“No.” His answer came immediately. “Maybe I was too focused on you guys. Or maybe it’s because he really didn’t look at me. Not full in the face like he did you two. Maybe he has to focus on a person to work his mojo on them.”
Oh, man! If that was the case, how much stronger would the conductor’s pull have been if he were focused exclusively on her instead of mostly on Rachel? Maybe she wasn’t as invulnerable as she’d like to think. And what would have happened to Rachel if she and Caden hadn’t been there?
“Okay, decision time.”
Caden’s words jerked her out of that scary train of thought. Unfortunately, they didn’t make much sense. “Huh?”
He drew them to a stop. “So what do you think? Stick to the road all the way, or back through the woods? It’s probably about twenty minutes’ difference.”
Ah, right. They stood just by the train station. They could continue on via the road, or cross the tracks and the train bridge and take the woods path again from that spot by the river. Ashlyn hesitated. There was fear of the tracks to be sure, but her knee was protesting louder with every step she took. It was just a short ways down the tracks….
“Woods, please.”
“Good answer,” he said, then bent down into a crouch. “Okay, hop on my back.”
His back? Much as she liked being close to him, the idea was … a little too much. Plus she was no Nicole Ritchie. He’d be huffing and puffing and staggering before he’d gone a hundred yards.
“It’s okay. I can manage the path like this, if you keep your arm around me.”
“Nuh-uh. The terrain’s too rough,” he said. “All you need is to catch a toe in a root or stumble on a rock and that injured knee becomes a surgical case,” he pronounced, handing her the small flashlight he’d pulled from the pocket of his hoodie. “It’s piggyback or we take the road. Or maybe you’d prefer fireman’s lift?”
Ashlyn gripped the flashlight tighter as her mind played a clip of her butt stuck up in the air, practically in his face, with him gripping her thighs, her upper body draped down his back.
“Okay, have it your way, Dudley Do-Right. I’ll ride piggyback. Hold still.” She climbed awkwardly onto his back, looping her arms around his neck.
“Ready?” he asked.
“Ready.”
“Then give me some light.”
Whoops. She flipped on the flashlight and swept it along the roadway until she found the path. As soon as she locked on, he came to his feet easily. She silently thanked him for not groaning or lurching or otherwise implying that she was too heavy.
“Caden?”
“Yeah?”
“I don’t want to talk anymore about that stuff tonight. That okay with you?”
“Suits me,” he said. “I’m going to need my wind.”
“Need your—” She tightened an arm around his neck, hopefully cutting off that air supply he so desperately needed. “Put me down then if I’m so heavy, you … creep.”
His laughter bounced back at her in the closeness of the forest path.
“Relax. I’m teasing. I’ve carried groceries that were heavier than you.”
Groceries? “Okay, you’re forgiven.”
In truth, he didn’t seem to labor terribly hard. Certainly his progress was slower, more deliberate, and his breath definitely came harder, but there was no puffing and staggering. The boy wasn’t just strong, but fit. The evidence was all around her. Or rather, she was wrapped around it. Him. She was acutely conscious of the warmth of his back and the grip of his hands on her thighs. Pleasant as that was, she was glad when they emerged from the woods and into the moonlit field across from her grandmother’s house. Caden might be strong, but she didn’t want to be anybody’s burden.
“You can put me down now.”
“I’ll put you down when we get to the road. The terrain is still uneven. But you can turn that flashlight off. No need to draw attention to ourselves when we have such good visibility.”
She clicked the light off. “Anyone ever tell you you’re bossy?”
“No. Usually they say, Good idea, Caden, or Omigod, you’re so right!”
She rolled her eyes. “Anyone ever tell you you’re a smartass?”
She felt his soft laugh. “Occasionally.”
True to his word, he deposited her on her feet the moment they climbed up the ditch and onto the road, almost directly opposite Maudette’s dark house. Ashlyn flexed her legs to get the blood flowing again, as they both regarded the house.
“How you gonna get back in?” he asked, his voice low to avoid alerting the dogs. “I trust you’re not going to try to get up to the bedroom window again?”
