Haze of Heat (2 page)

Oh, crap. “Rachel Laversse.” She tried to yank her hand away, to no avail.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Rachel Laversse.” Raising her twitching hand to his mouth, he pressed his lips against her knuckles, and an internal switch flipped on, causing every molecule to uncurl in awareness.

Not looking good, Rach.
On the other hand, it may be a case of too good to be true.

Montoya chose that moment to sidestep, the clomp of horseshoes on asphalt severing the unspoken promise of hedonistic pleasures and silken sheets candid in Porter’s hungry gaze.

Yikes! Unable to take a physical step back since her butt was plastered against the car door, she took a huge mental backward leap, pulling her hand free with a fierce tug while averting her face to stare at the horse chafing at the bit. Literally. “I thought most animals couldn’t tolerate our kind.”

“Our kind?”

Rachel shot him a withering look. “Shifters.”

His bland expression melted into a grin. “Just clarifying.” Montoya leaned into Porter’s touch when he scrubbed the horse’s glistening neck. “It’s not necessarily what we are, but our intentions. Montoya and his barn mates view me as their provider and protector, not as a predator, so they respond to me as such. No matter what form I take.”

Huh. Recalling her one and only disastrous encounter with such a creature, Rachel frowned. “So what might cause a horse to get riled by a kid with no intentions whatsoever?”

His brow lifted. “I take it you were the kid?”

She nodded.

“Could be a multitude of reasons. Wrong horse. Bad mood. Oncoming storm. Anything. Montoya’s extremely perceptive and he’s not reacting negatively in your presence.”

The horse let out a strange sound and threw his snout high. For her part, Rachel arched back as far as she could. “That’s not negative?”

Porter chuckled, the deep throaty sound a physical caress along her senses. “Not to you. He’s young and energetic, and needs a long, hard run.” The animal butted its head against Porter’s shoulder as if reminding him of that interrupted run.

It reminded Rachel of that as well. “Well, then, you should get back to it.”

His eyes snagged hers. “Are you just visiting Mom or will you be staying with us?”

Uh, what? “Us?”

“Olivia’s Orchards? The bed-and-breakfast?”

Did he live there? Staying in the same house with a good-looking, charming man she was attracted to was going to make things difficult. “That, ah, depends on Melinda.”

“I hear a story.” Instead of pressing her, Porter stepped into the stirrup and swung his leg over the saddle, much to Montoya’s delight, who pranced happily at the prospect of running hell for leather. “And I love a good story. You’ll stick. Mom won’t have it any other way. When you’re ready, come down to the barn. I’ll teach you to ride.”

Rachel looked from the impatient and shuffling horse to Porter. “I don’t think so. But thanks anyway.”

“Not Montoya. He’s too high spirited for most people. I’d set you astride Daisy. She’s an older lady. Gentle. Experienced. Nothing bothers her.”

The yearning to say yes was a surprise, and knowing it stemmed more from a desire to see Porter again than actually learning to ride made her feel shallow. “I’m sure you’re busy.”

A cheeky grin flirted over his lips. “I’m never too busy to entertain a beautiful woman. Besides, horseback riding is one of the activities we offer at the Orchards. But I won’t push you.” He winked. “Coax, maybe. Entice, definitely, but never force.”

Rachel bet her next breath Porter rarely had to coax a female into anything. “I’ll think about it.”

“Good. And Rachel?”

She paused in the act of getting in her car. “Yes?”

“Welcome to Olivia’s Orchards.”

Chapter Two

Still frowning over her reaction to Porter Felix’s touch, Rachel drove in the direction he had come and located a sprawling estate not two miles away. She got a glimpse of a large house through the thick foliage before making a left turn where a carved green and tan sign proclaimed that it was indeed Olivia’s Orchards. A short driveway opened into a parking lot the width of the house and she slipped into a slot, eyes wide with awe.

The online photos of the place via their website had only been a tease. The sheer size and beauty of the house took her breath away.

