The Mesmerist
Hope Chest Time Travel Romance Series, Book 1
Pam McCutcheon
Copyright © 2001, 2014 by Pam McCutcheon
Printed in the United States of America
Parker Hayden Media
5740 N. Carefree Circle, Suite 120-1
Colorado Springs, CO 80917
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons (living or dead), events or locations is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer, who may quote brief passages in a review.
ISBN: 978-1-941528-07-5
Cover art credits:
Cover design: LB Hayden
Model © CURAphotography/DepositPhotos
Hand © Anneka/Shutterstock
Acknowledgments
For Trana Mae Simmons, ghost hunter extraordinaire, whose transparent friend inspired one of the opening scenes of this novel at a PASIC conference in New York. Just leave him at home next time, okay?
As always, thanks to my wonderful co-authors who played so nicely in our world together: P.J. Bishop, Karen Fox, Laura Hayden, and Maureen McKade.
Chapter 1
Gina Charles gaped at the couple in the back seat of the limo. Bette was flat on her back with her dress hiked above her waist and Jerry was pumping away above her, the tails of his sport coat flapping as if he were going for a world record.
Gina knew she should excuse herself and back away from the open door, but this was her limo, with her fiancé and her maid of honor. She could do nothing but stare in silence as she tried to take it in.
Scruffy, Gina’s feisty black cairn terrier, squirmed in her arms and yipped. Bette gasped and Jerry looked up with a start, uttering an expletive. A number of emotions flashed through Gina—embarrassment, shame, and a hot, roiling anger. How could they do this to her?
Someone behind her giggled. The entire wedding party had arrived to be ferried to the rehearsal dinner and now they were all poised behind her, peering into the limo.
Gina couldn’t handle it. Slamming the door, she burst into angry tears and pushed through the crowd to run to her own car, parked nearby at the curb.
“Don’t worry,” Gina heard her mother, Madeline, say, “I’ll handle this.” As Gina fumbled through her purse, Madeline grabbed her arm. “Don’t make a scene,” her mother hissed.
“I didn’t make it.” Gina shook off her mother’s restraining arm and wiped away an angry tear. “They did.” Where the hell were her keys? She had to get out of here.
“Wait—I’m sure there’s some explanation.”
“Yeah, right. Like what?” Even through her anger, Gina found room for disbelief. Her mother was skilled at manipulating facts to fit her own version of the truth, but Gina didn’t want to hear how she’d spin this one.
Finally, she found her keys and unlocked the door. Tossing Scruffy and her purse in the passenger seat, she dropped behind the wheel and automatically fastened the seat belt. She somehow managed to start the car, but when she tried to close the door, her mother seized it in a death grip.
Madeline scowled. “Stop that this instant, young lady. You can’t go anywhere. Your wedding is tomorrow.”
Jerry hurried over, stuffing his shirt back into his pants with a harried expression. His blond, tanned good looks were a bit mussed now and she couldn’t stand to look at him.
Unfortunately, she could still hear him. “Wait, Gina—sweetheart—this doesn’t have to change anything.”
Gina stopped tugging on the door to give him an incredulous glare, wondering what she’d ever seen in him. “You’ve got to be kidding.”
“No, really. It was nothing—just one last fling.”
“Yeah? Well, you flung it in front of our families and friends—and you did it with my best friend.” Make that former best friend.
He had the grace to look sheepish. “I swear, it didn’t mean anything. She doesn’t mean anything. I love only you, honey.”
Gina wasn’t buying it. She’d just changed her whole life to be with him, and he couldn’t even keep his brain in his pants on the eve of their wedding. She should have known better than to trust a car salesman, especially a successful one. Gina glared at her mother. “Let go of the door.”
Madeline only tightened her grip. “No. Listen to him—you can’t throw away your life like this.”
“Ha. You mean I can’t throw away your dreams of a big wedding and a wealthy son-in-law.”
“Don’t be silly—you know I only want what’s best for you,” Madeline protested.
Jerry stuck his head in the opened door. “Gina, baby, let’s talk this over, okay?”
Scruffy growled at him, echoing Gina’s sentiments. “No way. Talk to Bette. Hell, marry Bette. Our wedding’s off—permanently. “ With that, Gina drove both hands and her shoulder into her jerk of a fiancé.
The force of her shove knocked Jerry into Madeline, and her mother lost her hold on the door. Thus freed, Gina floored the accelerator and peeled away from the curb.
The door slammed shut and Gina glanced into the rearview mirror. Jerry was trying to run after her, the idiot, but Madeline was heading with grim purpose to her own car.
Gina had to lose them and get out of Richmond—now. She made a series of wild, random turns and found herself heading west on I-64 toward the mountains. She glanced back, but didn’t see any pursuers. Good, she’d lost them. Now what?
A sign appeared, pointing the way to Hope Springs. Hmm, the Allegheny Mountains, hot springs, and hope. Just what she needed.
She glanced down at Scruffy, who appeared a little bewildered by all that had happened. “It’s okay,” Gina whispered, scratching Scruffy’s ears with one hand as hot tears spilled down her cheeks. “We’ll just stay in Hope Springs for a little while.”
