Hazel's Heart Read online

  Hazel’s Heart

  The Willoughby Witches

  (Book Two)

  by

  Terri Reid

  Hazel’s Heart

  The Willoughby Witches (Book Two)

  by Terri Reid

  Copyright © 2018 by Terri Reid

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/ use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.

  The author would like to thank all those who have contributed to the creation of this book: Richard Reid, Sarah Reid, Peggy Hannah, Mickey Claus, Terrie Snyder, and Hillary Gadd. And especially to the wonderful readers who are starting this whole new adventure with me, thank you all!

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Chapter Twenty- seven

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Chapter Thirty-three

  Chapter Thirty-four

  Chapter Thirty-five

  Chapter Thirty-six

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  Chapter Thirty-eight

  Chapter Thirty-nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-one

  Chapter Forty-two

  Chapter Forty-three

  Chapter Forty-four

  Chapter Forty-five

  Chapter Forty-six

  Chapter Forty-seven

  Chapter Forty-eight

  Chapter Forty-nine

  Chapter Fifty

  Chapter Fifty-one

  Chapter Fifty-two

  Chapter Fifty-three

  Chapter Fifty-four

  Chapter Fifty-five

  Chapter Fifty-six

  Chapter Fifty-seven

  Chapter Fifty-eight

  Chapter Fifty-nine

  Chapter Sixty

  Chapter Sixty-one

  Chapter Sixty-two

  Chapter Sixty-three

  Chapter Sixty-four

  Chapter Sixty-five

  Chapter Sixty-six

  Chapter Sixty-seven

  Chapter Sixty-eight

  Chapter Sixty-nine

  Chapter One

  Hazel Willoughby pulled her bright red pick-up truck behind the feed store in Whitewater, Wisconsin. She glanced at the parking spot right next to the loading block and frowned when she discovered it was already taken.

  “Don’t they know I needed that spot?” she muttered, sliding her sunglasses down from her large, hazel-brown eyes and pushing her long, chestnut hair back over her shoulders. She contemplated her list that included several fifty-pound sacks of goat feed, as well as sacks of grain and milk replacer. She looked at the minivan thoughtfully. Would they really remember that they parked next to the loading block? she wondered. With just a quick wave of her hand she could magically move the minivan down two spots. She sighed and shook her head. She could hear her mother’s voice in her mind reminding her that they needed to keep a low profile and refrain from any extemporaneous spells.

  “Remember, Hazel,” Agnes Willoughby’s voice echoed in her brain. “Things are changing, and we need to be very wise about how we use our abilities.”

  “How does she get into my mind like that?” she sighed, rolling her eyes, and then she turned the steering wheel and headed to the empty spot two car widths away.

  She opened the door of the pickup, grabbed her purse, stepped onto the running board and then hopped down to the ground. The height of the four-wheel drive pick-up with studded off-road tires had always been a slight problem for Hazel’s five-feet four-inch stature, but the running board and a little bit of a hop to the ground, made it manageable.

  She walked around to the side door and entered the store. She paused, for just a moment, to inhale the familiar scents of her favorite store. The sweet scent of dried molasses from the feed mix coupled with the fragrance of dried corn and oats created a warm undertone. The rubber from the large tractor tires displayed in a far corner added an acrid note to the mix. And the cedar wood chips for bedding material released a musky aroma that pulled it all together. To Hazel, it was the scent of belonging and accomplishment, and there was nothing more appealing than that.

  With her list in hand, she headed toward the customer service counter in the back of the store. It wasn’t until she placed her list down on the old, worn and scarred wooden counter that she noticed the sudden shift in the atmosphere of the store. She looked over her shoulder and saw several people exiting quickly through the front door. She peered through the display windows to see if she’d missed a threatening storm system heading their way, but the day remained bright and sunny.

  The hairs on the back of her neck began to rise and she quickly turned the other way to see a tall, blonde woman dressed in black leather pants and jacket approach her. The clothing looked like she had been poured into it and the jacket was zipped low enough to ensure her charms were on display to the whole world.

  “Wanda,” Hazel said with a terse nod and then turned back towards the counter.

  “Don’t turn your back on me,” Wanda spat, coming up alongside Hazel.

  Hazel shrugged and sent a careless glance over her shoulder. “Sorry, is there something you need?”

  “You Willoughbys think you’re better than everyone,” Wanda hissed. “Well, we’re going to show you. We’re going to show you good.”

  Hazel nodded slowly. “Okay, then,” she said, with a shrug. “Are we done now? I really have work to do.”

  Wanda’s eyes widened in rage and her face turned red. “We are not done. Not by a long-shot. I know what you did to my father,” she growled.