“Nah. None of the windows have locks, so I can take my pick. I just need to find one that isn’t painted shut and doesn’t lead into Maudette’s bedroom and I’m cool.”
He nodded. “I can keep the dogs quiet for you while you do it.”
She nodded, but her mind had moved on, thinking what a difference a few hours made. She’d left here expecting to spend a chunk of the beautiful moonlit night laughing and talking with Caden and Rachel, and when nothing happened, she’d creep back to bed and fall asleep with a smile on her face. But something had happened.
“Hey, you’re thinking about it again, aren’t you? I thought you weren’t going to do that anymore tonight.”
“No, I said I didn’t want to talk about it anymore. But I can’t stop thinking about it.”
There were a few seconds of silence — okay, not silence, since the night practically vibrated with the chorusing of katydids and frogs — but both of them held their breath. Then Caden spoke.
“Maybe this will help.”
Before his head even started to lower, she knew he was going to kiss her. He did nothing to hide it. In fact, he totally telegraphed it, giving her plenty of time to dodge if she wanted to. She knew it was coming, but still, when he cupped her face with his hand, it sent a jolt through her and drew a gasp. She thought she saw his lips turn up in a smile, but his face was too close, too out of focus to be certain. Then his lips were on hers.
And oh, man, building anticipation wasn’t all the boy did well. His touch was easy, his lips relaxed and positively luscious, sliding moistly over hers. And none of the too much, too soon stuff most guys tried. No groping hands, so sloppy wet tongues where tongues had not yet been invited to go. Just a perfect, unhurried, sweet exploration.
As their lips pressed and clung, Ashlyn tried to soak up every nuance — the smell of his skin, the feel of one hand on her face while the other rested lightly on her waist, the taste of his lips, the feel of his warm breath. She stored these details up to take out later when she needed the distraction. When he lifted his head a minute later, she had plenty of material to keep her mind occupied.
“So, did it help?” he asked, his voice low and teasing.
“Definitely.” But her happiness dimmed as a thought occurred to her. Had he kissed her just because he knew she needed it? She drew back slightly. “You’re a good person, Caden Williams.”
At hearing his own words echoed back to him, he laughed. “Girl, if you’re thinking that I did that purely out of the kindness of my heart, I must have done something wrong. Let’s try that again.”
With that, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her again, this time with unmistakable heat and hunger. When he released her long moments later, her body felt tight and restless with yearning. And her brain? Totally, gloriously giddy!
“Okay, get out of here,” he growled. “It’s getting late, and I need to see you safely inside before I can hop on my bike and go home.”
“Will I see you tomorrow?”
“Yeah. I’ll be over to help with the dogs.”
“Perfect.” She pushed up onto her tiptoes to press another quick kiss to his mouth, then turned and walked toward the house.
There was a stirring in the kennels, but then she heard Caden’s voice soothing the dogs.
Shifting her focus to the
job ahead — how to get into the house undetected — Ashlyn scanned the first floor windows. The two on the porch seemed the most likely, since she could step right in through them, rather than trying to hoist herself up from ground level. One fronted onto the living room, but that was too close to Maudette’s bedroom for Ashlyn’s comfort. The other would deposit her in the seldom-used dining room. So seldom used, she couldn’t remember what furniture might be sitting in front of or near the window.
Then a thought occurred to her — was the door unlocked? Ashlyn couldn’t recall whether Maudette’s nightly routine included locking up. It would have been automatic in Toronto, but here? Who knew? The doors seemed to be the same vintage as the windows, so maybe they didn’t even have locks to worry about. It was worth a try. She’d hate to scramble in through a window, possibly knocking something over in the process, when she could just walk through the door.
She climbed the steps and glided over to the door. The screen door opened with only the smallest of squeaks. She grasped the knob of the main door and it turned under her hand. Bless you, Maudette!
A second later, she was inside. She’d expected to find the place in darkness, but there was a muted light emanating from the kitchen. Closing the door softly, she started toward the stairs but her steps faltered when she realized where the light was likely coming from.
The basement.