Just long enough to find some way to put the pieces of her life back together again and figure out what to do next.
The afterlife is tedious, Drake Manton thought as he drifted through the thin walls of the motel. If he’d known he’d be doomed to spend the rest of eternity confined to Hope Springs, Virginia, he would have been a lot more careful about how he died. If only he could remember the incident. . . .
Drake passed through another room where a couple snuggled together to watch television and paused for a moment to watch the science fiction movie unfold with a sense of wonder. One compensation for being a ghost was that he had been witness to many marvels over the years, but it didn’t make up for the lack of human contact
He spent much of his time as a voyeur, caught up in the day-to-day lives of the people in the town. But the familiar soon lost appeal, so he searched for diversion by watching those who passed through Hope Springs, staying only temporarily.
He glanced at the couple in the bed. They were doing more than cuddling now, and that type of voyeurism didn’t appeal to him. As usual, the living couldn’t see him, so Drake moved on, searching for Gina Charles, the woman who had checked in earlier that day, shedding copious tears.
He found her in the next room, fast asleep, with her small shaggy dog snoring softly beside her. Gina’s tear-ravaged face and the half-empty containers of chips, ice cream, and wine scattered about the room bore mute testimony to her despair.
He surveyed her thoughtfully. What could such a beautiful woman have to be so sad about? Her glossy dark brown locks tumbled in profusion about her head and shoulders, and she slept with one hand curled against her ample bosom, as if protecting her h
eart.
It was just such misery he’d tried to ease when he was alive. But now that he was dead, there was nothing he could do. Still, the urge to comfort her permeated his incorporeal being. He sat on the bed, staring down at her. Her lovely face and the sight of her full, ripe body in its scanty covering would have stirred him to lust when he was alive, but all physical sensation had fled along with his body.
Now, it stirred him to compassion. He wished he could take her in his arms, wipe away her tears, and provide solace in the time-honored fashion, but that was impossible. Knowing she wouldn’t be able to feel him, yet needing to do this for his own sake, Drake curled up behind her and reached out to soothe her. He was fully prepared to find his hand pass through her winsome form, but instead, his hand closed over a mound of womanly softness.
Gina leaped up with a screech and scrambled out of the bed, startling the dog who burst into a fit of high-pitched yips.
Good Lord, had she felt that?
She grabbed the neck of the bedside lamp, and throttled it furiously. It didn’t budge.
Bemused, Drake wondered why she was wrestling with a lighting fixture. “The switch is at the base,” he said helpfully.
His comment just sent the dog into further paroxysms of barking. With a small shriek, Gina ceased her attack on the hapless lamp and scrabbled about on the bedside table. Grabbing something, she pointed it at him threateningly. “Don’t move.”
“Or what?” he asked, amused as he glanced at her weapon of choice. “You’ll brush my hair?” Actually, he was more than amused—he was overjoyed that someone could finally see him, hear him, feel him.
She threw the hairbrush at him, but missed by a foot. The dog was making little rushes at him now, advancing and retreating, as it continued yapping. Gina kept one hand out to ward Drake off as she inched her way toward the door in her scanty nightshirt. “What do you want?” she asked, her voice quavering.
He smiled reassuringly and pitched his voice to be heard above the dog. “Nothing. Don’t worry, I’m not going to hurt you.”
She reached the wall and flattened herself against it. “Then why were you in my bed?”
“I didn’t think you could see me.”
“Yeah, right.”
“I assure you, it’s the truth. Most people can’t—I’m a ghost.”
“Yeah, right. And I’m Demi Moore,” she snapped back.
Drake almost chuckled with the delight of her spirited reaction and the novelty of conversing with a living being, but he had to calm her. Unfortunately, Gina continued to edge toward the door as the infernal mutt persisted its hysterical barking.
Someone pounded on the door, yelling, “Shut that damn dog up!”
In a flash, Gina was at the door. She fumbled with the security latches, then wrenched open the door and tumbled out into the night. She accosted the man outside, a burly truck driver who had checked in just before her, and grabbed him by the arm. “Help me—there’s a strange man in my room!”
She seemed more irate than frightened, and the man’s expression changed from annoyance to resolute determination. He peeled her off his arm, then set her behind him. Flipping on the light switch, he peered around the room, fists clenched. “Where is he?”
“There.” Gina pointed at Drake, now standing at the foot of the bed.
The man advanced farther into the room. “Where?” Drake had hoped the man could see him as well, but his gaze passed right through him. It appeared only Gina could see him—and of course, the dog, who continued to bark.
Gina scooped the dog up in her arms. “Hush, Scruffy.” Scruffy quieted, but continued to emit a low growl. “He’s right there!” she said. “At the foot of the bed.”
The man relaxed his fists and glared at her. “There ain’t no one there.”
Apparently emboldened by the truck driver’s presence and Drake’s lack of reaction, she came back into the room and glanced doubtfully at Drake. “There is, too. Can’t you see him?”
Tiring of this farce, Drake said, “No, he can’t No one has been able to see me since I died, except for animals. And you.”
