On his way back from the bathroom, his laptop beckoned from the dining room table, it was as if one of her stories was calling to him. There were sections of the last one about the lady doctor he’d scanned, and now he really wanted to read the whole story. He wanted to experience that surge he got, that spark that charged his whole body with energy when he read certain passages. He had to admit that her sex scenes were amazing, and he had to wonder just how much was experience and how much was imagination. He knew that some would call her graphic in her descriptions, maybe overly so from the little he knew about writing, gleaned from a creative writing course he’d taken in college. He did remember one professor suggesting that writers leave some things to the imagination of the reader. However in this case, he thought of her as being merely thorough, and completely honest in relating all the titillating facts by filling in the blanks with detail that could only be firsthand. Plus, in erotica, maybe the genius was in the details.
It was those details, that grit, that drew him in the middle of the night to the flashing beacon on his sleeping laptop—that dark hunger that drew him in. Like a siren on a rock, she called to him, and like Pepe LePew with his nose in the air, he scented her, and followed. The Master’s Serf was trying to draw him in, but he really did need to get some sleep if he was going to play golf tomorrow morning.
Chapter Twenty-six
Laughing and stumbling up the small rise, the four women finally made their way in their totally unsuitable heels to the tree Laurel had deemed worthy. The tree was in a small plot of land off Dartmoor, just before a bridge that was right out of a fairytale, the castle and princess kind. They’d had to park at the Tiger’s Eye Clubhouse and walk to the cemetery, as the approach didn’t allow for parking on the road. They each carried a small flashlight that pinpointed their progress. From a distance it appeared as if tiny white dots were bouncing erratically and making their way up toward the dark sky.
Majestic, with spreading branches reaching to the slow moving silver-infused clouds, the tree was the focal point of the tiny cemetery. There was no doubt where Laurel was heading as they progressed through the headstones. The tree’s canopy overshadowed the marked gravesites.
The sound of the breeze rustling the leaves reminded Laurel of layers upon layers of crinolines brushing against satin as a woman’s hips swayed while she walked. That made her think of Miss Havisham of Great Expectations. Ghostly . . . otherworldly . . . all alone—as she was. That made her remember why they were here. At this point in her life, she could not afford for all her secrets to be known. She wanted to find a man, settle down and experience something of the life her heroines enjoyed before being ostracized.
Ten feet away from the gnarly trunk she stopped and turned, “Perfect, huh?”
“Perfect,” they said in unison.
Each placed the bag they had carried at their feet and tucked their flashlights inside. Cat’s tote held a small ceramic effusion lamp with green and gold Asian graphics, Tessa’s held the fire “wand” she took from Roman’s grill, Viv had a bottle of Unforgettable she’d bought at Belk’s, and Laurel held the list she’d been working on, along with a bottle of Ménage à Trois already opened and capped with a dichromatic glass styled stopper. Each had a party-sized acrylic wine glass tucked into the pocket of their long, flowing cardigans. For security purposes, they had decided to wear black. After all, it was a cemetery and one had to be respectful. And Ocean Ridge had a security team that was ever vigilant for vandals.
The effect of the all-black draping, for the dog walker approaching the eerily lit hill shrouded in sepia tones, was that of four witches sans the pointed hats. Make that four sexy witches—as the moon drifted overhead the silhouettes on the rise were showcased. Balancing on toned legs in spiked heels and revealing curvy bodies with each breeze that whipped their dresses, they were anything but old crones.
Laurel’s long blond ponytail shone like a curved banana against the back of her head in the dark. Viv’s silvery mop caught the moonlight and reflected like polished pewter. And Tessa’s light curls bobbed and glowed in the gusting evening breeze. A glimpse of Cat’s rich honey-amber tresses swinging back and forth as she bent to put the effusion lamp at the base of the tree, would have convinced anyone who chanced to be around that there were teenaged hooligans at work here.
