by Edie Ramer
“My mom says mean things to everyone. She can’t help it. She has a disease. She told me all about it. And when she does mean things, it’s not her fault.”
“I know, I know,” Cassie soothed, petting Erin’s shoulder and upper arm as if she were calming a frightened puppy.
“I’m the only one who stays with her. She tells me all the time she can’t live without me. And now I’m gone. It’s all my fault. I should’ve found a way to stay.” Erin pushed up on her elbows.
Cassie swallowed twice before she could talk. Damn Vanessa for dumping her troubles on Erin’s small shoulders. “Honey, you’re the kid, she’s the mom. You’re not supposed to take care of her. It’s the other way around.”
“You can help me find a way to stay with her. Please? Please, help me?”
Cassie’s hand stilled on Erin’s shoulder. “I can’t.”
“My mom will pay you back. I’ll make her pay you.”
“It’s not the money. It’s...” She took a deep breath. “Your dad needs you as much as your mom. Maybe more. Your mom had her chance, now it’s his.”
“You’re wrong.”
“Give him a chance, Erin.”
“No. I hate you.” Erin pulled the cover over her head. “I wish you never came here.”
Tears welled in Cassie’s eyes. What was wrong with her? She must be allergic to the air here. Ever since she got here, her tear ducts worked overtime.
She wished she’d never come to Bliss either.
Her teeth chattering, she pushed up to her feet inch by excruciating inch. Funny how a bout of poison aged a person.
“Cassie?” Erin’s voice was so low, Cassie wasn’t sure she heard it at first or if she just wanted to hear it.
“Yes?” For a couple seconds, Erin didn’t reply. Her head was still buried under the cover, so maybe Cassie imagined—
Erin’s head tilted up, the cover slipping down to her shoulders. “It’s warm in my bed.”
“Yes?”
“It’s pretty big.”
“Yes?” A ball of hope expanded inside Cassie’s chest.
“There’s another pillow I don’t use. You could...share it.”
“I guess I could, if that’s all right with you.”
“I don’t really hate you,” Erin whispered.
“I know.” Cassie made her way around the bed and slipped beneath the covers. Blessed warmth.
She glanced at the doorway, a rectangular slab of darkness. Although she’d left the door open, she decided to let it be. So what if it wasn’t closed?
***
Isabel watched as Luke stole away from Erin’s doorway.
Interesting. It was all interesting.
Much more interesting than when she lived here alone. Much more interesting than when she lived with Thomas. Even more interesting than her favorite soap opera.
Maybe sharing wasn’t so bad.
Smiling, she floated up to her new place, the one no one knew about but her.
Everyone in this house had secrets. Slowly, she was uncovering them all.
She liked that. She liked that a lot.
She didn’t know who tried to kill Cassie, but if they tried again while she was at the house, and this time succeeded, maybe Cassie would stay with her.
They could be friends for eternity.
Chapter Forty-three
“I have a question.” Luke looked closely at Cassie lying in the bed he and Erin had bought yesterday, for which he’d paid the salesmen a two hundred dollar bonus to deliver in the afternoon. This was the first time he’d seen her since last night when he’d watched her and Erin from the dark shadows of the hallway.
She must have snuck back into her bed before he woke this morning. At breakfast, Erin didn’t mention Cassie sleeping with her. Now Cassie wasn’t mentioning it.
He wasn’t going to bring it up either. Raking over the past and examining feelings was a woman thing. They got the “examine emotions” gene. Men got the “action” gene. Except...
This was about Erin. His daughter. This one time he wanted Cassie to share her feelings, to talk over the events of last night. What Erin said to her. What Cassie felt about it. What Erin thought about Cassie. What—
Argh!
There was too much estrogen in this house. He was surrounded by females—even the ghost was female, for Christ sake. He was becoming a woman.
Cassie rubbed her eye and stretched under the turquoise bedspread Erin had picked out after giving a thumbs down on the navy blue he’d chosen. She told him navy was a boy’s color.