Gina shot him a disbelieving glare, then addressed the truck driver. “Are you telling me you can’t hear him either?”
“Hear what?” The man peered suspiciously around the room and stooped to check under the bed.
When the driver’s head passed unimpeded through Drake’s torso, Gina collapsed into a nearby chair with a whimper and her eyes grew wide.
Her would-be rescuer rose, then stopped suddenly, his gaze arrested by the half-empty wine bottle on the floor. “Lady, you’re seeing things. Maybe you shouldn’t drink so much.” Giving her a disgusted look, he stomped toward the door. “Sleep it off—and keep that damn mutt quiet.”
As the door closed firmly behind him, Gina muttered, “Scruffy is not a mutt. He’s a purebred cairn terrier, just like Toto in the Wizard of Oz.”
That little hairy nit had a pedigree? “I’m sorry,” Drake said. “I didn’t mean to frighten you—I didn’t know you could see me.” Or feel me.
She stared blankly at him. “But he didn’t see you. And he passed right through you.”
“Yes, I know,” Drake said as gently as he could. “I told you, I’m a ghost.”
She froze, her eyes wide, and he could see the pieces of the puzzle visibly click into place. She opened her mouth to scream again, but he swiftly moved to smother it with his hand, feeling a frisson of excitement at the realization he could touch someone.
Her eyes grew even wider and she struggled for release, but he held her gently imprisoned in the chair between his arms with his newfound power of touch. “Shh,” he said soothingly. “I won’t hurt you.”
The dog scrambled frantically between them, to no avail. Since Gina seemed to be attempting to speak beneath his hand, he removed it cautiously, prepared to replace it at the mere hint of a screech.
“Wha—what do you . . . want?” she asked, her voice trembling.
“Nothing.” At her disbelieving expression, he added, “I just want to talk to you. If I wished to ravish you, I could have done so by now.”
Some of the fear left her eyes at this manifest truth. “Why me?”
“Because you’re the first person who’s been able to see or hear me since I died.” He concentrated on projecting soothing thoughts in hope of diminishing her fear.
Apparently, it helped. She relaxed and a perplexed expression replaced the fear. “If you’re a ghost, then why can I feel you?”
Relieved that she seemed to regain some of her former spirit, he said, “I don’t know—this is new to me, too. Perhaps . . . Are you a spiritualist?”
She snorted. “No, I’m a dog trainer, not a ghost trainer.”
He backed away cautiously, prepared to move swiftly if the need arose. “So you believe I’m a ghost now?”
She shrugged. “I can’t believe you’re anything else when the evidence is so plainly in front of my face.” Though her words were brave, her voice quavered and he suspected she wasn’t as blasé as she pretended.
Her voice rose as she ticked off the reasons on her fingers. “Let’s see, you got into my room through a bolted door, a man walked right through you, you’re transparent, and you’re dressed in old-fashioned clothes no modern man would be caught dead in.”
He glanced down at his clothing. “Actually, I was caught dead in them.”
“Very funny.” She slumped farther into the chair, cuddling the little terrier to her chest. “I may not be the smartest person in the world, but I figure either you’re a ghost, or I’m delusional.” Her mouth twisted in a grimace. “Naturally, I prefer to think I’m not crazy.”
“You’re not. At least, I don’t think so.” Though there was the one episode. . . . “I assume you have a good explanation for strangling the lamp earlier?”
She blushed. “I intended to use it to brain you, but it’s bolted to the furniture.”
“Ah, I see.” Drake was encouraged by her c
alm reaction and the fact that she no longer seemed to feel the need to “brain” him. An unfamiliar elation rose within him. Finally, the monotony of his death had been alleviated by the simple fact that at least one person on this Earth could hear him, see him. More than that, this had to be a sign that she was the key to ending his boring existence.
“So why am I the lucky one?” Gina asked.
“I don’t know why you can see me—this is a first for me, too.”
“No, I mean why were you groping me?”
Mortification swept through him, though he couldn’t feel sorry for savoring the softness of a woman’s body once again. “Please accept my apologies. I saw you crying earlier, and I was merely offering solace.”
“By copping a feel?”
Exposure to modern movies had given him understanding of that peculiarly crude expression. “Again, I apologize. I didn’t think I could actually feel you—or you me. I wanted only to comfort you.”
“Oh. Well, you can’t. Nobody can.”
“Why not?”
Her face crumpled. “This was supposed to be my wedding day.”
Though Drake found it difficult to suppress his elation at conversing with a living being, he contained it. She couldn’t help him until he helped her first. To do that, he needed to determine the cause of her distress. “Did your fiancé jilt you?”
“No.” Gina sniffed as a tear tracked down her cheek. “I left him—the creep.”
“Then why are you so upset?”
“Because of the reason I dumped him.”
Drake sat on the edge of the bed and gave her his most encouraging look. “Why don’t you tell me about it?”
Gina sniffed again, but appeared relieved to have someone to confide in. “We were supposed to rehearse the wedding ceremony, but my fiancé decided to rehearse the wedding night instead—with my maid of honor.” She glowered. “Ha! Maid of dishonor is more like it.”
“The man is obviously a low-bred cur.”
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