Passion Of Sleepy Hollow

by Lexi Post

Not happy that he’d concluded so much when she’d taken such pains not to let him know, she put her hands on her hips. “So then why do you keep asking me?”

  He rubbed the side of his face with his hand. “Because this entire village disappears Sunday night. The buildings, the stalls, even the litter is gone.”

  “Oh.”

  He gestured toward the door. “Last year I woke up on the ground, bare-ass naked to the cold night air and the sound of crickets.”

  She chewed at her bottom lip. She’d assumed a more modern version of her inn would have been in its place. No wonder he was irritated. “Last weekend.”

  “Last weekend what?”

  She dropped her arms and took his hand. “Let’s go into the parlor.”

  He pulled her against him. “I don’t want to go into the parlor. What I want is to take you to bed, but not just today. I want to be able to take you to bed next week too and the week after that.”

  She laid her head against his chest. His simple statement had her heart pounding in her chest. She wanted that too, but it was impossible.

  “Kat. Tell me the truth.” The deep sincerity of his voice required only one answer.

  She leaned her head back and stared into his eyes. “The truth is, for every week of Oldtime, the time I live in, a year goes by in Newtime, the time you live in. The only overlap is this one weekend.”

  He stared hard at her, but she kept his gaze, determined to prove her words.

  He nodded and she released the breath she’d been holding.

  “I can see you honestly believe that, but that’s impossible.”

  “No. It isn’t. Not in Sleepy Hollow.”

  “Kat, I know you think—”

  She pulled out of his arms. “It’s not about what I think, Braeden Van Brunt. It’s about the facts.” She started to pace. “First, you yourself said you saw something the night you rode as the Headless Horseman. Second, you yourself woke up on the ground last Sunday. Third, I know all about your uncle and his father and his father before him because I helped them find their way as the Headless Horsemen.” She stopped pacing and stared at him.

  “You’re beautiful when you’re agitated.”

  Ugh. The man was impossible.

  “Okay. Okay.” He put his hands up in front of him. “Stop growling at me. And let’s suppose what you say is true, then—”

  A yell from outside startled both of them. Kat picked up her skirts and ran through the kitchen, Braeden right behind her. As she stepped outside, the cause of the yell was obvious.

  “Oh Max.”

  Braeden helped the young man to his feet. “Are you okay?”

  “I think so. Who left that bucket in the middle of the yard?”

  Kat flushed. “I’m sorry. I was bringing in water when I had an impatient visitor.” She threw an annoyed glance at Braeden.

  Max brushed himself off and started to walk toward the inn. “Ouch.”

  She ran to him. “What is it?”

  “My ankle.”

  Braden looped Max’s arm around his shoulders. “You must have twisted it. Come on. We’ll get you inside.”

  Kat held the door as the two men went into the inn. Max, unlike Braeden, fit on her long settee just fine. After Braeden left to get his truck, and she settled Max with some of her precious ice at Braeden’s insistence, she went outside to retrieve her bucket.

  It was gone.

  A shiver slithered up her spine. Could her telling Braeden about Oldtime have put the village at risk? Was Max’s accident just the beginning? She shook herself mentally and searched the yard. It could simply be that a dog ran off with it. She had others.

  Still, as she walked into the house, she glanced behind her one more time. Was this a warning to her about her own selfishness? That she should never have told Braeden about Oldtime?

  * * * * *

  Braden walked into the stable for the second time that day, only now it was night and he wore the Headless Horseman costume and carried a new-and-improved pumpkin head. He switched the battery-operated jack-o’-lantern on. It was still too small for the body he sported in the costume, but at least he had something.

  Once again, Daredevil was tethered outside the back door of the stable. The horse’s soft nicker as he came closer welcomed him. The night was much colder than last year and he swore he could smell snow in the air.

  Jumping onto Daredevil’s back, he kicked the horse into movement.

  Daredevil knew what to do and how to do it. Like an expert, he galloped through the streets. Braeden reveled in the powerful mount beneath him and this time, just before heading onto the forest path, he turned Daredevil back toward the village center and had him rear. As the horse’s hooves pawed the air, Braeden let out a full-throated laugh.