“Your question?” Cassie asked.
He observed the bedspread mounding over her breasts and the main question in his mind was whether she’d mind if he crawled into bed with her.
Apparently the desire to sleep with her ran in the family.
She stared at him expectantly. He concentrated on her eyes instead of her breasts. He’d come into the room with a question. What the hell was it? Oh yeah.
“Did you go to the county building permit office and ask about records for the house?”
She nodded, a small frown gathering between her eyes. “Sure, how did you know?”
Should he lie? No, if there were any lies, it wouldn’t be by him. Omissions, perhaps... “I spoke to the sheriff yesterday afternoon. He told me.”
“Oh.” Her eyelids flickered downward and he thought she was going to feign sleep. Instead, she asked, “Don’t you want to know the reason I was there?”
“Tell me what you feel like telling me.”
“Let’s trade. If I tell you what I was doing there, I want you to tell me what you were doing at the sheriff’s. And what you found out. Okay?”
He snorted a laugh. “Feeling witty this morning?”
“Half witted.” She grinned, and he wanted to get as far away as fast as possible—and at the same time he wanted to get as close as possible.
The more he looked at her, the more he wanted to follow up on the second reaction.
Priding himself on not being a flaming idiot, he nodded instead. “You first.”
“Nothing spectacular. I thought the house was old and wanted to check it out, that’s all.”
He kept staring at her. Her gaze flickered. After a moment, she huffed out a breath.
“Something about the house bugged me. I don’t know what it was and still don’t. I have these feelings once in a while. I don’t always understand them, but I’ve learned to trust my gut.”
“Sure.” Staring worked before. He didn’t take his gaze off her.
She shook her head. “You’re doing that on purpose, aren’t you?”
“Doing what?”
“You know.” She tapped the side of her forehead. “Staring. Okay, I’ll tell you the rest. There were no records. There was a fire around eighteen-seventy that destroyed all the previous records, so the clerk said the house must’ve been built earlier than that. She knew this without looking because a few days before a young, attractive, tall blonde wanted to see the records of the same house.”
“Tricia?”
“Surprised you.” She smiled, looking pleased and pretty. “I asked Kurt and he said he sent her. He was interested in the house because he’s got that thing about ghosts. Are you happy now?”
He crossed his arms over his chest. “Is that everything?”
She sighed and rolled her eyes. “No, but the next bit involves a ghost. I’d rather hear about your visit with the sheriff.”
“The deal was you first.”
“Tyrant.” She made a face. “Okay, I stopped off at the cemetery down the highway. There were a lot of old ghosts and one was an escaped slave. He said this house was a point on the Underground Railroad, and he and his wife stayed in a secret room in one of the two towers.”
A secret room? Luke liked the idea of his studio being a secret room where escaped slaves stopped on their race to freedom. As his mom would say, good vibes.
If she was telling the truth.
“He said the Missus and Mister slept in their bedroom in the other tower.”
“What?” He uncrossed his arms and took a step closer to the bed, his shin bones touching it. “Are you saying...?”
“I’m saying.” She nodded, her eyes serious.
He glanced over his shoulder at the door behind him.
“You’re not leaving to look for a way into the tower until you tell me about your sheriff’s visit.” Cassie’s voice raised. “It’s your turn, and you better not back out.”
An uncomfortable looking purple chair that Erin had fallen in love with was snuggled into the corner of the bedroom. He crossed to it and sat. From this angle, he couldn’t see Cassie’s expression. Probably a good thing.
His voice flat, telling just the facts, he gave her a summary of his discussion with the sheriff. Not once mentioning the way he felt. Hell, he wasn’t certain what he felt. When he figured it out, he’d deal with it his usual way—putting it in a song.
He reached the part where the sheriff said the fictional vampire talker was telling ridiculous stories about vampires and it was clear she was enjoying the attention. She interrupted him.
