by Vicki Hinze
“Your luggage will be delivered to you after it’s processed.”
We had luggage? I hadn’t even thought about luggage? Emily. She’d thought of it. Only God and she knew what would be in it. The wedding gown had been gorgeous, but I couldn’t forget that ski-mask.
The guard looked from me to Mark. “You’ll need to remove your watch, Mr. Green. There are lockers available for your use. Watches are not allowed in the park.”
“No watches?” Matthew removed his watch and passed it to Barry. “Hang onto that for me, will you?”
“Sure thing.” He stuffed it in his pocket without looking at it. Not once had his gaze left the guard.
“No, sir. No watches.” The guard said. “There’s a clock on Main Street in the village if you need to know the time for something. Most don’t.”
I slid Matthew a what kind of place is this look. He returned it seeming just as befuddled as me. “Anything else we need to know?” I asked.
The guard cleared his throat and answered by rote. “Before you engage in conversation with any other guest, be sure to walk from your cottage to the bridge and read the message posted there. You’ll pass the bridge on the way in, and that’s not a suggestion. It’s an important rule.”
Extremely odd. “What’s the sign posted on?”
“You’ll see it. It’s huge, bronze. Can’t miss it at the foot of the bridge.”
“What if we need something?” I asked.
“Oh, you can summon any member of the staff,” he assured us. “It’s just the other guests you can’t interact with until after you read the sign.”
“Okay.” I didn’t understand any of this, but hey, there were no mob thugs after us here and not interacting with anyone except Matthew suited me just fine. A couple days of isolation and maybe, just maybe I would think of him as Matthew and not Mark and of myself as Rose and not Daisy. That’d be a huge leap, but we both had to try hard to make it. A slip could wreck our deaths, and while Mr. Perini had managed them with an enviable flair, I sincerely doubt either of us were eager to go through it all again.
Barry cleared his throat. “I can’t go into the park, so I’ll leave you here. If you need anything, let the owners know.”
“Who are the owners?” Mark asked.
“Darby and Miss Emily,” Barry said. “One of them will contact us.” He lifted a hand. “See you Sunday.”
“Thanks.” Our Emily? Couldn’t be, could it? I had an uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach, but I made myself turn and walk through the gate. Had we found sanctuary or entered the twilight zone?
As if mocking me for calling the question in my own mind, a horse-drawn carriage pulled forward and a jaunty little man with a white shock of hair and shiny brass buttons on his uniform stepped down to open its door. “Good evening, Mr. and Mrs. Green. I’m Speckles, your coachman.” He gave us a wild-eyed, bizarre grin that proved impossible to interpret. “Welcome to Sampson Park.”
Chapter 18
“WHAT AN ODD place,” Matthew said. “And coming from New Orleans, that’s saying something.”
New Orleans thrived on odd. It embraced it. I looked out the carriage window. “Sampson Park might be charming. We’ll have to see it in the daylight.” At night, the tree branches made for hovering, menacing silhouettes.
Matthew dropped his voice. “Are they bent on keeping people out, or us in?”
I’d wondered the same thing. “Either way works for me. We need the reprieve, and I intend to enjoy it.”
The horse’s hooves made little clopping noises on the compacted dirt. Speckles didn’t seem to have any problem traveling the dark roads by the lantern-light. I wished the moon were brighter so I could see more of the area. What I could see was the silhouette of a huge old Victorian he’d pointed out as the “main house” and a lovely little gazebo near a lake. Beyond it we reached a fork in the road. The horse veered left.
“The village is beyond that rise,” Speckles said. “The cottages are just north of it, near that copse of trees.” He pointed to a cluster of lights shining through windows of small cottages. Candles or electricity? I had no idea. We drew closer, and the cottages came into a tighter view. They were painted pastel colors—green, pink, blue and yellow—and framed by lush foliage that separated all but two. Numbers six and five, if I’d counted correctly.
