Ghost Of A Chance

by Nancy Henderson

  Anger turned to possessiveness, then fear. He had no idea how Cole knew about last night. He wondered if he’d been there watching the entire time.

  An uneasiness settled deep in his gut. It warned him to protect Sarah. From exactly what, he wasn’t certain.

  He stepped toward Cole. “Stay away from her.”

  Cole’s grin infuriated him all the more. “If you go near her, I’ll kill you.”

  Nathan realized the ridiculousness of his words even before Cole started laughing. Cole didn’t seem the least bit intimidated. Instead, his gaze took on a hard concentration, as if he were weighing the challenge. “You’ve developed feelings for a mortal. How touching.”

  When Nathan didn’t answer, Cole turned his back to him. He walked a hundred or so paces into the woods.

  A house suddenly appeared on Nathan’s cabin site.

  Only it wasn’t just a house. It was a palace. Six stories high, it was made of quarry-cut Turner and mortar. Arched cathedral windows held fragile sections of stained glass. A tower one could only envision a princess living in stood next to it.

  “How in hell—“

  Cole laughed. He walked back toward him, clamped him hard on his shoulder. “No thanks are in order.”

  “I don’t—I could never—I can’t live there.”

  “Why?”

  Nathan thought of the one room cabin he’d grown up in. There were no places to get lost in. Only closeness of family and friends. No secrets or aloneness. Only security.

  Cole looked disgusted.

  Gradually, the palace faded into thin air.

  “It has to be something I built.” Something that didn’t stink of Cole’s trickery.

  Cole stared in silence. For a brief second, something sparked in his expression. It was as if he were remembering something familiar which had died in him a very long time ago.

  A host of woodworking tools suddenly appeared at Nathan’s feet. Almost spontaneously, set of reins worked into his fist. Nathan glanced up and a harnessed team of horses appeared at the other end of the reins.

  Cole vanished without a word.

  * * *

  The alarm clock read ten-thirty when Sarah woke the next morning. At first, she thought it was Sunday. She didn’t open the store until noon on Sundays, so sleeping late wasn’t such a big deal. She could spend and hour or so organizing her files, as her accountant had recommended she do months ago.

  She snuggled down in the blankets and listened. The church just a few blocks away wasn’t playing music. It always tolled its bells around this time on Sundays. Unless—

  It was Tuesday.

  Sarah stormed out of bed. She rushed across the hall to find the bathroom door locked. The sound of the shower running was accompanied by Stan’s rendition of Mick Jagger’s “Satisfaction”.

  She headed back to her room and was met with a yowl loud enough to wake the dead. Pennyworth was chasing Mister Cuddles around the bed.

  “Penny, stop!” She reached for the dog, but he was too quick, and her efforts to save her cat ended in her falling over the suitcases Mom had left in her room.

  Penny chased Mister Cuddles down the stairs and into the bookstore. Sarah didn’t bother going after them. If Mister Cuddles scratched Penny’s eyes out, it would serve him right.

  Without taking time to shower, she hurriedly dressed, pulled her hair back in a scrunchie and ran downstairs.

  Claudia was already behind the cappiccino counter serving Therman his daily latte.

  “How did you get in?” Sarah had never given Claudia a key to the store. She’d thought about it but decided she hadn’t known the girl long enough yet.

  “And good morning to you.” Therman helped himself to a blueberry muffin.

  “Morning, Therman.”

  “Is that you, Sarah?”

  Sarah turned toward the direction of her mother’s voice. Mom had taken the ladder from the storeroom and was now standing on it.

  “What are you doing, Mom?”

  “Making the place presentable. These shelves are a mess.”

  Those shelves were perfect. Sarah had spent the better part of a week arranging them in order by genre and author. Now Nora Roberts was mixed up with Dean Koontz.

  Sarah felt her patience wane, but she said nothing. She wasn’t going to start an argument today. After Mom went home, she would arrange the books back the way they were. It wasn’t a big deal.

  Sarah went behind the counter and poured herself a cup of coffee. She turned to Claudia and Therman. “I’m sorry for being late today. Mom’s staying, and—“

  “That’s the reason businesses don’t make it here,” Therman said. “They don’t want to stay open.”

