Indigo Bay
***
Barbara Baldwin
It had to be a dream. People couldn’t travel through time.
But if this was a dream, she never wanted to wake up...
Mica’s heart refused to slow down as the stranger moved
close to her. Even though she knew he meant to kiss her, she
felt more curious than threatened. Tall and dark, he wore a
white shirt with billowing sleeves and snug black pants that
disappeared into the tops of knee high black boots. She noticed
he had his dark hair clubbed back, though bits curled around
his angular face. Mica caught a hint of humor in his gaze, along
with something far more dangerous.
Instinct shouted this was his domain, and she tried to regain
her composure and come up with a reason for being in his
room. However, her composure slipped drastically when he
took the book from her and replaced it on the shelf.
And touched her in doing so.
Mica gasped when their bodies came into contact. The hard
muscle beneath the soft linen of his shirt caused her breasts to
ache in reaction to his touch. Heat branded her, and her heart
thudded a dangerous beat. She knew she should ask him to
back up because he was a virtual stranger. Handsome, but still
unknown.
Nothing could have prepared her for the seductive power
of his brown eyes—dark, penetrating eyes capable of reading
her most intimate thoughts. Tiny worry lines crinkled at their
corners, and she felt an unbidden desire to touch him and soothe
the frown from his face. His gaze captured hers. Black brows
rose in question.
Yes, her mind screamed, regardless of the question.
Overwhelmed by the pure sensuality of the man, she didn’t
move a fraction as he lowered his lips to hers. Just before his
eyes closed, she caught a glimpse of passion in their dark
depths.
His kiss dissolved any defenses she may have constructed,
and she groaned as his arms circled her to pull her closer.
She vaguely recalled a novel where the author wrote, “The
heroine felt devoured.” She had laughed at the time, but now
understood.
For two modern day heroines—
My mom, Mitzi, and my daughter, Cassie.
I’m so proud of both of you!
To my husband, Dave, and my son, Tom,
And to my dad, Rusty—
You are the heroes of my life.
Acknowledgments:
Thanks to my own personal research assistant
Maxine Ganske
Librarian extraordinaire!
To Linda Kichline, editor & publisher—
Thanks for your faithful support of the paranormal genre.
You’ve given many of us the extraordinary opportunity
to share our hearts with others.
Indigo Bay
***
Barbara Baldwin
One
Cameron, South Carolina –Present Day
“Thomas...Thomas.”
The raspy whisper brought Mica Chadwick out of her chair
to lean over the bed. Paying little attention to the names and
comments mumbled by her aunt, she silently damned modern
medicine for not being able to prevent heart attacks and their
debilitating effects.
“Michaela, dear, you’re here.” Her aunt wheezed, then
stopped. Mica held her own breath, waiting. She made a grab
for the emergency button when her aunt’s eyes popped open
again and she coughed. A trembling hand blindly groped for
Mica’s own, and Mica squeezed it to reassure herself as well
as her aunt.
“I have to leave soon, Michaela Marie.” Her aunt more
often used her full name rather than the shortened nickname
Mica preferred. Mica smiled now at the sound of it.
“Aunt Theo.” A gentle squeeze from her aunt’s hand cut
off her words.
“It’s time...time for me to go.”
Mica looked deep into clear blue eyes so like her own. She
could see her aunt was lucid, but she didn’t like what she heard.
“Auntie, no. You’re going to get better, truly.” Mica knew
what the doctors said, but she told the lie, anyway. At eighty-
nine, Aunt Theo’s heart had worn out, and Doctor Jacobs didn’t
know how long she could last. “If you rest and take your
medicine—”
“I’m not going lying flat on my back, Michaela Marie.
You know better than that. I signed papers last week at Dr.
Jacobs’ office. I’ll not have tubes and needles and whatnot
making me look like a porcupine.” Her aunt’s voice,
surprisingly strong, gave Mica new hope.
Just as quickly she began to cough, and Mica supported
her so she wouldn’t choke. Blue-veined hands clutched Mica’s
arm until she knew she’d bruise. Still she held her aunt, cooing
reassuring words close to her ear and smoothing her white hair
with a trembling hand.
“Thomas needs you, Michaela Marie. Go to Sea Crest and
be with him.” Though her grip had not loosened, her aunt’s
voice faded to a croak.
“Sh...sh...don’t try to talk.” Mica didn’t know anyone
named Thomas, but she refused to agitate her aunt by telling
her that. She carefully laid her back upon the bed and pulled
the covers over her frail form. Thinking she slept, Mica turned,
but Aunt Theo’s whispered plea stopped her.
“You’re the only one who can save him, dear. And Thomas
can make you happy.”
