Stacey Joy Netzel Boxed Set

by Stacey Joy Netzel

  Andrew took a figurative deep breath and moved away from the building. That was a first for him. Like Melanie being able to see and hear him. He loved that new development. This strange pull to Drew Nelson, that was another matter he was still working on.

  For the most part, he was okay with his return. The Gazette had needed a man like him to keep it from fading into obscurity like many things were wont to do in these modern times. Circulation was up, and once more people were reading the newspaper in Lindeman’s Crossing instead of just those electronic gadgets that had popped up over the past decade.

  The success of his legacy pleased him. The brief flashes of memories that had begun to plague his periods of rest did not. They drained his energy and alarmed the hell out of him.

  Because they were not his memories.

  Chapter Three

  A sharp pain tore into her back seconds before she hit the water. Icy cold engulfed her body, robbing her of her breath as she fought for the surface. The river’s current tried to drag her back under, but she had to find the girl.

  There!

  The small red head bobbed just a few feet away. A desperate grab won her a handful of material from the girl’s skirt. With every last bit of strength she had, she fought the current and pushed the small body toward the outstretched hands on the bank.

  Safe. Thank God.

  Now save me.

  But no help was offered. She went under, struggled back up. They stared at her from the bank of the river.

  So cold. The water and their eyes.

  Despair clutched at her insides, freezing the blood in her veins. Her body was numb except for the knife-like pain in her back and chest. She tried to breathe but the frigid water closed over her head, filling her mouth, sending razor-sharp ice slivers into her burning lungs—

  Melanie shot up in bed, drenched in sweat, gasping for air. Once she realized she wasn’t actually drowning, she collapsed back against the pillows. What was happening to her? This dream had been even more real than the night before.

  As real as Andrew Lindeman’s ghost.

  She shivered and pressed her shaky palm over her frantic heartbeat. She knew without a doubt she’d just relived his last moments. He’d died cold and alone. Tears pricked her eyes. No one should die that way. Why hadn’t anyone helped him? They’d all judged without giving him a chance to defend himself and tell them the truth.

  She stilled, breath caught in her throat. When had she decided he was innocent?

  The answer flashed with utter clarity. When she’d pushed little Vanessa to safety. She’d felt the pure goodness in Andrew’s relief. In his heart.

  It was the strangest thing she’d ever thought in her life, crazier even than admitting she’d seen him yesterday, but her belief in him remained true. It solidified even more when she considered the man behind the editorials she’d read last night, printed on the protected yellowed pages of the Lindy Gazette.

  She’d never say it out loud, but she suspected she may have fallen a little in love. Which was the craziest thing of all, except it went with everything else in her life right now. It also put a sorrowful ache in her heart. Because Andrew Lindeman was a man she wished she could’ve gotten to know well beyond his written words.

  Wait a second. Wished? Didn’t she have that chance now?

  She flung the covers back and rushed through her shower and a breakfast of tea and toast. After changing three times before settling on a slim-fitting pair of jean Capri’s and a dark green v-neck T-shirt that deepened the green of her eyes, she slipped on a pair of sandals and hurried along the path by the river.

  It’d started to sprinkle. Gray clouds had moved in to block out the morning sun, and there was a chill in the air she hadn’t expected this summer morning. Belatedly she remembered the weather man’s warning last night of a seventy percent chance of storms in the morning. But after that dream, you couldn’t pay her to turn back.

  Excitement fluttered in her stomach as she passed through the cemetery gates and approached the massive red oak tree.

  “Andrew?”

  No response. She spun around in a circle, rubbing her arms, searching for anything out of the ordinary. The air remained still. The muted ping of raindrops striking the leaves above her was the only noise to reach her ears.

  She touched the tombstone. Cool. Did that mean anything? She knelt and held her palm over his name, but nothing happened.

