by Susan Conley
Abby checked her watch again and noted she had well over a half-hour before Jack would arrive. Waiting patiently may not be her strong suit, but what she couldn’t understand was why it felt like she’d been waiting for Jack Hawthorne for a very long time. That idea was not only impossible; it was downright crazy. Kind of like her inheritance. Regardless, unlike yesterday morning, she vowed to rein in her imagination and be calm. Besides, she wanted to make a quick trip to the drug store, and it was just around the corner. By the time she returned, it should be time to go.
• • •
In the lobby restroom, Bridget donned the maid’s outfit then secured a short, gray wig as well as a pair of black horn-rimmed glasses. The bellhop she’d paid to let her know when Abby left the hotel had called right before he went off duty. He said Miss Corey had been dressed quite nicely when she left, and she looked like she would probably be out at least for dinner. Bridget may not be able to actually touch the amulet, but she had to retrieve it. She would try and use a pair of pliers to pick up the necklace, then slip it into the bucket that was underneath her maid’s cart. Pleased at her plan, she used one long red fingernail to shove the fake front teeth into place, and the buck-toothed reflection that smiled back at her in the restroom mirror stood ready to secure her destiny.
• • •
As promised to Shadow, Abby returned within a few minutes. She had purchased the latest issue of “People Magazine,” two packs of wintergreen mints, a Snickers candy bar and one adorable fake mouse cat toy. She smiled when Shadow snagged the toy and tossed it all over the room. When the doorknob rattled and a woman walked in, Abby’s smile faded. Instead of Jack, she faced a tall, gray-haired maid.
“Can I help you?”
“Housekeeping,” the woman said hoarsely as she backed toward the door.
“Must be another room, because I didn’t call for anyone,” Abby assured her.
“Sorry.” The maid turned to leave.
“But, as long as you’re here, could you do me a favor?” Abby approached her. “Could you fasten my necklace?” She dangled the amulet in front of the woman like a hypnotist suspends a pocket watch.
The maid jumped back so fast she nearly upended her cleaning supplies.
“No,” the older woman croaked, holding up one hand in protest. “We’re not allowed.” She backed away, wagging one blood red fingernail at Abby. “Wrong room. Sorry.”
Before Abby could say another word, the maid turned on her heels and hurried down the hallway with mops waving and buckets rattling as she pushed the overflowing, metal cart toward the elevator.
“Whatever,” Abby muttered, confused that, once again, another perfect stranger reminded her of someone. A better question might be why so many people and places in this town struck her that way?
The old woman was a maid at the inn. Nothing more, nothing less. Abby had probably passed her in the hall. Or on the street. Or in a shop. And what difference did it make? She didn’t know a soul in Salem besides Jack.
Closing her door, she gave the amulet’s clasp one last try. It clicked shut without a problem just as someone knocked again. Abby grabbed her cape and hurried into the hallway as if the devil were on her heels. Instead, she found Jack. All six foot four of him. Black Armani suit. Crisp white shirt. And, for whatever inexplicable reason, sooo not a stranger.
Chapter Sixteen
In the restaurant parking lot, the cool night breeze whispered through the fallen leaves. As Abby stepped out of the car, her black cape fell open, and the pale moonlight shimmered the length of her chestnut-colored, beaded dress.
Once inside, she paused to stare at the unusual setting. “What on earth is this place; or, should I say what was it?”
“An old saw mill. After standing vacant for years, it was sold and converted into a restaurant by the new owners. The second floor is an inn.”
She turned her attention to the huge, wooden paddlewheel in the corner of the lobby. A gentle trickle of water lazily turned the wheel, creating a tranquil, serene atmosphere. “It’s lovely,” she whispered, trying hard not to notice how the breeze had tousled his thick, dark hair.
“Not as lovely as you.” He gestured around the room. “This is only scenery.”
“You’re too kind.” You’re too kind? Where the hell had that come from? Sounded like a line from a classic novel or a period movie. Or what? Her mind screamed the question. Why hadn’t she just winked and said get outa town or something as simple as thanks?
Jack extended his arm. “Shall we?”
The restaurant’s lights were dim. A blazing fire that roared in the stone fireplace on the far wall warmed the large dining room. Surrounded by the intimacy of the romantic New England Inn, Abby knew she dared not let down her guard, or Jack Hawthorne, like the phantom in her dream, would haunt her for eternity.
Jack ordered a Ben Nevis, neat, for himself and, again without asking, an Artesa Cabernet Sauvignon for her.
“Penny for your thoughts,” he asked.
Abby leaned back. Not even for your whole checkbook. “I’m glad we came here,” she hedged, her hand seeking the amulet.
“I thought you didn’t wear necklaces.”
“I don’t.” Abby touched it, enjoying the feel of it against her fingertips. She refused to believe the sensation had anything to do with the fortuneteller’s warning not to wear it. “For some reason this piece just feels different.”
“It does, doesn’t it?”
“You know, throughout history amulets were thought to act as an occult shield to repel,” she told him, realizing her explanation made the gypsy’s warning not to wear the necklace all the more suspect.
“Like a talisman?”
