SEDUCTIVE SUPERNATURALS: 12 Tales of Shapeshifters, Vampires & Sexy Spirits (219 page)

When she picked it up, the revolver felt icy cold...and so foreign to her…and she positioned it in her hand, her finger now on the trigger. Perhaps it was the leverage she needed. Turning it over in the palm of her hand, Taylor assumed that the gun was loaded. If it wasn’t, Jackson would certainly not take her seriously if she actually threatened him with it.

Slowly Taylor turned and walked to the over-sized porcelain tub in the far corner of the room. Jackson still hadn’t moved. She listened to his deep breaths, and unconsciously tried to match their rhythm. Finally, she positioned herself at the foot of the tub, with Jackson in full view.

Staring at his face, fearing he would open his eyes at any moment, she lowered herself into a chair. Her right arm was close to her body, elbow bent, the tiny barrel of the gun pointing at the devastatingly handsome man submerged in the still-steaming water.

She waited.

Jackson’s hair had partially dried. Inky black curls caressed his forehead, and long strands curved behind and below his ears to curve along his neck. Slightly tilted to one side, his head rested on the rim of the tub so that his chin jutted upward, his lips slightly parted. He looked so peaceful...and desirable.

Sitting straighter in the chair, she found if she extended her neck a little and leaned forward, she could gaze fully along Jackson’s magnificent body. She allowed her eyes to drift downward, first to the mass of silky chest hair that waved in the water just beneath the surface.

Even though his well-toned muscles were now relaxed in the hot water, they were defined. Then she blinked and lowered her gaze to the source of her desire. The tingling in the pit of her stomach dwarfed her fear. At the sight of him, her body instantly ached for his touch.

In her heart of hearts she knew she would never again have that kind of magical passion, never again make love with a man who made who forget everything but being with him. No, he hated her. That was clear.

As she sat back in the chair, Jackson’s lower body was once more out of view. She swallowed hard, then loudly cleared her throat.

She watched Jackson stiffen at the sound and become instantly wide awake. Anger and shock shone on his face at seeing her sitting demurely in a chair at the end of the tub, his expression quickly transforming to puzzlement—then fear—at the sight of his own gun pointed at him.

The blood drained from his face as he stared in astonishment.

“You...you...liar! You tricked me!” Jackson spat out the words scornfully.

“Don’t move...you just stay where you are...” Taylor drew her lips into a thin line, trying her best to appear dauntless.

“What do you want? What are you doing here?” The words barely escaped from behind Jackson’s clenched teeth.

“All I want, Jackson Hoyt, is your full attention.” She spoke with quiet, albeit desperate, firmness. “And the chance to explain—”

Jackson chuckled nastily, interrupting her. “Explain what, exactly? More crazy talk about you being sent here to stop me? Is that why you have a gun pointed at me?” His voice was cold and lashing.

“Be quiet and listen to me.” She shot him a cold look.

Jackson’s blue eyes darkened like angry thunderclouds, and he returned a hostile stare. “I’m listening.”

Feeling suddenly weak and vulnerable in the full force of his anger, she took a deep breath and hoped Jackson was at least a fraction afraid as he was angry.

“I’m here, Taylor Rose.”

Greatly relieved to hear her father’s voice, her confidence spiraled. His presence filled her with a fresh feeling of reassurance and control. Maybe, with his help, this would really work.

Jackson narrowed his eyes as he stared back at her. “What—”

“Actually, that was my father.”

Jackson turned his head to look behind him, quickly confirming there was no one else in the room. “Your father’s dead. Or was that a lie, too?”

“Jackson, here me out—no more interruptions.” She raised the revolver, hoping he’d believe she meant what she said.

Jackson nodded.

“You were right,” she began. “I have been keeping things from you. Many things. First, I’m actually from here. The only thing is,” she paused, anticipating his reaction. “I don’t know how else to say it, but I’m not from this time. I came here...from the future.”

His expression spoke volumes—his dark eyebrows raised and then his eyes narrowed in disbelief and distrust.

“I know it sounds crazy. I thought I was crazy. It was quite a shock, actually.” After another long pause, she continued, saying, “My first night here, I ended up with Henry at the gambling house—we met there, remember? But, I looked different then—I was wearing pants and a vest. He introduced me to you as Taylor...my hat fell on the floor and you picked it up.”

