Law of Attraction

by Charlotte Hubbard

  “Matter of fact, I’ve considered renovating a few of these places as a way to preserve some local history and kick-start the economy.”

  “How much?”

  Ross clenched his teeth to keep from kissing her silly. Never had he seen such need on a pretty face, such determination to make good on a childhood dream no matter what it cost. Angie had no idea about that. And he hated to burst her bubble, because the light in her tawny eyes shone with a brilliance he someday hoped to see when she looked at him. The waves whispered against the shore as he considered his answer.

  “Honey, it’s like I said before,” he began softly. “With this unobstructed ocean view, and being situated so close to the water you can hear the surf—”

  “Quit stalling! I deserve a straight answer!”

  He gripped the hand that had grabbed his, knowing he might as well spell it out—well, except for the restoration plans he had for Kyle Iverson. “This one lists for four seventy-eight.”

  Tears sprang to her eyes, but then Angie doggedly focused on the house. No getting around how shabby it looked in the full light of day, like a faded, withered peony about to drop from its stem. “What if I wanted to rent it?” she whispered. “Houses aren’t selling now, right? Surely the owner would rather have a monthly income than let his investment sit empty. I could paint and do repairs as partial payment each month, until I could afford to…Ah, hell, who am I kidding?”

  That choking sound clutched at his heart. Ross wrapped his arms around her, cradling her head in one hand. God, but he’d hand this place over to her in a heartbeat, could already envision the fresh paint and pruned bushes, the lamplight shining in the window, inviting him to share her evening. “Shhh,” he murmured, rocking her side to side. Her hair tickled his face and he caught its fresh scent. Her slender body felt so right leaning into his, he was almost glad he’d driven her to this depth of desperation.

  Her quiet sobs bespoke a heart broken too many times, and he’d never been good at deflecting a woman’s disappointment. “Would you like to go inside? I just happen to have the keys,” he teased, rattling the loaded ring attached to his belt loop. “I haven’t done a walk-through in a while. C’mon—what do you say, babe?”

  Angie lifted her head, sniffling. “Part of me wants to leave my memories intact. Yet I’m just buzzing to be inside those rooms again and—”

  “Well, buzz all you want, little honeybee.” Grabbing her hand, Ross started up the uneven sidewalk. “The steps are sturdier than they look, but replacing some boards is definitely on the agenda,” he remarked as they ascended carefully to the covered porch. He flipped through his keys and then turned to watch Angie.

  Her arm went around a dusty white porch pillar, and Ross sensed she’d stood there many times as a child, waiting for her parents to take her to the beach, watching the ebb and flow of the waves—which was a favorite pastime of his, too. He opened the door, sighing at the tired walls and scuffed woodwork. The house smelled dusty and airless, but reasonably clean. The morning sun showed how dirty the windows were, yet the built-in bookcases shone with hope when the muted hues of the stained-glass borders fell across them.

  Then other sensations kicked in, those sixth-sensory vibes that made his entire body sing to the rhythm of years gone by. He closed his eyes as Angie entered behind him. Did he dare hint at what he was feeling, at what he knew, by means that defied explanation? His extrasensory abilities had driven away his wife, Terri, and now that Angie was hooked on Harmony Falls, on the past she’d so obviously adored while vacationing in this bungalow, he hated to risk destroying the tenuous ties they shared.

  “Holy cow! These red gingham curtains were here the last time we stayed!” Her words drifted out of the kitchen, wistful. “Or maybe I’m making it all up. Maybe I’m trying to relive the perfection of those summer suppers, fresh corn on the cob from the local market—”

  “Lots of butter. No salt,” Ross murmured. “And you ate it straight across in rows, without stopping.”

  “—with hamburgers Daddy grilled outside.”

  “No ketchup! Cheese and mustard, with dill slices.”

  “And every day I slurped Popsicles made from Kool-Aid poured in a Dixie cup,” she recalled in a faraway voice.

  “Red juice dribbling down your chin—cherry’s your favorite,” he whispered.

  “And sometimes we’d build campfires on the beach.”

  “Mmm…chocolate and gooey marshmallows. You loved those s’mores.”

