She stopped in the hallway and turned to face him. Something in his tone told her trouble was coming. "What is it, Dad?"
He drew a deep breath and spread his hands. "I just want you to know I didn't mean any harm when I told you what Martin here said to me the other night."
"Really? You mean that little prank you sprang about not telling me all he said, hmm?" She stood with her hands on her hips, and the sudden image of her mom in a similar pose on similar occasions flickered through her head. She could understand now how her mom sometimes felt about her husband "Those few little words that almost made us break up?"
"I didn't want that to happen, Claudie!"
She glared at him. "Well you went the right fucking way about doing it!"
"Hey, watch the potty mouth, girl!"
"And there you have it in a nutshell, Dad." She jabbed a finger at him. "You just can't believe I'm grown up, can you? Maybe you don't want to believe I'm old enough to make my own decisions. How dare you interfere with my life? Can't I be trusted to find a good man without you needing to butt in?"
He glared at her, his mouth working. Then suddenly he seemed to deflate. "Claudia, someday you'll be a parent," he said quietly. "I'm guessing it'll be with your man here."
She bit back a sharp retort at his casual reference to Marty, and waited to hear what he had to say.
"The thing is, girl, it's never easy being a parent. Your mom and I have watched you grow, done our best to protect you from the troubles in this world." He laid a hand to his chest. "Like it or not, you'll always be our child, just like Caroline and Tom."
She caught a motion out the corner of her eye and saw Caroline had emerged from her bedroom, attracted by and obviously troubled by the shouting. Their dad saw her too, and smiled sadly. "It was always hard to let you go, even just to a school fair, or a trip out with your friends, or a first date. Especially a first date," he said, his face troubled. "Kids these days! I never saw the like."
"Yeah, but, Dad, you have to let go sometimes, or you'll just smother us," she said in a quieter voice. "Why did you think I left here to work in New York?"
"I guessed that was your reason. Okay, I'll grant you I was being overprotective." He gestured to Martin, who stood by. "I got concerned when Martin talked about that European business. It made me think he was just using you as a means to an end. At the time I thought Marty was just making all the right noises to cover his real aim." He nodded to him. "I can see I was mistaken, and I apologize, sir."
"Apology accepted, Andrew," Marty replied.
"See, no father wants to see his kids used, Claudia," he said, turning back to her. "I love you; the last thing I want to see is you getting hurt. I just thought I was doing the right thing."
She looked up at the ceiling, her thoughts in a whirl. "My freedom's something you'll have to accept, Dad," she said, lowering her gaze and looking at him. "That includes the right to make my own mistakes."
"Yeah." His dour features broke into a half-smile. "That don't mean I have to like 'em!"
"Maybe not," she said, feeling her spirits lightening. "At least your kids know where to go to be told 'I told you so!'"
"That's almost poetic, Claudie—and true. You'll always have a home here."
The mental image of Tom rose in her mind and she almost asked if he had a home too. A gentle pressure made itself felt on her arm, and she found Marty had laid his hand there and was shaking his head almost imperceptibly. The words died in her throat, unspoken.
"I'm glad we cleared the air, Andrew," he said, still watching her. "Right now, my stomach thinks my mouth's on strike, so we'd better go and find that steak."
"We'd better do that," she murmured. "See you two later."
Her father and Caroline waved them off from the porch, and she waited until Marty had guided the Chevy onto the road before asking the question. "How did you know what I was going to say?" she asked.
"About Tom?"
"Yeah! You knew I was about to say something stupid."
"Not stupid, just not appropriate, tonight. I know you, love," he said, and turned his brilliant smile on her.
She took his arm and draped it around her shoulder and nestled close. "Maybe you do," she said, and laughed.
Chapter Fourteen
Caroline hummed along to the radio as she guided the Buick down I-65. Columbus had slid by a few minutes before; now the highway signs were beginning to indicate the distance to Seymour, Jackson County.
