Midwife Cover - Cassie Miles by Intrigue Romance Page A

comfortable enough to think clearly.
    From the suitcase she’d stashed in the closet, she took out a wooden box carved with an intricate design. Inside were three six-inch-long packets of dried sage, shaped like cigars and tied with sweet grass twine. When she opened the lid, a musky scent unfurled through her bedroom.
    She’d gathered and dried these herbs herself. Then she’d braided the sweet grass into twine and wrapped the sage. The end result was a smudge stick, used to cleanse negative energy from the environment.
    The origin of the smudging ceremony was either Celtic or Wiccan or Native American. Petra didn’t know for sure. When she was fifteen, she and her sister developed their own procedure, lighting the sage and wafting the smoke in the doorways and corners of a room to absorb the bad juju. She liked the idea of using smoke—something she feared—to a good purpose.
    She wasn’t sure if smudging had any effect. Probably not, but the process made her feel better. On those occasions when she’d smudged a labor room, the pregnant women usually said the smoke relaxed them. In any case, her smudging ceremony couldn’t hurt.
    The problem would be to convince Brady.

Chapter Eight
    Petra skipped down the staircase to the front room where several boxes were neatly stacked by the fireplace. Brady was behind the counter in the kitchen, unloading dinnerware. He moved as quickly and efficiently as a robot, but he was definitely all man. The sinews in his forearms flexed and extended with striking precision. A sheen of sweat glistened on his forehead. He could have been doing reps in a gym instead of lifting plates and bowls.
    He glanced toward her. “All settled?”
    “Mostly.”
    She was absolutely certain that he wouldn’t like her smudging ceremony. Super-rational Brady wasn’t the type of person who believed in magic, and she didn’t expect him to change. But she needed for him to withhold his disdain. If he started scoffing, the negative energy would multiply instead of vanish.
    “Did you come to help?” he asked.
    “Yes.” Smudging counted as being helpful.
    “Good. We’ll run these dishes through the washer before putting them away on the shelves.”
    From what she could see, he’d brought along enough tableware and cookware to open a restaurant. The top of the counter was littered with pots and pans, which she pushed aside to make room. She placed the smudge stick and her green lotus bowl on the countertop, then she jumped up and sat beside them with her legs dangling. “Why did you bring so much stuff?”
    “Makes sense for our undercover identity,” he said. “If anybody comes snooping around, they’ll see a fully equipped kitchen. Plus, we need something to cook with. The nearest restaurant is miles away, and I doubt they deliver.”
    “Didn’t we pass a little town on the way here?”
    “Kirkland,” he said. “Population eighty-two including the jackrabbits.”
    “Every small town has a diner where the locals gather. A good place to get information about Lost Lamb.”
    “That’s smart.” He crossed the terra-cotta-tiled kitchen floor to stand in front of her. “We should make a point of hanging out at the diner.”
    “Especially you.” She pointed at the center of his chest. “You need to make friends because you’re looking for work.”
    He smiled just enough to activate his dimple. The rest of his features—forehead, jaw, cheekbones and brow—were chiseled and rugged. The dimple gave her hope that he might have a bit of sensitivity.
    His nostrils twitched, and he looked down at the countertop. “What’s in that bowl? It smells weird.”
    Hoping to introduce him gradually to her plan, she picked up the lotus bowl. “This was made by a friend of mine from San Francisco. Sometimes, I use it to burn incense. Mostly, I like the design. The bowl reminds me of her.”
    “And the stinky stuff?”
    “It’s a smudge stick, made of sage and sweet grass. I use it for a