Baldwin, Barbara - Indigo Bay.txt

by Indigo Bay (lit)

“Judith Cavanaugh enjoys the latest inventions and often

  has gatherings at her home. She invites scientists and inventors

  to expound upon their work in front of her friends. That does

  not make her a scientist.” He paced around the room as he

  instructed her, waving his index finger in the air to punctuate

  his remarks. Mica noticed that even in his outrage his body

  still had little more substance than a shadow.

  Mica couldn’t keep quiet. “This is too much. We’re talking

  about more than one hundred fifty years from your time!”

  “Nevertheless,” Logan continued, “principles regarding

  women are unbendable. Elizabeth loves to grow things. She

  and John have the largest hothouse in Cameron. She often

  supplies her friends with flowers for winter balls when there is

  no other way to get the variety.” He spun around to pierce her

  with his gaze. “That in no way makes her a tradesman.” He

  said the word with such a condescending air, Mica refrained

  from correcting him by saying tradeswoman.

  “In other words, if I work at a law firm, you think I can

  only be a secretary?”

  “If you are to convince me you have an occupation in this

  time, then yes. A secretary would be, if not believable, at least

  more plausible than being a lawyer. How could your father

  allow you to pursue such an unsafe profession?”

  Logan appeared adamant about this, and Mica wondered

  if his thinking had more to do with the attitudes of his day than

  he was letting on. “I thought you were more progressive than

  that, Logan,” she said.

  Her comment seemed to surprise him and he looked

  chagrin. “I will admit I admire your choice of careers and your

  desire to help the downtrodden, but surely you don’t want to

  associate with the dredges of society?”

  Mica frowned. There were definitely things she would

  change when she returned to Indigo Bay, and Logan’s attitude

  was just a start. As quickly as the thought came, her anger

  deflated, knowing their love could never be untangled. It wasn’t

  just a difference in attitude.

  Logan must have sensed her inner struggle, because his

  voice calmed as he said, “Michaela Marie, you should not

  have to work. You should be taken care of, pampered, given

  your heart’s desire.”

  “You don’t really believe me, do you?”

  “I believe you are the most desirable woman I know, and

  the most beautiful. I believe the mystery surrounding you is

  part of your appeal, but I doubt I would desire you less if I

  knew every detail of your past.”

  It was probably fortunate the phone rang at that time,

  startling Logan and giving Mica time to collect her thoughts.

  “Mr. Whitney? Yes,” Mica glanced at the clock. “I didn’t

  realize you worked so early. No, it’s an inside door, but it must

  be repaired immediately. Fine, I’ll meet you at the front door.”

  She turned to give Logan the news, but found his gaze intent

  on the phone that sat on the table.

  “Amazing. You talked into that...telephone, and the

  locksmith will come and do as you request?”

  “Well, he’ll come, anyway, in just a few minutes. He was

  on the way to work when he got my message, so will stop here

  first. We’ll have to keep our fingers crossed that he can do

  what needs to be done.”

  “Keep our fingers crossed?”

  “Just an expression. Look, I’m going to make some coffee.”

  She glanced his way while heading for the kitchen, but then

  stopped and stared. The first pale light of morning streamed

  through the French doors, and for a moment she couldn’t see

  him at all.

  “Logan?” His name caught in her throat as she watched

  the shimmering light particles move to the side of the doorway.

  Even with the wall behind him, his shape was less defined

  and much more transparent than it had been earlier. She had no

  trouble reading the depth of anguish on his face. Panic squeezed

  her heart that they may not have enough time to return him

  before he became only a memory.

  He turned to the light for an instant, then back towards

  her. “Michaela, I must go...soon. I want to feel the wind in my

  face and the rich earth sifting through my fingers.” He held out

  his hands, pleading with her to help him.

  “I know.” At that moment, the outside entrance buzzer

  sounded, and Mica silently said thanks that the locksmith must

  have been close by, perhaps answering her call from a cell

  phone. “Please, stay here. I can’t take a chance the professor’s

  alarm will sound again.” She paused with her hand on the knob.

  “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  She couldn’t say that perhaps the door couldn’t be fixed

  and he’d be stuck on this side—the side where she was alive

  but he couldn’t exist.

  Luckily, Anna hadn’t awakened with the buzzer. Mica

  quietly let the repairman in and guided him upstairs.

  “If you could work quietly since it’s still so early, I would

  appreciate it. We have guests, you know.”

  The locksmith nodded his gray head in agreement as he

  knelt to examine the lock. “It doesn’t appear to have damaged

  the lock itself. Someone mostly dug at the surrounding area a

  bit.”

  “Can it be fixed, exactly as it was before?” Mica’s nails

  dug grooves into her palms as she waited his answer.

  “Why exactly as it was?”