More snow had fallen overnight, but the highway had been cleared and gritted. The sun was shining, the white-capped hills were beginning to show all around her, and her mood was brighter than she'd felt for days. Her mind turned to John Burwell, and she wondered if the new mood she felt had anything to do with her attraction to him—and the knowledge the feeling was mutual.
He was kind, and a good listener; that went with the territory for a psychiatrist, but with John it had never seemed forced or something learned of necessity. He was good looking, although he always seemed a mite too thin for his height. Maybe he'd respond to good cooking? She snorted with laughter; here she was, thinking of fattening him up when they hadn't even dated! "Jumping the gun, girl!" she told herself.
And then there was the physical side of the attraction she felt for him. Her heart always did beat a little harder when she was around him; butterflies looped the loop in her stomach as she thought of kissing him for the first time. And then—
No, not that. She rubbed the silver ring, silently invoking it as a talisman. He might want to sleep with her, but she wouldn't allow it. Thoughts of John standing naked in front of her presented themselves, and her cyber experience provided a good image of what he might look like. She found she couldn't quite view it all with detachment. Her blood began to sing and she felt her pussy twitch.
"Enough!" she told herself sternly, pressed the auto-tuner and turned the radio volume up higher. The noise distracted her, but the memory of Claudia saying “there are ways and means” flittered through her mind. What did she mean by that?
The radio found a Southern Rock station, Lynyrd Skynyrd began singing Sweet Home Alabama, and she forgot the question for the time being.
* * * *
John slept late that morning. When he woke feeling groggy, the winter sunlight was already piercing the blinds over his balcony door. He rubbed his face and kept his eyes shut, until the concept of being awake had penetrated far enough into his brain. When the memories of the previous day arrived in glorious Technicolor, he wished he hadn't bothered to wake up.
The previous afternoon the press office had required him to send an e-mail with as many details of the incidents as he could gather, which had taken time. Then the press officer had arrived to be briefed in person. That had taken two hours plus another hour liaising with police before a statement had been issued. Only then had he been able to make his way through the assembled TV and newspaper reporters waiting outside the clinic and head for home. He'd avoided being tailed—he hoped. It was too dark to see if any cars had followed him. Only an hour after getting home he'd had to take his landline off the hook; somehow two TV reporters had gotten hold of his number and had called persistently, even after he'd referred them to the press office.
A more pleasant memory made its way through the crush, a memory of Caroline's voice accepting his offer of a date. Maybe, just maybe the storm would blow over quickly, allowing them to meet and have a good time without press intrusion.
His cell phone began to ring, and he raised his head and looked at it with bleary eyes. It stood on the recharging stand, the screen lit up quite prettily, emitting far too cheerful a tune for his mood. As he took hold of it he checked the caller's number, and a smile broke out on his face. "Hello, Caroline!"
"Hi, John, how're you?"
"I'm okay." He rubbed his beard and smacked his lips. "I just woke up."
"Oh, I hope I didn't wake you?"
She sounded real anxious, and he chuckled. "No, I'm just lazing today. How are you? Is th
at traffic I can hear?"
"I'm just fine, and yeah, I'm on the road. I'm heading down to my uncle's place for a couple days, so I thought I'd call to let you know I'll be okay for our date from Monday onwards."
"You haven't changed your mind?" he said, his mind beginning to work at something approaching normal speed.
She laughed. "Why should I? I like you, John," she added, sounding shy.
"I like you, Caroline. Listen, is your uncle's first name Winfield?"
"Yeah, do you know him?"
His heart lurched. "Yeah, we're in the same, ah, club."
"Oh!" There was a long pause and he began to worry, thinking she would hang up, but then she spoke again. "I know the one you mean."
"You don't mind?"
"Why should I? I'll tell him you said hello, shall I?"
Relief washed over him. "Sure, thanks!"
"Listen, I'm coming up to my turn-off. I'll catch you later, okay? Bye!"
"Bye!"
He closed the connection and laid back, the cell phone in his clasp. Winfield Mackenzie! What would the old guy think of him dating his niece?
