Still Close to Heaven

by Maureen Child

  Yet, the truth stood before her.

  A man unchanged in fifteen years.

  Her heartbeat staggered a bit, then steadied itself again. As a child, she'd thought him an angel. As an adult, it was painfully clear that he wasn’t a heavenly being, but her feelings for him were stronger than ever. Maybe because he wasn't perfect. She didn’t know. But then, lately, she didn’t seem to know anything for sure.

  "Jackson, please. Come back to the store with me."

  "I can't," he said stiffly.

  "Why not?"

  "I have to do something."

  "What, Jackson? What do you have to do?"

  "I don’t know," he snapped her a hot look, then turned to stare off down the street again. "I don't know," he repeated in an agonized whisper. "But I can't pretend he’s not here. Alive."

  "You could stay away from him, though."

  A horse and rider headed toward them, and Jackson pulled her out of the way. She fell against him and braced her palms on his chest. He flinched at her touch. As he looked down into her eyes, Rachel thought for one wild moment that he was going to pull her even closer and lower his lips to hers.

  Then a child down the street shouted to his friend, and that was enough to shatter the spell surrounding them. Holding her upper arms, Jackson set her back a pace. The tick in his jaw was the only outward sign that he had felt anything at all at their closeness.

  "Rachel, you can't understand this."

  "Yes, I can."

  He glanced up, as if to assure himself that no one was near, then drew her to one side of the street for good measure. She hurried her steps to keep up with him and silently cursed her skirts as they tangled around her legs. When they reached the shelter of the back wall of the livery, Jackson slapped one palm on the wood siding, shielding her from view with his body.

  She stared up at him. His eyes blazed, his jaw was tight, and it was as if those peaceful moments in the meadow had never happened. She felt his mounting frustration as a wall rising between them.

  "Rachel, you can't know what it's like to come face to face with your own killer."

  She reached up and covered the hand he'd laid against the wall with one of her own. Looking him squarely in the eye, she agreed. "No, I can't."

  He nodded abruptly, but she went on.

  "But I do know what it’s like to face a ghost from your past."

  He stiffened and tried to pull away. She tightened her grip on his hand. "And I know what it is to have that ghost disrupt your life."

  He snorted.

  "Your existence," she corrected. "It's a helpless feeling, Jackson. You get angry. Frustrated."

  "It's not the same." He pushed away from the wall and her. Taking a step or two back, he shoved both hands through his black hair.

  "Close enough," she said quietly.

  A long minute passed, and she held his gaze with hers.

  She waited and watched as he thought over what she had just said. Finally, he spoke again.

  "All right." He nodded at her. "We’ve both had our pasts thrown at us. But that's where it ends, Rachel. That's where your understanding of this situation ends."

  "Jackson —"

  "No," he said quickly and stomped back to her side. "I didn't shoot you and leave you to bleed to death on a dirty floor."

  Pain stabbed at her as she imagined the horrible death he had suffered before she had ever met him. True, she didn't know what that felt like. But there was more than one kind of pain in the world.

  "I didn't harm you all those years ago, Rachel." His voice was tight, hard. "So you can't understand what I'm feeling."

  "Didn't harm me?"

  He slanted her a look, alerted by the tone in her voice.

  "Granted, you didn't shoot me." She pulled in a deep breath, lifted her chin, and said, "But you made a promise you never intended to keep. You let me love you, knowing I'd never see you again."

  He groaned. "Rachel…"

  "And now you turn up again." She pushed away from the wall and stalked past him, still muttering to herself. "Make me care again. Make me wish for things that can't be…"

  "Dammit, Rachel," he started after her.

  She heard his footsteps. But she was finished talking. At least for the moment. Rachel wanted to lose herself in the crowded street. She wanted to hear noise and people. She didn't want to think anymore. And she definitely didn’t want to be alone with Jackson. She hurried her steps and rounded the corner of the livery just as he grabbed her elbow to drag her back into the shadows.

  A loud female voice, though, stopped him cold. "Just the man I wanted to see."

