by Zoe Dawson
“You see beautiful things in humble places, where other people see the mundane.”
“I have X-ray vision,” I said.
He laughed, then sobered, his expression relaxing, his eyes softening. “I see you, Sam.” The husky intimacy in his tone set off a wild flutter.
Bracketing my face with his hands, he leaned down and kissed the bridge of my nose. Capturing my mouth in a drugging kiss, he took me with him when he reclined on the blanket.
With the cat out of the bag, and no way to deny my attraction and affection for Chase, I wanted him to be forewarned about the machinations of three determined women in his life. “I got invited to your Aunt Evie’s.”
“Oh?” Drowsy contentment in his voice, he sleepily caressed my arm.
“Yeah, she said she wanted to replace that vintage plate I broke when AnnClaire showed up in my kitchen and left me the gris-gris bag.”
“That was nice of her. Any more ghost sightings?”
“No.” After a comfortable silence, he tucked in his chin and brushed a kiss against my forehead. “It was so nice. I brought her some rosemary and mint.”
“Did you get the plate?”
“I got the whole set, and a bit more than I anticipated.”
“Oh, how’s that?” he said absently, his hand slowing. “Another cool vintage find?”
“No, your mother and sister, ready and willing to grill me about our relationship.”
“What?” He pushed up on his elbow.
“Yeah, I was ambushed.”
He clenched his jaw and angled his head in annoyance. Releasing a heavy sigh, he said, “Goddammit.”
I wanted to hug him so much I could barely stand it, my senses overdosing on the scent of him, on his closeness. “My thoughts exactly.”
“What did you say?”
“To their eternal frustration, not a damn thing. I don’t kiss and tell.”
He grinned and made a face. “It was that lap thing at the brunch, right? That’s what set them off.”
I didn’t know why, but I felt all shaky inside. “I guess we didn’t fool anyone with my lame attempt at humor.”
“No, I guess we didn’t.”
“That wasn’t all.”
He groaned, “Jesus. What else? Did my momma want to talk weddings with you?”
My whole system crashed, as in needing a full reboot. I thought I would shy away from anything that mentioned, smelled, tasted or sounded like a wedding, but I shocked the hell out of myself with the vision of what it would be like to walk down the aisle with Chase. That overloaded my system again, and I had to take a quick breath.
I forced a laugh, and he gave me a cryptic look.
“Ah, no,” I said. “Your Aunt Evie mentioned a friend of her granny’s who knows something about voodoo. She sounded really creepy and ominous. It freaked me out a little.”
He made an eerie ooh-wee-ooh sound. “Because after seeing a ghost, that’s what you really need, right?”
“You are so astute. I still feel completely foolish and unsure about it. I guess my eyes could have been playing tricks on me. I would be more convinced of that if it wasn’t for the gris-gris bag, and the fact that my pendant ended up inside. What other explanation can there be? Either someone physically came into my home while I was sleeping, removed my necklace, and placed it in the bag without me being the wiser or waking up. Or AnnClaire’s ghost is haunting me with a need to protect me like her mother was unable to protect her.”
“I can’t argue with that. But, Sam, there are plenty of things in this world that can’t be explained away. Sometimes they just have to be embraced. If you want to take a trip into the back of nowhere to see someone who can give you some answers or insight, I will go with you and hold your hand.” He shifted to face me. “You know, AnnClaire could have a soft spot for you because you rescued her mom’s beloved restaurant.”
His response both surprised and delighted me, and I leaned over and kissed him soundly. “You know, you’re pretty handy to have around.”
He stared at me, then a glimmer of amusement appeared in his eyes, and he gave me a heated, lopsided grin. The intimate look in his eyes making my heart speed up, he said, “Wait until I get to use my hands…”
I shivered, thinking he meant in a construction way, but hoping it meant more than that, even as I tried to will away those feelings, working hard to not fall just a bit deeper into Chase.
“You want to go?” Reluctance underscored every word and tightened his body.
