Inconnu(e)

by Vicki Hinze

  “No, I don’t. There wasn’t any proof, Maggie. That was just gossip, and we know all about gossip, don’t we? Remember the condoms?”

  “Yeah.” Maggie frowned. “Then that’s it? That’s the legend?”

  “I’m getting to it. Lord, woman, you’re trying my patience. This is supposed to be a romantic tale.”

  “Romantic, eh?” She grinned, looking anything but repentant. “Well, you should’ve told me. I didn’t know you were getting romantic on me.”

  “It doesn’t seem likely I’ll be able to with all your interruptions.”

  “Keep your attitude from taking a chunk out of my hide. I can’t read your mind, you know. But now that you’ve told me, I promise I’ll be an absolute angel.” She crossed her heart with her forefinger, looking all too pleased with herself for his liking but, he had to admit, extremely angelic.

  Still, his ego took a severe stomping. He was losing his touch. Since when had he had to tell a woman he was being romantic? “Remember me telling you about Cecelia dying and how the villagers held a candlelight vigil on the front lawn?”

  “Yes.” Maggie stroked the back of his hand with her fingertips.

  Did she realize she was doing it? Or was this yet another unconscious touch? “Well, Mary Elizabeth was with her mother and, until the day she died, she swore that at the moment Cecelia passed away, Collin’s ghost came down out of nowhere and carried Cecelia’s spirit away.”

  Maggie went statue still. “You’re kidding.”

  “No, I’m not. And there’s more.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Seriously.” T.J. nodded to reinforce his words. “Jonathan, Mary Elizabeth’s son, can’t bear to part with Seascape but he can’t bring himself to live here, either.”

  “Why not? You’d think that with his mother experiencing what she had here, he’d want to be here—unless... Is Collin haunting Seascape? Is he our entity?”

  “No, our entity has nothing to do with this, Maggie. You’ve got a one-track mind—and you aren’t being very cooperative—or very angelic.”

  “Sorry.”

  She wasn’t sorry. The sweet little liar. “Jonathan won’t sell Seascape or live in it because of what he saw here.”

  “Are you saying he saw something, too?” She frowned and her fingers gripped his hand hard. “You know, I wouldn’t buy any of this for a second if it had happened anywhere else. But strange things do happen here, and we both know it.”

  “Yeah, well, living those strange things has a way of dispelling doubt.”

  “So what did Jonathan see?”

  “The legend.” Seeing her perplexed look, he explained. “On the anniversary of his grandmother’s death, he saw her spirit lying in her bed. Collin came and lifted her into his arms—just as Jonathan had heard at his mother’s knee that it had happened all those years ago.”

  “Good grief! Everyone in the village must have thought he was nuts.”

  “They didn’t know about it. They still don’t know about it. One of those rare incidents where everyone in a small town doesn’t know everything about everyone in that town.”

  “Well, that’s hard to believe. There’s quite a network around here. How did Jonathan manage to keep it quiet?”

  “He only spoke of it once—to Miss Hattie—and he described it as the most awesome experience of his life.”

  “I guess he did. Seeing two spirits like that, well, it’s not the kind of thing you experience every day.”

  “No, Maggie. Not the ghosts. Lots of people see ghosts and that didn’t impress Jonathan at all. It was the love between them that struck him as awesome. It had transcended time. They’d gone on, yet their love had remained.”

  She stilled, blinked, and then blinked again. “Jonathan witnessed personified love.”

  “Exactly.” Why was she staring at him so strangely? As if she, too, were witnessing something she never dreamed or thought or considered she would.

  Maggie sighed. “It must have changed him forever.”

  A shiver slid up T.J.’s backbone. What had Maggie said? That she feared what was happening to them with the entity because she sensed those experiences life-altering. Changed forever. Life-altering. “I expect it did. It would change me forever.” Was that what was supposed to happen here? Change? For him and Maggie to alter their lives? Maybe the entity wasn’t playing games with them after all. Maybe its purpose was much more noble. Maybe—

  “What does he say about the experience now that he’s an adult? Does he see it differently now than he did then?”

  “He doesn’t discuss it—ever. But he returns here once a year on the anniversary date, stays overnight, then he goes home.”

