Peter got a rise when he remembered Millicent’s hour and a half this morning.
“Peter, I just can’t get the hang of making this old racket hit that little ball.” She’d looked up at him with tears glistening. “My James wants me to be able to play with him on the courts in the tournament. I’m hopeless.” She had chewed on her lower lip then batted fake lashes at him. “You just gotta help me.” She had taken such a deep breath her breasts had risen an inch and grazed against his chest.
Peter felt his arousal grow just as it had that morning. It was, of course, an understandable, natural physical reaction which meant nothing. She hadn’t thought so.
“Oh, now Peter, I know you can help me. James is always so busy he has no time anymore,” She released what was left of the air inflating her chest. “for little ole me.”
“You just need some practice,” he’d said. “Turn around and I’ll show you.” She had turned her back to him but she had backed against him. He had placed one hand lightly at her waist and with the other on her wrist he had guided her racket hand back and forth. Her body had brushed his, back and forth.
“Mrs. Blanchard, don’t move your body, the action is in the lower arm and wrist. Hold the racket perpendicular to the ground.” He slipped a ball from his pocket and bounced it, guiding her hand to hit the ball as it leveled with the racket. Her body backed against his again. Would it matter if he took what she offered? Sarah would never know.
Then there had been the forty-something Mrs. Randall. The years and the best care money could buy had been kind to her but there had been a lot of years. She expected more for her money than tennis lessons. He had pretended to ignore her attempt to cop a feel, thought she was good. Her attire was less blatant than that of Mrs B. Her intentions weren’t. She wasn’t unattractive, just a bit too lush, old enough to be his mother.
She had slipped an extra fifty in his shorts pocket, pushing it to the bottom. He had managed to be the typical oblivious blond boy. Her hand on his ass when he said goodbye nearly made him miss the sight of Mrs. Millicent Blanchard beating her opponent on a distant tennis court.
Afternoon lessons had gone well, at first, with kids whose parents watched to make sure their kids did well. One brat hit this instructor’s thigh with a wild ball, more than once.
Roxy, the secretary/mistress, should be home soon with her goon squad. At least that woman should be satisfied by Mr. Avery. Why would a woman take chances with a life of ease in a great place like this? She could collect jewels and save money until she had served her time, then do whatever she wanted.
If he hadn’t been so crazy about Sarah he could’ve let the country club set fund his restaurant. Hell, husbands would probably pay him to keep the wives off their backs.
Though early mornings were not his style, he had to be up early enough to see Roxy off to work, in Mr. Avery’s limo, and make it to the club by nine. If he could relax for a few minutes he could take a shower before supper.
Loud talking startled Peter from resting his eyes. He certainly hadn’t fallen asleep in front of the television. Roxy must have company.
“Hey, Roxy, you’re a great broad. Maybe I could see you sometime?” Old bad breath is trying to make time with his boss’s girl?
“Fool, the boss’ll kill you if you touch his squeeze. It ain’t worth your life to get some quality tail.” Peter had to agree with that one.
“Now, boys, don’t fight over lil’ ole me. I am a one-man woman and I belong to Mr. Avery. He can afford me. Bye now.”
“Bye, Roxy, see ya in the mornin’.”
The front door closed and he heard Roxy’s irritated voice. “Stupid damned assholes with dicks for brains, small dicks for brains. God, I could use a drink.”
He could hear Roxy’s heels beat their staccato across the foyer hardwood floor to the room where he sat in a near stupor.
“Well, pretty boy, home already?”
“Yeah, just waiting for you.”
“Miss me?”
“No, doing my other job, making sure you got home okay. Your sugar daddy will want a report and a sign-in time.” He pushed up from the recliner and limped toward the hall.
“All, right, pretty b--” she stopped mid insult,” Sorry Peter, what’s wrong?”
“Not your concern, Rox.”
“Country Club women wear you out? You weren’t working on your back, were you?”
“Not a chance. I wasn’t taking dick-tation, either.”