“No,” I said, not ready to give him up to Suttontowne just yet.
We settled down and I drifted off, snuggled to his firm chest.
When I woke up, the sky was aglow with soft stripes of color above the still, calm ocean. Orange the shade of a ripe peach, warm and estival. Pink as vibrant and silken as the inside of a conch shell. Deep, velvet blue, the last of the night, set with a diamond twinkling morning star.
I watched the colors change and fade for a few minutes, then sat up. It was time to go, and I couldn’t have chosen a more spectacular venue for my first spontaneous act of rebellion.
Chase stirred.
Or a sweeter, sexier, bad-boy black sheep to escape with.
His stubble was heavier, making him look like a disreputable beach bum, even before he opened the source of a bad boy’s hallmark of chaos and rebellious energy: his eyes.
“Good morning,” he said, his voice raspy. “Damn, I should have brought coffee.”
“You should have. You slacker.” He pulled me down to the blanket and rubbed his stubble against my face.
“Stop sassing me, darlin’, or you’ll get the beard burn treatment again.” There was nothing but wry humor in his voice.
“You call that a discouragement? Try again, handsome.”
After some more horseplay, and a little kissing, we broke camp and packed everything up. Chase kicked sand on the fire, and we were once again airborne.
A quick forty minutes, and we landed smoothly back on the channel right outside Chase’s business. I got out, pulling my car keys out of my purse. “Do you need some help unloading?”
He shook his head. “I got this covered. Can I see you tonight?”
I smiled. “Yeah, come by after closing. I’ll make you a pecan pie.”
“My favorite. Whipped cream?”
“Of course. What do you take me for? An amateur?”
Out on the channel, an aluminum bass boat motored past, a pair of fishermen going out for a day in the swamp. They waved, and Chase waved back before the buzzing of the motor faded into the distance. In the reeds along the far bank a heron stood, watching them pass, still as a statue against a backdrop of orange creeper vines and coffee weed.
He smiled. “Well, hush my mouth,” he said, then winced a bit when he opened the cargo hold. I walked over, grabbed up the duffel, and pulled out the tube of ointment. Jerking up his T-shirt, I rubbed more cream into his burn, then, unable to help myself, I went up on tiptoe and gently kissed the back of his neck, just above the medicine, burying my nose in his hair. He smelled like a windswept beach, salt mingled with sand and virile man.
He made a soft, sexy male sound deep in his chest. “You’re killing me, Sam,” he whispered as I ran my hand up his chest, rubbing over his pectorals.
I pulled away and backed down the dock. “That makes two of us. Ugh. This is your fault,” I whined.
“Mine?” he said, whipping around and prowling down the dock after me. “How so? You accosted me.”
“You are too irresistible.” I turned and bolted with a sharp squeal as he lunged after me. I made it to my car, but Chase caught me between warm metal and even hotter man and kissed me soundly.
“Go on now, git, you troublemaker,” he murmured after he pulled away.
I had turned to unlocked the door when he slapped me on the backside. “Ooh, you’re going to pay for that.”
“Sure, sure,” he said, not at all afraid of my repercussions.
“No wh
ipped cream for you.”
He opened his mouth and I slammed my car door and started the engine. I blew him a kiss.
Realizing he was watching me with a steady, unreadable look, I gave myself a mental shake and looked away, my pulse suddenly uneven. My heart suddenly hammering, I glanced back at him, the clamor in my chest making it hard for me to think.
He turned then, breaking eye contact, and I felt as if I’d been branded, burned, changed by this isolated, lonely man who needed more from me than I could give.
What was I doing?
I couldn’t seem to help myself.
I was getting in over my head, and I was afraid it was Chase who would drown.
***
Two days later, I opened up Imogene’s and froze immediately. The sign wasn’t on the pie safe. I searched frantically behind it, worried that it had fallen and been damaged. When it wasn’t there, I turned, distraught at the thought of losing a piece of history from this place. Then I spied it.