Large pots had been set on either side of the double entry and overflowed with a wild collection of vibrant flowers. More flowers, tiny and white, exploded out of the thick, well-maintained hedges spreading from the covered porch and along the length of the house. The house itself rose up three stories and filled her vision. Wraparound balconies graced both the second and third stories, though those on the second floor were divided by, she reasoned, guest rooms. Higher up she spied a short metal catwalk at what she assessed to be the attic. The building was made of brick, painted a sandy tan color and offset with dark green on the shutters and trim. Sun and shadow flickered over the front, making the uneven texture shimmy with life, especially at the curved corners.

Tilting her head, Rachel wondered if the rounded edges were for function or whimsy. Either way, she had the oddest sensation that all four stories were beaming down at her with inviting warmth, as if the house was cognizant of her presence and favored her with its own unique welcome.

Shaking her head at her imagination, Rachel slipped her glasses into the front pocket of her shirt, picked up her purse, and exited the car for the second time, inhaling the ocean once again. Only it was stronger here. Turning her face towards the source, she looked past the low hedges edging the back of the lot and over the gently sloping lawn to Cort’s Bay, a private inlet that lay several hundred feet to the south. The website devoted to Olivia’s Orchards claimed the bay was named after the original owner, Cort Fylin, and primarily used as a port-of-call when the estate had been a pepper plantation. Fylin was also reported to be the Felixes’ ancestor.

As if the Felix family needed anything more to be intriguing, if rumor and tales were to be believed, Cort Fylin was actually the infamous French explorer-turned-pirate, Claude Morgan. Morgan had sailed throughout the Florida Keys, pillaging trade ships from France, Cuba, and any other vessel unlucky enough to come across his dastardly purview.

It was believed Morgan settled down sometime during the Spanish and English war with a mountain of gold and a young Calusa bride of noble birth. While the exact location of Morgan’s residence was unknown, historical written documents detailed the original owner of the estate as a hulking beast of an older Frenchman with shaggy hair the color of midnight and eyes that morphed from brown to an eerie shade of greenish-yellow. The same description as the runaway pirate.

It all made for a fabulous and fantastic tale, and Rachel loved a good story. She could easily lose herself in another world of bygone eras or make-believe, falling headlong into the twists and turns, angst and fear, joys and sorrows of other people’s lives.

It was a blessing to be able to write and make a living at what she loved.

Living a story, on the other hand, had her on tenterhooks. She might like to read or write how two people fell in love or how a heroine got the upper hand on a crazed villain, but when it came to her very own sinister problem, she was lost.

Not completely lost
, Rachel thought as she crossed the parking lot, absently noticing the fencing and wide metal gate at the other end of the paved zone. A white and black sign warned the area behind the open gate was for employees only.

Probably where the actual orchards were located.
Dismissing a mild urge to peek, Rachel took the three shallow steps onto the porch and stared at the large, solid wood doors.

With a bolstering breath, and the squaring of her shoulders, she raised a hand to knock. “I just need some help.”

Before knuckles met wood, one of the doors opened wide on silent hinges to reveal beautifully polished wood flooring. Straight ahead was a hallway, which evidently opened up because Rachel caught sight of a base quarter section of a staircase. Several feet inside and to her right was an open archway leading to a room. To her left, she couldn’t see beyond the second closed door.

For a few moments she waited for the person who opened the door to show himself. No one appeared. Forehead wrinkled in confusion, Rachel started to poke her head in the doorway when she heard a female voice.

“Come here, you little vixen.”

Startled, Rachel jolted, stumbling back several feet. A high shriek of baby laughter rang out a few seconds before a slender, young woman materialized in the doorway. Rachel quickly took stock of the girl and the deep red hair piled in a messy knot on top of her head. A long, lightweight skirt in a multitude of colors flirted with the tips of closed-toed sandals. A blue scoop-neck T-shirt finished off the casually feminine ensemble. Her face was still a mystery as she was nuzzling the neck of a giggling baby with a cap of downy hair nearly identical in color and outfitted in a pair of green shorts and a white top showing an adorable green inchworm in a tan hat.