  When Daredevil hit the ground, they raced down the forest path. Braeden slowed the horse ahead of time to avoid being hit with branches. The opening in the woods with the church was just ahead. Braeden anticipated his ride in the open. He would be watching this time for the strange apparition.

  As he and Daredevil cleared the trees, the horse reared. Braeden held on, dropping the pumpkin again, but searching the clearing for the ghost.

  It was there. It laughed.

  Daredevil raced the white steed whose feet never touched the ground. Sure of his mount’s abilities, Braeden concentrated on the ghostly figure, looking for wires or reflections or something to explain how it was done.

  When the ghost laughed again, Braden focused on the man’s face and caught his breath. It was as he remembered, a somewhat blurred mirror image of himself. On they raced, the horses neck and neck as Braeden searched for clues.

  When Daredevil hit the bridge, the apparition vanished, the fading sound of the ghost’s laughter echoing along the little brook.

  Braeden reined in Daredevil and tried to make him turn around but the horse refused, prancing and neighing. Maybe Daredevil knew something he didn’t. Not ready to tangle with the unknown in the dark of night, Braeden let the animal have his way, and they trotted back to the stable.

  When they arrived, he jumped from the horse and Ludo appeared from the tack room. “Everything go well?”

  “Perfectly, though I think this horse has a one-track mind.”

  Ludo stepped forward and took the reins to guide Daredevil into his stall. “That be true. What did he do now?”

  “He wouldn’t turn back.” Braeden pulled off the chest piece and set it down next to the stall wall as Ludo started to brush Daredevil. “I dropped my head and the horse wouldn’t let me return for it.”

  “Uh, it looks to me like you still have your head.” Ludo raised a brow, but didn’t pause in his brushing.

  “Not my real head. I lost the jack-o’-lantern. I need to go back and get it.” Braeden started to pull the black silk shirt off, but stopped. It was cold.

  “So you won’t be wanting any of my fine whiskey?”

  Braeden chuckled, his throat remembering the rough burn of the alcohol from last year. “I’m sure your whiskey will put hair on a man’s chest, but I’m happy with what I have.”

  “That’s right. You fit in so well here, I keep forgetting you’re from the big city. I do have a bottle of scotch from 1776.”

  “You do?”

  Ludo winked. “I do.”

  Braeden looked out the open barn doors he’d come in from. He wanted to see Kat but couldn’t get the pumpkin head and have a drink and expect her to still be awake.

  Ludo finished the brushing and placed the brush on a wall beam. “You can always go back there in the morning to find your head. I’m thinking a little nip might warm your insides for the trek back to the inn.”

  Braeden nodded.

  The stableman grinned. “Right. Have a seat.”

  While Ludo searched for his scotch, Braeden moved the costume to the sawhorse near the front of the barn. Then he pulled off the black gloves and sat on a hay bale.

  “Here you go.” Ludo handed him a tin cup and pou
red in a healthy portion of scotch. After giving himself a similar amount, the stableman lifted his cup. “To the Headless Horseman.”

  “The Headless Horseman.”

  As their cups clinked together, Daredevil neighed.

  Ludo looked over his shoulder. “Ah, go to sleep, you beast. You had your run for the day.”

  Braeden could tell Ludo loved every horse in the barn and Daredevil in particular. He took a sip of the scotch, familiar heat gathering in his limbs as the smooth liquid went down. “That is good.”

  “Yah.”

  They sat in companionable silence. The sounds from the village center had died down soon after he galloped through, so the crickets took over the night. They reminded him of the night he woke on the ground. He studied Ludo. He seemed like an honest man, and he’d come to Braeden’s defense earlier that day. He glanced at the inch of white bandage that peeked through gaps in his black shirt where it buttoned at the wrist.

  “Ludo, can I ask you a question?”

  The man nodded, taking another sip of his drink.

  “Have you ever heard of something called Oldtime?”