Jackson’s eyes widened.

She moistened her lips and took a deep breath. “I overheard a conversation later that night. I heard the tapping at the window and what you talked about with that man. And then, after I met you again at Ida’s—this time as Rose—I followed you to the Acme Saloon. I heard you talk about avenging your father’s death by killing Wyatt Earp.”

She had rattled off the information in one breath, wanting desperately for everything to be said as quickly as possible.

“Tell him about me.”

She considered her father’s words carefully. Jackson would certainly think her crazy if he didn’t think so already. But something in the tone of her father’s voice pulled against her own instincts.

“One more thing…when things get difficult, sometimes I hear my father’s voice.” She paused. “He’s been sort of...protecting me...and providing moral support. He told me I was sent here to stop you from going through with the assassination, but in order to do so I had to solve a puzzle, a mystery...” Her words faded. Even to her, the words sounded foolish.

Jackson continued to gaze back at her with an unfriendly stare.

“So that’s what I did,” she said softly. “I solved the puzzle, and I came here today to tell you why you don’t have to kill Wyatt Earp.

Jackson’s stare turned into a scowl, his jaw clenching, his mouth stretching into a thin-lipped sneer.

“I found a man who was with your father when he died.”

Jackson sat upright in the tub. “What?”

Taylor straightened the arm that was holding Jackson’s gun, sharpening her aim. “Lie back down in the water...now.”

Jackson slid back into the water with a grimace, at least appearing that he was taking her threat seriously.

“Listen to me, Jackson. There’s a man here in San Diego who witnessed your father’s death. He described your father as taking what sounded to me like a suicide ride through town—riding up and down the street, shooting into windows and—”

“He had a gun?” Jackson asked in a hoarse whisper.

“Wyatt Earp was the Marshall and yes, he shot your father—but he was just doing his job. He was protecting the people of Dodge City. He didn’t murder your father. That’s what I needed to tell you.” Taylor stared into Jackson’s eyes, which were now filled with questions and doubt. “Do you believe me?” She prayed he did.

Slowly, Jackson shook his head from side to side. “How would I know you’re not just making this up? All I have is the word of...a liar.”

She sighed.  What was she supposed to say? Everything Jackson though he knew about her was indeed a lie. “You’re right. I probably sound like a lunatic, but I don’t know how else to say it...”

“Tell him I’m here.”

Taylor clearly heard her father’s voice next to her, as though he were standing just inches from her left arm.

“Jackson, my father wants you to know he’s here.”

“And I suppose you’ll ask him to appear before me as proof? Is that it?” he murmured cynically.

Taylor’s eyebrows drew together in a frown. Could her father actually materialize? Did he intend to?

“You must keep your eyes on Jackson the entire time.”

Taylor stared into Jackson’s eyes, and waited. “He’s here, Jackson, right beside me...just look.”

Jackson returned her stare.

“Please, Jackson,” she whispered, “he says to look beside me.”

Obediently, Jackson stared at the space next to Taylor. Within seconds, she sensed the air begin to shimmer and quiver like a heat wave over a parched, unplanted field.

He stared, waiting.

A long moment passed, and his eyes widened.

“Jackson, please tell me what you see.” She wanted with all her heart to spin in her chair and witness the materialization of her father. Instead, she was resigned to seeing her father through the eyes of the man she loved.

“I see...something...in the shape of a man,” he whispered. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

“Describe him to me...please, Jackson,” she pleaded.

Jackson squinted, his forehead wrinkling in concentration. “He has his hand on your shoulder...he’s just standing there.... His face isn’t really clear...it’s all kind of blurry...”

Unconsciously, Taylor reached up with her left hand, hoping to feel her father’s hand on her shoulder. All she felt was a kind of coolness in the air.

“This is amazing...either I’m seeing a ghost or you are one hell of a magician.” Jackson continue to stare wide-eyed.

“Is he still there?”

Jackson nodded. “He seems...tall...and rather thin.... Now he’s stepping back...back behind you....

Taylor held her gaze steady as she felt a cool breeze in back of her.