  Rachel nearly groaned when she saw Tessa Horn rushing toward them. She'd forgotten all about the other woman's visit earlier that morning. But then she could hardly be blamed for that, could she? So much had happened in the last few hours, it was a wonder she could remember her own name.

  Glancing up at Jackson, she noted his put upon look and shrugged helplessly. It was too late to avoid Tessa and if they turned around and went the other way, not only would it be rude… it would be useless. Tessa would only follow and eventually catch them.

  The older woman came to an abrupt stop directly in front of them. Her black skirt swished around her ankles, and her heavy breasts swayed beneath the incredibly tight fabric of her dress.

  "Jackson," Rachel said, "Tessa wanted to speak to you about building a dance floor for the town social."

  He breathed deeply, nodded, and looked at the woman waiting impatiently for his attention. "Yes ma'am, I'd be happy to do what I can."

  "Excellent, young man. I do approve of citizens taking an interest in the town's doings."

  Rachel listened to the incessant chatter spilling from Tessa’s lips and knew she didn’t have the patience to deal with the woman at the moment. She glanced up at Jackson and noted wryly that he didn’t seem to be having the same trouble. To look at him now, no one would guess that only a minute ago he had been in the middle of an argument. He smiled at Tessa patiently, and only Rachel seemed to be aware of his rigid stance.

  She reached up and rubbed her temple with her fingertips. There were too many things to think about, she told herself. Jackson, Noble Lynch, her own lingering feelings for a ghost. Not to mention, she groaned inwardly, the gold coin she still held in her hand.

  Taking the coward’s way out, she spoke up, interrupting Tessa in midstream. "If you two will excuse me, I really had better get back to work."

  Jackson shot her a quick look, but Tessa dismissed her without a glance.

  "Of course, of course. Your cousin and I will do quite nicely, my dear."

  Rachel stepped off the boardwalk and hurried away. As she went, she felt Jackson’s stare boring into her back.

  #

  "Really Sam, I shouldn’t," Mavis insisted, though with a little less vehemence than a moment before.

  Early afternoon sunlight streamed in through the sparkling windowpanes of Mavis's dress shop on Main Street. Outside, hurried footsteps clattered on the boardwalk, and the muffled noise and confusion that usually reigned in town colored the air. But here, in the quiet, there was only the two of them.

  "Mavis, darlin'," he countered and slid one arm around her shoulders, "wouldn’t you rather take a long walk in the moonlight with me, than go to one of those meetings at Rachel’s?"

  She tilted her head back to look up at him, and Sam’s breath caught in his throat. How had he known her off and on for years and never noticed before now what beautiful eyes she had? Reaching up, he pushed her spectacles higher on her small, straight nose and lost himself in those soft, whiskey colored eyes.

  She smiled at him and for the first time, he noted a tiny dimple in her left cheek. There was so much about her that he was only now discovering.

  Why had he never taken the time to discover her gentle heart and the way she fit so nicely in the circle of his arms? His hand slid off her shoulder and down along her rib cage.

  There were no boney angle
s on Mavis. No hard, steely bands of a corset to prevent him from feeling her softness.

  She shivered as his fingertips drifted too close to a breast he longed to touch, and he dutifully retreated.

  Yes, soft was the word to best describe the woman he loved. Her figure was a bit rounder than most men would have preferred, but Sam appreciated the feel of her in his arms. But more than that, her warm, generous spirit offered comfort to a man too long alone.

  Her kisses left him breathless, and her eager inexperience fed his desire until the flames of his wild need for her threatened to consume him. His body ached to possess her. His heart and mind wanted nothing more than to be near her.

  "Sam?" she whispered and ducked her head, muffling her voice.

  He tipped her chin up with his fingertips until their gazes met and held. "What is it, darlin'?"

  "I’ve been thinking about your proposal…"

  Tension gripped him. She couldn’t refuse him. He wouldn’t allow himself to even entertain the notion. Since finding Mavis, he couldn’t imagine being alone again.

  "And you've decided to say yes?" he prodded gently as his wandering hand continued to stroke her back and side.

