Peppermint Creek Inn (21 page)

She’d cast a spell over him the moment he’d first seen her, and he didn’t have the foggiest clue as to how to remove it.

Quite frankly, he didn’t want to remove it.

If only he didn’t have this awful black cloud hanging over his head. He wouldn’t hesitate to be near her. To kiss her. Make love to her. But until everything was cleared up and he was a free man, all he could do was think about any excuse to stay away from her.

“The tea’ll be ready in a minute. Do you want some cake with it?” Sara called from the kitchen.

“Sure,” he answered back.

His weary gaze wandered around the rustic living room. He never got enough of looking around the place, rugged yet romantic, cozy and comfortable. A place where a man could kick off his shoes and relax after a hard day working outside.

Most of the wood furnishings were made of knotty pine by Sara’s late husband Jack. The pine blended warmly with the cinnamon brown paneled walls. Bright colorful Navajo blankets with rich looking paisley were draped casually over the stair railing and the sofas, adding cheer throughout the room.

Twig birdhouses, wicker fishing baskets overflowing with a variety of wild flowers and more of those tin kettles were strewn casually here and there. Snowshoes, canoe paddles and fishing rods hung on the walls. A very cozy outfit, indeed.

Tom yawned again.

Boy, was he ever tired tonight. He’d spent the entire day, chain saw in hand, walking the various hiking trails, clearing debris and fallen timber off the pathways.

He groaned, and leaned over to throw another log on the dying fire, the ache in his back signaling a warning to take it easy when from the corner of his eye, he spotted a thick book, a photo album actually. It was stuffed under a pile of magazines on a twig table. He pried it out and flipped it open to a picture.

Sara had been slightly plump. A tomboy. Short surf cut. Auburn curls tangled warmly about her heart-shaped face. And so goddamn cute.

Her husband Jack had been a tall man with wheat blond hair and a droopy, bushy mustache. A towering good-looking man who’d dwarfed over Sara.

And the way they looked at each other… So much love in their eyes. Tom found himself wishing Sara would look at him in much the same way.

He continued to leaf through the pages at a leisurely pace, thoroughly enjoying the photographs of Sara and her husband doing various chores around the inn. Pictures of a vacation in Niagara Falls. And a few of Sara paintings. She always looked so cheerful.

So happy. So in love.

He flipped to another page. A family portrait. Of five people. Three women and two men. Standing in front of the log house. There was Sara and her husband Jack. An attractive woman who looked a lot like Sara. Must be Jo, Sara’s sister, the private investigator. Beside Jo stood a striking elderly woman, who Tom guessed as Sara’s mother-in-law and also an elderly man sitting in a wheelchair. Garry? The father-in-law. That accounted for the wheelchair ramp out front.

“Why you look like the hounds of hell are at your heels?”
The gruff voice came out of nowhere crashing into Tom like a torpedo. Before he could orient himself as to where the voice was coming from, violent bursts of flashing lights blinded him.

“You’re losing your touch, little buddy!”
It was the same man’s voice and Tom tried fiercely to see who was yelling at him. But there was only the white lights, pain in his temples and the man’s gruff voice.

The flashes of light stopped as abruptly as they started, leaving him shaken to the core. He let the photo album slide to the floor. The room tilted awkwardly. A sick feeling knotted his stomach, twisting hard.

Oh, shit!

More visions were coming!

Burying his suddenly fragmenting head in his hands, he gasped as another volley of bright searing lights slammed into him.

He sat inside one of the numerous circus tents, sitting opposite the toothless old gypsy woman. He tried to read her leathered-up face as she lay out the tarot cards, but it remained expressionless. A few months ago, he would have laughed at anyone who suggested he come here and see a physic or card reader, but here he sat. Eager. Desperate. Hopeful.

The old lady turned over the last card.

A deep frown burrowed across her face. She shook her head.

He shuddered. His heart sank.

A skeleton card lay on the table.

Death called.

The vision dissipated and before he was able to catch his breath, another volley of white flashing lights crashed into him almost knocking him sideways.

More pain.

More voices.

