When the Spirit Is Willing

by Margaret Chittenden

  No.

  Yes.

  She groaned. Of all the stupid, self-defeating things to do. What had happened to her quest for a serious-minded man who would never turn another woman's head or want to? A man who wanted a home and a family and knew how to treat and appreciate both?

  She shook her head, determined not to admit anything to Priscilla. "I made a vow to myself when Brady died that in the future I would listen to my brain and not my hormones," she said firmly.

  "A vow," Priscilla echoed, with a strange expression on her face.

  "A solemn vow," Laura said.

  Priscilla looked at her earnestly. "A vow can be a dangerous thing, Laura."

  Before Laura could question the use of the word "dangerous" Jessica called from the hall, "Who are you talking to, Mom?"

  Priscilla put her finger to her lips, her green eyes gleaming. A moment later Jessica appeared in the doorway, one hand trailing her stuffed white rabbit.

  For a moment she stared unbelievingly, then her face ignited with joy, as though a candle had been lit inside her. Dropping the rabbit, she flung herself at Priscilla and hugged her tightly. "You're back," she crowed. "Uncle Carter said you'd come back."

  "Uncle Carter?" Priscilla repeated, eyebrows arching.

  Laura made a face at her. As Jessica happily rattled on, telling Priscilla how she'd searched for her, how Uncle Carter had counted up to a hundred to show how long Priscilla had been around, which meant she'd have to come back, would come back, Laura seized the chance to get away from Priscilla's teasing eyes. "I'm going to take my shower," she announced.

  From the bathroom, she could faintly hear Jessica's questions and Priscilla's reassuring responses. Quite suddenly, it seemed to her that the house was filled with an energy that had been missing during Priscilla's absence. Even in the bathroom, the air seemed to sparkle. And when she opened the frosted window and looked out she saw that the sun was shining. It was going to be a lovely day.

  Carter would be picking her up at six o'clock this evening, she remembered suddenly, feeling her heart contract with a mixture of pleasure and near dread. Before he got here she had to wipe out the word love from her thoughts so completely there would be no possible danger of her saying it. She knew exactly how someone like Carter would react to the word love—he'd run as far away and as fast as his long and superbly tailored legs would carry him.

  He'd be pleased that Priscilla was back—no doubt about that. Would he be pleased to learn that Laura was going to stay in Port Dudley? It would be fun presenting him with both surprises.

  Fun.

  She couldn't remember when that word had last occurred to her.

  Carter was a little late. He greeted her with a kiss that sent her whole nervous system into overdrive. While he was still admiring her dress and apologizing about the phone call that had delayed his departure from the museum, she took his hand and led him into the den, where Jessica and Priscilla were sitting on the sofa, their heads bent over the drawing of Port Dudley.

  Carter stopped dead in the doorway, his dark eyes filling with pleasure. "I remember seeing all those ships," Priscilla was saying. "You wouldn't believe what a bustling town this was in those days, poppet. Of course, respectable ladies didn't go down to the waterfront. The class of person who frequented the saloons—" She broke off, evidently remembering whom she was talking to. "We did our shopping uptown," she went on smoothly. "Ladies didn't have much else to do in those days. We had our teas, of course, and the theater and—"

  Apparently sensing Laura's and Carter's presence, she looked up from the drawing and smiled. "Carter. It's about time you came to see me again." Rising, she came toward him with both hands outstretched.

  Smiling broadly, he pulled her into his arms and hugged her. She looked touched and a little embarrassed. "We've missed you," he said simply when he released her. "I'm glad you're back." His dark eyes were still glowing.

  "You said she'd come back, Uncle Carter," Jessica chimed in, beaming up at him.

  "So I did." He looked smilingly from Jessica to Priscilla, then caught sight of the clock on the mantel. "I hate to put a damper on this homecoming party, but Tiffany's going to be arriving any minute." He looked at Laura. "She had to back up all the batch files and compress the hard disk, whatever all that means. As soon as she gets that done she'll be right over."

  "I forgot all about Tiffany," Laura exclaimed.

