by Jule McBride
Her gaze narrowed, and she did a double take. Something was different about Jack’s Diner. “New curtains,” she decided. From a distance, it looked as if the fabric was printed with hearts. That was very strange, since Jack’s tastes ran to keg parties, hunting up in the mountains with his buddies and decorating with American flags.
His sister, she suddenly thought, solving the mystery. She was a seamstress. Probably, she’d taken it upon herself to spruce the place up. Which would make the town eatery even more photogenic for her piece, Ariel realized.
She wished she’d been able to bring her own cameraman from Pittsburgh. Instead, Jack Hayes and Ryan had arranged for a stringer to come down to Bliss from nearby Charleston. This way, she could spend the week vacationing and refining the text of the spot by considering possible camera shots and interviews. She’d have the man shoot a day’s worth of tape, and when she returned to Pittsburgh, she’d edit it herself.
No matter what happened—whether locals teased her or Studs referenced all that past business—she’d hold her head high. No one in town was going to see so much as a hair out of place. Her story might get picked up nationally, too. That was her biggest hope. She’d taken great care to create just the sort of piece—a small-town festival—with which the networks always ended their evening newscasts.
“What the—” She didn’t finish, but wrenched her head around. “What’s Great-gran doing in town?” She never left the house. Ariel slowed, intending to stop and offer her great grandmother a lift, but she was standing in front of the hardware store, having a heated debate with Eli Saltwell; no one ever talked to Eli, especially not Great-gran. She’d been feuding with him ever since Ariel could remember. As far as Great-gran was concerned, Eli was responsible for everything from rising taxes to bad weather. The source of the conflict had remained a mystery. Her great-gran spit and crossed the street whenever she saw Eli, and on the rare occasions she’d gone to town, she’d always refused to enter any local store when Eli had been inside.
She was still considering whether to pull over when Joanie Summers—now Underwood—exited the hardware store, raised a hand and waved. Stunned, Ariel turned toward the windshield again, half expecting to see someone else. Surely, Joanie wasn’t waving at her, not when Ariel and Joanie’s husband, Studs, used to be the talk of Bliss! But no, Joanie really was waving at her, and Great-gran really was deeply immersed in a conversation with Eli. Realizing someone had stepped in front of her car, Ariel gasped once more, then simultaneously pressed the horn and depressed the brakes.
A hand came down hard on the hood. And Ariel, her heart now beating out of control, clamped a hand to her chest. It was Chicken Giblets.
Elsinore Gibbet swiftly circled the car, at least as quickly as an octogenarian in a floral-print housedress and blue-rinsed hair could, so Ariel began powering down the passenger-side window, but it was too late. Already, Giblets had wrenched open the door, lunged inside and slammed the door shut, while saying ominously, “I’m so glad you’re here, Ariel.”
Realizing Jack was behind her in the diner’s truck, Ariel had no choice but to depress the gas pedal again. As she drove, she fought the feeling that her well-planned trip to Bliss had just nosedived and was heading in a southerly direction. Doing another double take, she saw a man she didn’t recognize and who didn’t look like one of the summer visitors. He was deeply tanned, with long silver hair tied back in a ponytail and a silver beard.
Not that she had time for more than a glimpse. “Uh…Miss Gibbet,” she began, since she’d never known what to call people who’d been in positions of authority when she’d been younger, such as teachers or librarians.
“It’s okay, honey,” she said, as if reading Ariel’s mind. “You’re old enough to call me Elsinore now. Head on up to your place, and I’ll fill you in on all the details.”
Details? “Fill me in?” Ariel echoed.
“You’re a reporter, right?”
“I’m here working on a story, yes.”
Fighting a sense of foreboding, she turned off Bliss Run Road onto Mountain Drive, a narrow two-lane stretch of incline. She cast a glance into the rearview mirror, still unable to believe her great-gran had been speaking with Eli Saltwell.
“Your great-gran and Eli aren’t the half of it,” assured Elsinore, as if reading her mind once more. “The Bliss theater is only showing romance movies, you can only get romance songs on the local radio, and Jack’s introduced an early-bird breakfast special for two. But don’t worry. I called the CDC.”