  “What does Miss Hattie say, then?”

  “That Cecelia’s healing magic lingers in the house. That theirs was the kind of magic that lives on forever and gifts with miracles those who believe in it.”

  “Love,” Maggie said. “Her love for him, and his for her. That’s what kept Collin alive, wasn’t it? That’s the magic.”

  “Yes.” He smiled. “Or so says Miss Hattie.”

  “She never lies.”

  “No, she doesn’t—not intentionally.”

  Maggie sighed wistfully. “There it is again, MacGregor. That rare kind of love like Miss Hattie had for her soldier.”

  “Yeah, though I think Cecelia and Collin had it first.” T.J. leaned back against the wall. “Seems to happen a lot around here.”

  Maggie scooted around and fitted herself between T.J.’s thighs, then leaned back against his chest. “It’s not fair, you know? I’ve never even seen love like that and it floats around here, touching people, left and right.” She grunted. “Where’s the justice? The best I find is Sam Grayson—and he dumped me for a kiss and an all-day sucker.”

  T.J. smiled above her head and twined his arms around her. Grayson. Sam Grayson. Why did that name ring a bell? He’d definitely heard it—somewhere. “Was this recently?”

  “Yeah. I was twelve.” Grinning, she rubbed her cheek against his shirt.

  “Mmm, was the sucker grape?”

  She rested her hands atop his. They were clasped together at her middle, just under her ribs. “What’s the difference?”

  “Grape is irresistible, honey. A guy just can’t hold out against grape.”

  She grunted. “Or against a Judas kiss.” She tapped a forefinger to his shoulder. “You realize that if you take Grayson’s side in this, subtle revenge is inevitable.”

  “I figured it likely.” T.J. smiled again. “Who was the Judas?”

  “Supposedly, my best friend.” Maggie sighed. “She dated him all through high school just to spite me.”

  And that betrayal had hurt Maggie deeply. “Pretty vindictive behavior for a friend.” He inhaled her shampoo. Coconut. Enticing. “Maybe she just liked the guy.”

  “She didn’t. He got zits in tenth grade. She hated zits—hated anything that rated less than perfect—but she stuck with him because she knew I was still crazy about him.”

  “First love?” T.J. stroked her silky hair, jealous, pure and simple.

  “Only love.” Maggie snuggled closer, pressing her side fully against him, shoulder to hip. “My dad didn’t exactly inspire enthusiasm for even the prospect of loving someone.”

  Or instill much trust in it either, T.J. imagined. “I guess it’s pretty normal that you’d figure all guys were like him.”

  “Aren’t they?”

  “No, and you know it.”

  “I do. Sam Grayson wasn’t.”

  “Why was he so special?” Maybe a little insight would help T.J.’s cause.

  “He believed in me.”

  He waited for her to go on, but she didn’t. When it became apparent she wasn’t going to, he frowned. “That’s it?”

  “Someone believing in you is nothing to sneeze at, MacGregor. You had it with your parents, but I didn’t. My mother was too self-absorbed trying to survive living with and loving my father, and he was
too busy making her miserable to worry about me.” She ground her teeth as if sorry she’d lost her temper and disclosed that. “When you’ve never had it, belief in you is more than enough. It’s... special.”

  “I expect it is.” He rubbed her shoulder. “I’m sorry I didn’t understand.”

  “How could you?” She sighed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound nasty. It’s just that unless you experience that firsthand, you really can’t understand it.”

  “Still, all men aren’t like your father. Sam Grayson wasn’t, and I’m not either.”

  “True. But, as you so eloquently put it, old habits are hard to break. It’s like I know it in my head, but my heart just isn’t convinced.”

  “Well”—he ran his fingers through her hair, loving the feel of it against his palm—“if you want my opinion, Sam Grayson was a fool.”

  “He was, wasn’t he?” Maggie looked up at him. “You’re not just saying this to save yourself a stint of subtle revenge, are you?”

  “No, I’m not.”

  She smiled. “As it turned out, things happened for the best. Sam Grayson turned into a jerk. At the senior prom, he got wasted on vodka and drove his motorcycle into the school swimming pool and had to be fished out. Wrecked everything, including the turf on the football field. Cut donuts in it until it was as messed up as if circus elephants had trampled it for a week. His parents were mortified. Judas dumped him, and I refused to take him back.”