  Feelings of foolishness began to replace her initial disappointment. She pulled her hand away with an irritated sigh and rose to her feet. An earthy, musky scent teased her senses, making her pause. The air shifted and suddenly Andrew materialized to the left of the granite tombstone.

  “Good morning,” he said with a slight nod of his head.

  She took a deep breath and managed a nervous smile. “Hi.”

  “I was not sure of your return.”

  “Yes, well, I wasn’t entirely sure I wasn’t going crazy yesterday.”

  “And today you have determined you are not?”

  “I haven’t determined anything of the sort, but...” She trailed off, not sure what reason to give as to why she’d come back today. After another breath, she plunged in. “I went to the museum yesterday. I saw your picture.”

  His form shifted and a smile graced his lips. “Ah, I understand. You now have physical evidence to back up your...hallucination. Is that not what you called me?”

  “Give me a break, I’ve never experienced something like this before,” she defended.

  “Neither have I.” He paused, then his smile widened. “May I have the pleasure of your name, Miss...?”

  “Sparks. Melanie Sparks.” She extended her hand to him.

  His gaze flicked down, then back up as his dark brows lifted sardonically while his hand remained at his side. Instead, he executed a brief bow. “Pleased to meet you, Miss Sparks.”

  Of course he couldn’t shake her hand. Melanie lowered her arm as heat flooded her cheeks. The thought of returning a curtsey almost made her laugh, but she managed to keep it in and reply, “Call me Melanie, please.”

  His head dipped slightly in acknowledgement. Their gazes held for a long moment. His eyes...she could become lost in them and feel as if she’d never left home. A thousand questions begged to be voiced, yet she had no idea what to say.

  Finally, she asked, “Can you leave? The cemetery, I mean?”

  He nodded. “I am able to move freely within the public areas of town.”

  Thank goodness! She couldn’t just stand here staring at him. Well, she could, but…

  “Would you mind if we walked?”

  “As you wish.” He extended his arm in a polite gesture for her to proceed first.

  She gave him a quizzical look as she passed. “You speak so formally…not at all what I’d expect from a gold mining town in the 1850s.”

  His brows rose again as he fell into step beside her. “We weren’t all uneducated mountain men, Melanie.”

  His low voice caressed her name and she had to focus on the conversation instead of asking him to repeat it. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it that way. It’s just that even in history books there are distinct differences in speech from one area of the country to the other. Your accent sounds like someone raised in high society back East.”

  “Is this a bad thing?”

  “No, of course not. It just makes me wonder where you’re from.”

  “I hail from Boston.”

  “Boston?” She cast him a sideways glance and wanted to keep staring. “So how’d you end up out here?”

  “While visiting friends in Missouri in the spring of 1858, I took part in a lively game of cards where I met a man named Captain Doke. After I relieved him of a large sum of money, he invited me to join his party on their trip west in search of gold in the Rocky Mountains. I suspect the invitation was more for a chance to win back his losses and the funding I could contribute to his expedition than anything else, but I was bored with the endless parties
and frivolity of society, so I accepted.”

  She tried to picture him all dressed up in formal attire like men in historical pictures from the mid-1800’s. Thousand bucks said he’d have worn the clothes like a real man, not some over-dressed dandy.

  “I started a journal as we crossed the endless plains,” Andrew told her as they followed the winding path along the river. “Not only did I discover I had a flair for the written word, but I loved creating stories and reporting what was going on within our wagon train to share around the campfire. Once we reached River City—as it was called back then—and I recouped my initial investment with Captain Doke by acquiring a modest sum of gold from the riverbeds, I decided to settle here in the mountains and start my own newspaper.”

  “The Lindy Gazette.”

  “Yes.”

  “History says you struck it rich, but then lost it all.”

  “Much was exaggerated during those times. Outright lies were spoken to fit specific agendas and from there, most people assumed what suited them to justify their own actions.”