“Okay, here’s the chant,” Cat said as she handed small strips of paper to each woman. On them were words, she whispered, that said in harmony as the tree was circled, would do their magic for Laurel. Cat, always the drama queen, was full into the imaginary world she’d dreamed up. Viv, whose mother truly believed she was a modern day witch, scoffed. None of this impressed her, or at least it shouldn’t have. Except that in a very similar ceremonial rite, not too long ago, the fates had deemed her worthy and called forth Philip, whom she now loved to distraction. Still . . . she couldn’t let them believe she went in for this kind of stuff. “Yada, yada, get on with it, would ya?”
Each woman looked down at her strip of paper and followed as Cat read what she had typed out: “Wicked though wicked be . . . close thy mind to dreams of he. He who finds will no evil do . . . and words now lost, are safe with you.”
“Then Laurel, you read this,” Cat continued, “‘Oh Merlin of this magnificent tree, bring my words back to me.’ You say this three times as you walk around the tree, and be careful of those roots. Whose bright idea was it to wear heels up here anyway?”
They all turned as one and gave Tessa the evil eye. She lifted her palms up and shrugged a shoulder, “Just thought it would be appropriate to dress the part. And you have to admit, we look wicked hot.”
“We look crazy,” Viv said.
“That too,” agreed Tessa.
“Let’s do it,” said Laurel, she grinned and whipped out her list.
The effusion lamp was opened, the notepaper rolled into a tight curl and lit by Tessa’s wand. It was dropped into the base of the lamp and left to burn until only ashes remained, while the women chanted the words written on the strips of paper. Viv spritzed Unforgettable into the air and three times they intoned, “Wicked though wicked be . . . close thy mind to dreams of he. He who finds will no evil do . . . and words now lost, are safe with you.”
Cat poured the special patchouli scented oil into the ashes, shook the mixture to blend it, then added the intricately worked caged top and lit the special igniter. She blew and coaxed the fuse to catch, and then they all lifted their faces and watched as spiral after spiral of the fragrant incense rolled out and wisped up into the moonlit night.
Cat nodded to Laurel and she began walking around the tree while murmuring, “Oh Merlin of this magnificent tree, bring my words back to me . . . Oh Merlin of this magnificent tree, bring my words back to me . . . Oh Merlin of this magnificent tree, bring my words back to me.” She ended where she began and Cat handed her the lamp with its curling wisps rolling out like waves of spun silver. The old tree creaked as overhead branches swayed and somewhere in the distance an owl hooted. It was creepily spooky enough to make Laurel shiver.
At Tessa’s signal they pulled their wine glasses from their cardigans and Viv poured wine into each woman’s glass. They raised them in a toast and sipped as they watched the smoke billow and rise, mesmerized by its unwavering frequency as it puffed and curled out of the fancy top.
When each glass was emptied Viv wiped them out with a handi-wipe she pulled from her sleeve, and each was tucked back into a pocket. Cat picked up the bag she had left at the base of the tree, and Viv grabbed the empty wine bottle. Each woman reclaimed her flashlight and flicked it on. Then Laurel turned and walked down the hill, picking her route carefully as the procession of witchy women followed—all somber and seriousness until they reached the bottom of the hill where they simultaneously peeled off and burst into raucous laughter around their still grinning friend. Laurel looked happier than they’d se
en her in a long time. A weight had been lifted off her and it showed in her dimpled cheeks and twinkling eyes as she wiped at the tears leaking from her eyes.
“That was just plain crazy,” Tessa shrieked as she fell on Viv’s arm.
“We’ve done stranger things,” said Viv, her tone blasé as she recovered from being unbalanced by Tessa. Grabbing onto Laurel, she reached out and brought Cat into the circle with her free arm. The four women huddled around the lamp and smiled at each other over the plume of smoke still rising to the heavens.
“Your words are on their way back to you, I can feel it,” Cat said.
“Yeah, your stories are safe now, I feel it too,” said Tessa.
