A Love Soul Deep

by Amber Scott

  “This was the perfect blend of heat and romance…” -The Bookish Snob, Reviewer

  “Mesmerizing!” –Carolyn McCray, bestselling author of Fated

  “Incredibly moving. The story stayed with me long after I finished it.” –Kelli McCracken, author of What the Heart Wants

  A Love Soul Deep

  By Amber Scott

  ©2011 Amber Scott

  Start Reading

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Epilogue

  Sneak Peek

  Acknowledgements

  Bookshelf

  Copyright

  ~~~

  Chapter One

  Hearing my best friend, Moira, laughing from Mystique Antiques’ anteroom plucked at my heart’s envy cords. What could be so funny? Stealing a glance at Moira leaning in to whisper another joke with her cousin, Kim, I scolded myself. Sara Draeger, what in the world are you jealous of? She’s your oldest friend. And, it’s her cousin, for crying out loud. Get it together!

  True enough. Still, our girls-only getaway to Savannah felt more like a Moira and Kim weekend for two. Sure, Moira rarely got to see Kim since she’d moved down South. Yes, I should have seen it coming. How many nights clubbing in Santa Monica did this exact thing happen? Me, sulking and trying to hide it, and Moira and Kim in a corner, having a riot of a good time, but oblivious to me.

  With a frustrated sigh, I gave them my back and eyed a display case of heirloom jewelry. A pretty, pale blue-colored cameo pendant caught my eye, which. Made me wish I had a Scarlett O’Hara gown on, flipping a fan with a “fiddle-dee-dee.”

  Yeah, right.

  More like trouncing on the hem. While I wasn’t all that curvy, my height and trunks for legs clobbered grace. I meandered down the case, admiring an amethyst cocktail ring. Another chortle of laughter sounded from the other room.

  What in the world could be so funny in such a sedate little shop?

  I had to remind myself they would tell me. They always filled me in. They were not talking or laughing about me. I knew that. Reminding myself didn’t hurt, though.

  “Would you like to try it on?”

  I looked up from the lavender ring I’d been staring at, startled at the soft, female voice. Gentle, watery-blue eyes met mine. “No, thanks. Just looking.”

  The clerk shook her wrist until the dangling key on her bracelet landed in her palm. “Each piece has a story.” She unlocked the display. “This ring here has quite a scandal attached to it.”

  Curiosity made me lean in. “Oh?”

  “Oh, yes, ma’am.” The round, lavender stone and flanking fat, winking diamonds sparkled. She offered me the ring.

  “This ring and many more such gifts tended to go to the bride’s best friend rather than the bride herself, right up until the day the mistress died under mysterious circumstances.” The clerk angled the ring this way and that, rolling the price tag out for view. “There were whispers of poison and a brokenhearted husband. Friendships betrayed and such. Nothing proven, mind you.”

  I gulped. Not only over the exorbitant price, but friendships betrayed. Jesus. I thought having Moira as my husband’s mistress might be the worst hell imaginable. Not that either of us had a husband. “Did they ever catch the killer?”

  “Oh, no. No charges brought. Only whispers. I kind of have to wonder if folks didn’t think the girl deserved her fate.”

  I gave a nervous twitter. “Depends on the husband, I’d say.”

  The clerk chuckled. “Oh my, true enough, darlin’. True enough.”

  My gaze skimmed over the bevy of pieces, my imagination stirred. “What piece has your favorite story?”

  Her eyes lit knowingly. “Why, my piece, of course.”

  My forehead wrinkled, announcing that skeptical scowl my mom hated most, despite my best efforts to keep a polite smile in place. “Your piece?”

  Nodding, she shook out her wrist until a charm bracelet fell forth. Two charms hung from it—a tiny shoe and a wishbone. It didn’t look antique. Not that I had any kind of a trained eye. “It’s pretty,” I said.

  “Well, pretty or not, it’s my heart’s deepest treasure.”

  “You got it here?”

  That knowing smile returned, giving her aged face a lovely softness I found myself envying. She seemed the kind of person who had lived and known the deepest loves and losses, who carried secret knowledge deep in her soul. The kind of knowledge a person longs for in their youth.

  At least I did. Maybe that’s why I asked, “How did you know which one belonged to you?” I half expected her to think I was silly, strung along by a sales pitch.

  “If there’s a story here that is yours, it’ll find you, darlin’.” She looked past my shoulder. “Can I help you, girls?”

  “How much for this shawl?” Kim asked.

  “Oh, Lordy, honey, now you’ve gone and tested me. Is a tag hanging on the edge, there?” I watched Kim lift and spread the baby blue garment wide, but my mind was on what the clerk had said before. “There it is. Now, where were we, dear?”

