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of your own. Your mind is far from closed to me, but I’m not getting your actual thoughts. What I get from you are your emotions. I feel what you feel.”
    “I’m not so sure I like that idea.”
    “Well, you can relax. It doesn’t happen all of the time and I can’t tune into you at will. It just sort of happens.”
    “Hey! Watch it!” Mac yelped as Sarge who, tired of chewing on his chew toy, decided to turn his attention to Mac’s shoe.
    “I need to get back to the shop.” Cassie stood, grateful for the interruption. Mac would never understand. She would rather end the conversation than continue trying to convince him of her special talents. Sometimes they were beyo nd her own understanding. “Would you like to walk with me, or have I completely scared you away?”
    “I’m not that easily scared off,” Mac mumbled as he took hold of Sarge’s leash in the manner that Cassie had taught him.
    “Good! You’ve got it.” She gave him an approving glance as they turned back to her shop. “Now , tell me, Mr. McCormick, how long have you been a reporter?” She looked up at him, curious to see the expression in his eyes as he answered her question. The bitterness she saw in them saddened her.
    “Forever,” the bitterness in his voice mat ched the expression in his eyes, b ut then, determined to not allow his dissatisfaction with his current job status to spoil their pleasant time together, he turned to her and with a teasing smile asked, “And how long have you been a witch?”
    “Forever!” Her golden eyes sparkled with humor as she echoed his own answer. They laughed together as if one of them had told a particularly funny joke, though both had been completely serious in their responses.
    At that moment he saw t he woman Cassie Adams truly was: a charming, delightful, altogether sexy lady who bore on ly a slight resemblance to the ‘witch’ he had observed at the courthouse earlier that morning. He cringed at the thought of what the media could do to this beautiful creature.
    “Do you realize how very serious the charges are that are likely to be brought against your mother and perhaps every member of your coven?” he asked, all traces of humor gone from his manner. “There are people in this town who would gladly see all of you burned at the stake.”
    “Oh, I know that all too well. In spite of what you may think, I’m not a stupid woman. What happened to Reverend Elkins is appalling, and I realize all too well that many people believe our Wiccan coven is guilty of his murder. But no matter what they think, none of us would do such a thing. I don’t know how I’m going to do it, but I will find a way to prove to you , and to everyone in this town , that they’re wrong.”
    “But how? No one is going to believe the word of Myra Adams’ daughter, e specially since you admit that you’re one of her followers.”
    “You’re not, o ne of her followers, that is. If you could be convinced of her innocence, then perhaps you could convince the others.” Cassie stopped suddenly and turned to face this man she had come to trust in such a short time. “You could do it,” she urged, her eyes pleading.
    “This whole situa tion just keeps getting crazier. I report the news, I don’t manipulate it.” For just a moment his conscious reminded him that of late his stories had been more figments of his own imagination than true news reporting, but he pushed that thought quickly aside.
    “I don’t expect you to manipulate anything. All I’m aski ng is that you report the truth, w ithout the innuendoes, without any religious superstitions. Is that too much to ask?”
    “Are you offering me an exclusive?”
    “Yes, t hat’s it! If you promise to listen with an open mind, to let me explain everything from our point of view, then I agree to answer all of your questions honestly and to speak to no other reporters.”
    It was exactly the sort of break Mac had been looking for. He should be ecstatic over