  “And I stayed awake nights, just to—”

  “Hear the ocean sing you a lullaby.” When Ross’s eyes flew open, his heart sank. Angie was staring at him in the same way Terri had when he’d slipped into flow. His ex had never believed him when he said the sights and sounds and smells just came to him. He wasn’t aware of everything he said, nor did he recall specific details once he snapped out of his trance. He exhaled, praying Angie would be different.

  “And what was that all about?” she gasped. “How the hell could you know cherry Popsicles were my favorite, and that I loved s’mores, and—”

  “I’m clairsentient. I feel things. And if I slip my mind out of focus, I can tune in to the residual history of a place.” He swallowed, silently entreating her to believe in him. “The vibrations here are really strong, because you’re with me, amplifying them. I…I can see you taking a Sorry game off that bookshelf, when your front teeth were missing and you wore pigtails, and…”

  Angie’s jaw dropped. Her mouth moved but no sound came out.

  Ross raked his hand through his hair, hoping to keep her on the hook. “For me, the ocean is a place of great power. I was drawn here to the shore, same as you, honey,” he entreated her. “I…I’m a numerologist, too, but the numbers are just a tool that help me focus on what my body tells me about a person and her past. And actually, this little talent helps me match clients with the perfect homes! I can tell within minutes if a house will resonate with them, or if things that happened there will make them crazy.”

  “So…you’re telling me you know things. Like Lenore.”

  “Oh, Lenore’s got me so outpowered, I stand in her shadow and thank God she’s my friend,” he replied quickly. “And while she’s clairvoyant—which means she sees things in the past and in the future—I don’t receive the visual cues as strongly. Mine are a mixed bag. If I close my eyes and give my mind free rein, the information just rushes at me, and…I must sound flat-out crazy, telling you all this stuff.”

  Angie released her breath slowly. “Well, I’ve never heard that line before. And I—don’t get me wrong!—I know that oddball stuff comes to some people, just like I know about fakes and frauds. I…Well, if you’re faking this, please don’t tell me, all right?”

  His body stilled. He had a chance, if he didn’t overwhelm her with too much oddball stuff. “I’ll never knowingly mislead you,” he promised. “Sometimes I don’t interpret the sensations correctly, but that’s usually because I’m trying to make things come out the way I want them to, or because I’m distracted when the facts don’t match up with my sensory flow.”

  Nodding, she clasped her hands. She looked for all the world like the young lady he’d envisioned in various stages of her childhood and youth, so loving and trusting—too trusting—and he had a sudden urge to protect her.

  “I want to see my old room, if that’s okay.”

  “Of course! Front room upstairs, with the keyhole dormers. Right?”

  Her eyes widened and she nodded; then she started up the creaky staircase, glancing back at him. Ross gave her a chance to collect her thoughts and bask in the memories she’d made here. It still shone in her eyes: that golden hope that she might have this house. And wouldn’t that be fabulous?

  Ross ascended slowly, feeling the soft colors Angie would choose, the way her curtains would flutter in the breeze, and how fresh flowers in a Mason jar would grace her kitchen table. This was the perfect home for her, and they both knew it.

  Sensory
clues rushed at him the moment he joined her in that bedroom. Angie had lowered the frame of the ancient Murphy bed, but it had no mattress. The slanted ceilings made him stoop until he stood in the room’s center. His eyes closed. “I see a frightened young woman—your mother, Angie—and a rebellious young man in this room. And…you…you are the image of her, now that you’re all grown up, sweetheart.”

  She let out a short laugh. “Gotcha, Ross. Mom and I looked nothing alike,” she stated. “I was Daddy’s girl from the get-go, both in looks and temperament—which meant that by-the-book Bill Cavanaugh and I clashed on a regular basis.”

  “Too much alike?”

  “That’s how Mom explained it, yes.” She ran her finger down the old curtains, which were faded in stripes where years of sunlight had struck them. “You know how it is with your parents. You can’t imagine them ever being young or rebellious or, God forbid, having sex!”