  The stableman’s demeanor changed. “Yah.” The man didn’t move, nor did he look at Braeden.

  “Have you heard that for every week of Oldtime, a year of Newtime passes?”

  Ludo set down his cup. “She told you.”

  “Yes, she told me what she believes.”

  “It’s true and glad I am she told you. I’ve been sidestepping my tongue all day.”

  Braeden took another drink as he tried to wrap his brain around the fact that Ludo, for all intents and purposes, was a perfectly sane stableman. Then again, Kat was down-to-earth herself. So how could they believe in two different time periods existing together?

  Ludo stared hard at him. “But you better not tell anyone besides me that you know. This be a superstitious lot and they will start blaming every little mishap or odd happening on the fact a Newtimer knows.”

  “So you believe this too?”

  “Yah. And everyone else in the village too because it’s true. Every weekend we hold the festival, but we’ve seen the changes in the people who attend. We even had one of our own test the bounds of this time twist.”

  “Time twist.” Braeden ran his hand through his hair. He liked Ludo, but the man was crazy if he thought there was some kind of time discrepancy between one piece of land and the rest of the world. It was impossible. “How did the ‘villager’ test this time problem?”

  Ludo leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, the material beneath them worn thin. “Don’t get me wrong. Kolbus Van Bueren didn’t plan to test the boundaries of our village. The poor old man was quite the drunk.” Ludo raised his tin cup and took another sip before continuing. “One Sunday night, Kolbus stumbled along the road here and passed out beyond the village limits. It was only a year after Brom disappeared, but that would be some fifty Newtime years. The next weekend for us, we found his skeleton, with pieces of his clothing still on it. We buried him at the church anyway. A man’s body shouldn’t be left to rot, no matter how little labor he did in his lifetime. That’s just not right.”

  Ludo’s story matched Kat’s. Braeden did the math in his head while the stableman paused to refill their cups. Though the calculation came to the same conclusion, he still didn’t believe the time differential was real. That these people had some strong superstitions was true, but that there was a time issue, he couldn’t accept. Since they wouldn’t agree on that subject, he turned it to another that had been niggling at his brain.

  “You said it had been a year since Brom disappeared.”

  Ludo nodded.

  “Jurgen and his friends said they wanted to mess up my face so I wouldn’t look like Brom. Who is or was Brom?”

  Ludo shook his head. “To be truthful, Abraham Van Brunt, or Brom Bones as many called him, was a wild man. Everyone loved him, but he was reckless. He had your exact frame. Big, broad and tall. He had the same black hair but it was longer. He’s the one who first pretended to be the Headless Horseman and scared that schoolteacher, Ichabod Crane, away. Ichabod was afraid of his own shadow and believed all the tales told around the hearth. He’d been after the Van Tassel farm as sure as I’m a stableman.” Ludo shook his head. “But Brom took care of that. He led that group of men you encountered in all types of mischief. When he disappeared, Jurgen became the leader.”

  “Van Brunt?” His family connections to this small place in New York seemed to be growing.

  “Yah. Brom would be an ancestor of yours. Not surprising you look so much like him. You gave me quite a start when you first came to the stable. I thought I was seeing the ghost of Brom Van Brunt.” Ludo released a quiet, uncomfortable chuckle.

  At the mention of a ghost, the image of the apparition he’d seen on both his rides came to mind. “You say that as if you’ve seen ghosts before.”

  Ludo shrugged. “May have.”

  “Have there ever been any sightings near the church?”

  “Well, of course.” Ludo grinned. “That’s where the real Headless Horseman is. He runs around at night looking for his head, but always goes back to the grave by morning. Why? Have you seen him?” The man’s face lit with excitement.

  “No, I haven’t seen that particular ghost.”

  “Eh, just as well. He’s a very old ghost, but there are lots of others, as many Oldtimers will tell you. Even Kat has seen a few.”

  Kat. Braeden glanced at his wrist for the time, but he’d taken his watch off as Stephen had instructed. “Do you know what time it is?”

  Ludo shook his head.

