Parker And The Gypsy (23 page)

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Authors: Susan Carroll

BOOK: Parker And The Gypsy
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“Mamie,” Mike said in hushed tones.
The apparition paused at the foot of the stairs and raised one hand beckoning. Mike was so mesmerized he would have stumbled forward to follow, but Sara held him back.
“No, Michael. It isn't either of us she wants.” She nodded toward where Storm sat, looking as dumbstruck as though he'd turned to stone.
There was a chink of metal and the handcuffs that held him to the chair came miraculously undone, falling to the floor. Rubbing his wrists, he stood up slowly. When the ghost beckoned again, he moved like a man in a trance, brushing past Sara and Mike without appearing to see them.
Storm trailed after the spirit of Mamie Patrick, and the pair of them vanished into the darkness at the top of the stairs. Silence settled over the room once more and Mike Parker finally remembered to breathe.
He glanced down to find Sara looking as awestruck as he felt.
“You know,” Mike confessed, swallowing hard, “until the moment Mamie actually appeared, I—I still wasn't sure I believed she was real.”
“Neither was I,” Sara said with a tremulous smile. Flinging her arms around Mike, she buried her face in his shoulder.
It was one of the strangest, most wonderful nights Mike thought he'd ever spent. Sitting on one of the dusty settees in the lobby with Sara cradled in his arms, waiting for Xavier Storm to finish meeting with the ghost upstairs.
He'd heard of men experiencing an apocryphal moment in their lives, but of course he'd never believed in such a thing. Funny what it had taken to fling the doors of his mind wide open to any possibility, any sense of wonder. The appearance of a ghost, his old enemy Storm and a certain gypsy lady.
Mike gazed down tenderly to where Sara was curled up against his chest. He dropped a kiss on top of her golden head and murmured, “I love you, Sara.”
She'd fallen asleep and didn't hear him, but that was okay. He'd have plenty of time to tell her. For the moment, it was enough for him just to realize. it, to feel something in his heart besides the emptiness and doubt that had been there for so long. Mike drew Sara closer against him. Resting his head on top of hers, he closed his eyes....
The next time he opened them, he was surprised to see the soft light of morning spilling across the inn floor. He stirred, wincing at the stiffness in his back and neck. His movement, slight as it was, disturbed Sara. She sat up, yawning and rubbing her eyes.
“Goodness. What—what time is it?” she mumbled.
What time was it? For a moment, Mike wasn't even sure where he was. Then memories of the night before came flooding back to him.
The ghost of Mamie Patrick. Storm... Storm? Mike straightened, glancing quickly around him, but there was still no sign of the casino king.
Mike bolted to his feet, a moment of raw panic setting in. What if Storm had crept out and gone for the police after all? Or worse still, what if Mamie had decided to put her kid out of his misery and take him with her? How were Mike and Sara ever going to explain away Storm's dead body?
But before he could alarm Sara with any of these possibilities, Mike heard a light step on the stairs. Spinning around, he saw Storm descending to the lobby and he breathed a sigh of relief.
He studied Storm critically, not quite sure what he expected to see. His hair turned white or a glazed look to his eyes. But the casino king appeared remarkably calm for a man who'd just spent the night in the company of his dead mother.
“Good morning,” Storm said softly with only a trace of his old irony.
“Good morning,” Sara replied, but Mike didn't feel up to any social amenities. There were at least a dozen questions he wanted to put to Storm about what had happened last night. But Storm strode right up to Sara and took her hand.
Mike had never seen Storm at a loss for words, but the tycoon hesitated before saying, “For the past few weeks, I've been cursing you, Miss Holyfield, without even knowing who you were. Only knowing you were the person responsible for dredging up things I wanted to forget. Now I just want you to know that...that I'm grateful to you for...for helping
her
to find me.”
“You're welcome, John,” Sara said, smiling shyly up at him. “But you have Michael to thank for getting you here last night.”
“Yes,” Storm said dryly, touching his bruised eye. “Thanks a lot, Parker.”
“No problem.” Mike grinned. “Just as long as you show your gratitude by not sending for the cops.”
“I'll make a deal with you. I won't send for the cops if you don't send for the press. I've seen enough of my private life splashed across the tabloids over recent years.”
“Of course we wouldn't,” Sara said. “That wasn't what this was all about.”
“Thank you.” Storm carried Sara's hand to his lips. Not one of his usual smooth gestures, but something more genuine. “I take it that I'm now free to leave?”
