Ghost Horse

by Patricia Rosemoor

  Armed, my pulse rushing through me faster than I could walk, I made my way out of the room and tiptoed up the stairs in the near dark. The sun had set, and without any more than night-lights, the rooms and hall and stairs were cast into deep shadows. As I reached the second floor, the sounds grew fainter as I drew nearer and then stopped. I didn’t know whether or not to be disappointed that I’d missed the opportunity to find out who was frequenting the attic. Then again, just because I didn’t hear anything didn’t mean no one was there.

  I crossed to the back of the house and crept up the attic stairs as silently as I could while focusing on any sound.

  Nothing…

  By the time I got to the top of the stairs, my heart steadied. I pressed my ear to the attic door and strained and strained to hear the slightest noise.

  Nothing…

  I took a breath, its deepness hindered a bit by my tension. And then I turned the knob.

  Again, nothing!

  The dratted door was locked!

  Adrenaline pumped through me. One minute I was high, the next I felt ready to be scraped off the stairs. I reminded myself of what I’d found in the desk in the library. My evening hadn’t gone to waste.

  I knew Mrs. Avery was related to the man who wanted to take over the farm. The same man who—according to Nissa—had been courting Dawn. The same man who’d denied being more than barely acquainted with Dawn and who had made overtures to me.

  And along with that reasoning was knowing Damian had told me the truth about his divorce.

  Still, fighting disappointment, I turned away from the attic door only to run straight into a very solid, very human, very masculine body.

  Chapter Eleven

  “What are you doing here?” I choked out as Damian’s arms wound around my back and steadied me.

  “I live here, remember?”

  “You weren’t supposed to be home tonight!”

  “Is that why you’re up here, sneaking around, carrying a poker?”

  “I wasn’t sneaking. I heard someone in the attic—and not for the first time, let me tell you—but the door is locked.”

  “Locked? The door is never locked.”

  “Well, it is now. And I brought the poker to protect myself.”

  But how could I protect myself from the master of the house? I wondered as his arms tightened around me and his expression intensified.

  I wanted to protest…to tell him to let me go…

  …to tell him not to…

  I had trouble breathing and I wondered if he could tell. His eyelids lowered to half-mast and his expression held a hunger that thrilled me to my toes. A hunger that I recognized myself and turned my knees to mush.

  “Ah, Chloe…”

  Damian sounded as breathless as I, and when his head dipped so that his lips met mine, I dropped the poker and lifted my arms to twine around his neck. My mouth opened and he wasted no time before exploring every crevice. I kissed him back with everything I had.

  Unable to deny myself any longer, I gave into the attraction that had been growing since I’d arrived. I let myself float on a cloud of growing desire. When his hands moved up my spine and around my sides to the fullness of my breasts, I welcomed the sensation that heated me through to my core.

  Knowing that he’d told me the truth about Priscilla freed me of suspicion. Damian was exactly what he seemed to be—the kind of man I needed in my life.

  When his thumbs caught my nipples through the thin material of my blouse, I moaned and moved closer so that my body fit tight against his. I felt his legs shift slightly…his erection now snugged into me.

  For one sweet moment I imagined what it would be like to feel that hard length inside me…

  Then laughter drifted up the stairs.

  The realization that Nissa and Alex were below hit me like a bucket of cold water. I tore my mouth from Damian’s and twisted free of his body. My breath was shaky, as was his, but I could see the effort he made to get control of himself. Before my eyes he withdrew into the aloof Damian I’d first met.

  “I need to see to Nissa. Her stomach was bothering her. That’s why we came home early.”

  Instantly concerned, I said, “I’ll make some tea—that should help.”

  “I can take care of my daughter.”

  Shocked by the dismissal, I stood there on the attic landing staring after him as he made a quick exit without so much as a kind word for me. I took deep breaths until I was as calm as he seemed to be. Then I picked up the poker and descended to my bedroom. I would leave the makeshift weapon there until later so I wouldn’t have to explain why I was returning it to the library to Alex or Nissa.

  What in the world had just happened? One minute Damian was kissing me, the next he was giving me the cold shoulder.

  I glanced at myself in the mirror. My skin was flushed—not merely my face, but my neck and the swell of my breasts, as well. My hair was mussed and my blouse seemed disheveled. I spent a few minutes getting myself together, but even when the sexual flush faded altogether, I had no desire to go downstairs to face Damian.

  What was I going to do about him?

  I pondered the question as I stared out the window into the twilight.

  Damian was my employer, and I was here under false pretenses. Even if he wasn’t regretting kissing me now—which, indeed, I thought he was—even if he wanted something more between us, was it really possible? If he knew the real reason I was here, that Dawn was my foster sister and best friend, and that I had arrived thinking he might have had something to do with her disappearance, how would he react? No doubt he would become cold and distant. And no doubt he would fire me.

  Not that I believed Damian had harmed Dawn.

  Troubled, I focused on the grounds and copse of trees leading to the palisades and wished for an answer.

  As if my thoughts had reached out to the beyond, a pale shape separated from the trees and stood in the open, graceful neck lifting toward my window. The gray horse snorted and bobbed his head, then danced around for a moment as if it were waiting for me….