  "I suppose you're saying I have to disappear again," Priscilla grumbled. "Really, Carter, I just got back." Her face brightened. "Perhaps I could just stay and visit with this baby-sitter you've hired, Laura. We don't have to tell her I'm a ghost."

  "You don't think she'd wonder about your clothing?" Carter asked. "I doubt you could fit into a pair of Laura's jeans."

  "There's no need to get personal," Priscilla said heatedly. "In my day men appreciated a little flesh on a woman." She sighed. "It wouldn't work, anyway. This is the only clothing I can manage to assemble. I seem to come together as a complete package, so to speak. I must say it gets very tiresome, always wearing the same dress. Why, when I was alive I had so many gowns to choose from it would take me hours to decide what to wear."

  "The point is, what are we going to do when Tiffany gets here?" Laura asked. She looked worriedly at Carter. "Maybe we should just stay home—it might get awkward if—"

  "I'll make myself scarce," Priscilla said in a long-suffering voice. "Though having seen the strange rigs people wear on television, I really think this young person — Tiffany—would just accept me as I am. Even if she discovered I'm a ghost—"

  "We can't take a chance on word getting out," Laura insisted. "If the media got hold of this, we'd have a circus on our hands."

  "Do you think they'd put me on Oprah!" Priscilla asked. "Or Donahue, perhaps? Such nice hair that man has. Reminds me of Sly's. How is Sly?" she asked with a pert glance at Carter.

  "Sly's still suffering from agoraphobia," Carter said shortly, then went on before Priscilla could question the term. "Would anyone be able to see you on television?"

  Priscilla frowned. "I'm not sure I understand—oh, you mean that old myth about ghosts being invisible in mirrors or on camera? I can be seen in a mirror, so why not—on the other hand, we wouldn't want sightseers popping up on our porch would we?"

  "I don't want you to go," Jessica wailed.

  Priscilla patted her lightly on the head. "I won't even catnap, my poppet. I'll just dematerialize and keep an eye on you and this Tiffany person. I'll poke you in the ribs now and again so you know I'm around."

  "That's okay, then," Jessica said with a grin.

  The doorbell rang and Priscilla started fading away immediately. Something else that didn't seem so strange anymore, Laura realized as she went to let Tiffany in. It was amazing how they'd all adapted to having a ghost in the house.

  Jessica was disappointed Tiffany hadn't worn her Yankee Doodle costume. "It looked so pretty," she grumbled. "I wanted to look at it again."

  "Tell you what," Tiffany said. "I'll make you one like it."

  Jessica's eyes widened. "You made it yourself?"

  Tiffany nodded. "I make all my own stuff. I'll have it ready for you for next Fourth of July."

  Jessica's eyes clouded. Probably, Laura thought, she was thinking they wouldn't be in Port Dudley next year. She had to tell her soon that they would be. She'd be thrilled. But first, Laura had to break the news to Carter. Would he be pleased? she wondered again. Of course he would. Why wouldn't he?

  Tiffany had brought along a lap-top computer, which she said was programmed with some fun software. "Reader Rabbit's not just a game," she assured Laura earnestly. "It's geared to ages five to eight—it helps build reading and thinking skills."

  "Don't you get tired of computers after working on one all day?" Laura asked.

  Tiffany's lovely green eyes looked blank. "What's to get tired of?" she asked.

  Laura shook her head. "I'll need to leave a phone number," she told Carter.


  For a moment, he seemed at a loss, then he nodded and scribbled something on the back of one of his business cards. He handed it to Tiffany before Laura could see what he'd written.

  "Where are we going?" she asked as he escorted her to the door.

  "You'll see," he said.

  "I don't always like surprises," she said.

  He grinned at her, his dark eyebrows slanting. "I'll take my chances."

  She supposed she'd have to be content with that.

  The first surprise was that Max was sitting expectantly in the back seat of the Jeep. Carter had to speak to him sharply to stop him from washing Laura's makeup off her face. "It's one of the few things I can't break him of," he complained as he turned the Jeep around. "He thinks that's the proper dog way to show affection."

  Laura grinned and reached back to rub Max's head. "It's always nice to be… liked," she said, then bit her tongue. She'd almost said "loved."

  Carter glanced at her. "Did Priscilla explain her absence?" he asked.