The last question was addressed more to Mike. He stepped aside, sweeping Storm toward the door with a mock gallant bow. As the man left the inn, Mike hastened after him, following him to his car.
“Here's your keys, Storm,” he said. “And I thought you'd probably want to have this, too.” He held out the small box containing Mamie's cache of treasures and photographs.
Storm looked at the small case for a moment. Then he accepted it, a softened look coming into his eyes.
“Thank you,” he said.
“And...you better have this, too.” Mike was embarrassed to find that it cost him a pang as he handed over the ragged stuffed dog.
Storm looked equally embarrassed and gruff about receiving it, but he tucked the dog along with the box carefully inside his car. He started to slide into the front seat of the Jaguar himself when he paused.
His eyes flicked uncertainly to Mike and then he blurted out, “For what it's worth, Parker, I never slept with your wife. Her real lover was a lounge lizard who worked at my casino.”
Mike stared at him. “Why the hell didn't you ever tell me that before?”
“You never gave me the chance. Besides, I'm used to people thinking the worst of me. I rarely stoop to defend myself.”
Mike was shaken to discover how well he understood Storm's attitude. It was so close to his own.
“Well, thanks for setting things straight,” Mike said. “But whatever happened with Darcy, it's not important anymore.”
“I would imagine it isn't,” Storm replied. “You're a very fortunate man, Parker, to have found someone like Miss Holyfield. A woman you can love enough to risk everything for.”
A pensive look crossed Storm's face. If it had been anyone else besides the mighty casino king, Mike would have said the man appeared damned wistful.
Storm made another movement to leave, but this time it was Mike who stopped him. “Listen, I know it's none of my business, Storm, but something like we all experienced here last night doesn't happen every day. Your mother...Mamie. Did she say anything? What did she want from you?”
Storm's face went still. He was silent a moment before replying.
“Only to see if I was all right. To tell me how sorry she was that she hadn't been able to take better care of me. To make sure that I knew how much she really did love me.”
“Oh.” Mike said softly.
Storm slid behind the wheel of his car. Mike stepped back, only vaguely aware of the man starting up the Jaguar. His thoughts had suddenly been yanked far away. To an old man dying in a state prison.
When he snapped out of his reverie, Storm's car was vanishing down the drive and once more Mike was struck by some of the parallels between Storm's life and his. His bitterest enemy. So very different. So much the same. If he wasn't careful, he might end up actually liking the guy, and Mike had suffered enough shocks to his system for one day.
Turning, he made his way slowly back to the inn. Sara stood in the middle of the great dining room, holding out her hands as though she would catch the sunbeams melting through the tall glass windows.
“Can you feel it?” she asked spinning toward Mike, smiling. “The whole aura of peace. Mamie is at rest.”
“Yeah,” Mike agreed, but all he could feel was the effect Sara was having on him, watching the sun turn her hair to gold, the dream-spun look in her blue eyes.
“You must be feeling pretty good too, gypsy lady. Vindicated at last.”
“I felt vindicated long before Mamie showed up. The moment that I realized you believed in me enough to risk everything.”
Mike paced over to her, coming to a halt bare inches away. He shoved his hands awkwardly in his jeans pockets.
“I love you, you know,” he said gruffly.
“I was beginning to suspect as much,” she said. “But it's awfully good to hear it.”
He held out his arms and she moved into them, close to his heart right where she belonged. Their lips met in a tender kiss that was full of all the tender things he needed to tell her but didn't yet know how to say.
There was so much to be settled between them, but there was one thing that needed to be taken care of first. Sara had been right all along about so many things.
Mike had a long journey to make. Up north to the city of Trenton. To confront his shadow man one last time.
Eleven
T
he old Pine Top ballroom gleamed with the soft white glow of electricity emanating from the newly refurbished chandelier. The walls smelled of fresh paint and polished woodwork, all hint of ghosts and memories swept away.
Elaine Jorgensen had done a phenomenal job whipping the inn into shape for the Last Rose of Summer dinner dance, but Sara found herself missing the old atmosphere of dust and cobwebs. All the building's aura and personality seemed to have vanished with Mamie.
Sara lingered by the tall glass windows, wistfully watching the couples dancing on the lawn outside beneath colored lanterns, the lilting music from the band drifting through the open casement. Her strapless tea-length gown of shimmering white silk rustled about her knees as she tapped one toe in time to the music. Both the night and the dress whispered of romance, the stuff fairy tales and dreams were made of.