“No, not really.” Abby shook her head. “I know people think they’re the same, but they’re not.”
“What’s the difference?”
“A talisman is intended to attract some benefit to its possessor, not to protect.” She heard herself differentiate between the two terms.
Jack leaned back. “Really?”
“Uh huh,” she said, still holding the stone between her thumb and finger. “Amber — which is what this looks like to me — was called amuletum in ancient times, because it was believed to avert evil influence and infection. In fact, the word amulet is probably derived from the Latin amolior which means ‘I repel,’ or ‘drive away’.”
Abby’s own words silenced her. She had no idea how she had come to know any of this. Just this side of being frightened, she decided being an avid reader had apparently paid off big time. After all, there wasn’t any other explanation, was there?
Jack shrugged. “I take it you’ve done some research.”
“Yeah,” she lied, unable to explain what she’d told him.
“Sounds like you ought to be safe from the wicked folks of Salem,” he teased.
“You’d think.”
“What do you make of that mark in the middle?”
“I saw that.” She nodded. “It’s really interesting, isn’t it?” Without waiting for his response, she squinted at the stone in the candlelight. “At first, I thought it was some kind of bubble, but I really think it’s more tear-shaped than round, don’t you?”
He leaned forward to take a closer look. “Yeah. Something may have been trapped in there, you know, like insects.”
“Maybe.” Green eyes met brown. “Jurassic Park wild, huh?” Abby released the stone and dropped the subject as well. She broke their gaze and looked around the large room. “This restaurant certainly is unique.”
It wasn’t until after the cocktail napkins and drinks had been placed on the table that Abby noticed the dance floor. Her heart nearly stopped. “Is that a set up for a band?”
“Yeah.” Jack sampled his scotch. “Have you decided what else you would like to see while
you’re in Boston?”
“You’re the guide. Just take me where the tourists go.”
“Some sight seers have been known to check in and go upstairs.”
There went her heart again. One slow motion somersault. Perfectly executed. For the first time in her life, she wanted to throw caution to the wind and live for the moment. The realization alone made her head spin. What she couldn’t figure out was — why this man? Why was she so certain? Why were her feelings so strong?
Calling on every ounce of poise she could muster, Abby sipped her wine, then forced a coolness into her voice. “I’m sure the rooms are lovely, but I had something a little more touristy in mind.”
“That should be an easy request to satisfy here in Salem.” He sipped his drink. “In keeping with the seventeenth century theme, the community has restored everything to the period of time right around the witch trials.”
Abby’s fingers found her throat, and she absently fondled the amulet. “Then I’m surprised they have dancing here.”
“Why?”
“Because dancing is an intricate part of witchcraft.” When he just looked at her, she continued. “You know, the round dance. Like around a tree, a sacred stone or a bonfire. To raise power.”
Still no response.
“Or, the witch’s dance on riding-poles, leaping to make crops grow tall.”
A blank look.
“Or the dance spiral where the witches dance into the center and out again to symbolize penetration into the mysteries of the Other World.”
He shook his head.
“It was sometimes called the Troy Town after the old maze pattern, which was supposed to resemble the walls of Troy.”
“Ya got me,” he admitted.
Unable to stop, she heard herself continue. “Surely you’ve heard that witches traditionally dance back to back in a strange, but wonderfully diabolical kind of frolic.”
“Never,” he said. “So, what about you? What kind of strange, diabolical frolics do you like?”
Abby was speechless for way too many reasons to count at the moment, and Jack’s expression was as dark as a cloudless sky at midnight and twice as mysterious. She didn’t want to rattle off any more frighteningly unexplainable facts about witchcraft, let alone have him look at her that way again. Did she? Before she could answer her own question, or, for that matter, question her own answer, their waitress once more effectively interrupted them.
“Chateaubriand and two glasses of Gino’s soft blush.”
Again, he had ordered without asking, but ironically it would have been her choice.
Dinner conversation centered on a few more of the more normal get-to-know-you topics they hadn’t taken the time to explore earlier. Reaching over to check his ring finger, Abby immediately pulled away from the warmth of his skin. Remembering yesterday and his side of the phone conversation with what sounded like a woman, Abby pointed out, “I should have asked before, but there’s no Mrs. Hawthorne, is there?”
“No wife, no fiancée, not even a female pet.” He tossed back the last of his Ben Nevis and set down the glass. “No strings.”
Abby fought the persistent tug at the corners of her mouth. Has fate really thrown us together?
Now she fought the persistent tug at the corners of her mind. Impossible. There’s no such thing as destiny.
Last, but oh-so-not least, she fought the persistent tug at the corners of her heart. Unless kindred spirits really do exist.
“How about you, Miss Corey?”
His obvious inflection didn’t go unnoticed by Abby. “Did I say Miss?”
“No. I guess you didn’t.”
Abby smiled and shook her head. “I’m not married.”
“I thought Maxine had mentioned that.” Jack leaned back in his chair and traced the smooth skin on her ring finger.
Her hand tingled. “Ms. Spencer would have told you. She is one thorough woman.”
“That she is.”