  Hazel met Wanda’s eyes steadily. “That’s right,” she replied evenly. “How’s he doing?” she paused for a moment, feigning recall. “That’s right, he’s up in Iron Mountain prison, isn’t he?” She shook her head. “I was surprised to hear that he was involved in drug de
aling.”

  Wanda raised her hand and swung it to slap Hazel, but Hazel grabbed her arm and held it inches from her face. Suddenly, Hazel’s eyes brightened, and her hair floated softly around her face, as if moved by a light breeze. The store smelled as if it had been filled with electricity, like the air after a thunderstorm, supercharged with nitrogen.

  “You don’t want to do that,” Hazel said, her voice surprisingly mild.

  Wanda sputtered, the anger replaced by fear and tried to pull her arm away, but Hazel held it tightly for another long moment and then, finally, released it.

  Wanda tottered backwards. “This is not the end of this,” she whispered, her throat tight. “We are going to win this time. We’re going to have the power this time. I’ve seen what the Master has in store for you and your family.” She laughed bitterly. “We’ll see how cute you are when you’re locked in your own prison.”

  A chill went down Hazel’s spine, but she kept her eyes calm and her voice steady. “Dramatic much, Wanda,” she said, rolling her eyes.

  Skewering Hazel with a malevolent glare, Wanda finally turned and marched out of the store.

  Once the door closed, Hazel closed her eyes and released a slow, steady breath.

  “You okay there?” Harley, the store owner, asked.

  Hazel opened her eyes, looked up at the tall, old man with gentle blue eyes and pure white hair, and smiled. “I’m good, thanks Harley,” she said.

  Harley looked past her at the empty store and then met her eyes, now the kindness was replaced with concern. “I’m wondering if it might not be better for you to call in your order,” he said softly. “I’ll give you free delivery.”

  “Why?” she asked, confused.

  He shook his head sadly. “Folks been talking about strange things happening around town,” he said. “Talk of coven wars and evil spells. Got most regular people pretty spooked.”

  “And they blame us,” Hazel said with a slow nod. Her heart sank, and she felt tears wet her eyes. “But it’s not us, Harley. We’re not the bad guys.”

  He shrugged and sighed. “Don’t matter what the truth is,” he said. “What matters is what people think, ‘specially if you got a store to run and products to sell.”

  “So, I’m chasing away your customers,” she replied. “Just by walking in the door.”

  “Yeah, seems like,” he said. “I wish I were a stronger man and I could say to hell with them, you just come and go as you please. But I can’t, Hazel. I need those customers.”

  “Well, you shouldn’t be put out of business because of me,” she replied, and she slid the list over to him. “This is what I need today. Should I wait for it, or do you want to deliver.”

  Harley looked up and saw people standing outside the store peering in. “We’ll deliver,” he said, closing his eyes in regret and shaking his head.

  When he opened his eyes, Hazel could see his remorse and placed her hand over his. “It’s okay, Harley,” she said softly. “I understand.”

  Chapter Two

  Pulling the door closed behind her, Hazel searched through her purse for her keys. Automatically walking toward her park car, as she rifled through the bottom of her purse, she didn’t glance up until she had keys in hand. And, to her great surprise, her truck wasn’t there.

  Confused, she glanced around the parking lot. No, she didn’t park it somewhere else, there were no bright red pickup trucks to be seen. She looked at the parking slot, it was definitely not handicapped parking, so she couldn’t have been towed. Someone had stolen her car!

  She pulled her phone out of her purse and started to call 9-1-1, when she glanced toward the road. She could see the tail end of a police car parked in front of the store. Stashing her phone in her purse, she jogged towards the police car and then stopped, in shock, as she watched a tall, police officer put a ticket on the windshield of her pickup truck.

  “Wait,” she called, rushing forward.

  The tall man turned, and, for a moment, Hazel was speechless. She had realized he was tall when he was bending over the hood of her truck, but when he stood she realized he was at least six-feet, five-inches tall and he was built like a weight-lifter, his biceps stretching the material of his uniform. His dark brown hair was longer than regulation and swept nearly to his collar and his face was covered with a trimmed goatee and moustache that was as dark as his hair. His skin had an olive tone, with a strong aquiline nose. But none of those very masculine features had stopped her in her tracks as had his eyes. They were amber and slightly almond shaped, with a dark outline around the iris. They seemed almost feral, especially with thick eyebrows that angled sharply above them, and those eyes were pointedly focused on her.

  “May I help you?” he asked, his deep voice breaking her out of her stupor.

  She shook her head slightly and then nodded. “Yes. Yes, you can,” she replied. “This is my truck…”

  “Do you often park in front of a fire hydrant?” he asked, one of those angled brows raising on his forehead.