Jackson’s luminous blue eyes widened in astonishment. “Now he’s moving toward the bed...he’s taking a rose out of the vase.”

“Jackson, what’s happening?”

“He’s...he’s bringing a rose to you. This is impossible.”

In her peripheral vision, Taylor sensed the movement of the flower as it floated through the air beside her, then watched in wonder as the rose came into view.

Jackson stared, then cautiously sat up to reach for the rose. His eyes softened and his tight expression relaxed into a smile as he carefully took the stem.

Taylor felt her father’s presence vanish immediately after Jackson took the rose. She abruptly turned in her chair, hoping to catch a last glimpse of her father’s spirit. “He’s gone, isn’t he?” she whispered.

Staring in astonishment at the rose, Jackson nodded wordlessly.

Her shoulder aching with tension, She lowered her arm and placed the tiny revolver on a nearby table. It was over.

If Jackson didn’t believe her now, he never would.

Forever Rose: Chapter Twenty-Five

Slowly, Jackson raised his gaze to meet hers, then leaned forward enough hand her the rose.

“He wanted you to have it,” he explained. “He pointed to you just before he gave it to me.”

She brought the dark red petals to her lips…so soft and delicate…then breathed in the heady aroma, certain her father had meant it as a sign everything would be all right. In his efforts to convince Jackson, he’d also convinced her.
Thanks, Dad.

“I believe you,” Jackson said, and offered her a sudden, arresting grin.

She tentatively returned the smile as relief washed through her. “Really? Do you believe everything?”

He nodded. “This man who was with my father when he died, can I meet him? Talk to him myself? I need to hear it with my own ears, I guess.”

She watched as he then visibly shuddered.

“I can’t believe I was ready to kill someone—”

“—my father kept insisting that you weren’t a killer,” she interrupted, “and that was why it was so important that I find the catalyst to turn things in a different direction.”

“Tell me more...about you. The truth, this time.”

“What do you want to know?” The knot of fear continued to relax, her trepidation replaced by a surge of hope. It was going to be all right.

“The truth, right? No matter what?” His voice was calm, his gaze steady.

She nodded. “The truth, no matter what.”

“Start from the beginning. Who are you...really?”

She exhaled a long sigh of contentment. It would feel so good to talk freely to Jackson, even though she suspected her words would still sound strange to him.

Jackson straightened a little in the tub, waiting.

“My name really is Taylor—Taylor Rose Martin. And it’s true that I was with Henry when I met you the first time at Wyatt Earp’s gambling house. I used Taylor as my name, remember? Then when I met Ida, she insisted I use my middle name, Rose, because it was more...feminine. My father used to call me Rose, sometimes, so it felt nice—something familiar.

“And how did you get here?”

“I was traveling by train on my way back from a weekend up the coast and when I got off the train, I got off here...in your time…in 1888.” She observed a series of subtle changes in Jackson’s expression, ranging from surprise to disbelief to curiosity.

“So, what kind of person are you...where you’re from?”

It felt peculiar to be getting the third degree from him, and a bit backwards. It felt like the getting-to-know-you-chatter of a first date, but this chatter was with someone who knew her intimately—at least physically.

“I’m a nurse for the school system in San Diego. After my father died, I finished college to get my nursing degree,” she explained.”

“Ida thought you were some kind of healer.”

“Well, I don’t know about being a healer. I mostly lend a sympathetic ear to barely-sick school children and patch up skinned knees once in a while.”

“Is there anyone...at home...who might be worried, wondering what has happened to you?”

“What I told you about my father and mother was true. My mother died right after I was born, and my father died several years ago. I don’t have any family to speak of, some distant cousins that I’ve never met—some friends, of course, but they’re used to me sort of disappearing for weeks at a time. There is...no one else,” she emphasized.

* * *

Jackson closed his eyes. He was suddenly weary from trying to comprehend it all. She’d spent so much time and effort to deceive him and yet, truth be told, he had done the same. He hadn’t been honest with her, or anyone, for that matter. He had been living a lie since he’d arrived in San Diego. He couldn’t continue to hold onto an anger that had no real foundation, and it almost felt strange to be rid of the all-consuming emotion of seeking revenge.