The woman looked up and Rachel’s chin nearly dropped. It wasn’t the bright grin that stretched a full and plump mouth or the light dusting of freckles over a creamy youthful complexion void of makeup that floored her. It was the laughing eyes, in a clear and wondrous shade of violet.

“Sorry about that. Maddie thinks she’s Speed Racer, or the Energizer Bunny. Either way she keeps me on my toes.”

Fighting off the desire to stare at the petite women’s fascinating eyes for the next millennium, Rachel looked at the little girl who now had her own dark blue gaze fixed on Rachel. “She’s a cutie, and walking already?”

The woman let out a gusty sigh. “No, but that’s because she’s stubborn. She’s learned she can get around faster by crawling than walking, so she doesn’t even try anymore. It’s frustrating because the kneepads keep slipping and she gets all these bruises.” The redhead kissed one red and naked knee, the other still retaining the aforementioned kneepad for protection.

“Ah,” was all Rachel said in response, a bit unsure as she remained standing just outside the doorway.

Suddenly the woman shook her head and let out a brief chuckle. “I’m sorry. Here I am babbling and there you are wondering who the heck I am. I’m Katie. This is my daughter Maddie, and you must be Rachel. Melinda told me you were coming.” She stepped back from the door and swung her free arm out in invitation to enter. “Come on in and welcome to the Orchards.”

Grateful, Rachel stepped into the foyer/reception room which angled to the left, and paused to take in her surroundings while Katie shut the front door.

Natural light poured in from a large front window, making the overhead recessed lighting unnecessary, which was no doubt why it was currently turned off. Beneath the window was a comfortable-looking brick-red leather sofa, a single matching chair, and a glass-and-wood coffee table. Spanning nearly the length of the adjacent wall, and in front of a closed door, was a gleaming mahogany check-in counter, its top marred only by a computer monitor, several notepads, a cylinder pen container and one of those swirl racks that held information pamphlets.

On her right, opposite of the reception area, the archway she’d spied earlier led to a huge yet cozy-looking living room where a beautiful stone fireplace dominated in old-world grandeur. Directly across from the front door was that short hallway, and, craning her neck a bit, Rachel caught a glimpse of a dark runner and the flaring banister of a sweeping staircase.

Katie headed toward the counter, Maddie seemingly content for the moment in her mother’s arms. “Let’s get you checked in. You must be exhausted. Melinda said you were driving from North Carolina?”

“Hmm. Just outside of Asheville.” Rachel swung her gaze to Katie and interrupted her computer progress. “Actually, I need to speak to Melinda first. Before I check in. If she’s available, that is.”

“Did you need to extend your reservation? We’re in a nice lull after a very full two months so that won’t be a problem.”

“Oh. No. That’s not it. Though good to know.” Rachel glanced at Maddie, who was happily babbling away in her strange baby language and waving at something over Rachel’s shoulder.

Automatically, Rachel turned to look, and saw nothing.

She frowned, both from the empty room behind her and the realization she never should have come here. Not for one second had she considered a child might be in residence, which, in hindsight, was terribly dumb of her, given that the Orchards was basically a hotel and it
was
the middle of summer.

“Maddie’s just waving to the ghost of Cort Fylin. Don’t mind her.”

Rachel’s mouth fell open. “Ghost?” There’d been no mention of a ghost on their webpage! A feline snarl echoed in her head, her leopard crouching in wariness. It was a very uncomfortable feeling. Turning her back on Katie once again, Rachel sniffed the air. Other than the subtle and enjoyable aroma of citrus, Rachel didn’t smell anything odd.

Then again, what did a ghost smell like?

“Well, we don’t know for sure whether it’s Cort or not, or even if there’s a ghost.” Rachel looked back to see Katie rolling her eyes. “But supposedly, about a week after his portrait was found in the attic and subsequently hung on the wall over the fireplace in the parlor, weird things started happening.”

Rachel’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Describe weird.” Like doors opening by themselves?

Katie waved a hand in a casual manner, as if it was all of no consequence, her hips swaying as she unconsciously rocked Maddie in the way mothers do. “Moved furniture, relocated items. For example, there was an old snuffbox on the mantel in the living room, one that had been there for years. One day it was gone, only to show up on the mantel in the parlor, right under Cort’s portrait.”