  I couldn’t resist. I raced down the servants’ stairs into the kitchen.

  Part of me wanted to call Damian and tell him to see the gray for himself. But the other part—the part he’d wounded by cutting me off—didn’t want another encounter until I’d had time to put what had happened into perspective.

  I made a quiet escape out the back door.

  The horse was waiting impatiently, snorting and pawing the ground. I approached slowly, my eyes devouring the pale shadow against the gloom of twilight.

  Was this horse real?

  My imagination?

  Or was it truly a ghost horse?

  “Hey, boy, what’s up?” I called softly as I glided toward him in my most nonaggressive manner.

  He whickered and snorted and danced himself right into the woods.

  “No, wait!”

  Though I ran, I couldn’t keep up with him. Determined not to lose him, I did my best, pushed myself to go faster. But fate wasn’t with me. Dodging trees, my ghost horse kept gaining ground until all I could see of him was a shimmer in the dark woods.

  Winded, I tottered to a stop and sucked in big gulps of damp night air. I never took my eyes from the path, but soon I could make out nothing but mist rising from the ground. Keeping my focus on the spot where I’d lost him, I moved ahead, anyway, hoping against hope that I would see him again.

  Obviously, he wanted me to.

  Why? That was the question.

  He appeared to me and no other. Nissa had spied him from her bedroom window, but she’d never gotten close to him. The last time I’d seen him, he’d led me to the exact spot where Dawn had lost her hair clip. This time he’d waited for me to come from my bedroom. So why had he disappeared so suddenly? Where had he meant to lead me today?

  As a matter of fact…where was I?

  I stopped short and looked around. I’d never come so deep into these woods. The other times I�
�d cut through them simply to get to the palisades. I didn’t recognize anything. I wasn’t even sure how to retrace my steps in the quickly falling darkness.

  I was lost.

  And without a flashlight.

  No sooner had that occurred to me than I heard the crunch of twigs. This was no horse coming toward me, I thought, backing up the way I had come. These were human footfalls.

  My back rammed into something hard. Gasping, I whipped around to glare at a tree in my path. Quickly I skirted it and flew back the way I had come—or so I hoped.

  The crunch of footsteps followed.

  Is that why the horse had disappeared? Because someone else was here?

  Fanciful imaginings, but what part of this woman-horse relationship seemed real?

  I forced myself to move faster. Trees loomed massive all around me. I got through them somehow—like a bat relying on its radar—and eventually the whickering of happily pastured horses secured my direction.

  By the time I fell out of the copse of trees into the open near the house, my heart was thundering and I felt faint with relief. I made for the back door and only when I got there did I glance back and try to pierce the darkness.

  I could swear I saw movement at the edge of the woods, but if someone was there—if, indeed, I had been followed—the person didn’t follow me out into the open.

  Trembling now, I took refuge in the house.

  Voices carried from the parlor or library—which, I couldn’t be certain. But both were male, so I assumed Damian and Alex were arguing about something again. Still wanting to avoid Damian, I kept to the back stairs and sought refuge in my bedroom.

  Immediately the room’s unusual warmth soothed the damp chill from me, and I realized someone had lit the logs in the fireplace. Who? I wondered, as flames danced shadows across the walls.

  Damian? Perhaps he’d come to see me and, not finding me in my room, had lit the fire as a peace offering?

  A different kind of warmth spread through me at the thought. I wanted to believe in his kindness. I wanted to believe in the passionate man who’d kissed me weak-kneed. I didn’t like the other Damian, the one who could be cold and rude, the one who reminded me of my father when I’d displeased him. The father who’d so easily abandoned me.

  I stood at the closed windows for a moment and looked out, but there was no movement below. No horse. No man. Maybe I’d imagined being followed, I thought, suddenly feeling exhausted. And why wouldn’t I, with stress being my constant companion? Surely my escalating stress was the reason for the tightness across my forehead. I rubbed at my temples for a moment, then changed out of my clothes and into my nightgown. A shower would have to wait until morning. I was simply too exhausted to do anything but crawl into bed.

  My head whirled as I scooted under the covers and let myself drift to another place….

  A shimmer through the dark catches my gaze, and I think the ghost horse returns. But when the shimmer draws closer, it takes the form of a woman.

  “Dawn, I’ve found you!”

  She smiles sadly at me and reaches out, but no matter how far I run, I get no closer.

  I hear a whicker, and her sad smile melts into despair. She blinks and a single tear rolls down each cheek.

  “Why are you crying?” I ask.

  She looks behind her as another shimmer of light takes form. The ghost horse. He jumps as if frightened, then reaches upward with thrashing front legs.

  Dawn turns back to me, her face now wet with tears, her expression pleading…begging me to understand….

  I awoke in a sweat, my head throbbing as I tossed and turned and tried to find a position that would make me feel better. The headache was bad enough, but now my stomach felt unsettled. I remembered that Damian had said Nissa’s stomach was upset. Something we both ate? Maybe she’d snacked from the refrigerator before going out. Nausea forced me from the warm bed. Thinking I would go downstairs to find some peppermint tea, I headed for the door.

  But with the first few steps, my head went light and I faltered.