Crap! The house was silent now, but had it been earlier? Was Maudette down there?
Ashlyn stood there, torn. The two things she did not want to see — or hear — right now were her grandmother and that stupid radio. Plus Caden was no doubt waiting to see her bedroom light come on. But she couldn’t just go to bed without investigating. What if Maudette were down there, distraught? Or, oh God, what if she’d had a heart attack or something? She’d been so upset last time….
Crap, crap, crap.
She turned and tiptoed through the kitchen to the basement door, which was ajar. Ashlyn stood there a moment listening, but could detect nothing but the ticking of the clock in the kitchen. Drawing a deep breath, she descended the first few steps silently. When she reached the fifth step, she crouched down to scan the area. Thank God! No one down there. The radio was silent. Moving carefully she retraced her steps and headed up to her room. In her haste to signal Caden, she forgot about the squeaky step and it groaned a protest under her weight. Ashlyn swore under her breath and kept going. Another few seconds and she was safely in her room again.
Quickly she moved to her desk and snapped on the small lamp, then moved to the window. She lifted a hand and waved. From the kennel came three flashes from Caden’s flashlight. Ashlyn grinned and turned away.
First order of business was to clear fake Ashlyn out of her bed so she could climb in. It took a minute to put things back to rights and another minute to strip off her clothes and pull on the long t-shirt she slept in. Another minute to dig through her bookbag for the Tylenol she kept there. Anxious to crawl under the blankets and relive those moments with Caden – not to mention get her weight off her sore knee – she dry swallowed the painkillers and reached to shut off the lamp. And froze.
There on the desk sat a large ring. A man’s ring. A man’s school ring, to be specific, vintage silver with a blue stone surrounded by the words, “Prescott Junction High School”. She picked it up and examined it, but even before she read the year on the ring and the “Patrick & Leslie Forever” engraved on the inside, she knew who it had belonged to. It was her father’s.
And Maudette had brought it up last night, probably as a peace offering after wrecking Ashlyn’s plans.
Ashlyn let out a groan.
I am so busted.
Chapter 8
IT WAS THE RING that gave Ashlyn the idea. She’d turned her father’s class ring in her hand over and over again. She’d squeezed it tightly in her palm until the silver was warm. And, of course, she’d read the inscription at least a hundred times: Patrick and Leslie forever.
Ashlyn had come down the stairs on Saturday morning nervously. Sheepishly. And wondering what Maudette would say about last night’s … er … covert exit from the house. She assumed she’d been caught sneaking out. Unless of course Maudette walked into her room in the dark, said nothing that required a response, and didn’t notice the Ashlyn-shaped lump on the bed wasn’t Ashlyn herself.
It was a possibility.
Yeah, Ash, and you go to bed every night with that Blue Jays tuque on your head — blue and white pom-pom sticking out for good luck.
Maudette was still sitting at the table when Ashlyn rounded the corner into the kitchen. Just crumbs on the plate in front of her, teacup held tightly in her hand. She didn’t look up at Ashlyn, or utter so much as a good morning.
Bad sign.
Ashlyn filled the kettle at the sink and set it on the stove, turning the burner to high. She plunked some bread in the toaster. By the time the toast popped and the water was ready for her instant coffee, Ashlyn couldn’t stand it any longer.
“Thanks for the ring,” she said. She set her breakfast on the table.
“Oh, you found it did you?” Maudette’s words were clipped.
“Yeah. First thing this morning.” She took a sip of her coffee.
“Just this morning, eh? Well, isn’t that something for a night owl like you.”
Ashlyn sputtered into her mug.
Well, was she caught or wasn’t she?
The chair scraped the floor as Maudette suddenly stood. Loudly, she tumbled her dishes into the sink and headed for the door, slamming it behind her as she went out to tend the dogs.
And thus began the quiet weekend at the Caverhill house.
Ashlyn had seen Caden on Saturday, of course. Unfortunately, Maudette had been out there in her kennel office the whole time. Ashlyn had pretty much wanted to corner Caden and kiss him again, but she’d had to content herself with heated looks and the occasional accidental/on purpose brush. The looks he sent back were equally hot, but he was much more circumspect about contact. By the time he left, they were both a little bothered. But in the nicest possible way.