  "Simple rest and relaxation, she says."

  "You sound doubtful."

  "I am doubtful. I think there was more to it than that. I think there's more to Priscilla's ghosthood, or whatever you want to call it, than she's telling us." She frowned. "She said a funny thing to me this morning. She said a vow can be dangerous."

  "Why would she say that?"

  "I don't know." She hesitated. "I don't remember the context," she lied.

  Carter drove in silence for a few minutes, then he sighed and shook his head. After another minute, he glanced at her sideways. "You look beautiful," he said.

  As though in agreement, Max stuck his head over the back of her seat, laid his head on her shoulder and sighed in her ear. She smiled at both of them. Not knowing exactly what Carter had in mind for the evening, but aware he'd be coming directly from the museum in one of his elegant suits, she hadn't been sure what to wear. In fact, she had dithered so much and tried on so many outfits, Priscilla had made several pointed remarks about dressing for a lover, which she had managed to ignore. She had finally settled for a full-skirted dress of black cotton printed with small clusters of white rosebuds.

  "Can you tell me where we're going now?" she asked.

  Instead of answering, Carter inclined his head toward the back seat.

  Gently moving Max's head aside, Laura saw a wicker picnic basket on the floor. There was also a cooler and a padded wine bottle container. "A picnic?"

  Her surprise showed in her voice and Carter gave her his wicked smile. "You were perhaps expecting something more intimate?" He put his hand lightly on her knee. "Laura, Laura, how you constantly misjudge me. On such a warm evening, where else would I take you but on a picnic?"

  They were driving toward the park, she realized. Which explained why he'd brought Max along. She was astonished, and not sure if she was relieved or disappointed. "What was the number you left with Tiffany, then?" she asked. "She does need to know where we'll be, Carter…"

  "You'll see," he said again.

  While she was trying to decide whether to insist on an answer, he turned into the park entrance, then drove along the waterfront, where there were a few picnic tables and a strip of pebbly beach. The tables were spread apart, and they all seemed to be occupied—mostly with families that featured several children. Hardly the most romantic of situations.

  "I think there's one up there," Laura said, pointing to a small hill that marked the boundary of the park.

  Carter shook his head. "I know a better one."

  He skirted the hill, emerging on a lane that paralleled the waterfront. "I thought the park ended back there," Laura murmured.

  "I never did say we were going to picnic in the park," he said as he drew up in front of a small cottage.

  She looked at him questioningly.

  "Property of a friend of mine," he explained. "He's an artist. Comes up here from Seattle to paint when the frenzy seizes him. I remembered it suddenly. Called him up to see if he'd mind if I took a friend to see it." He grinned. "It has a telephone. I gave Tiffany the number."

  "I take it your friend's not being seized by a frenzy right now," Laura said dryly as she helped him unload the car.

  His devilish grin made her pulses quicken.

  "Far as I know, I'm the only one in a frenzy," he said.

  The cottage was minimally but attractively furnished. To her surprise, after pausing to toss his suit jacket and tie over the back of an armchair, Carter ushered her through the house and out the other side, where French doors opened onto a small deck that overlooked the Strait. Laura had time to see only a sofa set at right angles to the chair, a bright rag rug, a kitchen off to one side, a bedroom at the other.

  A bedroom.

  On the deck, a round table topped with Plexiglas and surrounded by four cushioned chairs was surmounted by a beige Oriental umbrella. Tubs of flowers filled the small space with brilliant color. Max ambled around, sniffing everything in sight, then stretched out in the sunshine and closed his eyes.

  "Isn't this nice?" Carter asked.

  He looked so satisfied with himself that Laura couldn't help laughing. "It's lovely." She raised an eyebrow. "Why do I feel like a lamb being led to the slaughter?"

  "Such a beautiful lamb," Carter said, not denying her implication.

  His dark eyes met hers and held. His eyes were full of promises, she thought, promises of pleasures yet to come.

  Her heart was in great danger of fibrillating again.

  "Ma'am," he said, pulling out one of the chairs.