  “Well, because it has to be the same...to...” What? To allow

  her to use a key that opens a door to the past? She remembered

  what Anna had told her. “Everything is of the Georgian period.

  It must be the same to keep the symmetrical appearance of the

  house.”

  “That’s what your Aunt said when she had the same

  problem some forty years ago.” He shook his head and turned

  back to the door, digging into his toolbox. “Must be where all

  the family skeletons are kept.” He chuckled to himself as though

  he had made a great joke.

  Mica gaped at the back of his head, unable to form any

  kind of reply at all. Aunt Theo had known forty years ago?

  “I see the key is missing now, too, just like back then.

  Don’t see why a door needs fixed when there’s no key, but I

  suppose you know the answer to that.” Without waiting for a

  reply, he concentrated on his work. “I don’t need nobody

  looking over my shoulder when I work, Miss, so I’ll just knock

  on your door when I’m done.”

  Mica returned to her apartment, sending up a silent prayer

  that the locksmith could repair the damage before it was too

  late. She entered quietly to find Logan staring out the window,

  unaware of her return. She had done what she could. Now all

  they could do was wait. She slipped into her room, grabbed

  some clean clothes and started a shower.

  “How novel. I thought we had progressed as far as possible

  with indoor plumbing.” Logan commented from close by.

  Mica squawked at the sound of his voice. �
��I swear you’ll

  be the death of me,” she commented, sticking her shampooed

  head around the edge of the shower curtain.

  Logan stood, arms crossed and leaning against the door

  frame, looking terribly masculine and out of place in her aunt’s

  dainty bathroom, even in his current indistinct form. His heated

  gaze steamed the tepid water that ran down her back, causing

  her temperature to rise.

  She knew he couldn’t see through the opaque curtain, but

  she still felt his energy caress her slick skin. Knowing there

  was nothing she could do about the sensations which coursed

  through her body—at least not until they were back at Indigo

  Bay—she jerked the curtain closed and rinsed her hair.

  “I’d offer to share my shower, but in your condition I don’t

  think it would do any good.”

  “I’m afraid I have more than one condition which requires

  attention, but it will have to wait until your telephone man has

  fixed the lock.” His voice, clearly frustrated, still carried enough

  sexual innuendo to make her shiver with anticipation.

  Mica’s thoughts ran along similar lines, so she could

  understand his frustration. She changed the subject. “He’s not

  a telephone man, he’s a repairman,” she said as she pulled her

  wrapper on behind the curtain then stepped out of the tub.

  “He talked through the telephone.”

  “Everyone does that.” She shook out her hair and stood

  before the mirror to brush it, looking for Logan’s shadowy

  reflection in the glass.

  “Just like everyone drives these automobiles and airplanes

  you spoke of?”

  “Automobiles, yes, but not airplanes.”

  “Why not?” His brow lifted in question. Before Mica could

  formulate a reply, the doorbell rang.

  “Good, he’s done.” She hurried past Logan. While his

  ghostlike existence meant she couldn’t touch him, she still felt

  his presence as she moved to the door.

  “Could you fix it?” she asked even as she swung the door

  open. Her shoulders sagged when she saw who stood on the

  other side, and she tried to slam the door shut. But it bounced

  back open.

  “What are you doing here, Richard?” Her voice a

  monotone, she realized she had overcome all her feelings for

  the man except anger.

  “Why, I’ve come to see you, darling.” Richard moved

  quickly into the apartment before Mica could again slam the

  door in his face. He wrapped his arms around her as though

  happy to see her, which Mica knew was not the case. There

  could be only one reason he would travel to Sea Crest, which

  he confirmed the next instant.

  “You closed our accounts, Michaela. That wasn’t very

  nice.”

  She wiggled out of his embrace only to turn straight into

  Logan. The amazement on his face registered as quickly as her

  fear of Richard’s discovering him there. Richard appeared

  unconcerned, as though he couldn’t even see him. Mica tilted

  her head to the side, considering that possibility.

  “Say something,” she whispered to Logan.

  “Who the hell is that?” he snarled as Richard reached for

  her again. She spun around and sidestepped, searching

  Richard’s face for any sign that he’d heard Logan. All she saw

  was anger at her evasiveness.

  “Where’d you put the money?” Richard grabbed her arm

  and squeezed, but she stood firm, a smile lifting the corners of

  her mouth.

  “He can’t see you,” she said over her shoulder to Logan.

  “Who can’t see me? The banker?” Richard shook her, his

  tone belligerent.

  Mica clinched her teeth, her mind reliving all the horror of

  their last year of marriage.

  Logan growled, “Whether he can see me or not, if he

  doesn’t let you go this instant, I’ll find a way to kill him.”

  He stepped forward and surrounded her with his energy.