  I shrugged. “Just looking some more, I guess.”

  “Alright, then. But don’t be shy, you hear?”

  She left me to browse. Instead of breathing easier, though, my breathing hitched. My eyes scanned the two glass cases, searching for something, any item, that spoke to me. Kim and Moira came up behind me.

  “Oooh. Look at that locket,” Kim said, the shawl already draped fashionably around her waist, giving her a sexy, bohemian look, designer jeans underneath and all.

  The clerk peeked out. “Would you like to see it?”

  Kim nodded. Moira asked to see a cuff bracelet. I bit back the feeling that they’d interrupted me right when I’d been onto something. I should be glad that they’d joined me. The twosome could go back to being a threesome.

  The clerk retrieved an oval, gold locket strung on a long, sturdy chain. Kim and Moira both gave appreciative gasps. “Can I try it on?” Kim asked.

  The clerk hesitated, glancing at me long enough that I shrugged one shoulder. Why would I care what she tried on? She pooled the locket and chain into Kim’s outstretched palm, and then handed Moira the cuff bracelet. My eyes went to the locket. I got a little irritated at the way Kim tipped her palm, letting the chain slide off here and there.

  I had to get beyond this stupid competitive streak I had with Kim! First, the insecurity over her and Moira having nothing but a good time. Now, I wanted her to be careful with a locket? Kim reached to touch the cuff on Moira’s arm. The locket part spilled out, crashed onto the glass, and opened. The clerk simply watched us. Without thinking, I reached for the fallen locket, as did Kim. “Whoops,” she said. “Thanks, Sara. The thing nearly jumped out of my hand.”

  The clerk, Kim, and Moira all gave a chuckle. “Actually,” Kim said to the clerk, “can I try that ring instead?”

  I didn’t pay attention to which ring. My thoughts and vision zeroed in on the rescued locket, its light but solid weight, and the softness of the chain. Carefully, I opened the locket further. Two images were framed inside.

  A woman who reminded me of the pioneer days my nana used to talk about before summer naptimes. And a bearded man. I stared at the man’s face. Something eerily familiar about him had me racking my brain. It was as though he looked like an actor, or, maybe someone I—

  “Shit,” I said, almost dropping it.

  My heart could have been a bird in my chest, flapping to be free.

  “What?” Moira demanded, reaching for the locket.

  I realized I was clutching it t
o my chest. I shook my head. I didn’t want to hand it over. Unreasonably, everything in me screamed to keep–to hide–the locket’s contents from my best friend. She’d know exactly who it looked like! She’d scoff if I bought it. She might want it for herself. I had to buy it. There was no question. “Nothing,” I squeaked. “Just pinched my finger in the thing.”

  “That gold cuff there,” the clerk interrupted. “Has quite a story behind it.”

  Her attention back on the clerk, Kim’s frown relaxed. I couldn’t hear the story past the roar in my ears. Blood and adrenaline. Surreptitiously, I turned so that I could view the locket again, but concealed from them.

  A sight for sore eyes is the only way I could have described the ache and swell inside me over examining the picture closer. The man staring back at me looked so much like Crew, I’d swear it was. If I didn’t know better. Crew never wore a beard. Crew never lived during what looked like a hundred or more years ago.

  Crew died eight years ago in a drunk driving accident. The inebriated soccer mom who hit him had been rushing to pick up her kid from school. He’d just left my apartment. Angry over some stupid thing couples fight about.

  Angry, then gone.

  The force of the physical similarities pushed past logic and reason. Part of me swore, this was Crew. Him, staring back at me, that intense way of his reserved for me alone. I took a quiet, deep breath to steady myself. My hands trembled. I gently laid the locket on the glass and exchanged a look with the clerk.

  She rang us up individually and sent us off with a wave. And, at me, a wink.

  The sun on our shoulders, the three of us set off down the street looking for lunch. Silly or not, that wink warmed my heart. As did the cold metal of the locket against my warm sun-kissed skin.

  For a brief moment, it was as if the entire interaction had been destined. It was as if God had given me a little bit of Crew back. How much had I wished it could be so much more? How fiercely had I wished for just one more day with Crew before he’d met his death. How many times had I wished I’d wake up, the car wreck that killed him no more than a nightmare?

  What I wouldn’t give. …