At number five, a man a few years younger than Matthew sat outside on the front porch steps. Behind him, two rockers stood empty and still. A little girl I nearly missed sat in the shadows under a huge oak tree, a pink teddy bear beside her on a colorful quilt. Odd time of night for a small child’s pretend picnic. Even more odd, she didn’t so much as glance our way as we passed by. “Is that child all right?” I asked Speckles.
“Ain’t nobody here all right, Mrs. Green, but Gracie isn’t in any danger.”
His response should have comforted me. Instead, it made me edgy.
“Whoa.” Speckles instructed the horse to stop.
It did with a little whinny, outside an arbored opening in a white picket fence. Climbing baby roses clung to the structure. Whether it was wood or wire, I couldn’t tell.
“Here you are.” Speckles jumped down. “Miss Sinclair manages the village. Anything you need, ask her.”
“How?” Did every cottage have a telegraph? “There are no phones, right?”
“Absolutely not.” He seemed affronted that she’d even ask. “The cottage has a bell pull, if you’re desperate. If not, walk to the village. Clock’s at center-square. Miss Sinclair’s office is at ten o’clock, right between the jewelry store and the candle shop. There’s a general store across the street at four o’clock.” He climbed down to the ground. “Miss Darby thought you might be hungry. A late supper is warming in the oven. After this, you’ll tend yourselves unless you’d rather not. Then just tell Miss Sinclair and meals will be delivered to you.”
“That’s thoughtful.” And appreciated. My stomach had been growling since awakening the first time in the truck.
Speckles escorted Matthew and me through the gate and up a brick sidewalk to the wide front porch. We too had two white rockers and a swing, perfect for just being still. I’m ashamed to admit just how much that appealed. “Nice.”
“Better all the time,” Matthew agreed.
Speckles unlocked the door and passed Matthew the key. “Remember, no talking with any other guest before you read the sign at the bridge.”
“Of course.” Matthew nodded.
Speckles smiled, revealing a broad gap between his front teeth. “Congratulations on your marriage. Hope you two have lots of good years together.”
Mr. Perini had told them we were newlyweds. “Thank you,” Matthew said. I mimicked him, uncertain if sharing that tidbit of personal information was a good idea. Then again, at this point, I second-guessed everything. Except for Matthew. I didn’t once second-guess him, which some would say made me crazy. But he’d passed the gut alarm and that twinkle was still in his eye. I trusted the gut alarm and that twinkle.
Speckles made his way back to the gated arbor. Just before reaching it, he paused on the brick sidewalk and looked back at us. “Oh, if you see a man shuffling around, pay him no mind. It’s Mr. Nelson from two cottages down. He don’t much like being around other people, so he usually only comes out at night.”
“Thank you, Speckles.” Considering our situation, anyone skulking around was not a pleasing thing, but it helped to know Mr. Nelson belonged here.
“And if there’s any kind of trouble—likely won’t be—yank your pull bell twice. That’s the distress signal to alert our security force.”
Security force? “That sounds a lot more serious than a single guard or two.”
“We have a substantial security force, Mrs. Green. Miss Emily and Miss Darby take privacy seriously—and they take protecting guests even more seriously. Locals are aware of it, and even the kids don’t mess around with the park. But every now and then we get a stray tourist. They tend to learn quic
k, though, so don’t you worry about a thing. You’re safe here.”
“That’s good to know,” I said, clasping a hand at Matthew’s wrist to prevent him from asking any questions. How I knew he was about to surprised us both.
I turned to walk inside.
“Wait!” Matthew scooped me into his arms. “I have to carry you, Rose. It’s tradition.”
I laughed and looped my arms around his neck.
We crossed the threshold, kissed, and the bedtime nerves began to set in. It wasn’t that I was opposed to sleeping with Matthew. The idea actually appealed immensely. He was my husband, after all. I guess I just hadn’t thought we would actually have the opportunity to sleep together for a while, and now that we did, I wasn’t quite sure how to handle it. From the heat in his eyes, he had no such qualms.
I think I loved that.
Inside the cottage, he kissed me again. The heat between us threatened to consume, and I didn’t feel exactly steady by the time his lips left mine. “I’m starving,” I said the first coherent thought that raced through my mind.