  The door suddenly seemed to be a long, long way to go. I forced one foot forward and then the other, concentrating all the while on the doorknob, which went in and out of focus.

  I reached for it…connected…turned…

  And then just as the door opened, my world whirled around me and I felt myself falling….

  “IT WOULDN’T HURT to sell off the old Bosch Barns acreage,” Alex said. “That wasn’t originally part of the farm and we don’t need the extra land.”

  Damian sipped at a brandy and stared into the fire as if it held answers for him. “Jack Larson doesn’t want the land for himself. He wants to make money off it by reselling it to developers.”

  “Then cut out the middle man. I’ll find developers who would pay top price.”

  “The idea is to keep the developers out!”

  Damian couldn’t believe he was having this conversation with his brother. He needed to be alone, needed time to think about what had happened between him and Chloe. About what he was going to do about it. About her.

  “You can’t freeze Graylord Pastures in a time warp, Damian. It’s the twenty-first century.”

  “I like things the way they are. I won’t sell off the farm a piece at a time until there isn’t anything left.”

  “No, you’ll chance losing everything at once instead. Half of the estate is mine, Damian. Father left it in trust to you, because he thought you were the one with all the sense. You were the one who would keep it in the black. What a joke!”

  “We’ve had some bad luck,” Damian admitted. “But we’ve made it through bad luck before.”

  “Not enough to require a second mortgage.”

  “You know why I had to take it,” Damian said, silently cursing Priscilla.

  “You didn’t have to.”

  Damian faced his brother and asked, “What would be your alternative?”

  “What does it matter? You never consider my ideas, anyway. There’s no talking to you! There never was!”

  Alex turned on his heel and strode out of the library, leaving Damian to his dark thoughts. He would curse the day he met Priscilla…but if he hadn’t met her, he wouldn’t have Nissa.

  His daughter had said she’d felt better before going off to her room, but Damian thought perhaps he ought to check on her and then retire for the evening himself. He was leaving the library when he heard a soft thump overhead.

  What the hell was that?

  As he neared the stairs, he realized the lights were still on in the kitchen. He detoured to turn them off, then took the back stairs up to the second floor.

  He had to pass Chloe’s room on the way to his daughter’s. He steeled himself to walk by without hesitating. Only by chance did he realize Chloe’s door was cracked open and that something white was fluttering out into the hall—a ribbon.

  He stopped and touched the door. “Chloe.”

  Then he saw her sprawled out on the floor and rushed inside. Her falling was the thump he’d heard a few minutes ago, the ribbon one streaming from her nightgown. Kneeling next to her, he put fingers to the artery in her neck. Her pulse was thready.

  “Chloe, can you hear me?” Gently he shook her shoulder. “Chloe, wake up.”

  She moaned. Her head moved and her lashes fluttered open. Her eyes were pale gray pools of confusion.

  “Damian?” she whispered.

  “Do you think anything might be broken?” When she moved her limbs and shook her head, he said, “Then, let me help you up.”

  He scooped an arm behind her. She tried to get to her feet, but she was weak and woozy, so in the end he simply lifted her into his arms. A wave of protectiveness washed over him, and reluctantly he placed her in the bed and let go of her.

  “What happened?”

  “Exhausted…slept for a while…then woke with a headache.” She put a hand to her stomach. “I wanted tea…dizzy…”

  Damian glanced at the fireplace. He didn’t li
ke the color of the flames. Too yellow. Quickly, he opened the windows to let in fresh air. “So you passed out before you got out the door?”

  Chloe merely moaned again.

  “I’m getting you to an emergency room.”

  Ignoring her protests, he picked her up again, grabbed the coverlet, then rushed her down the stairs and out to the car.

  By the time he got her in the passenger seat, she was protesting. “Damian, I’m feeling better already.”

  “That’s because you’re getting fresh air.” He wrapped the coverlet around her and closed her door. Once in the driver’s seat, he said, “If I’m right, you’re going to need oxygen.”

  “Oxygen?” she echoed. “Why?”

  “I think you got some carbon monoxide poisoning. You shouldn’t have started that fire. The chimney must be blocked.”

  “I didn’t…I thought you did.”

  “I didn’t, either.”

  Then who the hell had? he wondered as he sped north toward Galena. Alex hadn’t gone upstairs. Besides, he would have known to check the flue. It wasn’t likely that Nissa had gotten out of bed and started a fire for Chloe, either. And no one else was home.

  Then he remembered what Chloe had said about her being on the attic stairs—that she’d heard someone in the attic and it hadn’t been the first time.

  Damian called Alex on his cell phone, told him where they were headed and asked him to put out the fire and check the chimney. When he got home, he would check out the attic himself for signs of some mysterious intruder.

  Chloe was too quiet. Because she was that ill or be cause her mind was on the same track as his?

  “How are you doing?”

  “Better,” she said to his relief.

  But when they got to the emergency room, the doctor who checked Chloe concurred with Damian’s thoughts about the oxygen therapy. Damian intended to wait right by Chloe’s side, but the doctor insisted she be checked in overnight for observation. He told Damian to go home, get some sleep and come back for Chloe at noon the next day.