  T.J. returned her smile. “I’m glad he turned into a jerk.”

  “Me, too. Lots easier on the ego, you know?”

  He did. In the end, hadn’t his friends finally come forth with their true feelings about Carolyn? Hadn’t knowing their opinions eased his mind about his own? He touched a thumb to Maggie’s cheek, dragged it over the bone and down her jaw to her chin. “I’d have stuck with you.”

  Her eyes hid in the shadows. “Even over an irresistible grape all-day sucker?”

  “Yeah,” he said. “Even over grape.”

  “Sometimes, MacGregor, you say just the right things.” She gave him a sweet smile and fingered the placket of his shirt, sliding from button to button. “May I ask you something—about Carolyn?”

  He nodded. Maggie’s hand moved steadily and the buttons on his shirt came undone. Had it been intentional? God, but he hoped so.

  “Why did you say that it’s your fault she died?”

  This was important to her. Maggie’s shaky voice proved it. T.J. licked at his lips, wanting her to know the truth but not wanting to risk seeing condemnation of him in her eyes. “It started the night we got engaged. She wanted the painting I did of Seascape as an engagement present.”

  “How come?”

  “She was obsessed with it and had been for months—though I didn’t see that at the time.”

  “Did you give it to her?”

  “I couldn’t. I’d already donated it to the gallery.” The memories of all the anger and discontent he’d felt then threatened him again now. “But I offered to paint her another one like it.”

  “She stole it—from the gallery.”

  Surprise streaked up his spine. How did Maggie know about the theft? They’d kept it out of the paper to protect the gallery. “Yes, she did.” Had Miss Hattie talked with her about Carolyn? “That’s when I realized it wasn’t me Carolyn loved and wanted. It was the painting. I was a means to an end for her. No more.”

  Maggie pressed her palm flat against his chest, as if to absorb the pain she knew that realization had brought him. “I’m sorry, Tyler.” She pressed her head against his shoulder, pecked a kiss against his neck, then stilled.

  Tyler. Not MacGregor. She was emotional. And so was he. He hadn’t meant to tell her that, but he didn’t regret now that he had. “Anyway, I recognized with the theft that she was obsessed. I knew she was leaving, that she wasn’t rational. And I didn’t stop her.”

  “You tried. You told me you did.”

  “I did. I went to her apartment, but I got there too late. She’d already gone. I—I didn’t know where to look...”

  Maggie lifted her head and looked up at him. “It wouldn’t have mattered. You could have found her, but you couldn’t have stopped her. She wouldn’t have listened, much less let you.”

  “I tell myself that, but I can’t be sure.” He dragged his lower lip between his teeth. “I just can’t be sure, Maggie.”

  “And so it’s that uncertainty that makes you feel responsible for her death.”

  He nodded.

  “And that makes you blame your art.”

  “If I hadn’t painted the damn painting, she’d never have been obsessed with it enough to steal it. I knew it had magic. That’s what makes me guilty. I knew it and I foolishly wanted to share that magic with everyone else. That’s why I donated it to the gallery stipulating that it could never be sold.”

  “Sharing is a good thing, not a bad one. Why should that make you feel guilty?”

  “We both know how strong the magic in that painting is. It brought you here. It brought me back here. For all her bravado, Carolyn was weak, Maggie. She didn’t stand a chance at resisting the painting’s lure.”

  “Whoa, right there. The painting lures, true, but it does not strip a person of free will, Tyler. I know that firsthand because I felt it. Maybe your reaction is stronger to it because you created the painting, but for me it lured, and yet I knew the entire time that if I didn’t want to come here, there’d be no coercion or force insisting I did. I had a choice. Carolyn had a choice, too. And the point is that she stole the painting. She made the decision to steal it, and then she followed through on it. You have to put the responsibility for this at her front door. That’s truly where it belongs, and deep down in your heart you know it.”

  “You’re doing it again.”

  “What?”

  “Throwing my own words back at me.”

  She shrugged. “No need to reinvent the wheel when you have one that rolls just fine.” With a little sigh, she lowered her head back to his chest and snuggled closer.