But by late Sunday night, as she turned the ring to warmth again in her palm, the idea struck her like a shoulda-had-a-V8 whap upside the head. She could actually access a picture of her father! And she didn’t have to beg anyone to get her hands on it. Both her parents would have attended Prescott Junction High, not just her cheerleader mother. Patrick and Leslie had been classmates! High school sweethearts. It was a pretty safe bet that she’d find their old yearbook tucked away in the school library. And just as soon as she could, she was going after it.
Monday took an eternity to arrive. Once she’d hatched the plan to find the yearbook, Ashlyn couldn’t sleep for excitement. She was finally going to get a look at her father she’d wished for all her life. So instead of sitting down to the blueberry muffins that Maudette had made the night before (pissed off or not, her grandmother was still making sure she ate well), Ashlyn grabbed an apple juice from the fridge, shoved a couple muffins in her pockets, and hustled down the tracks before most of the Junction was even stirring.
As she crossed the train bridge, a shudder came over her. One she honestly hadn’t expected to feel when she’d set out. The ghost train didn’t run during the day. Ever. That was the legend. So she wasn’t worried it would come steaming down the tracks. But there was no denying the memory of the terror she’d felt on Friday night, no dismissing how close she’d come to that soul-stealing conductor.
And yet, as she thought about it in the full light of day, she had to admit there’d been a strange, awe-inspiring beauty to the ghost train, just as Rachel had promised. A beauty that she didn’t claim to understand. Hell, that she didn’t want to come anywhere close to comprehending! But Rachel…. Man, she’d been so enraptured with it. Ashlyn could almost understand.
There were only a few cars in the lot when Ashlyn arrived at the school. Technically, it wasn’t open to students before eight o’clock, but no alarms sounde
d and no one stopped her as she slipped through the main door and scooted down the dim, locker-lined hallway to the library. She thought she heard the clicking of heels in at least one classroom, and she definitely smelled the faint trace of cigarette smoke — a total get-you-suspended no-no — from somewhere inside the building, so she knew she wasn’t alone.
As she approached the library’s long row of glass windows, she mentally chanted, Be open, be open, be open. The library didn’t open for service until lunch hour, but Ashlyn didn’t want to wait that long. She’d gone her entire life with no idea what her father looked like, and now the urgency was consuming her. Seventeen years she’d waited for this. Her Caverhill-green eyes she got from her mother’s side of the family, but did she get her blonde hair from her dad? What about her chin? Was it anything like his? Had Patrick Murphy been tall? Handsome? Ashlyn caught a glimpse of her own reflection in the library windows. How much of him was there in her face?
The library was in darkness, as was Ms. Degagne’s inner glassed-in office. It looked empty, which was exactly what it should be at this early hour, and the blue and white sign on the door was clearly flipped to ‘CLOSED.’
Well, you see, Ms. Degagne, I’m new here in Prescott Junction and….
Yeah, right. That should work about as well as all the other times she’d tried it. But when Ashlyn tried the door, it opened too easily and too quietly for her not to slip inside. Her footfalls were quiet down the carpet-covered library steps, and of course she had nothing on her to set off the alarms as she passed through the gates at the bottom. She stopped, and looked around, a happy little smile playing on her face. Truth was, she loved books. Always had. Just being surrounded by them was somehow oddly soothing to her.
Now, all she had to do was find the right stack for Prescott Junction yearbooks. Ashlyn stood there, thinking. The computers had been logged off for the weekend so she couldn’t access the catalogue that way. But it wasn’t like this was a huge library. In fact—
“Oh, that … that … sonofabitch!”
Ashlyn froze when she heard the muffled, blubbering curse. Her eyes darted to the small, glassed-in office, and more specifically, to Ms. Degagne behind her desk. The librarian sat there, the picture of misery, bent low over her desk, her head pillowed on her arms. Her small shoulders shook as she sobbed.
Ashlyn's Radio Page 10