“He said I was ridiculous? That I enjoyed attention?” The hurt in her voice slammed into his gut.
He stood and dragged the chair closer to the bed, angling it so he could see her face. “Fuck him. He doesn’t know you.”
“He’s right,” she whispered, her eyes not looking at him, but inward. “I said things about heaven I knew people wanted to believe. And maybe it is true. It would be a sorry existence if this is all there is.” She swept her hand in a half-circle.
“Sometimes you gotta give the audience what they want to hear. Under our skin, we’re all entertainers.”
Her gaze flickered to him. “They seemed to enjoy my stories and I wanted to make it good for them. It made me feel...good...accepted.” She looked away again, at a unicorn painting hanging on the wall, chosen by Erin. Tears didn’t fill her eyes, but sadness clung to her like skin. “I won’t do it again.”
He gripped the chair arms to keep from getting off it and climbing into bed to comfort her. He knew what would happen next if he did that.
And he still wasn’t sure what he felt, except pity and desire. The pity was temporary. The desire was a constant from the first time he saw her on his front stoop, giving him her I-dare-you-to-doubt-me look.
“What else did he say?” She speared him a different look now, one that said Don’t-you-dare-pity-me.
Sitting back, he went on with his tale. With every sentence, her mouth pressed tighter. When he came to the point where the sheriff mentioned her father, he hesitated and found she had one other look: Tell me now.
“That’s all,” he said.
She stared at him.
“Staring is my game,” he said. “It works for me, not against me.”
“In that case, I’m leaving.” She flung off her covers.
“Threatening to walk is my game too.” He gave her the once over, envying Tweety Bird for the spot where his head resided, right between her two full breasts. “You won’t go.”
She arched an eyebrow and twisted to swing her legs over the side of the bed. Even though she looked and sounded healthier, she pushed off the bed slowly. Her nightshirt slid up her legs. They looked strong and soft at the same time, the thighs rounded, the muscles in her calves defined, her ankles slender.
His blood flowed downward, his testicles tightening.
Her bare feet touched the floor. She kept one hand on the bed, getting her balance.
She was killing him. She could barely walk, yet she was ready to walk away from him anyway.
He jumped up from the chair. Reaching her in two strides, he swept her into his arms and deposited her back in bed.
“I’ll tell you.” Standing over her, seeing every nuance of pain that crossed her face, he repeated what the sheriff said about his phone conversation with her father.
“I don’t mind what he says about me,” she said when he finished. “But for him to say that about my mom...” Her voice shook. “That’s unforgivable.”
Luke put his hand on her arm. “I never knew your mom, but he’s wrong about you. I know you didn’t take the drugs when we were at the clinic.”
Her muscles bunched under his fingers. “You lied to the sheriff. I did use the bathroom.”
“I know you didn’t do it.”
“That’s not good enough. I could have snuck across the hall and stolen into the nurse’s station.” She frowned. “Or wherever they keep their medical supplies.”
“I would’ve known. Every time you come into the room, I’m aware of it.”
“Oh.” She looked up at him with her mouth slightly open. “Oh.”
“Yeah, oh. And don’t ask any more questions, because that’s all he said. Our deal is done, you have to stay.”
She swallowed.
“Who do you think tried to kill you?” he asked.
“Kurt,” she answered immediately. “Would you mind leaving? I have to pee.”
“I’ll kill him.”
“Stop the he-man talk. I don’t have proof, it’s a guess. Maybe a bad one. He’s inordinately interested in the ghost, but I can’t figure out how my death would give him access to Isabel. So don’t kill him, please. I’ll be out of here soon enough, far away from him. For now...” She gestured toward the adjoining bathroom.
He uncurled his fingers. “You want me to carry you?”
“I can walk.”
He shrugged and strode to the hall door. Although glad she didn’t need his help, he wanted an excuse to put his hands on her. One more thing he needed to keep quiet about. If he told her he dreamed of putting his hands on every inch of her body, she might leave.