Upon seeing Rachel’s puckered brow, Katie flashed a wan smile. “Sounds circumstantial, I know. But what still stymies me is when the doors open by themselves.” She shrugged and retrieved Maddie’s hand before the baby could pull down the neck of Katie’s shirt, exposing her bra to the room at large. “Then of course, there was the barn incident.” Katie pressed her lips together. “But I really shouldn’t be talking about this.”

“By all means,” Rachel gestured for Katie to continue. “Talk away.”

Katie hesitated, those fascinating eyes darting toward the hallway as if making sure no one was about to enter. Her voice lowered. “Well. One time all the stall and barn doors were flung open and the horses let out to run loose in the corral. Porter was livid. He thought someone was messing with his horses. Strangely enough, it turned out to be a good thing, because when he went in to investigate, he found a juvenile coral snake in the stall where he stored the hay. He’s not sure if it hitched a ride from the place he buys the hay or what, but now all the hay is stored in a different building, just to be on the safe side.”

Rachel’s brows had risen in minute increments during Katie’s explanation until they all but touched her hairline. “Okay.” She drew the word out, second guessing coming to this place and asking for sanctuary for an entirely different reason. Yeah, she knew shifters existed, but ghosts? These people just might be off their rocker.

Even as the thought of sneaking out to her car and hightailing it to Texas crossed her mind, her feline growled in disagreement.
No. Porter
. The animal purred the name, rubbing her fur all along Rachel’s insides, mouth open in a silent howl.

Her name was suddenly called and Rachel whirled, setting her eyes on Melinda for the first time in twenty years.

“Rachel. Oh, look at you.” Melinda crossed the foyer and clasped Rachel’s hands in her own warm ones. Thick chestnut hair with nary a strand of gray fell down her back and was paired with clear hazel eyes sparkling in welcome. Her complexion was flawless, only hinting at future lines. Melinda had to be closing in on sixty, yet she looked nearly identical to when Rachel had last seen her, at Bethany’s wedding over twenty years ago.

“All grown up and simply beautiful. I’m so pleased you’ve come out for a visit. How’s your mom and Bethany?”

Though she’d been young, seeing Melinda again jogged her memory, and the memory of a handsome man dancing with a shy eight-year old girl.

No wonder Porter seemed familiar. He looks just like his father.

Drawing in a relaxing combination of orange blossoms and honeysuckle, Rachel returned Melinda’s smile with genuine affection. “Doing well. They’re both busy at their clinic, but they enjoy it. Most days, anyway.”

Rachel’s aunt, Bethany, her mother, Jill, and Melinda had all attended Duke University together, though Bethany and Melinda, being two years older than Jill, were the closest. Bethany opted for and went after a doctorate in family practice while Melinda and Jill veered into nursing. All three ended up in the same hospital, working together for several years before Melinda moved to Florida when her husband was asked to take over the Orchards by his father.

Now Bethany and Jill ran their own private practice, one that catered to all
kinds
of clientele, while Melinda, along with her husband, Andreas, owned a vast orchard that produced not only oranges, but olives and avocados as well. They also operated a bed-and-breakfast out of their ancestral home.

Their absolutely stunning home. If it were Rachel’s, she didn’t think she could share it. “You must be busy as well, with all that you have going on here.”

Melinda laughed. “Busy, yes. Enjoy it? Most days.” She linked her arm through Rachel’s in a companionable manner. “Why don’t we get you settled in and then I can give you a tour? You requested a suite, yes?”

Rachel dug in her heels, the hesitation sending one of Melinda’s brows high in silent question. “Ah, actually, there’s something I need to discuss with you first. Before I check in, that is.” A request no less urgent in that it was whispered.

“All right. We can talk in my office. Katie, dear?” Melinda turned to the young mother. “Why don’t you go help Annie in the kitchen? When I left she was muttering something about her misplaced lasagna pans and making snarky comments about our ancestor.”