  ~~~

  Chapter Two

  I lay in bed staring at the crown molded, recessed ceiling of my room in the bed-and- breakfast, darkened by shadows. I tried to add up the hours of our time together. Two months, one week, and three days. Four days? No, only the three at the end. Crew and I hadn’t spent every hour of those few short weeks together, though. There was no real way to know. So, what did hours matter?

  I toyed with the locket and walked through my memories. The remarkable shade of blue his eyes were, that in the right light looked green. Beyond the color though, the bare way he’d look at me remained forever branded in my heart.

  How could such a brief romance affect me so much? And for so, so long?

  Moira complained more than once that I’d placed Crew on a pedestal. That no man would ever measure up. Because how can anyone compete with perfect memories? Maybe she was right. Maybe in my loss of him, so suddenly, right when I’d been certain I loved him, I’d dusted the flaws away.

  I secretly wondered if she still harbored a little resentment that he’d picked me, but not her. She didn’t even know about us until his death, though. Our brief, hot relationship had been a secret from my best friend. My idea. Moira and I had zeroed in on the same guy one night out dancing, and I’d hated the idea of hurting her. We’d never had the same taste in a guy before, and I wasn’t sure it would last long enough to be up front with her.

  Then the secret got away from me. I kept putting it off. Then Crew died.

  She’d never begrudged my secret. Of course, confessing at a funeral did wonders for forcing forgiveness. Moira had simply wrapped me in her arms and held on tight.

  I once swore if I ever met someone who looked at me the way Crew did, I’d drag his ass to Vegas. Moira had laughed. It had been a joke, though. It’d take more than a certain stare to compare to Crew. The man I would marry would have to not only look at me in that soul-wrenching, toe-shivering way, but I’d have to feel more than wanted. I’d have to return that look.

  Crew and I had been magnets, flipped so we stuck. Where I ended, he seemed to begin. Even eight years later, lying in bed, my body remembered what he did to me. The fluttering in my throat as he leaned closer. The urge to bury my head in his neck and breathe in his woodsy scent. Could anyone ever make me tremble just being next to me, face to face, limb to limb, listening to the sounds of our hearts and breaths?

  I sighed heavily in the dark and rolled to my side. I didn’t want to cry. I’d cried enough. I’d had umpteen pity parties. I should feel lucky. How many people in the world ever get to experience something so magical, so strong? My Romeo was gone, and this Juliet would go on and live a life.

  I was living, wasn’t I? I worked at a job I loved, teaching middle school. I had close friends, a rich social life. So what if I didn’t have Crew? I’d had him once. Some treasures weren’t meant for keeps.

  Inevitably, though, no matter how much I told myself not to regret a moment of our time together, the same unforgiving mistake I’d made crept to my mind’s surface.

  Why had I been so hard to get, so skittish with my feelings? With his?

  He gave me body and soul, and what did I do? I froze up, held back, terrified he’d change his mind. What was I thinking? I knew what. I didn’t want to scare him off. I worried so much about keeping him interested that I never opened up. If we didn’t string it out a little longer, a little more tautly, wouldn’t the magic evaporate?