  The picnic hamper was magnificently equipped with porcelain plates that were hand painted with English hunting designs, a round tablecloth and real silver flatware. From the cooler, Carter produced several plastic containers, opening them to show a shimmering fruit salad, a chicken salad with chunks of apple in it, a baguette already cut and buttered, and an assortment of greens.

  "I'm impressed," Laura said as he uncorked a bottle of Chardonnay and poured the wine into stemmed glasses.

  His smile was wry as he sat down on the seat opposite her and began serving her. "Sly's doing, I'm afraid. Much as I'd love to claim the credit, he offered to prepare the meal."

  "I thought he didn't approve of us seeing each other."

  He winced. "Okay. You've got me. He didn't exactly offer. I blackmailed him into doing it."

  "How?"

  "Told him I wouldn't question him about the black Merc anymore if he did this one small favor."

  "But Carter…"

  He held up a hand. "That doesn't mean I won't keep investigating. It's a waste of time questioning Sly, anyway."

  She shook her head. "All the same…"

  "Let's not talk about Sly this evening," he suggested. "The weatherman was obviously wrong when he predicted rain for tonight. The sun is shining, the birds are singing, the grass is green, Priscilla's back, Jessica has a reliable babysitter—"

  "Okay, I get the message," she interrupted, laughing.

  While they ate, they talked mostly about Priscilla, wondering what exactly had upset her about the newspapers Carter had shown her.

  "Obviously, we need to do further research," Laura said as she finished the last piece of French bread.

  "You've changed your mind, then?" Carter asked. "You think it's okay for us to go on poking around?"

  She frowned. "I think Priscilla won't be completely happy until she gets it all talked out. She's holding something back and I've an idea it's eating away at her." She became aware that he was looking at her fondly. She raised her eyebrows.

  "Priscilla's become very important to you, hasn't she?" he asked.

  She nodded, smiling as she always did when she thought of her resident ghost. "She's one of the family," she said. "That's one of the reasons…" She hesitated, not sure she was ready yet to tell him about her plans. "I've been working on something," she said. "I guess I should—"

  She broke off as a drop of water plopped onto her arm. It was closely follow
ed by several more. Glancing up in surprise, she saw that ominously dark clouds had suddenly gathered overhead.

  "Damn weatherman was right, after all," Carter grumbled good-naturedly. "Typical of Washington. As soon as you plan a picnic rain clouds gallop in from all directions yelling, 'Let me at 'em."

  He was already putting their dishes and tablecloth into the picnic basket. As more drops plopped on her, Laura grabbed the cooler and the leftover food and carried them inside with Max at her heels. The heavens opened up just as Carter latched the French doors. For a few minutes, they stood watching the driving rain bounce off the deck and the furniture. Max wandered off into a corner and flopped down with a sigh to resume his nap. Laura shivered a little—the temperature felt as though it had dropped at least twenty degrees in the past few minutes.

  "I'll take care of the dishes before we go," she offered.

  Carter looked down at her, that sexy ghost of a smile hovering around his mouth again. "Before we go where?" he asked.

  Laura looked back at him uncertainly. "Didn't you say something about dancing?"

  "I did."

  "So where are we going?"

  "Going?" Leaving her side, he walked over to the fireplace, which had already been set with paper and kindling and a couple of logs. After striking a match, he lit the paper, exclaiming with satisfaction as flames flared and the kindling started crackling.

  "Going?" he repeated as he switched on a sound system and soft music began to play. Max raised up, snorted slightly and lumbered off into the bedroom. Bending down, Carter folded the rag rug and set it aside, then straightened and held out his arms to her.

  "You are so devious, Carter Kincaid," Laura said, recognizing even as she spoke that her voice was soft and compliant.

  "I know," he said without a hint of apology.

  She laughed. He could always make her laugh, this man.

  Like Brady, who had also made her miserable.

  She didn't want to think about Brady tonight. She didn't want to think at all, she decided as she drifted into Carter's arms.

  He held her close and they moved together as though they had rehearsed their steps many times before. She was glad she'd worn heels—she fitted well against him. His hand was warm on her back. She could feel that warmth radiating throughout her body, setting free the tension that had been stored there for so long. Glancing upward, she saw that for once he wasn't smiling—his lean face was almost stern, his eyes dark.