  Ross smiled. The images of that young couple felt too strong to be denied, and for a fleeting moment he felt the wild passions that had brought those kids together—and then driven them apart. But he kept these feelings and these discrepancies to himself. He’d felt Bill Cavanaugh downstairs, but the restless energy of the young man in this room didn’t match that older guy’s staid, stable vibrations.

  “See?” he hedged. “I don’t always get it right. But maybe that means you’ll find me safe enough…suitable to spend time with. A lot of time, I hope.”

  Questions still danced in Angie’s eyes, but she was so enthralled with the house she let them go. “We’ll see, won’t we?” she teased.

  He smiled, got one last blast from the past. “They loved each other so much, honey. But you were the love of their lives.”

  Her chin quivered and she pivoted toward the window. “You got that part right,” she replied in a ragged voice. “They…they passed within weeks of each other, last summer. Mom died of pneumonia in a rehab facility, where her broken hip never healed. Daddy caved in when he no longer had her to fuss over.”

  “I’m so sorry, honey.”

  “It’s okay. It’s…really, it’s okay.”

  Ross wrapped her in his arms while Angie cried quietly. When he pulled his handkerchief from his pocket, she gratefully blew her nose before nuzzling against him again. Her head fit so perfectly against his shoulder. Her soft breasts shifted with her breathing, making him keenly aware of how badly he wanted to touch them. He kissed away a tear, and then another, savoring the salt and her deep emotions, and the way she clung to him. When another tear trickled down her cheek, he caught it with the tip of his tongue.

  She sighed longingly, and then her lips sought his. For a few blissful moments, he indulged in her salty-sweet kiss, a kiss that surrendered to him without backing down.

  “Ross?”

  “Yeah, baby.”

  “Thanks for understanding why this place is so special. And you know what they say, about how you can never go home again?”

  “Yeah?” He ached at the childlike quiver of her chin, at the way her lips parted while she remained innocently unaware of the effect it had on him.

  Or was she? It could be that Angie knew her power and was working him over from the inside out. Not that he’d resist.

  “I don’t believe that anymore. I’m here again, and it feels exactly right.”

  Something inside him flashed hot and sweet. Should he tell her about Iverson restoring these bungalows, and that his own money would be behind it? Angie’s aura shone a strong, clear pink, a sign that nothing would dissuade her from what she wanted. It would be so easy to give her everything she asked for. Everything he had.

  “Glad to hear that,” he murmured. Then he grinned, thinking ahead to what he wanted. “What say we go for some Hot Karma burgers when you’ve finished looking around? And then take the dogs for their romp on the beach? It’s a perfect day, and I have this sudden yen to spend every moment of it with you.”

  “Yeah, right.” Her lips quirked. “You’ve had ulterior motives ever since you fished me out of the ocean, so don’t give me that ‘sudden yen’ thing. Come on, let’s go.” Angie grabbed his hand, dazzling him with her smile. “I’ve spent enough time in the past and I’m due for some hot karma. Karma that says my future’s so bright, I’ve gotta wear shades.” Ross grinned wickedly. He knew better than to argue with that.

  Seven

  THE exquisite aroma of grease and onions blowing from Hot Karma’s exhaust fan told Angie this burger would be the best she’d ever devoured. And once she was seated at a pub table on the sidewalk, with an unobstructed view of the ocean, the menu choices overwhelmed her. “Italian burger on a panini…”

  “To die for.” Never mind that Ross hadn’t glanced at his menu: he was gazing at her instead. “Open-faced with mari-nara and grilled onions. Mozzarella so thick and gooey—”

  “God, I’ve died and gone to heaven. What about the Greek pita burger?”

  “Great choice. Comes in a pita pocket with fresh greenery and kalamata olives. Lots of feta.”

  “Ooh.” She gazed farther down the laminated page. “And the Pittsburger?”

  “Hoagie bun, and the slaw is on the sandwich. Messy, but a fun departure from the usual fare. All the burgers here are hand-formed to fit their buns, by the way. Just like Mom used to make.”

  “Hmmm. Maybe the New Age plate is less fattening—”

  “Never came within sight of a cow,” he said with a grimace. “Some sort of organic veggie concoction. Which is fine, if you’re into that health-food stuff, I suppose.”