  “No. No, I don’t,” she said, then shook her head again. “I mean, I never do. I never park in front of a fire hydrant.”

  He glanced down at her truck and then gazed at her.

  “I know what this looks like,” she said, waving her hands to emphasize her agitation. “But I was just coming out here to report my pickup truck stolen.”

  He studied her for a long moment, nodding slowly. “So, you want me to believe that someone stole your pickup truck and then parked it in front of the fire hydrant?” he asked. “And you just happen to figure that out as I was writing you a ticket?”

  “Yes,” she said emphatically and then she shook her head. “I mean, no. That’s not just what I want you to believe. It’s the truth. I parked behind the store. I always park behind the store because my order is always so big. But when I left the store, my pickup was gone. And I was about to call the police, when I saw your car.”

  “Where’s your order?” he asked.

  She opened her mouth, closed it and then sighed. “It’s being delivered,” she said softly. “But really, just watch any of the closed-circuit cameras in the area. They’ll prove that I’m…”

  “Lady, I don’t have time to watch cameras,” he said. “Your pickup was parked illegally. You’re getting a ticket.”

  He reached over, pulled the ticket from behind the windshield wiper and handed it to her personally. “And next time, get a better story,” he said.

  Frustration and anger bubbled over as Hazel ripped the ticket from his hand. “Listen, buddy,” she seethed. “I have had a really bad day already and I don’t need some smart-ass cop giving me a hard time just because he’s too lazy to look at the evidence to prove my case. I want your name. I’m going to file a complaint with your police chief.”

  A wisp of a smile played across his face, but then it disappeared as quickly as it had come. “Yes, ma’am,” he said with a slightly sardonic nod. “My name is Joseph Norwalk. It’s right there on the ticket, next to arresting officer.”

  She glanced down, and her heart sank. “Chief Joseph Norwalk,” she read softly.

  This time he allowed the smile to stay. “You have a nice day, ma’am.”

  Chapter Three

  Agnes Willoughby looked up from her baking, a frown appearing on her otherwise pleasant face. At nearly fifty, the mother of three adult daughters was often confused as their sister with her trim shape, sparkling green eyes and shoulder-length auburn hair. She wiped her flour-covered hands on a dishtowel, pulled her apron over her head, tossed it on the nearest kitchen chair and headed to the back door.

  Hurrying onto the back deck, she spied her daughter, Rowan, and Henry McDermott, Rowan’s fiancé, jogging across the backyard towards the barn. Rowan’s bright red hair was loose around her shoulders and Agnes was grateful to see that her middle-child no longer wore oversized glasses on her face, to hide her beauty. And the look that passed between Rowan and Henry warmed Agnes’ heart. They were completely
and utterly in love.

  Rowan glanced over and smiled at her mother. “So, you felt it too?” she asked.

  Agnes nodded and hurried down the stairs to join them, her long cotton skirt held up with one hand. “Something has Hazel riled up,” she agreed. “And a riled-up Hazel can be dangerous.”

  Henry looked at Rowan. “How dangerous?” he asked, his British accent tempered with a little bit of a Midwestern twang.

  She shook her head and her face was somber, but her eyes still held a twinkle in them. “You don’t want to know,” she said.

  “Because then you would have to kill me?” Henry jested.

  She smiled. “If Hazel hadn’t already done it,” she replied.

  “Wow! Okay,” he said. “Serious.”

  They stopped at the edge of the driveway nearest to the barn where Hazel raised and coddled a herd of dairy goats. “She’ll come here first,” Agnes said, walking up alongside them. “The goats always calm her.”

  “Then shouldn’t we just let her have some time with the goats first?” Henry asked.

  “Normally, yes,” Agnes replied. “But with things the way they are right now, I think we need to find out if this is related to the curse.”

  Rowan closed her eyes for a moment and concentrated. “She’s about a mile away,” she said, once she’d opened her eyes. “And she’s as upset as ever.”

  They all turned when they heard the sound of a motorized vehicle coming from the opposite direction. Catalpa Willoughby, the oldest of the three sisters, was driving their Gator across the lawn at full-speed. Cat’s curly, black hair was flying behind her in the wind and her tailored blouse and slacks looked out of place on the farm equipment. Her cafe au lait skin was already sprinkled with darker freckles from too much exposure to the sun and not enough sunscreen.

  She parked next to them, turned the ATV off, hopped off and joined them. “Sorry I’m late,” she said. “I was working with a customer and I couldn’t get away until she was done.”

  “You’re not late,” Agnes said. “She’s not here yet.”

  “Any idea what’s going on?” Cat asked.

  “We’re going to find out in a moment,” Rowan replied as a grey plume of dust appeared down the road.