“Me, too.” Matthew smiled. “Let’s check out the place, then eat.”
Clearly his protective instincts had kicked in and to relax, he needed to assure himself the cottage was empty and get familiar with the lay of the land.
The cottage was charming. One bedroom, one bath, a kitchen and living room. It was about the size of my apartment in Biloxi, but so much lovelier. The furniture was gleaming cherry wood and it all matched, whereas mine was early garage sale and a la carte Good Will. The sofa and two chairs were oversized with thick, plump cushions that looked inviting, and would have been inviting even if I weren’t exhausted. The entire cottage was decorated in a warm peach and soft cream. Soothing and calm colors, with splashes of bright blue and lime green to keep it interesting and still cozy.
Mark pulled two plates of food out of the oven and flipped it off. “There’s a decent kitchen in here,” he said.
From a chef, that rated as high praise. “Good.” I opened the fridge and spotted a fresh pitcher of iced-tea and a bottle of wine. “Tea or wine?”
“Tea, I think,” he said, putting the hot places on mats on the table. “Best to stay alert, just in case…”
I fixed the tea and Mark located the silverware, then we sat down to eat.
“This is nice,” he said, looking a little sheepish. “After the storm, one of the things I hated most was eating alone.”
“Mmm.” I’d eaten alone most of my life; all of it, since Jackson had moved to Dallas. But I can’t say I didn’t like having company better, and I wish I could say, I didn’t skip meals or eat in front of the TV just to avoid staring at empty chairs across the table. But I did. “I’ve done a lot of it, but I don’t care for eating alone either.”
He reached across the table and took my hand. “Another reason us marrying was a good idea.”
I grunted and lifted my fork. The roast and parsley potatoes and candied carrots smelled wonderful and my stomach was in full “feed me” revolt. “I’m not so sure wanting someone to eat with should be a criteria for marrying, hon.”
“I didn’t say it was.” Matthew speared a baby carrot. “I said it was another reason it was a good idea.”
Another reason. “You have a list or something?”
“Not really.” He bit into the carrot and slowly chewed. “Though I have thought about us a lot.”
“Me, too.” That seemed nothing short of a miracle considering everything else going on in their lives—and their deaths. “Do you think we’re really safe from Marcello and Adriano out here?”
“Probably safer than anywhere else.” Matthew sliced a bite of roast, chewed and a look of surprise flashed across his face.
“What?”
“It’s good!” He frowned. “Melts in your mouth.”
“You didn’t expect that.”
“Well, frankly, no. I didn’t. But someone here knows their way around the kitchen.”
“It sure isn’t me.” I chuckled. “I promise I’ll never make you eat anything I cook. Your stomach is definitely thanking me for that.”
“Baby,” he dropped his voice and added a throaty growl, “I’ll cook for you anytime.”
I smiled, flirted back, and we worked our way through an entirely pleasant meal.
“Full yet?”
“I need to grow half a foot to have more space.” I pushed back my chair, took my dishes to the sink.
Mark brought his. “I’ll wash and you dry.”
“Okay.” I stepped aside and grabbed a cloth. The sexual tension between us ramped up through our meal. I played as much a part in that as Matthew. It might sound silly, but every move he made, every tilt of his head, expression that crossed his face fascinated me. I’ve been in lust before, and I recognize it. But this was . . . different. More. Somehow . . . more.
“There’s a loft upstairs with a second bed.” He passed me a plate he’d rinsed of soap. “So are we going to use both or sleep together, Rose?”
I hadn’t expected him to be that blunt. “What do you want to do?”
“You don’t get to answer my question with a question. You get to be honest. Do you want to sleep with me?”
“Well, yeah. I assumed we would, since we married each other twice.”
“That was different. You married me so I wouldn’t be alone. You knew how much that bothers me.” He looked me right in the eye. “Isn’t that true?”
“Well, it is . . . and it isn’t.”
