Sara’s finally getting what she wants out of life, a husband, a new home and a family of her own. Okay, so she doesn’t love him, she’s very fond of him, at least most of the time. She’s not getting any younger and that biological clock is ticking away.
Everything’s going according to plans when a ghostly visit from her dying grandmother turns her life upside down. She’s leaving Sara the magic to make all her dreams come true. It’s too bad she dies before telling her granddaughter how it works.
Sara travels to a romantic, private island off the coast of New Guinea to settle her grandmother’s estate and dreams of the perfect man. He’s handsome, sexy and hopelessly in love with her. He’s also running out of time. Will she find the magic in her gift before it’s too late?
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The Magic in Her Gift
Copyright © 2011 Missy Martine
ISBN: 978-1-55487-838-3
Cover art by Martine Jardin
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.
Published by eXtasy Books
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Smashwords Edition
The Magic in Her Gift
By
Missy Martine
Dedication
I’d like to dedicate this book to my best friend and husband who just happen to be the same person. Without his support and encouragement, I would have never started writing.
Chapter 1
“Sara, what in the world are you wearing?”
Cringing at the sound of her mother’s voice, Sara rolled her eyes and glanced down at her jeans and T-shirt. “I’m sorry, Mother. I thought this was an informal lunch to talk about the wedding plans. I didn’t think it mattered what I wore.”
“You’re about to become Mrs. Bartle Everett III. Your days of informal dressing are over and you might as well start adjusting. Your future husband and his son are joining us for lunch. Don’t you want to make a good impression on them?”
“Bart and Michael are going to be here? Why didn’t you tell me they were coming?”
“Really, Sara, what did you expect? He doesn’t want you embarrassing him in front of his friends and colleagues. It’s only natural he’d want to oversee all the details of the wedding.”
Forty-four years old and divorced, Bart Everett was a wealthy corporate attorney with a thriving practice in downtown Atlanta. He needed a wife socially and professionally, and Sara’s prominent family made her an acceptable choice. She didn’t try to make herself believe it was a love match, she knew better. Sighing, Sara glanced at the luncheon buffet the caterer had set up and reached for one of the canapés.
“Don’t you dare eat that!”
Startled, she drew back her hand and glanced at her mother. “Why not? I’m hungry. I didn’t get a chance to eat breakfast this morning.”
“Because they’re not good for you. You have to start thinking about your weight, Sara. If you work at it, I think you could lose a couple of dress sizes before the wedding. I’m sure you don’t want to walk down the aisle in a tent dress. I’ll have the cook put together a salad for you after Bart gets here. He’ll be pleased to see you making the effort.”
“I’m sure he will be,” she muttered. Bart had never been shy about telling her that she needed to lose weight. At one hundred and sixty pounds, Sara considered herself chubby, not fat. Her five and a half foot frame was curvy and rounded, but not flabby. Add that to her brown eyes and long brown hair, and it didn’t equal a beautiful woman. Sometimes she wondered why he chose her from all the women he knew. She looked around at her mother’s palatial home and the answer became clear. But why am I marrying him? She snorted. Because you’re lonely and your mother wants you to. The sound of the doorbell pulled her thoughts back to the present.
“Bart, how good to see you.”
Sara watched as her mother raised her cheek for the obligatory kiss hello. He was nearly six feet tall, with blond hair and blue eyes and towered over her mother’s petite frame. Following closely on Bart’s heels was his fourteen-year-old son, Bartle Michael Everett IV. Michael was tall and thin, with a sour face to match his disposition. He’d made it very clear to Sara what he thought of her as a potential stepmother. Stifling a groan, she went to greet her future family.
“Good afternoon, darling.” Bart Everett eyed his fiancé up and down, a look of displeasure crossing his face and then bent to kiss her cheek. “You’re looking very informal today.”
“I’m sorry, Bart.” Sara crossed her arms over her stomach, unwilling to meet his gaze. “I ran errands for Mother this morning and didn’t have time to get home before lunch.” Damn, why am I apologizing? I haven’t done anything wrong.
“It’s all right, dear.” He patted her shoulder in a condescending manner. “As long as you don’t make a habit of it, there’s no harm.” He turned his attention to her mother. “Gwendolyn, I’m sure you remember my son, Michael.”
“Yes, dear boy. It’s a pleasure to see you again.”
Bart gripped his son’s shoulder and brought the boy forward. “Michael, be polite.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Weller. It’s nice of you to invite me here.”
Sara snickered. “Maybe you should start calling her Grandma. That’s what she’ll be in just a couple of months.”
“I, uh, I don’t,” Gwendolyn stammered. “I don’t think that’s necessary. After all, the boy already has grandparents.”
Sara sighed. “I’m sorry, Mother. I was only joking.”
Bart cleared his throat. “Well, ladies, I think it’s time we had some lunch and talked about the wedding.”