“The CDC?”
“The Centers for Disease Control. In Atlanta.”
“I know what the CDC is,” Ariel managed to say.
“Then why did you ask?” returned Elsinore, looking miffed.
Ariel gaped at the librarian. It was bad enough that the recipe book, Ariel’s relatives’ pride and joy, not to mention a feature element in Ariel’s news story, had been stolen, but…“Why did you call the CDC?”
“Well, you know the stories about the spring….” Elsinore began.
Ariel had no idea where this was heading. “Uh huh.”
“Well, it’s rumored that Pappy Pass and his ex-wife, Maime, are getting back together. Then, there’s the fact that Eli and your great-gran are talking. Ever since Matilda—” Elsinore paused. “Nothing against your family, Ariel,” she began again, “but ever since she came, there’s been nothing but trouble. First, the town went dead in 1790, then in 1806.”
Ariel’s heart was sinking as her childhood home came into view. What if the town really had…well, shut down in the past? “Those are just town legends, Elsinore,” she said uncertainly.
“There’s proof in the history books, and you know it.”
“Local history books, mostly,” Ariel pointed out. “And those are full of fanciful folktales.”
Elsinore pursed her lips primly and Ariel looked at the cars in the lot. Seeing her mother’s old black Cadillac, and Gran’s silver Eldorado, Ariel wondered how her great-gran had gotten to town. The rest of the cars—about ten—belonged to guests. There was one huge black RV that looked more like a military vehicle. Figuring she’d unload the Honda after she said hello, she pulled in front of the wraparound porch. “Let’s go inside. I’ll bet Mom’s got some iced tea made,” she said cordially, as she moved to get out of the car. “Don’t worry, Elsinore, we’ll get to the bottom of all this.”
“I’ve already gotten to the bottom of it,” Elsinore said, “and your family is responsible. It was Matilda who brought this on us, and now, it’s all happening again. I predict that, within a week, all industry in Bliss will shut down.”
“Uh-huh,” Ariel couldn’t help but say dryly. “And that would be…what? Jack’s Diner? Oh, right,” she added. “I forgot. The ice-cream truck.”
“And the canoe-and-bike rental stand,” Elsinore put in.
Taking a deep breath, Ariel shut her car door, wincing at the stifling heat, then she went up the porch stairs, with Elsinore on her heels. As she pushed through a door, foyer, and into the living room, she inhaled audibly. What was going on here? A shoulder duffel was near the door, as if no one had bothered to check in a guest. Next to it was a six-pack of bottled water and a thick manila file. Slowly, her eyes followed a trail of black clothes—shoes, stockings…
Feeling off balance, she quickly swiped them from the Chinese rug, terrified a guest might see them. It looked as if one of her relatives had started disrobing in the public rooms, while going toward the back of the house. Ariel scanned the terrain and saw another hint of black through some French doors.
“A slip,” she whispered, lifting it from the doorknob. Outside, the air was truly unbearable, making her miss the air-conditioning in the car. Through a thicket of trees, she could hear splashing in the pool to her left. It sounded as if most of the guests were swimming, but she had a suspicion that…
Her pulse ticked fast in her throat as her eyes trailed down the flight of steps carved into the mountain, to where
a black dress flew on a pole near the dock, waving like a flag. Ariel shut her eyes. Counted to ten. Opened them again—only to find this was not her overactive imagination. Her mother was swimming in the spring, and judging by the trail of clothes, she was only wearing a bra and panties. As she heard Elsinore gasp, Ariel realized that there were no scents of dinner in the house, even though it was nearly two o’clock. Her relatives did the cooking, and often, because of the Southern fare they served, beans or stewed tomatoes would be on the stove by now.
All the fantastical stories she’d heard in her youth suddenly came racing back. Swiftly, she whirled, feeling panicked, thinking she’d better return to the porch.