  She sucked in a gulp of air greedily and said in a rush, "I want to, Sam. I really do. It's just that everything has happened so quickly. How can we be sure that you really love me?"

  "Oh honey," he gratefully felt his fears slide away. She didn't doubt her love for him. Only his for her. That, he would gladly spend the rest of his life proving to her. "I know I'm rushing you. And maybe all of this does seem a little quick."

  She nodded and her bottom lip trembled a bit.

  He bent his head and planted a slow, chaste kiss to the spot. Then he pulled back again and looked into her eyes, willing his love for her to show on his face. For her to be able to read it in his eyes.

  "Mavis darlin', I do love you."

  She blinked and those wide, amber eyes filled with a sheen of water.

  He smiled gently. "Maybe this has been building in me for a lot of years," he said. "That's what it feels like." He had to make her understand something he was only beginning to comprehend himself. "The other night, when I saw you at the store?"

  She nodded.

  "It was like somebody tore the blinders off my eyes, and I saw you for the first time. I mean, really saw you."

  "But…"

  "No buts, Mavis." He laid his fingertips across her lips and shook his head again slowly. "I don't know why or how all of this happened so fast. All I know is that I love you. I think I’ve always loved you, I was just too stupid to see it sooner."

  "If I could believe that," she whispered.

  "Believe it, sweetheart," he said in a pleading whisper. "Please believe it and love me back."

  Mavis reached up and laid her palm against his cheek. He turned his face into her touch and kissed her hand.

  "I do love you, Sam. I’ve loved you forever."

  He looked at her in surprise. He’d never known or even suspected how she had felt about him. Momentary regret for years wasted rose up in him, but he immediately pushed it aside. None of that mattered now. All that mattered was that they had finally found each other.

  "Then you'll marry me?"

  "Yes, Sam."

  "When?"

  "As soon as you like."

  He sighed as he gathered her in close to him. "Then it'll be real soon, honey. I don’t think I'll be able to hold out much longer."

  Mavis smiled knowingly and reached up to pull his head down to hers. "I know, Sam. I’ve waited a long time, too."

  His lips came down on hers, and he felt like a man waking up from a long, lonely sleep to find his dreams had become reality.

  #

  "Why's the store closed?"

  Rachel hurried her steps and smiled an apology at Sally Wiley.

  "Are you sick?" her friend asked.

  "No, I was just…" Rachel let her voice trail away into silence because she couldn't think of a single excuse to offer. Saying no, I've just been off falling in love with a dead man, didn’t seem appropriate. Thankfully, though, Sally didn’t seem very interested in explanations.

  The woman followed Rachel into the store then immediately headed for the far end of the room. There, she picked up four bars of lye soap and turned around again.

  "I ran out," she said with a shrug, "and I'm hip deep in dirty clothes."

  Rachel, glad for the chance to think about someone besides Jackson, or herself, walked to her friend’s side. Reaching out, she took one of Sally's reddened, cracked hands in hers. "That lye is eating your skin right off the bones, Sally."

  The woman glanced down at her hand, shrugged, and pulled it back to cradle the bars of strong, brown soap close to her narrow chest. "Don’t look now, but you’re starting to sound like Mavis."

  "Well, she's right." Rachel shook her head as the other woman tugged her black crocheted shawl up high enough for her hands to bury themselves in its folds. "Maybe you should close the laundry for a week or so. Take some time off to let your hands heal a bit."

  Sally nodded solemnly, lifting her dark eyebrows. "My, what a good idea. I'll just go to my summer home in Seattle for a week or two, shall I?"

  Rachel smiled wryly.

  "Or no," Sally added with a wicked grin, "even better. I'll take a couple of months off and head for France. I hear it's lovely this time of year."

  "All right," Rachel said with a resigned chuckle. "I understand."

  "I suppose you would. I don't see you closing up shop and taking off for parts unknown."

  "Yes, but the store isn't making my hands bleed."

  Sally frowned briefly. "They'll heal. Mavis made me some more of that cream of hers."