“Ass-hole,” she drawled under her breath as she kicked her slutty red shoes across the room, then turned on her heel and left the room. “I’ll just have a shower before supper.”
“Slut,” he grumbled limping behind her. He needed a shower and a massage, too.
Thirty minutes later Peter stood in the formal dining room behind Roxy’s chair to seat her. Damn the woman. Her sheer caftan-style garment must have been purchased by Mr. Avery for his personal enjoyment. Candlelight gleamed off exquisite china, crystal, and silver. It sparkled off the gold and cut-glass chandelier over the table.
“Ever the little gentleman, are you, Peter?” She smoothed the garment, tightening it against her otherwise nude body.
Peter swallowed hard, then slid her chair close to the table. Her hair smelled like flowers. “When I’m around a lady, I am a gentleman.” He sat across from her at the long table. With her short hair curled softly against her head she looked like a young girl. Even with a naked face she was beautiful. Did Mr. Avery even see this side of Roxy?
“So, Pete, how did you get injured?” she asked.
Shirley bustled in carrying a soup tureen. Her white apron looked as stiff as her black uniform dress. After serving the soup she left quietly.
“You didn’t answer my question, how did you get injured?” She raised her wineglass and took a sip, staring at him over the rim. “My boss didn’t send someone to remind you of your job, maybe a reminder you owe your soul to the bastard, did they?”
“Not unless he sent a kid to beat me with a tennis ball.”
“Oh. So, how’s the soup?” She leaned forward.
“Good, needs a pinch of thyme and a garlic clove.”
“It does? Shirley used my recipe.”
“Yep.”
“Well, I think it’s perfect.”
They finished the soup in strained silence.
Shirley served a salad fit for a king, with tiny bits of tangerine and pineapple on fancy greens. He glanced up with the third bite in his mouth to see Roxy studying him. “What?” He dabbed his linen napkin around his mouth. “Do I have food on my face?” He held her stare as he swallowed.
“The salad’s great, isn’t it?”
“Actually, I’d add a bit of currant to the dressing.”
“What? And ruin perfection?” She flattened both palms on the table, then stood showcasing her charms.
“You asked.”
“What the hell would you know? Currant in the dressing would make it too sweet, overpower the taste of tangerines.”
“You mean oranges, don’t you?” he teased.
“No, I handpicked the tangerines myself.”
“Fruit picking in your spare time?”
“At the market, jerk.”
He took another bite and savored the flavors. “I didn’t say I wouldn’t eat it.“ Did this woman serve foods like these to that pig, Avery? That idea bothered him more than the idea that she shared her body with him.
If he ever got enough money to open his restaurant he’d steal Shirley. When the main course sat on his dinner plate he inhaled its fragrance, anxious to taste it but afraid it would disappoint him.
“Are you gonna taste it or not? Don’t tell me you’re allergic to smoked tuna. Taste it, damn you!”
He’d never have guessed teasing this woman would be so much fun. He cut into the tuna, scooped a healthy portion, and raised it to his mouth. Her mouth opened, mirroring his actions. Flavors burst on his tongue, better than he’d even hoped, almost better t
han sex, definitely more personal. She still stood, watching him. She hadn’t finished her salad or tasted her tuna.
Maybe he could spoil her appetite and have her supper as a late night snack. Nah, too mean. “It’s excellent, Roxy.”
“Fine.” She sat. “Good thing you gave the right answer or I’d have broken your head.” He watched her eat with the enthusiasm of a hungry child. He could get used to meals like this but he’d have to brave Shirley’s wrath to use the wonderfully appointed kitchen. He had never seen a finer kitchen. He’d never even imagined a finer kitchen. He’d never imagined this woman would be a gourmet either. There’s more to Roxy than meets the eye, which is a lot at the moment.
