The Witch's Promise Read Online Free PDF Page A

work it out without making a big deal, okay?"
     
    "Okay. Work it out. But Thanksgiving is coming up. I'll see her then in any event, right? There's nothing like a deadline to get something done."
     
    "I guess I'd forgotten about that. We'll see how it goes. But it's getting late, mom, and I've got to get to work early tomorrow."
     
    After a few more pleasantries John got off the phone and started getting ready for bed. Another thing to worry about.
     
    The phone rang. John glanced at his watch and wondered what in the world ....
     
    "Hi, John, it's Jillian."
     
    "Were your ears itching?" Or are you really a witch?
     
    "No. Who were you talking to about me?"
     
    "My mom. She wanted to hear all about you."
     
    "I hope you taped the conversation."
     
    "Sorry. What's up?"
     
    "First things first, John. When am I going to meet your mother?"
     
    "Did she just call you or something?"
     
    "We're all in league against you," she laughed. "No, of course .... Did you give her my phone number?"
     
    "You didn't answer my question."
     
    "I don't intend to. So, when do I get to meet her?"
     
    "Anytime you want. She lives in southern Pennsylvania, so it's a bit of a ride, but not that bad."
     
    "Great. Now that that's settled, I just called to kiss you goodnight."
     
    "You're kidding."
     
    "Wouldn't you like me to kiss you goodnight?"
     
    "Let's not get into that subject, okay? I'm trying to relax and get to sleep."
     
    Then, with a very soft and sexy voice, Jillian said, "Good night," made a pretty good attempt at a kissing noise, and hung up.
     
    It was more than a half hour before John could get to sleep.
     

CHAPTER FOUR
     
    That Friday morning John checked his email on his smart phone while browsing through the daily paper over a store-bought bran muffin. Jillian had promised directions for the party that evening, and there they were, between the ads for a million email addresses and the solicitations for vacation packages. The instructions were perfect, from the directions to her house to guidelines on how to dress. 
     
    "Dockers, a dark golf shirt, and casual shoes."
     
    He added her email to his contact list in gmail, took a last sip of coffee and headed out the door to catch the train.
     
    *              *              *
     
    At precisely 7:05 on Friday evening John drove down the gravel driveway to Jillian's place. He'd seen her house a few times before, but hadn't taken the time to really look at it. He spent a moment studying its lines. It looked more like a cottage than a house, and John's trained eye appreciated the cleverness of the design. It was built with modern materials, but clearly was meant to imitate an old country house. Huge beams of dark wood stood at each of the front corners. The windows were framed with wood of the same color and the vinyl siding resembled a light-colored wood. The eaves came down farther than on most houses, giving an appearance not unlike the thatched roof in a Thomas Kinkade painting. He wasn't certain with the poor light, but the roof itself looked as if it was covered with straw-colored shingles, which only added to the thatched appearance. Overall, it was quite clever, and not at all the cookie-cutter house of your typical suburban development.
     
    A moment later Jillian greeted him at the door and let him inside.
     
    "Make yourself at home. I've got to gather a couple things and then we can go."
     
    John indulged in a quick glance as she walked away -- yes, quite like Susan, in many ways -- then figured as long as he was studying the house, he'd look around inside as well. He'd been in the room several times, but had never taken the time to really look at it.
     
    The first thing he noticed was a very slight, earthy smell. He couldn't quite put his finger on the scent, but it seemed right for a small cottage in the woods. The decor reinforced the same effect, but this wasn't a peasant's cottage. The living room floor was made of