  Suddenly Mica felt warm and protected, his strength seeping

  into her and giving her courage.

  “Richard, let go of me,” she said in a firm voice.

  “Regardless of whether we’re outside of Charleston, I’m sure

  you remember the judge’s warning.” His hand dropped to his

  side, and she breathed a sigh of relief.

  She had managed to keep the abuse factor out of the divorce

  hearing, but she had had a private conversation with Judge

  Wilson. He had assured her he would relay to Richard what

  would happen if he ever touched her again.

  Richard ran his hands through his hair. The action caused

  Mica to become aware of things she had missed when he first

  burst into her home. His clothes were disheveled, his hair

  needed a trim, and his face looked puffy.

  “Look, Mic, the restaurant went under, and I need funds.

  You’re the one working for your father and getting a great salary,

  so why won’t you share?” His tone pleaded with her for

  leniency, but his eyes still held the anger she remembered.

  Richard never could understand how hard she worked for what

  she made. He actually thought she was just a figurehead and

  her father gave her money whenever she wanted it.

  “I’m already paying you plenty. There is no more.” She

  tried to keep the quiver out of her voice. Taking deep breaths,

  then exhaling slowly, she also tried to control her fear.

  Richard moved slowly around the room, eyeing the

  furnishings and fingering the draperies. Mica began to shake,

  the breathing exercises not working this time.

  Logan whispered in her ear. “Shh, take it easy. This man is

  all bluff.”

  “I’m afraid even though he looks kind of scruffy, he’s

  anything but bluff.” She leaned back into Logan, aching for

  the comfort she knew he could provide. Forgetting that he had

  little form, she lost her balance and almost fell.

  Richard turned back to her. “Perhaps I’ll just take a cut of

  this nice little business. No, maybe I’ll just take it over for

  you.”

  “Sorry, but the divorce was final six months ago. You have

  no claim to anything I acquire after that.”

  “Always the lawyer, aren’t you?” His voice escalated as

  he stalked toward her.

  Logan’s voice came from the area of her desk. “Can’t you

  use this telephone to contact the authorities?”

  “Yes.” Relief flooded her. She had forgotten everything

  except the menace her ex-husband posed.

  “So, you’re seeing the light,” Richard said, giving her a

  sinister smile.

  “What?”

  “You just said yes to a cut of this enterprise.”

  “Like hell,” Mica swore as she moved to the phone.

  “Michaela, such language.” Logan grinned as she stomped

  towards him.

  Mica looked from Logan to Richard and back, unable to

  keep track of two conversations at one time. Especially when

  one of the people talking didn’t know the other existed. Men!

  Why had she ever thought she needed them? When her gaze

  came back to Logan, though, she knew wh
y.

  She gave a snort of exasperation as she pointed to Richard.

  “You. Sit down and stay put.”

  Turning to Logan, she hissed, “You, follow me,” then

  stomped off to the tiny kitchen.

  “Get me a beer while you’re in there,” Richard called after

  her.

  Mica’s eyes narrowed to a glare, but she bit back any retort

  she considered making.

  “Will you please be quiet and let me handle this?” she

  chided Logan, her anger more about Richard’s appearance than

  Logan’s comments.

  “He hurt you. I could see it in your eyes.” When she offered

  no response, he continued, “No gentleman has the right to abuse

  a lady in any manner. Especially a lady of quality such as

  yourself. I understand now why you divorced him.”

  “Look, I’ll get him to leave, somehow.”

  “I would prefer dragging him through the door with me,

  and then shooting him for what he has put you through.”

  His words were exactly what Mica needed to hear. By

  offering her assurance and comfort, even though he

  contemplated violence, he expressed his love and concern for

  her. It gave her the courage to return to the living room.

  With her hand on the phone, she said quietly, “Richard,

  you will leave now and never return. If I have to, I’ll call the

  police and have you removed.”

  He stood and took a menacing step towards her. She picked

  up the receiver, her finger poised to punch 911. She saw his

  hesitation before he gave a casual shrug and turned away.

  “You’ve changed, Mic, and not for the better.”

  “Get out of my life.” She kept her voice quiet until the

  door swung closed behind him. Then she added in a loud voice,

  “I hate being called Mic!”

  “Now what?” Logan questioned from the other side of the

  room.

  Mica watched as he raised a ghostly hand to the early

  morning sun streaming through the window. He turned his hand

  this way and that, a scowl on his face. She couldn’t begin to

  imagine what he thought. When she crossed the time barrier,

  she could still feel the sun on her face and could touch his

  bronze skin. She cursed her stupidity in not making sure Logan

  was away from the plantation when she tried to return.

  As she rushed to her bedroom, she said, “I’ll dress and see

  how the repairman is doing. Surely he’s done by now.”