“I only feel foolish, and kinda chilly,” said Viv as she hiccupped and rubbed her open palms against her upper arms. For emphasis she stomped her feet. “Let’s take our wine glasses back to Laurel’s house for a refill, shall we?”
“Hear! Hear!”
“Motioned carried.”
“What do I do with this,” Laurel asked, holding up the lamp.
“That’s some really nice oil,” said Cat, “it’ll eventually go out on its own, until then it’ll make your house smell real pretty. I want you to keep the effusion lamp as a memento of our Ya-Ya night together. This was special.”
“Yeah, it was,” said Laurel and she kissed each woman on the cheek. “Thanks. I feel so much better. You guys are amazing. Just knowing you care enough to dream up this dumb stuff on my behalf makes me feel better.”
Affronted, Cat feigned falling back in outrage. “Not dumb stuff. Ask Matt, Roman and Philip how dumb it is. They’ll all tell you they believe in Merlin’s magic.”
“Because it worked for them?” Laurel asked.
“Because it worked for all of us,” Tessa said with a faraway look in her eyes. “Yes indeed. Merlin certainly did his magic for us.”
“Well then maybe he’ll do it for me too,” Laurel said.
“You only need to believe. Let him do the rest,” Cat whispered in her ear as she pulled her close for a hug.
“What have I got to lose?” Laurel said, hugging her back.
“The idea was to find what you already lost,” reminded Tessa.
“Oh yeah. C’mon Merlin, do your stuff!”
They made their way back to Laurel’s where she put the decorative effusion lamp in a place of honor on the mantel in the family room. A new bottle of wine was opened and quickly dispatched, along with a wedge of brie and some apple slices, and then Viv and Tessa climbed into Cat’s Lexus and rode back to Sea Trail with Cat.
Laurel stood and stared at the lamp for what seemed like forever before making her way to her bedroom, where she kicked off her heels and discarded her clothes in a heap by her bed. Neglecting her flossing regimen, she crawled between the covers, where she had her first good night’s sleep in weeks. Life was good again.
Chapter Twenty-seven
He didn’t even wait to call first, he just got his gear ready and headed over to the course. The pros were busy checking several groups in so he patiently waited until they were free to inquire about a tee time. Although unusual to come to the course without first booking a tee time, it wasn’t unheard of.
As a single, he was assured they could work him in. And so at the pro’s suggestion, he headed over to the driving range to hit some practice balls. Twenty minutes later a ranger came over to let him know they had placed him with a group from Raleigh. Their fourth was under the weather from too many shooters the night before, and they were happy to accommodate a single.
He had to check himself to keep from racing over to the cart where the foursome was getting “saddled up.” He was so close to his quarry, he could hardly stand the excitement. By the time this round of golf was over he would likely know who his mystery woman was. It was all he could do to focus on the introductions and the preemptory what-do-you-dos that followed. He was paired with Gregory, a middle-aged finance manager for a Volvo dealer.
The first hole he was so nervous he couldn’t even follow the flight path of his ball and was surprised to find it near a tree not twenty feet from the green. But putting had never been his strong suit, so while they kept his first shot for Captain’s choice, his putt didn’t help them out at all.
The second hole came up short and they used another man’s tee shot.
On the third hole he tried to hit it out of bounds, as he knew that’s where he was going to need to be to check out the houses along the course, but intentionally shooting into the rough wasn’t the guaranteed shot he thought it would be. It took two more shots to get into the tall grass and by then, he thought it was pretty obvious that was what he’d been trying to do.
“Hey, what was up with that last shot? You weren’t even addressing the ball—your stance was way off,” Greg said.
“Trying something new. Hip’s been giving me a fit, so I thought I’d face it out. Didn’t work, as you can see . . .” Garrett mumbled.
“No, I’ll say it didn’t.” In a huff, Greg turned and rooted through the clubs in his bag before jerkily pulling a head cover off one of his woods.