“Aunt Theo...” Mica turned back, but noting the closed
eyes and shallow breathing, she didn’t continue her argument.
Her gaze remained on the rise and fall of the coverlet to assure
herself Aunt Theo remained with her. She had no idea to whom
her aunt referred, not that it mattered. Mica did not need, or
want, another man in her life.
She reached out to caress her aunt’s gnarled and weather-
wrinkled hand, noting a small amount of dirt under her nails.
Mica would bet any amount of money her aunt had been
working out in the garden again, in the heat of the day, and
most probably without a hat.
Her aunt’s warm hand tucked into her own formed a bridge
to her memories. Mica closed her eyes and thought back to her
childhood and the time spent with her aunt at Sea Crest, the
old family home on Cameron Island. Even though it had been
turned into a bed & breakfast inn years ago, Aunt Theo kept an
apartment in one section, and Sea Crest remained a unique
place to spend a summer. As an inquisitive and energetic kid,
Mica had learned to swim in the ocean, play hide-and-go-seek
in the garden maze, and dress up in old, old clothes from the
attic.
Aunt Theo’s hand stirred beneath her own to scatter the
daydreams.
She had recently planned time off to visit Sea Crest. Not
only did she dearly love her feisty old aunt, but she needed
time to come to grips with her life, her failed marriage, and her
career as an attorney. Now her plans would be on hold, for
Mica wondered if Aunt Theo would ever live at Sea Crest again.
The very thought of her not puttering around the estate and
telling stories about the “old days” saddened Mica immensely.
She stepped into the hall and called her mother, who
promised she would be up first thing in the morning. When
she returned to her aunt’s room, panic clutched her chest to
find the bed empty, the IV tube dangling uselessly to drip onto
the floor. She rushed to the bed to buzz the nurse’s station when
she saw her aunt’s small form in the chair by the window. Relief
washed over her even as she started to scold her for leaving the
bed.
When her aunt didn’t respond, Mica moved closer to shake
her awake. The poor dear sat tilted at an uncomfortable angle,
but when Mica touched her shoulder to wake her, her hands
dropped from her lap and her head lolled to the side. Mica
knelt beside the chair.
“Great-great-aunt Theodora Josephine, wake up, do you
hear me?” Frightened now, Mica scrambled across the bed and
pushed the nurse’s button, then slid off to her aunt’s side again.
She sobbed as she searched for a pulse but couldn’t discern a
beat.
Nurses pushed her aside. Sharp commands to the orderly
had him placing her beloved aunt none too gently back onto
the bed. A nurse hovered to check for pulse and respiration,
but when she shouted, “Code blue,” Mica had seen enough.
“No.” The soft-spoken word echoed across the bleak room.
“It’s standard procedure, Miss.”
Mica knew the nurse only followed hospital rules.
“No. She didn’t want the needles.” Her gaze caressed her
aunt’s beloved face, peaceful now in death. “It’s too late,
anyway. She’s already gone.” Tears obscured her vision. Her
fingers trembled against her lips as she tried unsuccessfully to
muffle a sob.
The hospital staff moved aside to allow Mica her grief.
There’d be papers to sign, and reports to file. As an attorney,
Mica was familiar with the Advanced Directive Statutes of
South Carolina. She also knew there had been no court case to
test the limits of living will declarations. The hospital would
protect itself from liability. But none of that mattered at the
moment.
“Here, Miss, she must have dropped this.” She was vaguely
aware of the orderly pressing something into her hand before
he left the room. Mica bent to place a farewell kiss on her
aunt’s wrinkled brow. She looked younger now. Perhaps Aunt
Theo had been right when she said the time had come to leave.
Mica now realized her aunt would never have been happy
in a hospital or nursing home. If Theodora Josephine Ashley
couldn’t be at Sea Crest, she didn’t want to be anywhere. Mica
smiled through her tears and said a silent prayer to God to take
good care of this very special lady.
She brushed at her eyes, only then realizing she held a
paper in her hand, crushed almost beyond repair. Carefully,
she smoothed it flat against her chest as she moved towards
the light. Her breath caught in surprise as she scanned the legal
document.
“Oh, Aunt Theo, what have you done?”
***
Katie French, a lifelong friend, had stopped by Mica’s
Charleston apartment every day since Aunt Theo’s funeral two
weeks before. For the first time, Mica felt up to speaking about
her aunt’s bequest. She still couldn’t believe her own father
had written the document and never said a word about it.
“It’s so exciting, Mica! You own Sea Crest!” Katie, like
one of those perpetual motion toys, paced back and forth from
the breakfast bar to the couch. She had the energy and
personality to run Sea Crest, not Mica. “Well, aren’t you
excited?” she asked, stopping just long enough to throw Mica
a perturbed look, hands on hips, before she started pacing again.