  “So what are you getting, Ross?”

  He grinned at the waitress who was approaching. “American Classic combo. Served on a soft white bun, with yellow cheese and grease gushing out the sides, a mound of salty fries, and a double chocolate malt. Not a single healthy thing about it.”

  “I’ll have that, but with a large Coke!” she crowed. “Why mess with American perfection? You can’t improve on original sin, right?”

  “Mustard and dills on both of those, please, Jeannie. No ketchup, no mayo.” He chuckled as he waited for their young waitress to leave. “Speaking of sin, I like the way you’re thinking, sweetheart.”

  “Am I? Your sweetheart?” Angie gazed into his face, feeling edgy and brave and a little bit nosy. “Falling for lines like that has brought me nothing but trouble—like Gregg and other guys too numerous to mention.”

  “Hmm.” He smoothed his mustache with a quick stroke of his thumb and forefinger, a gesture that made her even more aware of his firm, perfect lips. “If we’re unpacking old baggage here, I’ll confess to being an insatiable flirt. And to engaging in the chase for the sake of the game while I still can.”

  “Like you’ll ever run out of it.”

  “Out of what?”

  He looked sincerely curious rather than coy, so Angie wrapped her finger around one of his. “That innate ability to charm a woman out of anything you want. Is that what you’ve got going with Rita McQueen?”

  Her arrow struck a bull’s-eye. Ross blinked and then shifted in his chair. “Ours is a love/hate relationship. Goes waayyyy back and gets pretty…complicated. Rita loves to hate me, yet she won’t let go. I have a feeling I’ve already said too much.”

  Angie shrugged. “I know all about clingy types, remember?”

  “But you changed your pattern. You drove away from it.” His grip tightened around her finger. “Being the instigator of personal change is a positive step, Ange. If I were a wise man, I’d tell Rita where to get off—and I’d insist that she leave me alone. Not easy in a town this size, though,” he continued in a pensive voice. “Even if I didn’t meet her on the street, we’d both be attending city-council meetings or practicing for the band’s next gig. I’d have to leave Harmony Falls to avoid her completely, and she’s not worth giving up the life I love here.”

  Angie looked ready to quiz him about Rita, but then glanced away. Her toe tapped her chair rung to the canned music. “You’re in a band? What
sort?”

  “We play vintage jazz and ragtime, mostly.” His grin made her insides tighten. “I play trumpet, but Rita…well, on a good night she can belt ’em out like a torch singer from the twenties.”

  Angie nodded, envious. “And on a bad night?”

  Ross watched the ocean for several seconds. “On a bad night, which happens more often than not lately, Rita’s the whiniest, clingiest pain in the ass a man ever tried to pry himself away from. Got suicidal on me once, so I tread carefully.”

  She smiled sadly. “Which puts us back to that small-town thing. And the question of how many times we take someone back…how much we endure, believing it’ll make them more emotionally stable.”

  “Yup.” He clammed up as the waitress approached, and when Jeannie set a tall glass topped with whipped cream in front of him, he sucked down a third of the malt in one gulp. Their plates were piled high with fries and burgers so huge they hung out of the buns, dripping cheese. “Thanks, Jeannie. You’re the best.”

  “You got that right, Ross!”

  Angie inhaled euphorically, itching to stuff the burger into her mouth the way she’d done as a kid. The relationship between Ross and this server was nothing to get edgy about, she reminded herself. Harmony Falls was a tiny town, and if she stayed here, she’d have to deal with this living-in-a-fishbowl thing on a daily basis. Not to mention the way every woman in town had eyes for Ross Costello. “I say we call this thread of conversation to a halt while we scarf down our lunch. Thanks for bringing me here, Ross.”

  He snickered. “How convenient. Just when I wanted to talk about Gregg.”

  “He’ll always be lurking in my shadows, won’t he? This burger won’t wait!” She gripped her sandwich to take a huge, unladylike bite, as though she hadn’t eaten in days. When she opened her eyes, Ross was watching her. His gaze drifted to her lips, and then he dabbed her chin with his napkin.