* * * *
"Looks like trouble," Claudia said, coming into the kitchen and dropping the newspaper on the table in front of Martin.
He looked at the headline splashed above a photo of John Burwell and two others taken at the entrance to the clinic. "Double suicide at old hospital," he read aloud, and grunted when he saw the name under the byline. "Jay Walsh, the reporter I met on the grounds last Monday. Poor John looks haggard."
"He does, all right," she said, putting the groceries away. "I feel for the guy, having all this dropped in his lap just weeks before the place closes. Mom phoned while I was in the store; she said Walsh called round real early today looking to speak to Caroline. Dad sent him packing, but he hung around a couple hours before driving off. Luckily Caroline had already left for our uncle's place."
"She's well out of it," he said around a mouthful of toast. "There's talk here of a full investigation into the clinic's operating methods."
"I doubt they'll find anything," she said, heaping a stack of pancakes on her plate and sitting opposite him.
"Oh, bugger! It says here 'rumors of paranormal activity in and around the Daniels LaRoche Center have been rife for years. Noted British paranormal expert Martin Grey has visited the clinic on several occasions in the past week. This paper would like to know what his involvement is, and if the authorities attach any official credence to the existence of ghosts.'"
"Ay yay yay!" As she drizzled maple syrup over the pile, she looked at him. "Not good. Will all this attention affect our investigation?"
"I bloody well hope not."
She stuck her fork in the pancakes and grinned at him. "I do like that part about the 'noted British paranormal expert Martin Grey.' You're getting noticed over here!"
"Is that a good thing?"
"If you want to make a career in the US, yeah, it's a good thing."
"I'll go with the flow, then." He reached across and took a forkful of pancake from her plate, and she slapped at his hand and grinned. "I dropped a hint with the chap at the archives, saying I'd like access to the old building. John had his phone switched off last night, so I left a text message saying the same thing. All we can do now is wait."
"A free day! Cool!"
"Ah!" He closed his eyes and pressed his fingertips to his temples. "I'm getting an image in my mind; an image of a series of stores somewhere in the Indy area, full of Christmas presents just waiting to be bought!"
She laughed and came around the table to sit on his lap and then kissed him. "Why, sir, you just read my mind!" She nibbled his ear. "And afterwards, we're going down to the firing range where you can handle my gun. Suits?"
"Suits me!"
* * * *
John smoothed the shower gel over his hand and mixed it with water. Mentally apologizing to Caroline for deflowering her in substitutio, he held his fingers loosely against the end of his cock and imagined entering her sweet body for the first time.
He thrust his hips forward gently, letting his fingers open slowly whilst keeping them tight, just as he imagined a virgin pussy would open for him. In his mind's eye Caroline's lips were parted, just the tip of her tongue showing as she ran it over her lips. Her long titian hair was spread out in a fan around her sweet head, and her beautiful face was flushed with desire for him. Only imagination could bring forth the feel of her arms clutching him as her maidenhead parted; that sharp gasp of mingled pain and pleasure as he entered her fully.
He clasped his cock, and began to move his hips slowly back and forth, clasping harder on the thrust, lighter on the withdrawal. The soap came close to the feel and slipperiness of vaginal juice; the warmth of the water flowing around his hand was near that of a hot pussy. Washing forgotten, he leaned back against the shower tiles, gasping at the cold touch of ceramic against his bare skin. He continued to pump his hips slowly back and forth as he ran his free hand over his chest and stomach, imagining Caroline lying against him, her legs up around his hips, her ankles locked behind his butt.
Only imagination could provide the feel of her lips on his, the touch of her breasts against his chest as they swayed languorously in time to his thrusts; her sighs rising to sharp gasps, short fingernails raking his back as her passion rose. He needed relief and he began to thrust his hips quicker, just holding his cock firmly now.
"Oh, Caroline!" he muttered, thrusting and thrusting. "Oh, God, Caroline!"
The feeling of pressure mounted in his loins, and his blood pounded in his ears. In his mind Caroline was looking at him, her lips wide, gasping, and crying for him to spend inside her.