She gasped. She’d run right into something hard and as dripping wet as the spring. Just as she glanced up, big sexy-feeling hands closed around the sleeves of her pale pink jacket; seemingly, the move was meant to steady her; instead, her hips locked with a male stranger’s, and her cheek hit a pectoral smelling of chlorinated water. Something else, too. Something more intriguing, less definable. Even though he felt cold from the water, he was hot, too. Yes, he was pure burning fire, sizzling out of control and searing every inch of her. Unbidden, her hands reached, landing naturally on his waist, and she could feel the skin alive beneath her fingertips.
The second her fingers touched his wet skin, the whole world seemed to slide off-kilter. She could almost believe she, herself, had just drunk a gallon of Matilda’s love tea made with springwater. Or as if she, herself, had just plunged into the spring during one of those freaky end-of-summer nights when the water was reputed to be most pungent.
Knowing she was losing her mind, she made herself step back and stared at her soaked suit. As she slipped swiftly out of the jacket and shook off the water, she looked up. “Oh, no,” she murmured, her dismayed tone coming more in response to the man’s good looks than anything else.
His gaze had landed on her chest, too, and while she’d thought the aversion of his eyes was due to embarrassment at their collision, she now realized her silk blouse had gotten as wet as the jacket. Silently, she cursed herself for removing her jacket, since despite the summery air, her nipples had been affected by the icy water and constricted. Heat vying with the August humidity flushed her cheeks.
His gaze didn’t hold an ounce of apology, either. In fact, his eyes looked hot and predatory. Feeling strangely faint, but not about to let him unbalance her, she stared right back. Surely, her weakening knees had less to do with him than the fact that the temperature had to be hovering near ninety.
She realized he was blond. It was hard to tell what kind of blond—light or medium, since his hair was wet. Nor could she tell how long it was, since dry, she imagined it might have some wave to it. But it was hard to tell. Either way, it was slicked back and tucked behind his ears. His red swimsuit was tight and wet, and his strong chest was tanned the color of chestnuts.
She sighed deeply, willing away unwanted sensations. Fate couldn’t be this unkind to her. Two hours ago, she’d been on top of the world, ready to put Bliss on the map by covering the Harvest Festival. Now, the recipe book had been stolen, and Elsinore was convinced Bliss had gone…well, buggy for the first time in sixty years. Even worse, Ariel had now run right into a man who’d threaten any decent woman’s reputation, not to mention her sanity.
“Sorry,” he murmured.
Recognizing he must be a guest, she forced a smile. She’d been trained from childhood that the customer was always right. Besides, if he was staying at the teahouse, she’d be dealing with him at every meal. “Uh,” she managed to say. “Me, too. I’m Ariel Anderson.
“Anderson,” he repeated, recognition entering his voice. “I couldn’t find anyone, so I left my duffel by the door, put on a suit and came out to cool off.”
Not much of a suit, she thought. From the drawl, she could tell he was a big-city guy, not from one of the nearby West Virginia towns, such as Charleston or Huntington. It hit her that she’d lost all track of time from the moment their bodies had connected. Only now did the sounds from guests playing in the pool drift back into her consciousness—laughter, the bat of a ball, the pounding of the diving board. “I’m sorry,” she repeated. “No one helped you?”
He shook his head. “I’ve been here for an hour.”
“I’ll be glad to check you in,” she said, even though she ranked the task right up there with talking to Studs about the stolen recipe book. She added, “That is, if you’re ready to get dressed.”
His eyes blazed into hers. They were the bluest she’d ever seen. Arresting. Captivating. She realized the double entendre in what she’d said, and quickly added, “I mean, if you’re finished swimming.” That was a better way of putting it, wasn’t it?
“Of course,” he murmured.
She couldn’t help but wonder what he did for a living. It would be something that required intelligence. He had the sharply assessing gaze of a brainiac. His eyes dipped again, settling on her damp blouse, and she knew he was taking in her lace bra and nipples. When his eyes found hers again, it felt as if a thousand years had just passed. His voice lowered during that time and now it sounded husky and suggestive. “You might want to change, too.”