  Braeden swished the scotch around in his tin cup before gulping it down. “I need to get back to the inn.”

  “Yah.” Ludo stood and held out his hand. “I hope to see you again next festival.”

  Braeden shook hands. “I hope it’s a lot sooner than that.”

  “Not likely.”

  Braeden smiled and shook his head even as he gathered up the costume before striding from the barn. The time issue the festival workers appeared to believe in was beyond crazy. He’d just have to prove them wrong.

  Walking through the dark, quiet village was peaceful. He liked the slower pace of Sleepy Hollow Village. There was something to be said for slow. Then again, the warmth in his veins from the scotch was making him mellow and contemplative. That was some smooth stuff.

  He opened the door to the inn to find a lantern burning on the registration desk. Taking it with him, he crept down the hall, trying not to make any noise, but the damn floorboards creaked, sounding as loud as gunfire to his ears. But when he stealthily opened the door to Kat’s room, he found her sound asleep.

  Setting the lantern on the end table next to the bed, he carefully put down the costume and quickly disrobed. He was anxious to finally view her naked body and see if it was how he pictured her in his mind based on what he’d seen so far and the places he’d touched. Slipping under the heavy quilt, he eased himself next to her. She slept on her side, facing away from him, and his chest touched her back.

  Ugh. Cloth. Granted it was soft, but it was also thick. Still, it should be easier to remove than the whalebone contraption she always wore.

  He snuggled his hardening cock against her rounded ass and sighed. The material she wore might be a barrier, but it was soft and sensuous. No wonder she wore it. Did it help her pleasure herself? He yawned. It must be late.

  Wrapping an arm around Kat’s waist, he pulled her tighter against him. She mumbled in her sleep but didn’t wake. He kissed the skin of her shoulder where her nightwear had slipped down. The scent of freshly baked cupcakes filled his nostrils, making him smile. Moving his hand upward, he cupped her heavy breast in his hand and moved his index finger over the peak.

  He yawned again. The heat from the scotch combining with the warmth of Kat’s body and the heavy quilt that covered them relaxed him more than he wished. He kissed her hair, still in her flyaway braid, and rubbed his cheek
against it. Its silkiness, like the rest of Kat, was comforting, warm and soft.

  Closing his eyes, he filled every sense with Kat…and fell asleep.

  * * * * *

  Kat moaned as need spiraled down from her nipple where a soft rubbing caused it to peak. She opened her eyes to find large fingers brushing over the material of her warmest shift. The white bandage around the wrist identified her lover.

  She pressed her chest against the moving fingers, liking the way the soft material slid across her. Braeden must have sensed she was awake because he began to press soft kisses along her neck and shoulder.

  As her pussy swelled, she noticed the hard cock pressing against her butt and she moved her hips backward.

  “Ah, Kat. You’re so hot.”

  She wanted to tell him to take off the quilt, but her mouth was dry from the cool night’s sleep and it was too much effort to form words when the nips he gave her ear sent delightful tingles down her spine.

  Braeden’s hand moved from her nipple and she moaned, but when it descended over her stomach and down to her thigh where her shift stopped, she held her breath. He did not disappoint. Slowly he pulled the material to her waist before stroking down over her abdomen and mons. He paused.

  “I want you, now.” His breath caressed her ear and she lifted her leg in invitation. With little effort, he pressed his hard cock between them and touched her opening.

  She waited, breathless for his penetration, but instead his hand brushed aside her curls to find her pleasure point. “Yes. Please.”

  His fingers found her opening and brought moisture up to her hard nub and circled. He moved too slow. She grabbed his wrist without thinking.

  “Oww.”

  She let go quickly. Heat rose to her cheeks. “I’m sorry.”

  He chuckled behind her, the vibration running from his chest to his cock. “It’s okay. Did you want me to stop?”

  “No, I wanted you to go faster.”

  Again, she felt his body move with mirth but he kept it silent as his fingers traveled back to her opening and once again encircled her nub, this time with much more friction.

  “Yes.” Her hips pressed back against his cock, but still he didn’t enter her.