Unsure of what he felt about a lot of things, he was firm on that. And so, he thought, looking down at the bulge in his jeans, was Mr. Maxi-me.
Chapter Forty-four
“The secret passage has to be in here.” Luke stood in the middle of the library, his hands on his hips, slowly twisting to survey the shelf-lined room.
Sitting on the burgundy Queen Anne chair, her feet resting on the matching footrest, Cassie laughed. Luke gave her a dark look, and she pretended to shudder, huddling in the blanket he’d wrapped around her cocoon-fashion.
“Sorry,” she said, when she wasn’t sorry at all. “It sounded funny, you talking about secret passages, like dialogue out of a Nancy Drew book.”
“Nancy Drew?” He looked as insulted as when she named his penis “Mini-you.” “No Nancy Drew here. I’m not investigating, I’m exploring.”
Men’s egos were as fragile as newly fallen snowflakes. “I suppose that makes you Han Solo.”
“And you’re Princess Leia.” He grinned, the skin crinkling around his eyes.
She suddenly felt overheated in her cocoon and threw back the corners of the blanket. Then she realized what they were doing. Flirting again. Like real life versions of Princess Leia and Han Solo.
He arched one eyebrow. “You have a problem with Princess Leia?”
Wild laughter rang inside her head. “Nancy was perfect. Leia wasn’t. I have more in common with her than Nancy any day.”
The eyebrow remained lifted. “I’d rather bang Leia than Nancy any day.”
“Is that supposed to be a compliment?” she asked, even as she knew she shouldn’t. To the male mind, any conversation about banging instantly raised the possibility of banging. They automatically assumed you wanted it.
And didn’t she?
She lifted her hand, cutting off what he was about to say—from the gleam in his eyes, something wicked. A shiver tiptoed up and down her skin and her cheeks warmed. She didn’t want to know what emotion her eyes showed.
“This is a bad idea.”
His smile remained half cocked. “Looking for the hidden passage?”
She noticed the change of wording—as if hidden was more grown up than secret. “You know what I mean.”
> “No.” He changed position, his legs braced as if for an attack, his smile gone. “But I’m sure you’re going to tell me.”
“We’re not good for each other.” Her words fell heavily in the air like small bombs.
“Why bring that up? We’re searching for a hidden passage, nothing more.”
“Come on, I know the hidden passage you want to explore.”
He laughed. Oh God! Did I say that? She buried her face in her hands and wondered whether he’d notice if she pulled the blanket over her head.
Although her eyes were closed, she knew when he leaned over her and gripped the chair arms on either side of her. Trapping her.
His arms brushed against hers. His breath warmed her exposed right ear. Heat radiated from his body to hers. She smelled his scent, dark and musky, reminding her of when she bent between his legs in his studio and wrapped her hand around his erection, the other hand squeezing his buttock.
“You know what I have in my pocket?” he whispered.
Was he alluding to his penis? She buried her face deeper into her hands and shook her head.
“Two condoms.”
She winced into her palms. She supposed she asked for that, talking about her “hidden passages.”
Something pressed against the top of her head. A kiss. Warming her on the inside as well as the outside.
This was ridiculous, sitting here like an ostrich. Taking a deep breath, she lifted her head.
“I should leave.”
“But you’re not going to.” His voice was husky.
“Not because of what you think.” She looked him straight in the eyes. “Because I’m not too stupid to live.”
His smirk changed to a “what now?” grimace.
“Despite what the sheriff thinks,” she continued, “I didn’t steal drugs from the clinic and put them in my drink. Someone else did. Someone set me up. Someone tried to kill me.”
With every word, she raised her head higher. He straightened, stepping back, the mood in the room changed, her words as effective as if she’d dumped a bucket of ice on both of them.
“I’ve met a lot of dead people wandering the earth. I work with them, but I don’t want to live with them.”