##
Eloise paced the attic with its forties’ style furnishings. Lamps cast a soft glow. Mattie looked so calm Eloise wanted to shout at her. She sat on a brocade loveseat, sipping tea from a delicate, flower-patterned cup. The attic room looked like her parlor had after her marriage, with its piano against one wall. Mattie let her create the room but Mattie created the tea.
“I wanted so badly to go outside with Sarah that my insides shook. I’ve never felt that way before.”
“Why go outside? Were you worried about Sarah?”
“No, I wanted to go outside and feel the warmth of the sun. I wanted, I wanted, I don’t know what I wanted.”
Mattie smiled. “You wanted to feel alive again? You wanted to feel free to come and go as you pleased?”
“Yes, I hadn’t felt that way since I realized I was like you. Have you ever - ”
“Of course I have.”
“Did you try to leave the house? Could we go next door to William’s house? Could we follow Sarah?”
“I have never tried. I am concerned about Sarah’s obsession with cousin Sarita’s diaries, though. Do you believe people die and are reborn as new people? Can you or I have a new life as someone else?”
Eloise shrugged. “I never knew anyone who came back as someone else. One of Sarah’s books told about people who just keep coming back, time after time. I think I’d like to try life again, maybe once. Will we always be ghosts, waiting here until we are needed? Maybe Sarah will join us when she passes on.”
Mattie shook her head. “I really do not know.”
##
Sarah lay in her bed, searching for sleep. The house was so quiet she could hear the ceiling fan blades rotate. Outside crickets and frogs serenaded. No cars traveled her street to break the peace and quiet. Her mind wouldn’t let her relax. She was more confused than she had been before her trip to the library. She wasn’t ready to share what she had found. Tomorrow she would return three useless books from her load. She would copy pages from four more and return them.
She turned the pillow over, savoring the cool cotton.
Tonight her soul had needed to feel the piano keys respond to her touch and experience her music. When she’d considered going to William’s house she had called him. They’d engaged in sexy talk instead. He had been loving but distant. She really wished she could discuss her concerns with him.
Her pillow was hard as a rock. She turned it again and plumped it up. Settling on her stomach she closed her eyes. What was wrong with Eloise? Sarah couldn’t forget the image of the ghost in the open doorway, shimmering, trembling.
She turned onto her back. Where the hell has Peter been? She had to reach him to put a stop to his attentions. She couldn’t go anywhere with the man. He had to know the truth so he could look for someone who wasn’t in love with another man.
She could slip over to William’s again but he’d seemed relieved when she’d said she would see him tomorrow. She could get up and visit the attic to see if her ghosts were there. Maybe she should go back to the music room and get another book on reincarnation. No, she needed rest. Her brain had already been overloaded before she called William.
Maybe if she thought about her sexy discussion she could relax and drift off. No, she’d probably give up and join him in his bed. She needed her journals back.
Mama and Daddy liked to use ceiling fans until July, but the heat in her room was still oppressive. Her gown stuck to her sweat-soaked skin. Rising, she padded to her bathroom. Maybe a lukewarm shower would help. Standing beneath the spray of water Sarah remembered she hadn’t removed her necklace.
Laughter bubbled up from her gut.
A month ago she’d wanted to ignore erotic dreams about her best friend. Now they were lovers and she believed they’d been lovers in their past lives. She actually believed she had a past life. Ghosts were now part of her life and she wore a necklace a century and a half old, at least. The shower cooled her body but did little for the turmoil in her mind.
Sarah slipped a fresh nightgown over her head and slipped into bed. She drifted off to sleep, fingering the necklace that had become a part of her.
##
Anger and fear took Sarita’s breath away. It pressed on her chest. She looked up at Miller Jackson, a man she had known all her life, a man she had believed was her friend. She could feel his hatred but she needed his help. Walter lay unconscious beside the overturned wagon and she hurt beyond bearing. Pains lanced through her belly.
It was too soon for her baby, but the pains could not be denied. “Miller, please help us. The horses ran off and…“ Pain nearly tore her in half. “Oh, please, get help.”