  "But…"

  "Smells a good deal better than that last batch," she laughed and shook her head. "Remember the stench?"

  "Sally…"

  One sharp look from a pair of dark brown eyes cut Rachel's argument off short. Sally's fierce sense of independence was too much like her own to fight against.

  "Now, if you'll just put these on my bill, I'd best get back to work," Sally said with a brightness Rachel knew was forced. "There's a mountain of laundry calling my name."

  "Let me guess. Mike O’Hara's been by."

  "Yesterday." Sighing, she headed for the door. "I swear to you, Rachel. Sometimes I think that man rolls around in the mud on purpose. No man alive could get that dirty without working on it."

  Before Sally could step outside, Rachel asked, "Will you be coming over tonight?"

  "Hmm?" She slapped one hand to her forehead. "Oh, the meeting. I'd forgotten all about it."

  "That’s all right, you’re tired." Rachel smiled halfheartedly. Besides, she was willing to bet that Mavis, too, had forgotten about the meeting of the Spinster Society. No doubt, she was too wrapped up in Sam Hale to notice much of anything.

  She and Hester alone wouldn't make much of a meeting, she told herself, ignoring the fact that she didn’t feel much like celebrating spinsterhood at the moment, either.

  "Why don’t I just cancel, and we can all meet next week?"

  "I do feel like dropping in my tracks," Sally said. "Thanks. Next week though, I promise."

  When she was alone again, Rachel opened her clenched hand to look at the coin Jackson had given her. She smoothed the tip of one finger over the deeply etched, fivepointed star and felt a tingle of… something run up her arm.

  The gold glinted in the sunshine and felt warm on her palm. Closing her other hand over the coin, she held it trapped between both her hands as if half expecting it to disappear at any moment.

  Magic coins.

  Ghosts.

  Nodding to herself, she crossed the floor to the long counter. Stepping through the gated section, she walked along the length of the counter until she reached the far end. There, she bent down and reached to the back of a shelf filled with canned goods. In the shadows behind the neatly stacked rows of beans and peaches was a small
tin box.

  She pulled it out, then plopped down onto the floor.

  Opening the box, she barely glanced at the folded loan papers and the deeds to the store and the land where her new house was growing. Instead, she stared at the coin in her hand for a long moment before gently laying it down atop the documents. Then she closed the lid again and held the box tightly in her hands.

  Just in case, he’d said.

  In case she ever needed help and he wasn't around.

  "Jackson," she murmured softly, "the only help I need is to stop loving you." She glanced down at the tin box, then returned it to its nest in the shadows. "And I'm afraid there's not enough magic in the world to accomplish that."

  Chapter Twelve

  "We want the dance floor big enough for everyone to have enough room to enjoy themselves, but small enough that we can tuck it away in a barn until next year' s social."

  “Yes ma'am," Jackson said.

  Tessa looked up at him, frowned, then batted his shoulder with her parasol. "Young man, are you listening to me?"

  He gave her a sheepish grin. "I sure am, Tessa, and that dance floor will be just right. I promise."

  "Good. See that it is, mind." She wagged the tip of her parasol like a teacher waving an index finger at a naughty student. "I'll brook no slapdash jobs, now."

  Jackson grinned and nodded, tipped his hat, then started along the street again. Strange, but he was slipping into life in Stillwater like he’d been born there. He nodded hello to the barber and kept walking.

  In a few short days, these people had become familiar to him. He was learning the pace of the town and fitting in as he had never belonged anywhere else. All the time he was alive, he didn’t remember feeling such a part of a place. But then, when you spent most of your time in saloons, it wasn't easy to meet the solid citizens.

  He stepped to one side to allow a woman and her small son to pass him on the walk. A loose board caught his eye and his thought was to find a hammer and fix it before someone broke their neck.

  Shaking his head, he stepped off the boardwalk into the street. Something else, he told himself. He didn’t remember being so eager to work when he was alive, either. Oh, he'd had more than enough jobs to keep him in drinking money. He'd always been good with his hands, and expert carpenters were hard to come by in most towns.