“Of course, please come in. I’ve had the buffet set up adjacent to the kitchen. I thought we could fill our plates and take them out to the terrace.”
Sara followed everyone to the dining room and watched as Bart and Michael loaded their plates with canapés, fruits, vegetables and cheese. Before she could begin to do the same, her mother offered her a small bowl with salad greens. The look on her face told Sara she’d better not refuse. Grinding her teeth, she took the salad and walked out onto the terrace. The approving nod she received from Bart made her want to dump the dry lettuce on his head and drive to the nearest fast food restaurant.
“Well, ladies?” Her future husband smiled. “Shall we talk about the ceremony?”
Two hours later, Sara was ready to pull her hair out. She wasn’t sure why they’d even wanted her at their meeting. They promptly shot down every idea she suggested in favor of whatever her mother or Bart wanted. She’d been imagining her dream wedding for years and none of her dreams were going to come true.
“Thank you for the lovely lunch, Gwendolyn. I think we’ve made good headway on the plans for the wedding. Now, I’ll leave it in your capable hands to guide Sara in choosing the perfect wedding gown.” He leaned over and kissed Sara on the ch
eek. “Get some rest, my dear. You’re looking a bit tired today. My mother will be calling you soon so she can discuss the rehearsal dinner. Do try and be agreeable. She’s already got everything planned and really only needs you to agree to everything.”
“Of course, Bart. I’ll do whatever she wants. Are you coming over tonight?”
Bart glanced at his son and then took Sara by the arm and led her into the house. “No, I think we should maintain some distance until the wedding. You’re going to be very busy with the preparations and you should be concentrating on your diet and getting into shape. That way when we’re finally together after the ceremony it’ll be like a treat, a reward for all your hard work.”
Sara’s mouth dropped open in shock. He wanted her to think of sex with him as a reward. “Bart, who do you—”
“Bart,” Gwendolyn interrupted, “I’ll start getting together all the information you asked for today and get everything back to you by the middle of next week. I would appreciate you getting me the guest list from your mother as soon as possible. You can tell her I’ll be calling to set up a meeting to go over the seating arrangements.”
“That’ll be fine, Gwendolyn. I’ll have her get that list to you in the next couple of days.” Bart turned and looked out the patio door. “Come along, Michael. I promised your mother I would have you home in time for dinner.”
As Sara watched, Bart and Michael left without saying another word to her. Fuming, she turned to her mother. “I have to leave, too, Mother. I’ve got to set up my lesson plans for the next month.”
“Oh, for goodness sakes, Sara. Wouldn’t now be a good time to end that foolishness? The wedding is only a couple of months away and you won’t be continuing at that ridiculous job after you’re married. If you quit now you would have the whole month to concentrate on the wedding preparations.”
“I have no intention of quitting my job after we’re married. Why would you think that?” Sara taught kindergarten and it was the only thing in her life, besides her painting, that she truly enjoyed.
“Your social responsibilities will take up a great deal of time once you become Bart’s wife. You’ll have to be available for all types of functions involving his career and family.”
“I really don’t have time to discuss this right now, Mother. I’ve things I need to get done.” She kissed her mother on the cheek. “Thanks for lunch and for all your hard work on the wedding. I’ll talk to you later.” Without waiting for her mother to respond, Sara headed toward the front door, not stopping until she sat behind the steering wheel of her car. With a wicked grin, she pulled out her cell phone and punched in the number five on her speed dial. With any luck, she could have a pizza delivered just about the time she arrived home.
Smiling, Sara closed her lesson plan book and poured herself another glass of red wine. Relaxing back into the sofa cushions, she rested her feet beside the empty pizza box on the low coffee table and closed her eyes. A feeling of utter peace settled over her.
“Sarafina.”
Sara’s eyes flew open and her feet hit the floor when she thought she heard someone say her name. Slowly her gaze traveled around the small room, not seeing anything out of the ordinary. She glanced at the half-empty bottle of wine and giggled. “Guess I better lay off the good stuff if I’m gonna start hearing things.” Coming to her feet, she picked up the bottle and pizza box and carried them into her small kitchen.
“Sarafina!”
The wine bottle hit the floor, the burgundy red liquid spreading across the white linoleum. The voice was louder now, the tone demanding and urgent. Only one person had ever called her Sarafina. Sara slowly turned toward the living room and then gripped the back of a kitchen chair as the blood quickly drained from her face. “Grandmother?”
As Sara watched, her grandmother’s form began to materialize in her living room. The ghostly apparition smiled at her and then beckoned her closer. Swallowing hard, she released the chair and moved closer to the transparent figure.
“Sarafina, my child, you must listen closely because I don’t have much time.”
“Grandmother, where are you? What are you?” She reached out her hand and then stopped, unable to believe her own eyes.
“I’m still on my island, child, but not for much longer. I’m dying, Sarafina, and I wanted to say goodbye.”