He paused washing the glasses. “I’m pretty good at interpreting, but you’re going to have to explain that one to me.”
I sucked in a deep breath, hoping some courage came with it—he might not want to sleep with me—but found I really didn’t need extra courage. There was power in this honesty thing we had going on between us, and I felt confident no matter what I said, it’d work out fine. That was such a heady feeling for someone who’d worked to please people to stay put in good private homes and not be sent back to the group home. Deep inside, I knew Matthew wouldn’t dump me, no matter what. That was priceless. “The first time, I married you because I knew you didn’t want to be alone. At least, partly. The other part was that I didn’t want to be alone either. All that’s happened—is happening—it’s unnerving, scary stuff.”
“Can’t argue with that. People out to kill you and blowing up your business is pretty scary.”
I bit back yet another apology, knowing he didn’t want to hear one. “I figured anything to make it all easier for either of us was good. I mean, we were going to be dead within hours, so what could it hurt? And there is something special between us—at least, there is for me. And honestly, there’s one more thing. If I had to die never realizing my dream—”
“You’re talking about a home of your own, right?” he asked. “I just want to make sure I’m perfectly clear on all this.”
I nodded. “If I wasn’t going to realize that dream, I didn’t want to die with nothing. You’re a long way from nothing—this isn’t coming out right.” Why couldn’t I adequately verbalize all this? It’d been so clear in my mind. “Marrying you was a good thing to do. It made me happy, it made you happy. That’s two unhappy people happy and that’s enough.”
He leaned back against the kitchen counter and folded the dishcloth. “That was the first time. What about the second time?”
“I wasn’t finished.” Flustered, I paused to get a grip on myself. This was hard. Putting all these feelings I’ve either never had or buried so deep I was ignorant of them into words. The fact is you can speculate on what you’re missing. You can dream about it, fantasize it, and let your imagination go wild with the possibilities. But you can’t miss the reality you’ve never had. What you have had is your normal. But now reality was normal, and I couldn’t be ignorant anymore. I knew exactly what I was missing—and reality held the promise of so much more. I had to be out of my mind because I wanted more. I wanted it all. Every single atom. Never, no
t once in my whole life, had I dared to want it all. Not until now. And to want it now terrified me. To rely on someone else for anything . . .? Definitely out of my mind.
But was I? I didn’t want it all with anyone. I wanted it all with Matthew. My Matthew. And that didn’t seem a bit crazy. It seemed . . . right.
“I’m sorry I interrupted,” he said, clearly concerned about my long silence. “Just tell me you don’t regret marrying me the first or the second time. I see you’re wrestling with something in there.” He tapped the side of his head.
“I don’t regret marrying you either time,” I choked out. “But my reasons for marrying you the second time were different.” I pushed myself to reveal my thoughts, bent on keeping my no-secret policy intact. “The second time, I married you because—”
“You didn’t want to start over alone either. Or to try to keep an eye out for danger without backup.”
“No, not exactly,” I said. “Well, maybe in part, but . . . not really. I have to say though, that’s all logical. It just didn’t occur to me at the time.”
That remark engaged his curiosity. “So what did occur to you at the time?”
“Not one logical thing.” Even to her that sounded strange.
“Rose.” He crossed his arms. “You’re evading. Don’t do that to me, or to us. Not on this.”
It mattered to him. Really mattered. I stilled and turned to him. “I was, and I’m sorry. I’m, um, not used to talking to anyone about things that cut close to the bone.”
“I cut close to your bones?”
He didn’t seem unhappy about that. “Yes, I find that you do. Well, my feelings for you do.” He smiled, and that melted something inside me. He wouldn’t use my vulnerability as a weapon against me. That, I realized, had been my real fear. It had happened before, and it hadn’t been an easy lesson. “The fact is, I didn’t want to lose you.” I let him see the truth in my eyes. “I just . . . I didn’t want to lose you.”
He stepped closer and wrapped me in his arms. His breath warmed my face. “I didn’t want to lose you, either, Rose. Not then, and not now.” He nuzzled my neck. “Not ever.”