  Was he talking about Jacob Van Buren or the townspeople? Much as she wanted to ask the question out loud, she hesitated continuing with such a dark subject and ruining the comfortable companionship warming her like a cloak.

  They continued along the path, the silence broken only by the rush of water over the rocks in the riverbed and the now steady drip of raindrops through the leaves overhead. Her hair and clothes grew damp, but she barely noticed as she snuck glances at Andrew from the corner of her eye. She admired the way his still-dry black shirt fit his wide shoulders and chest, the cuffs rolled several times to reveal tanned forearms. Black suspenders held up his black pants—honest to God trousers—though the way the soft looking fabric molded his muscled thighs, she saw no need for the support.

  “Is there something wrong with my attire?”

  She jerked her gaze back to his face, embarrassed he’d caught her staring. “No. I…ah…I was just…”

  He was a ghost, for heaven’s sake. What did it really matter if she told him what she thought?

  “You look good in black.”

  “As good as anyone who is dead can look in the color?” he asked dryly.

  Melanie laughed. “Exactly.”

  He smiled in return, but it faded fast and his expression darkened. “Lorena used to say I looked dangerous when I wore black.”

  He did. But more in a God-I-wish-this-man-were-real-so-I-could—

  Melanie refocused her attention straight ahead, shaken by the incredible attraction she felt for a man she couldn’t even touch. Up ahead, she saw the restored covered walking bridge that connected the park to the town square and was surprised they’d already come this far.

  A tingle started in her fingertips. She lifted her hands with a frown.

  “They planned even that little detail.”

  Andrew’s quiet words distracted her.

  “They wanted me to appear the villain.”

  “Who?” she asked. “Planned what?”

  “The robbery. I was getting ready to print the latest edition of the Lindy before Lorena and I married. She did not care for the color, but I always wore black when setting type because of the ink. How very convenient I made it for all of them.”

  Melanie’s tingle became a full-body tremble. They’d crossed the bridge and now stood on the opposite bank. Andrew stared at the river as the water tumbled and frothed amidst the rocks. She stepped closer as realization dawned.

  “This is where it happened, isn’t it? Where you were shot and the little girl fell into the water.” Vanessa.

  He nodded, his jaw clenched tight, his eyes narrowed. “I couldn’t let her die because of their greed.”

  Forgetting for a moment, Melanie stretched her hand to touch him, to lend whatever consolation possible. “The water was so cold—it’s amazing how strong you were.”

  Her hand passed through his forearm. Something like an electric shock shot up her arm at the same time he flinched. She pulled back with a startled gasp.

  Andrew frowned at her. “How do you know that? About the water?”

  Melanie noticed he rubbed his arm, then his intense scrutiny locked her gaze with his. Before she could tell him she’d dreamt his ordeal, a deafening clap of thunder erupted overhead. She leaned closer to explain how she’d felt his desperation to save the little girl, how she’d fought the excruciating pain in her dream just like he had so long ago, but the sky overhead opened wide. Lightning flashed and thunder rumbled as the clouds let loose a deluge she could barely see through.

  Her clothes were soaked in an instant.

  She squinted at Andrew, then stared in wide-eyed wonder at the sight of his hair dripping water into his eyes, his wet shirt plastered to his chest.

  He lifted his hands, palms up to the sky as he threw his head back. Rain beat upon his upturned face and ran in rivulets down his corded neck. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from the sight of him as he turned in a slow circle. When he faced her again, spiked lashes framed gray eyes full of wonder. A wide smile spread across his face.

  Her heart leapt at the light shining in his eyes. She would’ve given anything to throw her arms around him and share in his joy.

  “Miss Sparks! Melanie!”

  Melanie spun around to see John jogging toward her through the downpour with a red umbrella. When she glanced back to Andrew, he disappeared; faded away like early morning fog with the sunrise. She stared at the empty space, feeling bereft. Without him, the chill of the rain settled into her bones.

  John held the umbrella over her head and pulled her shivering form toward the town square. “Are you okay? You shouldn’t be out in this storm.”