“What do you suggest I do with a bed and breakfast so far
up the coast from my law practice?” Mica questioned her. She
had come to terms with her favorite aunt’s death, but didn’t
know if she was ready to visit Sea Crest. The inn held too
many memories.
“Is it true that Theo’s family owned the whole island? How
romantic!”
Mica grinned at her friend’s enthusiasm. Katie had married
her childhood sweetheart and had three adorable kids. She spent
her days at the country club, or shopping, or doing volunteer
work. She employed a housekeeper and a nanny, and she didn’t
worry about paying bills or struggling to make sense of her
life. Mica sometimes envied her.
Instead, Mica had a routinely predictable and dull life. She
had a responsible career. She had made a responsible marriage
to a family of strong social standing, even if her husband had
proven to be anything but responsible. She always paid her
bills on time, visited her parents often—as a good daughter
should—and dressed in fashionable, conservative, suits.
As Katie chattered on about Sea Crest, Mica began to think
perhaps the time had come for an adventure. She was tired of
being reliable. She laughed to herself at the thought, for she
and her father had already spent hours shifting cases to ensure
she had the time off she requested. Any cases that couldn’t be
postponed had been given to a junior executive to handle in
her absence. She rose from the couch and headed for her
bedroom, confident Katie would follow.
Katie plopped on the bed, stomach first, and propped her
chin in her hands. She certainly didn’t act like a twenty-nine-
year-old mother of three. “What are you doing?” she asked.
“You’ve been badgering me to go to Sea Crest, so I am.”
Mica watched her friend’s mouth drop open. “There. Are you
happy, now?”
“Oh, Mica, that’s wonderful! I know you’ll love it. We
had such fun there when we were kids.”
“Katie, in case you haven’t noticed, we’re not kids
anymore.”
“Michaela Marie Chadwick, listen to me. If you just let
your hair down, you will relax and have fun. You might even
meet someone interesting up there.” Katie forever worried about
her being alone, though Mica was happier single than married
to Richard.
“Yes, ma’am. I promise.” She grinned as she gave her friend
a hug.
***
A sense of peace stole over Mica the moment she dropped
her bags inside Sea Crest’s front entrance. She smiled at the
smell of lemons, which would forever remind her of Theodora
Josephine Ashley, Sea Crest’s eccentric matron.
Mica’s great-great-aunt had maintained a home here even
though she had a manager. She would often help with
reservations, set menus with old-time recipes, and gre
et guests.
She had liked people, and wanted anyone who stayed at Sea
Crest to feel at home.
A new manager greeted Mica, her nametag identifying her
as Mrs. Anna Harris. “Ms. Chadwick, we were all so sorry to
hear about Mrs. Ashley. We considered her more a dear friend
than an employer.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Harris.”
“Oh, you just call me Anna. Here, let me take your bags. I
expect you’ll stay in your aunt’s apartment. Well, it’s yours
now, isn’t it?”
Mica nodded as she followed the woman down a short hall
to the northern part of the house. She didn’t question how the
woman knew she had inherited Sea Crest. She was curious,
however, about the nervousness in the woman’s voice. Perhaps
Anna thought Mica intended to take over and oust her from
her position. Mica would certainly discredit that notion in a
hurry. As much as she loved her aunt, she couldn’t fathom giving
up a law practice to run a bed and breakfast.
“Oh, my.” She had forgotten how Sea Crest resisted change.
The manor maintained the grandeur of more than a century
ago. A short hall separated her aunt’s apartment from the inn,
and as they entered the high, oak-trimmed doorway, Mica felt
drawn back in time. The sitting room, full of antiques, contained
dark, wood furniture with brocade seats, heavy draperies, and
even needlepoint pillows on the couch. A small kitchen stood
to her left, one of the few concessions to modern times. Directly
in front of her, spanning almost the entire north wall, tall
windows embraced a set of French doors that overlooked the
lovely gardens her aunt had cherished.
“I’ll put your bags in here, Ms. Chadwick.”
Mica followed the woman into the bedroom. She noticed
her aunt had re-papered the room in a yellow rose pattern. It
certainly helped brighten the effect of the dark wood highboy,
vanity and canopied bed that occupied the spacious room. Again
floor to ceiling windows looked out over the garden and
fountain.
“Thank you so much for making me feel welcome, Anna.”
“Well, you are Mrs. Ashley’s niece, after all, Ms.
Chadwick.” The woman gave her a warm smile.
“Please, call me Mica. We don’t stand on formality here,
do we?”
“I’ll try, Ms...Mica, but you and Mrs. Ashley, well, you’re
Baldwin, Barbara - Indigo Bay.txt Page 1