  At that moment, he thought he might just love her. He wanted her—God, how he wanted her. But he might just love her, too.

  “I saw all your painting gear in the mud room.”

  “Miss Hattie’s encouraging me to give it another try.”

  “She’s about as subtle as mud, isn’t she?”

  “Yeah.” He smiled. “But she’s special.”

  “She is.” Maggie rubbed circles on his stomach. “Maybe you should give it another try.”

  “You know how I feel about my art, Maggie.”

  “Yes, darling, I do. And that’s why I think you should try.”

  Darling. First sweetheart and now darling. Never had Maggie ever called him anything other than MacGregor or Tyler, and that, only when she was very intense. He liked this darling. In fact, he liked it a lot.

  She stroked his chest soothingly. “It takes a lot of energy to carry around all that anger and bitterness.”

  “Wouldn’t you be bitter?”

  “Yes, I would.” She looked up at him. “But I’d also know that it was destroying me, and I’d have to try to work past it or to live with knowing I’d given up. I don’t want you to give up, Tyler. Regret costs too much, and the price is just too steep to live with for a whole lifetime.”

  Moonlight slanted in the window, across her face. Her eyes glossed over with tears. A thick knot of raw emotion threatened to explode in his chest and he hugged her tightly, forcing himself to remain gentle. “I’ll think about it,” he whispered. “That’s all I can promise.”

  She smiled so tenderly he ached.

  “Fair enough.” Stretching, she toed off his shoes, then swept them with her bare foot off the cushion.

  One at a time, they thunked onto the wooden floor. Feeling the heat of her body through her silk blouse, he lifted a brow.

  “Scratching my arch,” she said, lying to him, and letting him see it.

  He nodded and she
leaned into him, curling on her side against his chest. He looped his arms around her biceps and rested his hands on the swell of her hips. Her bare toes inched up under the hem of his slacks then down at the top of his sock, setting his heart to pounding beneath her hand. She wanted to touch him, skin to skin. Surprise faded to pleasure. He smiled, dipped his chin and pressed his cheek flat against her sweet-smelling crown.

  Upon realizing he had no intention of calling her down on the lie, Maggie relaxed. Her body contoured to his, hip to shoulder, and she expelled a contented sigh. They settled in, her half-sitting, half-lying across him, staring out the window at the moonlit night, her left arm wrapped around his waist, her right one crooked and her hand resting over his heart. Quiet, content, and, suddenly again at peace, T.J. let his hand drift up and down her silk-clad back, his mind drift outside, beyond the misty shore.

  Long minutes later, Maggie whispered softly, “MacGregor.”

  “Mmm?”

  She arched her neck and looked up at him, her eyes wide and soulful, her voice thick with promise. “I’d have stuck with you, too.”

  His heart lurched. He smoothed her hair back from her face, then dipped his chin and tilted hers into the moonlight, determined to see her eyes. “Why?”

  “Because.”

  So much emotion there. So much, he couldn’t absorb it all. His chest went tight, his throat thick, and his hand on her face began to tremble. He had to know. He’d be crazy to ask—he was crazy for even thinking it, but... but he had to know. “Do you love me, Maggie?”

  Her eyes went misty then doe soft and, long before she answered, he heard her swallow hard. “I don’t think I’m capable of loving anyone.” Regret seeped through her voice and drove into his heart like a sharp, piercing stake. “But I really... care.” She blinked then stared up at him wide-eyed, her lips parted, her breath coming in short, rasped puffs. “I do, MacGregor. I really do... care about you.”

  Vulnerable. Her father. Opening herself up to caring was so hard. And yet she’d done it... for him. A tumbled jangle of senses and nerves, T.J. stilled to absorb the magnitude of her gesture, suffered the shocks of being given such a costly and precious treasure. His heart swelled, his eyes burned, the back of his nose tingled and, wanting to crush her in his embrace, he tightened his hold on her chin ever so gently, sensing her fragility, her fear of rejection. He’d asked her the wrong question, of course. Though she thought she’d loved Sam, she’d never loved a man, or been loved by one, or been in love with one. How would she recognize it? Maybe with that, T.J. could help her. Help himself.