  “I’m staying open.”

  Claudia dismissed Therman with a wave of her hand. She pulled a white box out from under the counter and opened it. It contained an assortment of pastries. “Don’t listen to him. Try these. My friend, Kaitlan, makes them. I think you could sell them here.”

  “Until the cops bust you.” Therman helped himself to a copy of USA Today. “Ask her how much pot she’s laced them with.”

  “That’s brownies, stupid. These are scones.”

  “Please don’t call customers stupid.” Sarah took a bite of the scone. It wasn’t bad.

  “I told Kaitlan you’d call her today to let her know what you think.”

  Claudia handed Sarah a cash receipt with Kaitlan’s number written on it.

  Mom came over. She inspected the scones with a critical eye. “You’re not thinking of selling these, are you Sarah?.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “How do you know this Kaitlan whoever works in a sanitary kitchen?”

  “I guess I don’t.” Sarah fought the sarcasm from surfacing in her voice. “But thank you for bringing that up.”

  Her mother said nothing. She went back to the shelves and began rearranging more shelves.

  “How many book signings have you scheduled?” she asked after she’d successfully buried all the Tom Clancy novels beneath the cookbook section.

  Sarah stopped sipping her coffee. The realization of her stupidity hit her like a brick wall. She’d set up an automatic delivery with the coffee supplier. She’d made sure the muffins and bagels were here every morning, along with the local and national newspapers. She’d ordered every piece of local literature, along with the bestsellers and many hard to find editions. But she’d never thought of book signings.

  She had coordinated every signing when she worked at The Book Connection. It had been her responsibility to scout out new talent and get them in the store. Authors were the backbone of a bookstore. Authors in the store equaled customers in the store. Customers equaled cash, and she needed cash right now.

  She hadn’t thought of signings.

  “You don’t have any published authors in this area?” Her mother stopped sorting. “I knew this store was a bad idea. In Syracuse fine, but out here in the middle of nowhere—“

  “There’s that local Adirondack writer.” Therman looked up from his paper. “What’s his name?”

  “He can’t be much of a writer if you can’t even remember his name,” her mother said.

  “Like you’d know.”

  Sarah’s mother looked at Therman as if he were the dumbest form of life she’d ever laid eyes on. “What did you say you did again?”

  “I didn’t.” His eyes slowly roamed the length of her. He removed his glasses, thoughtfully chewed on the ear piece. “But if you’re interested, I taught art history.”

  Mom didn’t seem the least bit impressed. Sarah knew what she was thinking. She wondered what Therman could possible know about art living up here in hickville.

  Therman went back to his paper. “I didn’t think you’d be interested. No one cares about art. I don’t know why the hell I ever left Paris.”

  Mom practically flew off the ladder. “You lived in Paris?”

  “’65 to ’67.” He folded the paper just as neatly as if i
t had never been read and placed it back in the newsrack.

  “I spent a summer there in ’67.”

  It was Therman’s turned to be impressed.

  The two talked about France for what seemed like hours. When Therman offered to show her mother his photos of his trip, Sarah wondered if it was an official date. They were two of the last people she’d ever expect to get along, but it appeared they had something very important in common.

  Sarah had settled down to organize her files, her mother came around for a second attack.

  “So you’re not doing book signings?”

  “I didn’t say I wasn’t doing signings. I just don’t have any scheduled yet.”

  “I think a book signing is a great idea,” Claudia chimed.

  “You shouldn’t have bought this store.” Her mother’s voice went right over Claudia’s. “You’re going to lose it.”

  “No, I’m not.”

  “Where will you go?”

  “Mom—“

  “How will you pay for all of this? Do you plan on going bankrupt?”

  Sarah shut her eyes. She inhaled deeply. Annoyance outweighed any guilt she knew she would feel later. Mom always made her feel like this, like she were twelve years old and nothing she ever did was sensible or good enough. Why couldn’t Mom realize that she was already worried about losing her store? That she was trying her best and lately her best didn’t even seem to come close to being good enough.

  She headed toward the storeroom. “Come with me, Mother.”