There was only one thing missing, Sara thought ruefully. Her escort. She hadn't heard anything from Mike for weeks. She could do nothing but wait and worry, missing him, hoping his painful journey into his past was going well for him.
Sara understood completely why he'd forgotten about the dance. She'd almost decided not to attend herself, but Mike's words kept coming back to her.
“You don't want to let the wicked stepmother win, do you, Cinderella?”
So she'd come alone, but defiantly, her head held high. It's what Mike Parker would've expected of his woman...though Sara was not entirely sure she was his. So much had been left unsaid between them, the future unsettled. If there really was going to be any kind of future for the two of them.
“Sara, my dear. You look very nice tonight.” Elaine Jorgensen's cool voice broke in on Sara's thoughts.
Sara turned reluctantly to face the older woman. Ever since dinner had ended, Elaine had been making her circulation of the room, greeting guests like a grand duchess. Evidently, she decided even Sara must have her turn.
“I'm so glad you were able to come,” Elaine said with her familiar brittle smile.
Yeah, about as glad as a nudist facing a swarm of mosquitoes. The unexpected quip popped into Sara's head in a very Mike-like tone of voice. Dear God, she was starting to think like the man.
Choking back a sudden urge to laugh, Sara managed to thank Elaine and make some vague and polite remark about how well the inn looked.
“Yes,” Elaine agreed complacently with another flash of her teeth. “I wish I could say the same for your shop, dear. You had the good taste to take that dreadful mechanical eye down for a while. But now you've had the thing stuck back up again.”
“Yes,” Sara said with a breezy shrug. “I changed my mind.”
Elaine's smile faded. “I thought I made myself clear on this matter. I would be loathe to do so, but if you don't have that monstrosity removed, I'm going to have to file a complaint.”
“Then you'll have to file it with the attorney I've hired.”
“I'm very disappointed by your attitude, Sara. I suppose we will end up in court.”
“I suppose we will, Elaine. But you won't win.”
“Good Lord!”
At first Sara thought it was her manner of supreme confidence that provoked this reaction from Elaine, but then she saw the woman's eyes directed toward the entrance to the ballroom. As were every one else's in the room, twisting to gape at a late arrival.
Turning herself, Sara uttered a soft exclamation and forgot to breathe.
Mike Parker paused beneath the archway, sporting a black tux and elegant white bow tie. The clothing molded to his tall frame, emphasizing his broad shoulders and lean waist, making him appear suave, sexy and dangerous. A tawny-haired lion springing up to startle a roomful of awestricken does. No other man in the room had troubled to dress so formal; no other man looked so devastatingly handsome.
Mike's dark eyes raked the room until he found Sara. Totally oblivious to the sensation he was causing, he strode purposefully in her direction.
Sara's heart pounded hard enough to rival the orchestra's drummer. Fifty years from now and she had a premonition that Mike Parker was always going to make her feel this way when he entered a room.
He paused barely a hand's reach away from her, his mouth tipping into that familiar quirky smile.
“Hello, angel. Sorry I'm late.”
“It's all right, Michael,” she murmured. Everything was more than all right now.
Sara gazed up at his face, drinking in the sight of him, feeling as though they were the only two people in the room. It came as a shock to hear Elaine's voice at her elbow.
“This is a private party, young man. By invitation only.”
“It's okay, Mrs. Jorgensen,” Sara murmured. “Mr. Parker is my guest.”
“He wasn't listed when you finally turned in your reservation. Late I might add. So I'm going to have to insist—”
“Go to hell, Elaine,” Sara said, her eyes never leaving Mike's.
“What?” Elaine gasped.
“Go to hell,” Sara repeated sweetly. “Please.”
Mike choked on a laugh. After sputtering incoherently for a moment, Mrs. Jorgensen spun on her heel and stalked off.
Mike's eyes twinkled down at Sara. “I don't think I've ever seen that done quite so politely.”
“There's never any excuse for abandoning good manners, Michael.”
“Like I did. I've kind of left you hanging these past few weeks and I'm sorry for it. You must have thought I forgot all about tonight.”
“I'm just glad you're here now.”
“Me, too.” Both his eyes and his voice seemed to caress her, sending a shiver along her bare shoulders. “You look good, Sara. Real good.”
“So do you.”