And he did. With a long groan of release he came, thick ropes of cum jetting out to splash over the shower door.
But in his mind Caroline was screaming with her own release as his cum filled her.
* * * *
At that moment Caroline was driving up the road to her uncle's house on the hill. The man himself was busily shoveling snow away from the front stoop, and he looked up and waved as she approached.
A tall, rangy figure, Winfield Scot Hancock Mackenzie looked the archetype of a frontiersman in his worn denims, buff hunting jacket and heavy boots. The peaked hunting hat he wore looked sufficiently like the old raccoon-skin cap for her to guess his choice of it had been deliberate. He resembled her father closely enough to make some people mistake them for twins, although her uncle was the elder by three years. He never let her dad forget it, either.
She got out of the car and walked over the cleared ground to him, and he stood with a broad smile on his face. "Hey, baby! Good to see you. Did you have a good trip down?"
"Hi, Uncle!" She craned up and kissed his cheek, feeling the rasp of stubble against her lips. "Yeah, the roads are clear. I made good time."
He hefted the shovel over his shoulder and took her by the arm. "Let's get inside; I've got the coffee brewing."
The tall house was rustic in the extreme on the outside, with wonderful views out over the surrounding hills and vales of southern Indiana. Inside was a different story. Uncle Winfield had been the owner of a very successful construction company before he retired, and the money had gone into the house with an eye for detail and comfort. Trust a builder to know who to go to for the best quality work.
She shucked her coat and hung it on the peg in the hall before kicking off her driving shoes and walking into the sitting room. A wide-screen plasma TV stood in one corner, with a state of the art entertainment system beneath. That much was new, she thought. All the furniture was top quality, and stood on a deep pile carpet that felt plush enough to sink into up to her ankles. Some things always remained the same, she thought, looking at the deer's head motif and linked gold chains of the Clan Mackenzie crest above the fieldstone hearth. As if to emphasize his position as the eldest of their particular branch, a plaid drape in the Mackenzie green hung beneath it.
She read the motto on the
scroll under the crest. "Luceo—non uro," she whispered to herself, and thought whimsically of how others always seemed to perceive her. "'I shine but do not burn.' That's got me pegged all right!"
Her uncle returned with steaming mugs of coffee that gave off a delicious aroma. "You still take yours white with sugar?" he asked, handing her a mug.
"Oh, yes." She smiled. "Thanks."
"Don't ever know how you can drink it like that," he said with a grin, flopping back in a recliner chair without spilling a drop from his own mug.
"Easy; I like it that way."
She sat down, and he sipped his drink and eyed her over the rim. Smacking his lips, he jerked his chin at her. "So how's life treating you all?"
"We're doing good. Mom's still teaching, Dad's still preaching, and Claudie's got an English boyfriend."
"Whoa!" He laughed. "Hold the front page! When did this all happen?"
"It was last month when she was still in New York. His name's Martin Grey. They met when he got involved in a property she was having trouble with. She quit her job and moved back here with him."
"It must be serious!" He sipped coffee and nodded. "He must be something if she did that."
"Martin's nice, I like him."
"Martin Grey, huh?" He rubbed his chin. "Seems to me I've heard that name before recently, but I can't place it. Claudie mentioned meeting some guy the last time she e-mailed me, but she didn't give his name." He sucked his teeth. "Well, well!"
"Yeah, it came as a surprise to us too."
"What does your father think of him?" he asked, with a knowing expression.
"He's…okay now, I guess," she said, waggling her hand. "There was a dust-up between him and Claudie when he tried to interfere, but I think it's all settled."
He raised his eyes briefly to the heavens. "Why am I not surprised? I know my kid brother," he said. "Do you think Claudie made the right move, coming back here?"
"I think so." She cradled the mug in her hands. "I missed having her around. She and Martin are looking for a place together, so he can come here to live."
"Whoa!" He stared at her. "Are they talking of marriage already?"
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