasn’t on his list of things to do today, but he’d rip Janet to shreds if she laid a finger on Rosa. Best to keep them apart.

  Rosa’s hand tapped against the mirror. The other drummed just as feverishly against her hip. “So, we’re just gonna let it go that we’re being spied on?”

  “We?”

  “You know what I mean. Don’t you have some sort of plan for this type of situation?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Care to share it?”

  He reached around to hand her the
shovel. “Wait her out. I can handle anything for a few decades.”

  Except being without his wife. Rosa was here. Proof that waiting worked. Said wife’s face twisted, and her eyes rolled, but he’d rather have her there pissed than not at all.

  “Why do I have a shovel in my hand?”

  “C’mon, city girl. We need to get your mind off things. Let me teach you about farm living.”

  Chapter Five

  Shit. Piled on top of more shit.

  Shit in her pores.

  Behind her nails.

  Splatters of it on her face. “Who lives like this?”

  Her plaid-shirted, shiny-buttoned Algerian ripped a handkerchief from his back pocket and wiped her face. “You know in some places, Rosalinda, this look you have going is considered good for the skin.”

  “Shut it. And name one place, just one, where it’s cool to be covered in manure.”

  He folded the handkerchief and dabbed along her jawline. “I can’t do both, so I’ll do none. Safer anyway. C’mon.”

  She grasped his extended hand as he lifted her from the stack of horse crap she’d fallen into. It couldn’t have been past noon, and she was already dead tired.

  Everything drained her.

  The crap.

  The crappy man.

  The crap-tastic, creepy as hell eyes...

  Ugh. She shuddered at the image reflected in her mind. Those years of living with Fazil had made her sensitive to all manner of things she hadn’t noticed before. Not that the time away from him lessened it, but still the eyes, or rather their owner, served as a stark reminder of what she’d run away from. He had the nerve to act as if it was no big deal.

  “What did I do now?” He stood there with his arms folded, leaning against a fence post. The horse, whose head he’d been rubbing, wandered off for better environs.

  “What are you talking about?”

  Fazil snorted and cracked his knuckles. “You’ve got that look on your face again. Yeah, that one. The one that says you’re pissed at me for existing.”

  “That’s not it. Not exactly, anyway.” He couldn’t help what he was, but she didn’t have to like it.

  Or love it.

  She pushed ahead, not giving this line of conversation any more rope to grow. Inevitably, it would lead to questions of her and him and what she still felt for him. Questions she didn’t have answers to right now.

  “Well?”

  In just about the worst segue of all time, she picked at a rusty nail in the fence post. “Do you have any more of that stuff? The food. Or is it feed? Do I need to wish for more?”

  “Avoidance? How very expected of you.”

  “Don’t.”

  “I’m running low on it. And tamp down on the wishing. For stuff like this, in this town, people keep records. An extra cow or one repair is one thing. But everyone here gets their goods from the same place. He’ll notice if I only feed my animals once a year.”

  “You mean to tell me that no other distributors roll through Podunk, Arizona?”

  “I mean to tell you that if I could afford a separate service coming in, people would start getting nosey. Or say I’m too good to buy from a local guy. Wish the money, buy the goods. No harm. No foul.”

  “Except for the creepy eyes in a mirror?”

  “Time will make sure we win this fight. Let’s not make any waves. These next three decades can’t pass fast enough. You, uh, wanna come with me? We can get you a cowboy hat.”

  “I’ll pass on the hat, but you’re actually shopping? Like a regular human being? I could stand to watch that.”

  “Now that I don’t have a wife to order around—”

  She threw a clod of dirt, but it still didn’t wipe the smirk off his face. She hadn’t been entirely fair. Once a week he’d grab her for a stroll to the open market for spices and fresh produce. What about taking quiet moments for granted...

  “You know I’m kidding, right?”

  She toed another clod, not noticing she bit her lip until it hurt. She let him off with a wave. Yeah, she knew he was kidding. He’d only ever asked her to wish for things. Some women might be grateful—and she had been, but things change.

  So had he.

  “I like this version of you. The one with dirt on your shirt and under your nails.” She yanked at his hands to inspect his lack of a manicure and found herself unable to drop them. His wrists tensed, almost as if he wanted to grab hold but restrained himself as she thumbed the calluses and swollen knuckles.

  Over, under. Over, under. She ought to let go, but how long had it been since she’d had even a simple touch such as this?

  Then his fingers moved, entwining themselves between hers.

  She didn’t withdraw. Yes, he ticked her off, and yes, he was a jerk, and yes, he still felt so very good.

  Hand in hand they walked, not speaking, all the way to the garage. Only when he held the door open for her did he let go.