“No,” Sara cried. “I don’t want you to die.” Tears fell silently down her cheeks.
“Everyone dies, that’s part of life. It’s not a bad thing, child, but I needed to tell you some things before I go. Will you sit down and listen to me?”
Nodding, Sara crossed to the sofa and sat, hugging her arms across her stomach in an attempt to calm herself. “What do you need to tell me?”
Her grandmother’s figure seemed to glide as she moved closer to the sofa where Sara sat in awe. “I love you, Sarafina, so very much. You’ve always been a joy and a blessing to me and I want to leave you something very special.”
“I don’t want anything special. I just want you. You’re the only good thing in my life. I won’t have anyone who really loves me if you leave,” she sobbed.
“That’s why I’m leaving you my gift, child. I’m leaving you my magic so you’ll have the ability to create your own happiness. Search your heart, Sarafina. Once I’m gone you can make your innermost desires a reality.” Her figure began to fade.
“Wait,” Sara cried as she jumped to her feet, “I don’t understand. Don’t go, please.”
“Trust in your heart, Sarafina, and don’t be afraid to go after your dreams. Anything you can imagine is possible. The magic is in your gift. Remember, I love you…”
Tears streamed down Sara’s face as her grandmother’s silhouette slowly faded away, her voice becoming just an echo. “Grandmother,” she cried and then ran over to the phone. Before she could begin to dial, a fierce pain formed in her chest. Dropping the phone, she fell to her knees, her arms wrapped tightly around her abdomen, and struggled to catch her breath. “Oh, God, what’s happening to me?” she gasped. A burning sensation began in her stomach and slowly spread outward. Terrified, she felt the heat spread up her chest and out into her arms. Blindly, she pushed toward the phone, wanting to call for help and then collapsed onto the floor when her burning legs failed to support her. “Please, I don’t want to die,” she begged as the fire spread up her cheeks and into her scalp. Just when she thought she couldn’t take any more pain, blackness enveloped her.
Sara breathed a sigh of relief as the plane landed at Henderson International Airport. It had been a grueling thirty-four hours of travel, made even more arduous by her two traveling companions. She glanced toward the front of the plane and watched her mother and Bart trying to ignore one another. When they’d changed planes in Port Moresby, Air Niugini had put them on a Fokker One Hundred craft with only two-by-two seating. Sara had promptly announced she felt airsick and then hid her smile when neither her mother nor Bart had been willing to sit with her.
They were traveling to Caleya Island for a private memorial service and the reading of the will for Sara’s grandmother. Part of the Solomon Islands off the coast of New Guinea, Caleya and everything on it had belonged to Elizabeth Weller. It had been four weeks since she’d died, the same night her spirit visited Sara. Not wanting to face their doubts, Sara had kept silent about the events of that evening. She’d awakened the next day, still on the floor where she’d fallen, but with an inner calm she’d never felt before.
“Are you coming?” Bart snapped.
Sara looked up into his accusatory eyes and realized that everyone was getting ready to leave the plane. Quickly she grabbed her purse and stood. “Of course, I’m right behind you.” For a moment longer, he glared, his lips pressed into a thin, angry line and then turned without another word. Sighing, Sara hurried to catch up.
Sara grabbed her one bag off the conveyor and then stepped back while her mother pointed out which bags Bart was to claim. She couldn’t imagine what she’d packed that re
quired four separate bags.
“Excuse me, Miss Danner?”
A hand on her shoulder preceded the man’s voice. Sara turned and gazed into moss-green, twinkling eyes that conveyed warmth, trust and a sense of home. He appeared to be in his late fifties with gray hair, a muscular frame and tanned, weathered skin. “Yes, I’m Sara Danner.”
He held out his hand. “Elias Jacobs, Miss. I’m the captain of the Magic Dreams.”
“What the hell is the Magic Dreams?” Bart grabbed Sara’s hand and yanked her away.
Sara pulled her arm from his grip angrily. “It’s a charter boat. He’s a friend of Grandmother’s. Didn’t you read the wire from her attorney? Elias is here to pick us up and take us to the island.”
“You’re absolutely correct, Miss. Is this all your luggage?”
“Yes, it’s everything.” Bart picked up two of the bags and nodded toward the rest. “Could you give me a hand with these? How long will it take to get there?”
“Certainly, sir.” Elias picked up the remaining bags and smiled. “It’ll take about an hour to drive to the coast and then another hour, give or take, to cruise to Caleya Island. My car’s right outside. Shall we get moving?” Without waiting for a response, Elias headed for the exit.
“Why the hell we had to come all the way here just to hear her will is beyond me. Eccentricity should be illegal. Her attorney must not be much if he couldn’t talk her out of these ridiculous conditions.” Bart continued to grumble as they followed the boat captain out of the airport.
“You didn’t have to come,” Sara reminded him.
“Right, I would have looked like an uncaring ass if I’d stayed home and let you and your mother make this trip alone.”
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