Garrett took his seven-iron and whacked around in the tall grass as if looking for his ball when he knew exactly where it had landed. He studied the out of bounds markers and scanned the abutting properties. Then he saw her.
The moment she stepped out onto her deck every cell in his body reacted. His system went on full alert, and he knew without a doubt that she was the woman he was looking for. His pulse jolted and he sucked in a harsh breath as his eyes made the connection to her petite body and then to her lovely face. In that moment he could not have forced his eyes from her if his life had depended on it. She was stunning.
Gold shot hair was pulled back into a braid, intricately woven against the back of her head. It spoke of elegance. Shapely tanned legs set off against white shorts drew his eye to trim ankles and canvas slip-ons. A sleeveless polo showed off sleek arms and when she turned in profile he saw that it jutted out in the front, emphasizing nice breasts.
“Your ball’s over there,” Greg pointed as he brought the golf cart around, close to where he stood staring, clearly in another world. She turned at the sound and he was able to see her face. Lovely. And sweet. Something unexpected. Yet vaguely familiar.
“Uh, yeah. Thanks. I see it now,” he managed as he forced his gaze away long enough to acknowledge the other man’s presence. “Hey can you give me a minute?”
“You can’t piss on the course. You’ll get fined; they’re real serious about protecting the homeowners here. There’s a restroom after the next hole.”
“It’s not that. I just need a minute, okay?”
“Yeah, sure. We’re not using your shot anyway. I’ll go ahead and shoot.”
“I’ll catch up.” Garrett swung his head back just in time to see the woman go back inside the house through a set of white French doors. Fuck.
He scanned the windows but couldn’t see anything. His eyes returned to the deck and he spotted two long window boxes. They hung over the side of the deck rail and they were painted a pale green that matched the trim on the house. One had long green stalks waving in the wind, the tops covered with white pod-type flowers. He recognized them as the chives he’d researched. The other box, front and center, was a mass of purple flowers that he now knew to be lavender. His heart leapt and he damn near cried from overwhelming joy. He had found her.
Forcing himself to get back into the game for fear he’d appear to be casing the house instead of being moony-eyed over its inhabitant, he meandered over to his ball and took a devil-may-care swing to part the tall grass before bending to pick up his ball. The back of his club hit a low bush and the smell of rosemary carried on the breeze. He’d found the rosemary bush that was familiar to many a poor golfer.
Chapter Twenty-eight
Laurel turned back from closing the French doors in time to see a tall man bend and pinch off a piece of her rosemary bush. Usually something like that would put her in a bad humor, but then the way he held it to his nose and sniffed as if it were the most fragrant of roses, made her smile. She reached over to move the sheer panel away so she could see him better, but he moved out of her line of vision behind a tree. Her next glimpse of him was about thirty yards away and he was tucking the fragrant sprig into his shirt pocket. He fanned a clump of liriope with a golf club and tossed a golf ball into the air as he walked. He looked younger than most of the players she usually saw on this course, younger and tantalizingly male. And somehow familiar. He was wearing long gray pants that were cuffed, black and white shoes and a white polo shirt that was tucked into a trim waistline. Thick dark curls ruffled in the wind, and she noted with a smile, that he had a great butt.
She watched him until he climbed into a golf cart driven by another man who sped off as soon as he was seated. She dropped her hand and the sheer curtain fluttered back in place. For a few seconds she paused and allowed herself to wonder what it would be like to have a man like that close his eyes and drink in the essence of her as if there was nothing sweeter, as he had with the rosemary branch. Then she checked her watch and mentally shook herself, she’d better get a move on or she’d be late for the charity luncheon and fashion show at Twin Lakes Restaurant.
The Old Bridge Preservation Society was hosting it and she’d promised Ann, Chris, and Karen that she’d come early to help check in some last minute silent auction items. She went into her bedroom to change and fix her makeup. Fifteen minutes later she was ready to go.
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