She hadn’t felt so completely unbalanced in her life. She’d totally forgotten that Elsinore Gibbet was standing beside her, witnessing the exchange. At least until Elsinore said, worriedly, “I thought it was all happening again. Now I’m sure of it.”
The man thrust out a huge damp hand that, just a moment ago, had been curled around Ariel’s upper arm. Then he said the last thing she expected. “I’m Dr. Rex Houston, CDC.”
3
SHE DIDN’T MOVE A MUSCLE, not even to take his hand. And to be honest, Rex didn’t want her to. The way she was standing, with her back to the sun, he was enjoying how the rays shone through her skirt, illuminating a great pair of legs. Blood surged in his groin, and he could only hope she’d get him checked into his room before he started sporting a full-service erection. Maybe this trip to Bliss was going to work out better than he’d thought.
After all, this had been the longest stretch without sex he’d ever endured in his adult life. Wishing he’d grabbed a towel at poolside—less to dry than cover himself—he tried to train his mind on something other than the woman in front of him.
Not that he could. He just wished she didn’t remind him of Janet. Just like Janet, Ariel Anderson had a small-town, girl-next-door kind of appeal. She was fair, with perfect skin, and eyes as clear, big and blue as the crystal waters of the spring below. Her hair was drawn back, in a way that on another woman would have been called severe, but that didn’t mar her features in the least, but instead enhanced them. She didn’t wear much, or need, makeup. And that fresh-faced look, coupled with a tall, thin, leggy body clad in see-through clothes was doing him in.
As if coming to her senses, she took his hand, making him wonder just how long he’d been standing there with it extended. Minutes? Time seemed to have slowed. As her long, slender fingers traced the back of his hand, he offered a squeeze that sent heat dancing through him.
“Look,” she began as she abruptly headed past him and toward the house, gesturing for him to follow. “I know Elsinore called you, but we really don’t need the CDC….”
He wasn’t sure what annoyed him most—her determination to push things in an all-business direction, or the fact that the nutty old bat who’d phoned the CDC was still on their heels, which meant he wasn’t alone with Ariel.
Just looking at her, he felt all tangled up inside. Maybe he even wanted her because she was so much like Janet. As much as he hadn’t wanted to take it personally, seeing his fiancée with the chef had been a blow to his ego. As Ariel breezed through a French door, he caught the edge and held it open for her and Elsinore.
“Thanks,” both said over their shoulders.
“No problem.” It was only Ariel’s voice he’d really heard. She had a remarkable voice. Low and throaty, it was the sort that a man exp
ected to find in bars, back alleyways and cathouses…in forbidden corners that catered to the midnight side. It sounded like she’d smoked too many cigarettes and drunk too much booze, although Rex was sure she’d never touched either.
They’d reached the staircase when an elderly woman appeared, wearing an apron over a black dress. She was short, probably just five feet, if that, and about seventy years of age. Apparently, three women lived here—he’d gleaned that much from guests at the pool—Ariel’s mother, her grandmother and her great grandmother. Thankfully, at least one of them cooked. The house had filled with the aroma of food.
“Ariel!” the elderly woman was saying as she rushed forward, spatula in hand, and encased her in a quick, tight hug. “We’ve been waiting for your arrival for hours.”
“Hi, Gran.” Ariel kissed her cheek, then glanced toward the French doors again. “Uh…what’s going on?” she continued, stepping back. “I thought I saw Mom, swimming down in the spring, and Great-gran was in town. Since both your cars are here, I couldn’t figure out how she’d gotten there—”
“It’s a long story,” her grandmother said. “Everything went haywire today! We went to talk to Sheriff Underwood about Matilda’s book. I guess you know him by the name of Studs, since you’re the same age. And you know how we hate to go to town.”
Ariel’s mind strained to keep pace with her grandmother’s monologue. With a nearly naked man beside her, especially one who’d felt so good pressed against her, it was difficult. “Are there any leads?”
“The sheriff found a red bandanna near the safe, and there were dog prints outside. I think he was going to question Pappy Pass, today, since his dog, Hammerhead, usually has a red bandanna tied around his neck.”