“Yeah, Mike Parker in his Prince Charming mode.” He flicked the lapel of his tux with a self-deprecating grimace. “But you better come dance with me before I turn back into a toad.”
Reaching for her hand, he swept her outside onto the lawn-and into his arms. The band had struck up a love song, smoky and slow.
Mike held her close to him, resting his cheek next to her temple. Although they had never danced together before, Sara found no difficulty matching his step, her body, her rhythm fitting perfectly with his.
“It feels so good having you back in my arms,” he murmured close to her ear. “I missed you, gypsy lady.”
“I missed you.” Sara nestled close to him with a contented sigh. She didn't want to raise any shadows to shatter the mood, but she had to know.
“Did—did you see your father? Is everything all right?” she asked, tipping up her face to his.
“He died five days ago,” Mike replied softly.
“Oh, Michael, I'm so sorry.”
“Yeah. So am I.” Mike swallowed, straining her closer. “But I did get there in time to spend a lot of time with him in the prison hospital. Funny thing, angel. I spent most of my life hating him, turning him into the monster in my dreams. And when I got there, he was just this frail old man.”
“Were you able to talk to him at all?”
Mike nodded. “I don't believe anymore that he was behind the attack on me that night. He finally talked to me about my mother, too. He gave me a photograph of her. And a name. Marie.”
“That's a lovely name, Michael.”
“After she died, my father said he simply didn't know what to do with me. He'd never been much of a family man, but I suppose in his own way he did care about me. Did the best he could. I was able to forgive him, but—”
Mike's jaw steeled with determination. “But I'll do a lot better by my own kids. If I ever have any that is.”
“Two boys and a girl,” Sara blurted out.
When Mike stared at her, her face flushed bright red. “I—I mean, if I was ever going to have a family, that's what I'd have.”
He smiled at her and their steps slowed, out of sync with the orchestra, hardly moving at all. Sara looked deep in Mike's eyes and found something new there. A hard won sense of peace.
And something old. A tenderness that had always existed just beneath the surface, but now he was no longer ashamed to show it. He stopped moving altogether. Taking her by the hand, he led her away from the lawn until they stood secluded from the lights and the music.
Gathering both her hands into his, Mike said, “I've been having dreams again, angel.”
“So have I,” she whispered.
“Good ones, I hope?”
She nodded, but she hardly dared tell him what they were. She didn't have to because Mike said, “I dreamed you were all in white with your hair hanging down the way it is now. And we were in this dinky little chapel with stained-glass windows....”
“That spilled rainbows of light on the pews, and the minister had a bristly gray mustache...” Sara added.
“And I slipped this old-fashioned ring on your finger.”
“A lover's knot of gold fashioned like vines and roses,” Sara finished.
A silence fell over them, no longer stunned, but both a little awed by this magic they shared.
Then Mike cleared his throat. “So do you think it's possible that dreams can predict the future?”
“I think anything is possible, Michael.”
“And that if we looked for it, we'd really find a chapel like that?”
“I wouldn't be at all surprised.”
“Neither would I. Because
I
found this in a little antique shop in Trenton.” Fishing around in his inner pocket, Mike produced a small tissue-wrapped parcel. He undid the wrapping to reveal a delicate ring, roses and vines wrought in gold. The exact same as in the dream.
“Can I try in on you for size? That is do you think that a gypsy lady like you and a mug like me could ever—I mean, Sara that—” Mike broke off with a groan. “Hell, I was a lot more smooth about this in the dream. What I'm trying to ask you is—
“Yes!” Sara cried.
Mike grinned. “You know, sometimes it's a handy thing a woman being able to read your mind.”
Her fingers trembled a little when he slipped the ring in place, her heart full to overflowing. But when he gathered her into his arms, her response was strong and steady, her lips meeting his in a passionate kiss where past, present and future all seemed to blend as one.
Breathless moments later, Mike said hesitantly, “This is going to sound really strange, Sara. But I keep having this feeling we've done this all many times before.”
“You mean you're starting to believe in reincarnation?”
“Hell, no. That is I'm not sure.” His eyes became solemn and serious. “The truth is, Sara, I don't know if my mind will ever be able to be quite as open as yours. If I'll be able to believe in all the things you do.
“But what I do believe is that I love you. And you love me. And it's going to last forever. Is that enough?”
“Oh, yes, Michael,” Sara said, gazing tenderly up at him. “More than enough for one lifetime.”
 
 

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