  “I’m fine,” she assured him, pushing her dripping hair back from her face. “But look at you, you’ve gone and gotten yourself all wet.”

  Under the awning of a coffee shop, he shook the excess moisture from his umbrella before closing it with a click. “A little water won’t hurt me, but you’re soaked to the skin. A couple more minutes and you’d have been swimming out there. What were you doing?”

  Falling for a ghost.

  Boy, did she know how to pick ‘em. She fought a smile and shrugged. “Just out for a walk.”

  “Well, seeing as you can’t really go back out in this, let me buy you a coffee. Or one of those fancy latte drinks you young people seem to enjoy so much.”

  After a final glance toward where she’d last seen Andrew, Melanie hesitated when John opened the door to the shop. “That’s not necessary. I should probably get home.”

  “Nonsense. The storm will pass shortly. Please don’t deny me the chance to talk about history with a fellow devotee. I have many stories to tell.”

  Melanie grinned at his shameless tactic and stepped inside. “You don’t play fair.”

  “At my age, I can’t afford to.”

  She laughed and requested a mocha cappuccino. While he went to the counter to put their order in, she sat at a corner table, staring out at the storm and wondering what had happened to Andrew. The rain seemed to surprise him as much as it had her. It had been raining the entire time they’d walked together, yet he hadn’t been wet before the deluge. Something told her it wasn’t the sudden downpour that made the difference.

  “Here you go.”

  John set a tall, oversized mug in front of her and then handed over a large, fluffy blue bath towel. She accepted it with a puzzled smile.

  “My daughter and her husband own the shop,” he explained, taking his seat opposite. “They live in the back.”

  “Well, thank you—and them.”

  She dried off the best she could, enjoying the warmth of the shop while John took a sip from his steaming mug.

  He glanced outside, then said, “What you said the other day got me to thinking.”

  “About...?”

  “Jacob Van Bueren. You thought he might have been in on the plan.”

  Because of Andrew’s ‘he was in on it’
statement. She lifted her shoulders and eyebrows. “Anything’s possible, right?”

  “The only thing I can’t figure is why would the bank’s owner rob himself?”

  “It happened at the height of the gold rush. Maybe the lure of all that gold was too much for Van Buren to resist,” she speculated as she toweled her still dripping hair. “I mean, why wait for the interest to compound when a fortune is sitting right there in front of you.”

  John pursed his lips. “So you think they were all in on it?”

  “Historically, it wasn’t uncommon for former outlaws to become small town sheriffs, so that’s not such a stretch.”

  “He never did return,” John agreed.

  “Now Lorena, I’m not too sure about her. Maybe she was a pawn for her father and the sheriff.” Or maybe she’d betrayed Andrew like everyone else. He hadn’t excluded her from his bitterness.

  “And Andrew, being newer to the town, was the perfect fall guy,” John finished.

  “Exactly.” Melanie wrapped her hands round the warm mug of cappuccino and peered through the storm toward the river. “Dark and dangerous looking, and successful enough that I bet a lot of people envied him. They would’ve had no problem believing the worst without even questioning what really happened. Especially when Jacob Van Bueren told his story.”

  “Valid points, all of them.” John grinned. “Seeing as how I enjoy research almost as much as I love history, I do believe I’ll have to look into this further. See if I can discover what Van Buren did when he left back in 1860. I’d love to figure out the truth once and for all.”

  As would she. Only she’d go directly to the source.

  ****

  Everything was changing. Had been for the past couple months, he finally acknowledged as he stood where it had all began. On the bridge, in the rain, soaking wet.

  As it had been on that fateful day when he’d been shot, the water was cold, saturating his shirt, running down his neck, chasing a chill down his spine before drenching his trousers. Not that he cared, because damn, amazing didn’t even begin to describe the feeling as he had stood there with the most beautiful woman he’d ever known.