It was leaning against the back of the vintage register. I noticed as I looked around that my tables had been rearranged. Uneasy, I went into the kitchen.
Were these supernatural things? Was AnnClaire trying to tell me she didn’t like where I’d placed the sign? Could she have rearranged the tables? I’d heard somewhere that ghosts did strange things, including moving furniture.
I expected to see her again, all the time. It was like a constant pressure on the back of my neck. There was also this sense of being watched, and I wasn’t one to ignore my instincts. On the New York streets, instincts were often what ended up saving you. I relaxed some when the kitchen seemed the same as I’d left it, even as that feeling sat on the back of my neck. No gris-gris bag, no AnnClaire. I relaxed a little and got to work, because I had a busy day ahead.
I planned to go look for a bed and stuff for my bedroom…end tables, prints, “folderol,” as my dad used to call my mom’s decorative touches. I wanted to have everything ready once the master bathroom went in. Saturday night I would be sleeping on a real bed, in a fully decorated room.
When the morning rush was over, I turned Imogene’s over to Beth.
Lafayette was about thirty minutes away, midway between Beaumont and New Orleans, and known for its strong Cajun culture, the perfect place to find furnishings for my new bedroom, and browse for ideas to tackle the downstairs and patio.
I pulled up to a graceful, French-style building with beautiful statues and fountains. Drawn to the kitchenware store right off the bat, I indulged myself with a set of recycled paper cutting boards, an amazing quintuple-bladed herb scissor, and a rolling pin custom-engraved with many tiny fleurs-de-lis. It would make interesting pie crust, and it sparked the idea for a long pastry filled with something fruity and cut up into squares, with the tiny fleurs-de-lis embossed into the crust of each square. It would make a pie cookie of sorts. I would call them pie crisps.
Then I got down to business and found a beautiful, dark wood canopy bed, and the set to go with it. I bought all the trappings, sheets, curtains, rug, towels, and mosquito netting. The room would be decorated in cream and pale green.
After arranging with the owner to have everything delivered to me, I browsed the area. When I noticed an art gallery, I went inside, and discovered two whimsical gator pen and ink pieces that would fit perfectly with the room décor, and an exquisite painting of the bayou with white water lilies. I leaned forward and my breath caught when I saw the artist’s name right before I heard, “Samantha?”
I turned to find River Pearl and I tried not to groan. “Oh, hi. This is your place?”
“Yes. Are you interested in those prints?”
“Please. I’d like to buy them and the bayou painting. You really are quite talented.”
“Excellent and thanks.” She looked at her watch and said, “Have you eaten yet? I would really like to talk to you.”
I wanted to run for the hills. Either way, this was going to be a discussion I didn’t want to have. If it was about me dating her brother, I didn’t want to get into any details, and if this was about his family, I really didn’t want to get involved, especially behind Chase’s back.
“River, I…”
“Please, Samantha.”
I really liked Chase’s sister. She and her friends had been instrumental in my restaurant’s success, and my acceptance by a small town community. When River Pearl Sutton ate or shopped at your place of business, it was like getting free publicity.
“All right.”
We settled in a small bistro not far from her gallery. As soon as the waiter left with our orders, she leaned forward. “Thank you for what you said to Brax last week. That must have been awful for Chase. I was so damn mad at him, but how can I chastise my husband when he can’t stand to see me cry?”
“I’d say that was a tough one.” I leaned forward and said, “I shouldn’t have said anything or butted in, but…”
“You care about my brother.” She smiled when my face closed down. “You might as well admit it, Samantha. We’ve known for some time. The way you two look at each other, we knew it was just a matter of time.”
“Oh, all right. I think he’s amazing and sweet and downright sexy. Are you happy?” I groused.
“Yes, quite happy. He deserves to find someone wonderful.”
Her words made my insides go all squirmy. I wasn’t sure she was quite correct. “We’re just hanging out right now, and I really don’t feel comfortable talking about Chase’s personal matters.”