Dammit! It was happening again!

—

“Here’s your tea and cake,” Sara called as she entered the living room carrying a tray, stopping abruptly when she discovered the room was empty.

A slight trace of fear slipped around her.

“Tom?”

No answer.

Maybe he’d gone off to bed. He’d looked beat when he’d come in for supper. But he wouldn’t go off without saying goodnight, would he?

“Tom?” she called a little louder. Fright edged sharply into her soul.

“Out here.”

As soon as she stepped onto the side veranda, she knew something was wrong. He stood at the railing, his body tense as a coiled spring—his fingers kneading his right temple. A bottle of aspirin sat on the porch swing. A half-full glass of water shook crazily in his hand.

“Are you—?”

“I’m okay,” he said shakily as he turned slightly toward her.

There was something in the dismal look of his eyes that frightened her. They were filled with pain. Tremendous pain. He’d lost someone very near and dear to his heart.

“You’ve remembered something.”

“It’s nothing,” he muttered irritably and returned his attention to the darkening sky.

Lightning flickered crazily over the trees.

Sara jolted. Her heart began to pound wildly.

“Let’s go inside.”

“I’ll tell you what I’ve remembered, if you’ll stay out here for a couple of minutes. You can leave any time after that.”

She cast a nervous glance at the almost black sky. The uneasiness crept up a notch. A fist of fear threatened to cut off her air supply.

“The only way you’ll get over your fear of storms is by confronting it and going through it.” His voice sounded so warm, so confident.

Sara shook her head and retreated a step. “I just want to go inside.”

“Come closer,” he encouraged gently.

The look of tenderness in his emerald eyes drew her to him like a bear to honey. He reached out and pried the tray from her grasp, placing it on the nearby porch swing. Her hands automatically clenched into tight fists at her sides. A lonesome cry from a loon out on the lake startled her. Her insides churned violently with the bubbling fear.

When Tom reached out, she didn’t hesitate a second before flying into the safety of his arms. His hand slid around to the small of her back, caressing her there. It felt so wonderful.

Instinctively, she pressed her head against his strong muscular chest and listened to his heart beating. The sound was a delicious, steady, soothing rhythm and for the first time in a long time, she felt truly safe.

“It’s okay,” he whispered gently. “I’m with you.”

Another bolt of lightning zipped across the velvety black night. This time, Sara didn’t jump in fright. His face was mere inches from hers and the intense look in his eyes fascinated her.

There was need. Hunger. Caring.

He stood so close. It would be too easy to wrap her arms around his neck, pull his face downward to hers, to kiss those enchanting lips. He smelled so intoxicating, so masculine. It took all the strength she could muster to break the spell.

“What do you remember?”

He took a deep breath and stiffened against her.

“Mom.” The word came out in a low rush, a quietly whispered anxious sigh. “I remember my mother. How the cancer was eating away at her. She was suffering so much. After a while the doctors told us they couldn’t do anything more. She wanted to go home to die, and so we took her home.”

“Oh, God,” Sara closed her eyes for a moment, absorbing the pain of Tom’s words.

When she opened them again, he was staring straight into her eyes. Searching for something. Understanding? A fellow comrade? Someone to share his grief?

“Our house smelled of death. Little by little, day by day she got worse. Begging us to put her out of her misery. We went nuts trying to find help for her. We tried everything. I even went to see some old gypsy card reader to get some help. She came up with the death card.”

He was shaking so bad.

Sara reached out and touched his face. “I’m so sorry. It’s so hard to lose someone you love.”

The first growl of the oncoming storm cascaded over the surrounding hills. Sara barely heard it.

“‘Time heals the wound of loss’ my mom used to say,” Tom whispered in a strangled voice. She felt his warm breath caress her cheek. “You never forget. You grieve. It’s a part of the healing process. But you never forget.”

“How’d you get through it?”

He took a deep wobbly breath and let it out slowly. His jaw clenched tightly for a moment before answering.