Abby sensed Jack’s move before he made it and began fiddling with her napkin to avoid it. Too close. Too personal. Too right? When the band began to play a soft, slow melody she added the beautiful surroundings to the soothing music and even without the handsome man seated across from her, they made a dangerous combination. Abby’s intuition prickled and warned her the evening was about to take a definite turn. The most difficult part of it all was keeping in mind this handsome man was still a stranger even though he didn’t feel like one.
“Dance?”
Dance with him? Was he kidding? Parts would touch. Like in her dream, the feeling of being backed in a corner washed over Abby. Silently she cursed the fact that every time he baited her she swallowed it hook, line, and sinker. With anyone else, tonight would have been nothing more than a harmless flirtation. But not with this man. Something about the look in Jack’s eyes made her mouth dry and her palms damp. For an instant, she thought of her dream, the need to escape, and wondered if there was a back door to the restaurant.
“How about it?” He called her bluff. “Dance with me.”
Abby slipped one foot out of her sleek brown pump and slid her toes along Jack’s ankle and just a bit up his pant leg. She noticed his jaw clench and enjoyed a quick rush of power. “I’d love to.”
“Let’s have a drink first.” He signaled the waitress, “Two Irish coffees.”
Mission accomplished. Abby slipped her shoe back on and sat back in her chair as the waitress cleared their table. She wondered why it had been so long since she had relaxed like this? God, it felt good.
The next tune was lusty and slow. Jack stood and extended his hand. “Okay Lady, let’s see your stuff.”
Abby took a deep breath. Unwilling to back down, she winked. “I’ll show you mine, if you’ll show me yours.”
“Deal.”
Jack led her onto the dance floor. He had great rhythm and all the right parts fit. Being held by Jack felt like coming home. At this moment in time Abby didn’t care how or why. She rested her head against his chest and eagerly inhaled the spicy scent … that had always been him? The texture of his jacket beneath her hand failed to conceal the strength of his muscled shoulder. Sensing his pulse pound, feeling the warmth of his touch, made everything she had tried to deny unbearably real. The music stopped and so did her heart.
Back at the table, Abby sipped the remainder of her coffee. “I haven’t danced in so long I nearly forgot — ”
“How nice it can be,” Jack finished.
“Yes.” She smiled. “Very nice.”
“So, why haven’t you?”
She frowned. “What?”
“You know, danced around a bonfire naked, chanting at the moon.”
“How do you know I haven’t?” Before he could answer, she corrected, “F.Y.I. that’s skyclad, not naked.”
“What is?”
“Spell casting in the nude.” Abby had a quick flash — skyclad, casting a circle beneath the full moon — no doubt brought on by what he’d said.
“Now that’s my kind of ritual. Seriously, you’re such a natural. Why don’t you dance more often?”
She thought a moment but couldn’t come up with an answer. “I really don’t know.”
“Too busy?”
“Possibly,” she considered, remembering how hard she’d worked to get her business up and running and knowing all of that was gone now. “Aromatiques demanded a lot of my time.”
“Let me guess,” he began, “you worked about ten hours a day, six days a week, right?”
“I did.”
“And that worked for you?”
“Some days better than others,” she admitted, surprised the words had come out so easily.
Jack shrugged. “I’m a confessed workaholic myself.”
“W
hy?” she coaxed, watching the reflected firelight flicker in his penetrating eyes.
He shrugged. “I have a lot of work to do.”
“And your social life?” she asked, for some reason not the least bit concerned about prying.
“Not much time for one,” he confessed.
“Oh, I don’t know.” Thoughtful, she swirled her long-stemmed glass, then sipped the remainder of her wine. “You made plans yesterday.”
“So I did.” Jack leaned back in his chair. “That was just escorting an acquaintance.”
“Escorting?” she echoed, “Kind of like this evening.”
“No.” He steepled his hands. “Nothing at all like tonight. Yesterday was just Bridget Bishop — ”
Abby choked, quickly holding up a hand to show she was fine. “The woman who lives in that haunted house?” she asked, after catching her breath.
Jack nodded. “That’s the one.”
Torn, Abby couldn’t decide if she was more shaken by the Bishop woman or the sudden, possessive rush she just felt toward Jack. Either way, something was way out of whack here. She needed time to think, and she needed it now.
“If you don’t mind, I’m apparently still a little jet lagged.”
“No problem.” He paid the waiter and helped Abby with her cape. Then he took her hand and kissed it.
Exactly like the man in her dream.
She ignored the haunting similarity of his warm mouth against her skin.
“All set?” He gave her fingers a squeeze.
Abby nodded. She felt suddenly wary. As though she had been ready and waiting her entire life. For what, she wondered? For Jack? Impossible. Her free hand sought the warmth of the amulet as she followed him out into the cool, dark night.
The trip back to the Hannah’s Inn was about as quiet as their ride to The Hideaway had been, but for an entirely different reason. Earlier, she had been uncharacteristically nervous. Now, she had become characteristically aware of Jack. More to the point — the way he made her feel. The uneasy comfort she experienced that niggled at her mind, raising more questions than she had answers for yet. Abby studied the set of Jack’s jaw, his slightly narrowed eyes.