“I understand completely. It’s just I want him to come home so badly, reunite with my parents…and for my brother Jake to stop being an ass.”
“That’s family,” I said, feeling jittery even discussing this much.
“It would help if we knew what was wrong.” She started telling me about how amazing he was when he was a kid, and, as she talked, I couldn’t shake the annoyance that grew until it was a ball of anger in my stomach.
“I just wish he would—”
“Maybe you should listen more to Chase and what he has to say. He went through a lot when he was a kid, and since your ancestor’s terrible betrayal, he just needs for you all to understand.” Shocked I covered my mouth. Then closed my eyes and took a breath.
She stared at me, looking almost as shell-shocked as Chase had in Outlaws. She opened her mouth, then closed it. “Wow. You’re right. I’ve just been mouthing off about how he should come home and stop letting the past rule him, and that’s exactly what I have been doing. I just wanted everything to go back to the way it was before…before he left. But that’s not going to happen. Is it?”
“No, River. I’m sorry. But it isn’t. You can’t push him. He has to do this in his own time. If you do keep pushing, he might retreat further, and then he’ll never find his way back. Give him space to figure this out for himself.”
Her smile was a bit wan. She insisted on paying for lunch, and she promised my purchases would be there before Saturday. As we stood outside the bistro, she hugged me and said. “You’re good for him. You’re good for us. Always have been. Thank you, Samantha.” The little knot of nerves eased just a bit. “Whatever happens between you—and you know what I hope for—I wish you the best of luck.”
I hugged her tight, thinking how much I cared about my adopted town and these people who lived there. I didn’t want to care that much because of the possibility of losing it. But in this instance, I couldn’t help it.
***
Chase called me that night to let me know that, because of the weather forecast, he wasn’t going to be able to see me. With the kind of rain that was predicted, he wouldn’t be able to fish, so he was working around the clock to fill his orders.
I was missing him by the time the storm hit Thursday night and was forecast to continue into the morning, and was worried when I couldn’t reach him, but figured the weather was interfering with cell reception.
By Friday morning, everything was sodden, with ditches full. The good news was that
parts of the Mississippi and Atchafalaya rivers were listed as minor flooding, with some threat to the public, but little or no property damage. Flooding was a big concern for me, since Imogene’s was right on the water, but it was slightly elevated, so it should be all right.
When Brax called me to postpone the softball game to the following weekend, I was disappointed as I was looking forward to getting the league started.
When I went to the cupboard to get out the flour for pies, it was empty. I searched around, asked Beth about it. She was as perplexed as I was. I could only wonder if Imogene had decided that flour was dangerous and somehow absconded with it. I got that flash of intuition again that something wasn’t right, but since I had no concrete evidence, I let it go.
I told Beth I would run to town to pick some up, since it was an ideal day for baking. Thanks to the miserable weather, people were staying home, so it was a perfect time to get a step ahead.
The rain had eased up a little by the time I reached the outskirts of town, but the streets and back alleys were flooded—rushing storm sewers, hubcap-deep puddles at intersections, the sidewalks awash with muddy water thrown up by passing cars.
After wading through all the shoppers stocking up on bread and milk at the market, I paid for the flour and headed back to my car, which I had to park across the street, since the parking lot was full. Rain bounced like pellets off the pavement, and traffic crept down the street, brake lights flashing as drivers slowed to accommodate the blinding rain. Turning my face from the slanting wetness, I pulled my hood closer and huddled. The price of determination was getting as soaked as a drowned rat.
Squinting in the downpour, I waited for a break in the traffic to cross the street. That feeling that something was off persisted and expanded. I tried to shake it, but it dogged me. A truck passed from my left, and I stepped off the curb, catching a glimpse of a tan car that was angled to pull out of a parking spot on the opposite side of the street. The driver looked frighteningly familiar.
The rush of alarm was so intense that for an instant I stood motionless, then my former training kicked in. I stared at the vehicle, my heart jammed against my ribs, hammering frantically as fear churned through me.