  And even that was temporary. On his end anyway.

  The second he hopped in on the other side, he reached for her. But it was too late. The moment had passed. She got her head on straight and sandwiched her hands safely between her legs.

  He didn’t bring it up as they left the ranch and drove along the unlined road to town. While large, black, shiny-feathered buzzards circled overhead, he pointed out the window to note who owned which property.

  Two times they passed a tractor traveling at snailish speeds. In both instances, the weathered-face farmer leaned over, waved them by, and tipped a ragged hat.

  “They’re good people out here. Don’t take this the wrong way, Fazil, but you don’t fit.”

  “Ignoring that. To your actual point, you’re right. I get why that old bitch doesn’t want things to change around here. These folks see me as some sorta city slicker, I guess. When I started ‘succeeding,’” he said, complete with air quotes, “they rooted for me all the way. I made up some story about being adopted by a couple in Kansas and wanting to make good on my own.”

  “They bought that?”

  “Hook, line, and sinker. Why can’t it be true? Besides, they want to believe it. I get invited to church on a regular basis. I get advice on everything from which honey jars work best to how to get rid of mice with peppermint.”

  “You have mice?”

  “’Course not. But every other barn does, so ...” He shrugged as he turned down a corner and into what might be a town.

  Might.

  Generally, you knew when you were coming up on a city center. Not here. They’d gone from one field to another, until the final hill. Just over it, the single street morphed into two lined lanes. The area resembled something from a Wild West movie smashup. Large, wooden, two-story buildings loomed over pickup trucks and dusty minivans. Every store vomited frilly curtains. The ice cream shop with the creaky sign swinging overhead completed the picture. “This is a movie set.”

  “It’s home.”

  No. It was the twilight zone. Everyone waved, and when she didn’t immediately throw her hand up, Fazil elbowed her. In the fifty-freaking-foot walk from car to store, she must have waved at everybody, their momma, and their momma’s momma. Twice.

  On a small bench in front of a bakery oozing rousing scents of cinnamon and crème, a woman with silvery white hair sat knitting. “Well, hello, Mr. Jones.”

  Jones?

  She looked at Fazil Basam Oded Wahid and waited for a correction that didn’t come. The fool bowed to the lady, who tittered when he kissed each cheek, and then pointed to her. “Mrs. Johnson, lovely as the morning. May I introduce you to my wife, Mrs. Jones?”

  It was like a frickin’ bomb went off. Women, young and old, poured out of the next two buildings to stare in their general direction. What in the fresh hell? This was no look-while-pretending-not-to thing. This was full-on, open-mouthed, all-up-in-your-business Harper Valley.

  “I’m, uh, trying to win her back, ya see,” Fazil whispered at the top of his voice. The wholly ineffective wh
isper had all those mommas she waved to earlier stepping forward to say their hellos.

  The jack-hole wasn’t done.

  “I messed up some time ago. But, well, she’s getting up in age and wanted to try things out one more time.”

  She’d kill him. The first human in modern history to kill a djinn, but she’d find a way.

  The phone saved him.

  When Fazil turned and walked away to take the call with an apologetic hand over his head, the herd of blue-haired, cane-wielding kraken attacked. “So, you’re the missus? I can’t say I’ve seen you in the years since your mister has been here.”

  They swarmed, not leaving an inch for her to escape. The air grew thick, choking her with cinnamon and Lysol. “Uh, yeah. Yes.”

  One, the leader if the number of ropes of pearl around her neck was any indication, stepped forward and patted her hand. “The circumstances of your breakup were so sad.” She paused until the nodding murmurs of agreement from her compatriots subsided. “We’re so happy to see you here. He’s a good boy.”

  Boy? The man had them all beat by a few centuries!

  “Now that he has that nice, fancy ranch, I suppose that’ll be enough for a city girl like you.”

  “What? It wasn’t like that.”

  “Oh, well, what was it like, dear?”

  None of your damned business. Before those golden words of truth left Rosa’s mouth, Fazil popped back into her field of vision. He had a pleasant enough face, but she saw right through it. Something was wrong. Terribly so.

  She excused herself to stand next to him and received a choral mixture of aahs and harrumphs. She ignored both vocal camps. “What is it?”

  “Nothing,” he said between clenched teeth. “And I do mean that literally.”

  While she tried to sort that out, his hand on her back guided them into the feed store. The heels of Fazil’s cowboy boots clomped across the floor.

  “Usual, Sam.”

  “Right. Right.” Sam’s handlebar mustache wiggled up and down as he looked up the order in a grimy three-ring binder. What blew her mind the most? It was a bit of a toss-up between the notebook as the order acquisition system and the state-of-the-art tablet used to process Fazil’s credit card.