“It was tough. For all of us. But I focused on my belief that there is a higher power out there, a great designer. Someone who knows what they are doing and why. Mom went that way for a reason. I haven’t figured it out yet. Maybe I’m being naive for even trying. I kept repeating to myself over and over again that I’m going to get through this. I’m going to make it. Then one day I realized I had.”

“I almost didn’t make it,” Sara whispered.

“I kind of got that feeling.” He reached up, his gentle callused fingers brushing away the fresh tears slipping from her eyes. “There’s a haunted sadness in your eyes. Can you tell me about it?”

Sara hesitated a moment, feeling uncertain and afraid. She’d never told anyone. Not even her closest confidant, her sister Jo. Not a single soul. She’d felt—well, embarrassed for trying to take the easy way out.

“It happened a few weeks after they died. Just after Christmas,” Sara began. “It was the first time I’d been left alone. Mom and Dad had gone back home. Garry needed to get away. His heart was breaking. He’d lost his wife, his only son, only grandchildren and he was losing me, too. His brother managed to talk him into visiting him for awhile in New York City.

“Jessie, my brother, bless his heart, wanted to sell his apple farm business to stay and take care of me. But I put up a good front. I told everyone I was fine. But Jo, she seemed to feel I wasn’t doing so well. I couldn’t get rid of her. No matter how hard I tried. Kicking, screaming, crying. She was always there, hovering around me. It was almost as if she sensed what I wanted to do…”

Sara checked if the door was unlocked then stole into Jocelyn’s bedroom. She’d always felt safe and secure in Jo’s room. Maybe because of all the chats they had together when she came for visits.

Or maybe it was the room itself and the way Jo had decorated it. Frilly white laces. Soothing tones of forest green and buttery warm yellow. So comforting. So safe.

But today she didn’t feel safe or secure. She felt nothing but the deep hollow emptiness. A black hole stretching endlessly.

Her therapist told her she was depressed. If this was depression, they could have it. She had nothing to live for anymore. Her family was gone. Wiped out. All she wanted was to be with them.

Sara edged to the closet where Jo kept it. After a couple of minutes of frantic searching, she found it hidden way in the back. Her sister had moved it.

Jo suspected. They all suspected.

Her fingers fell on the smooth wooden box on the top shelf. With suddenly trembling hands, she slowly removed the item from the closet and sat down on the bed. She stared at the box for a long time, then what seemed an eternity later she opened it and delicately withdrew the gun. It was cold and heavier than she remembered.

Years ago, Jo had shown her how to load it, how to clean it and how to fire it. But Sara hadn’t been interested in shooting the thing, much to the dismay of her little sister who believed every woman should learn to defend herself any way they could. Just in case.

Sara felt oddly removed from everything in her life now. The past weeks had been a horrible ordeal. Burying her husband, her babies and her mother-in-law.

On top of that, all the curious stares, hand pointing and hurried whispers from the people in town. For the past two weeks, she’d been preparing herself for this day. Jo rarely left her alone. It was as if she sensed Sara would snap at any minute.

But every Monday morning, Jo left for town to pick up the cinnamon-covered donuts that Widow McCloud at the general store made for Monday Special. Jo loved her donuts. How many times had Sara been envious of her little sister? She ate so many donuts and yet never gained a pound. But when Sara ate more than one in a sitting, her stomach seemed to grow its own donut.

But Sara didn’t worry about her own weight anymore. No family. No appetite. No problems.

She wondered how Jo would react when she discovered her body. She knew Jo would feel guilty for some time. After all, Jo had her own demons to deal with. But she’d come through and gone on with her life.

Sara wished she’d been able to do the same. But it just hurt too much.

She thought about her father-in-law Garry and how he’d react. Or her parents. Oh, God, she couldn’t deal with it. Not now. Not when she was so close.

In the end, everyone would be relieved of her. She’d been a burden to them all. Altered their lives to baby-sit her just because she hadn’t been able to handle it.

Yes, she liked Jo’s room. So soothing. So safe.

It was the perfect place to do it.

Hesitantly, Sara’s trembling fingers picked up the bullet she needed for the job. She loaded the gun. She thought of Jack. The twins. Of how it should have been.

She wanted her final thoughts to be of them.