  I swiped at my leaky eyes, shut them, and counted backward from one hundred. I held the gold locket in my hand and fisted it to my chest. Saying a little prayer, I wished that wherever he was now, he knew how much he meant to me. It must have been around number thirty-one or so when I finally fell asleep.

  I dreamed.

  A weight settled behind me on the bed. Body heat permeated my blankets. I snuggled closer, the outline behind me safe and familiar, but also just out of reach. I mumbled the words, “You came back to me.”

  “Shh,” he whispered, a shift of air making me think he would nuzzle into my neck. But only the warm air touched my skin.

  I sighed. The ache in my heart eased away. I breathed his smell deep into my lungs. Oh, how I loved that earthy, crisp aroma of him. So clean, but so spicy. He moved away a little. I untangled one arm from the covers and reached out, hitting air and blanket. “No,” I said, my eyes opening and adjusting to the darkness of my dream world. I was in Savannah, in the same bed I’d been lamenting in hours before. “Stay,” I said and rolled over.

  “Stay.” I searched his shadowy features so close to mine. “I miss you so much sometimes. Just a little longer?”

  I didn’t dream of him more than a couple of times a month. The dream was always the same. Crew returning to me, and me unable to hold onto sleep long enough to resolve anything or capture any meaning. As always, somewhere inside of me, I knew I’d wake feeling shattered, the loss raw again. For now, I craved memorizing him once more. I wanted to keep the dream.

  “Okay,” he said.

  I sighed inside. “I wish you could come to me every night.”

  “Me, too, Sara, but I can’t. All the right doors have to open for you to let me in.” His arm shifted at his hip and I hoped for it to move around me. But it didn’t. “You know I still love you, don’t you?” he asked me.

  Was that true? “How come you never said so?”

  “I didn’t say it. But I tried to show you. I always loved you.”

  His words filled up the emptiness in me. I smiled in the dark. “I wish I’d shown you, too.”

  “Be careful, Sara. You know what they say about wishes.”

  The warning in his voice made me think he’d leave, or I’d wake. I scooted closer. The stiff hotel covers tangled between us. The stubble on his throat in the shadows drew my eye. My body felt heavy with sleep, but buoyant from the
dream. I longed to bury my nose against his stubbly skin. “I know what they say,” I mumbled. “I don’t care. I can’t help wishing it. I feel like if I’d been honest with you, with myself, I’d be able to ….”

  He pulled back and stared into my eyes. The light from the window lit his face enough to reveal the contours and hint at the color I once knew by heart. My breath caught. Jesus, he was more beautiful than I’d remembered. His thick eyebrows, the strong nose and jawline. His eyelids perceptibly fluttered. “You’d be able to move on?”

  I saw the pain in his gaze and my chest squeezed. “Yes,” I whispered, emotion clogging my throat. “I’m sorry.”

  He pressed his forehead toward mine and chuckled. “You’re sorry? I think I’m the one who should be apologizing here, Sara.”

  The tightness in my chest changed. The pain drowned in a fresh wave of happiness from the lightness in his voice. “For what?” I teased. “Dying?”

  “Nah. Everybody dies. I’m sorry I didn’t kiss you more.”

  Somewhere in the back of my head, under the rush of blood in my veins over his words, behind the thrum in my belly, I felt that niggle of reality threatening to invade my dream world. I didn’t want to wake up. I wanted to stay here. I wanted to feel his hands, feel his warm breath near my face a little longer.

  “Why didn’t you?” I asked, suddenly aware of how close his face was to mine. The awareness spread down my throat, along my arms and chest, settling in my belly.

  “You’re more of an enigma than you realize,” he said. “The labyrinth back to you winds me away again and again.”

  I frowned. The fog of dreams seemed to be slipping away. The moment felt more real and yet more bizarre all at once. That niggle of reality loomed closer. This moment was fleeting. How could I make it last? My heart skipped a beat at the thought of waking.

  “Try harder,” I said, peering up at him.