“Guess all that treasure your family hid away from the rest of us don’t help much now.” He squinted down at her, making no move to dismount from his horse or ride away for help. He had to leave now. He was already on her land, so he could get help within minutes. But she might not have minutes left.
“Please, Miller, there is no treasure. I would give it all to you if you could get help for my husband.” She reached a hand toward him. “You have known us all your life, played with us when were children.”
“Walter probably just got the breath knocked out of him.” Miller let his horse step closer. “Oh, God, Sarita. I am so sorry. Hold on.” He wheeled his mount and galloped toward her house. He must have seen the blood on her skirt. He had not checked on Walter and she could not move but. God willin’, help would arrive in time to save her husband. Pain threatened to push her into the black void of unconsciousness.
She barely heard Walter call her name. He must be conscious. Though she moved her lips to answer him, she could not hear her own voice. Was the noise she heard thunder? Galloping horses? Was help on the way? Please, God, let my love be alive, she thought as she sank into the dark quiet.
Screaming, she heard screaming.
“Sarah, baby wake up. Wake up.” Her father’s voice? “Where do you hurt?” She wrapped her arms around her middle. Pain tore at her insides.
Her father’s voice rose. “You have to wake up. Tell me where you hurt.”
“My God, what’s wrong with her?” Sarah heard her mother. She couldn’t find her voice to answer. She had to ride out the pain. “Should I call 911?”
“I’m a doctor, I can treat our daughter, dear. There’s no fever. She’s dreaming. Sarah, I don’t know where you think you are, but you’re safe. We won’t let anything happen to you. Tell daddy where it hurts. Please tell me.”
“Daddy? Daddy?” The pain in her belly eased. Her dad’s comforting presence calmed her. “I’m okay.” Her voice felt scratchy. Bad dream. “Just a bad dream,” she said. Her daddy enveloped her in his warmth. He cradled her, rubbing her back.
A memory, not a dream. She settled against his chest. His heart rate raced. She had really frightened her usually calm dad. Would she even be able to tell her parents the truth?
“Do you two need me? I’ll get Sarah a glass of water.” Her mother’s voice was gentle. Her touch soothed as she smoothed Sarah’s hair. Sarah pulled back enough to look at her mom. Tears clouded her vision but her mother’s smile tugged at her heart.
“I’m okay, Mama,” she whispered.
Her mom kissed her forehead, then touched her daddy’s scruffy jaw. Would she and William be
this close years from now? She let her father offer his comfort, though she wanted William. She wanted her soul mate.
When her lids drooped she pulled from her dad’s warmth. She lay back. Warm, callused hands pushed a strand of hair from her forehead and gently caressed her face. Her lids closed.
Sarah awoke to a sun-filled room and whispering ghosts. “Do not wake the poor dear. She had such a rough night. We must be patient.” Mattie insisted.
“Patient, my hind foot. I wanta know what the hell was wrong last night! She never sleeps this late.”
“I said we must not wake her.”
“Too late, you already did.” Sarah rubbed her eyes and sat up. “What is wrong with you two?”
Eloise sat on the edge of Sarah’s bed. “Honey, we heard you screaming last night. We didn’t figure you needed us here with your parents.”
“Yes, Sarah, dear, we were very concerned.” Mattie paced at the foot of the bed. “You have not slept well since you started all that talk about past lives and such.”
“I saw Miller last night.”
Mattie stilled. “You saw whom?”
“I saw Miller Jackson.”
Eloise grasped Sarah’s shoulders. “You mean you saw Peter Jackson, don’t you?”
“No. Walter was thrown when one of the horses spooked and their traces snapped.” Sarah ran a hand through her hair. She took a deep breath, then let it out. “He wasn’t moving or answering me. I couldn’t move from the seat. I don’t know why I wasn’t thrown like Walter was, but I felt the baby coming.” She touched her fingers to her lips to stop their trembling. “I was so frightened. It was too early, much too early. Contractions had begun. Miller rode up. He was our only hope.”
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