  Sarah held back the curtain which separated the store from the storage room. She suddenly wished she’d gotten around to installing a door. Claudia and Therman would hear everything she said. Not that Mom hadn’t already embarrassed her enough in front of them.

  “What is it?”

  Sarah expected her mother’s surprise. Mom really thought she did nothing wrong.

  “You have no right talking like that in front of my employee and my customer.” There. She said it.

  “I didn’t see that man buying anything, and as far as employees, that girl—“

  “What I do around here is my business. Not yours. I run my store. Not you. And as long as you’re staying under my roof, which you and Stan are perfectly welcome under for as long as you like, you will act civil. You won’t spread your negativity to my employees or to my customers. Is that understood?”

  The inferiority drained from her mother’s face. She looked as if she’d been slapped.

  “Those are my rules. If you can’t abide by them, then…then you can leave.”

  “That’s a fine way to treat your mother after I drive all the way up here to help you, and…and you don’t want me.”

  “I never said that.”

  “You didn’t have to.”

  Her mother started to leave.

  “Mom, don’t. Please.”

  Her mother turned to her. She looked like a whipped dog. “I only want to help you.”

  “I know you do, and I appreciate it.” Sarah sighed. The guilt was gradually beginning to seep in. “Please don’t go. Stay and help me organize a book signing.”

  Her mother was hesitant before nodding. “All right, honey.”

  Sarah hugged her. She inhaled her mother’s perfume. It was a sexy smell, a scent called Scandalous, and she had been wearing it for years. As a teenager, Sarah had spent every other weekend with her father. Dad usually had a different woman every five or six months. On Sarah’s fourteenth birthday he’d brought a woman—Madeline was it?—to the amusement park. Dad had promised the day to just the two of them, and Madeline had worn Scandelous perfume too. Sarah had smelled it the moment Madeline outstretched her hand to her. Sarah had hated Madeline, had told her so, in fact, then stormed out of the park.

  Sarah recalled sitting on her mother’s lap that night and crying as she told her how she hated Madeline, and Mom had explained that no one could ever replace one’s own true mother.

  Sarah squeezed her mother just a little bit tighter.

  “Sarah, you’re hurting me.”

  Sarah opened her eyes. “Sorry, Mom.”

  She pushed the curtain aside to escort her mother back to the store.

  Claudia and Therman were standing on the other side of the curtain. They quickly went back to the counter.

  Sarah had no more than gotten back to organizing her files when two very unlikely people came through the front door.

  Her ex husband and a very pregnant Tanya.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Nathan hitched the team of horses to the tree he’d just felled. He then dragged it toward his work area where he would strip it clean of its bark.

  The horses amazed him. They seemed to know exactly what he wanted them to do, why and for what purpose they were here. The strangest thing was that they didn’t act at all like horses. They shared none of the mannerisms of any horses he’d ever worked with. He didn’t even have to hold the reins if he so chose. They never spooked to the sound of his voice or any sounds around them. When he tried to feed them they wouldn’t eat. It was as if they didn’t know how. Water was foreign to them as well. He’d led them down to a stream, but they had just stood in it, staring on ahead, as if they weren’t even interested in drinking. As lathered as they were they should have nearly drank the stream dry. Unless…

  Unless they were dead.

  What else would Cole Turner give him but dead animals?

  The thought unsettled him.

  He unharnessed the horses and let them roam free. He didn’t think they’d stray from the mountain, and if they did it wasn’t as if any mortals would see them—if they were indeed dead, and he was certain they were.

  He had to check on Sarah, just for a moment to confirm she was safe. Ever since Cole had spoke of her, Nathan had felt an overwhelming need to protect her. If Cole was a drifter, as he claimed to be, there should be no reason he’d harm Sarah, but Nathan didn’t want to risk it.

  He shouldn’t want to protect her. He certainly had no responsibility to her. Wrong as it was, he didn’t just want to protect her. He wanted to see her. He didn’t know exactly why it was wrong, but everything in him knew it was.

  But he didn’t care.

  He transported himself to Sarah’s bookstore and appeared in her storeroom. Unexpected disappointment filled him when he realized she wasn’t there. He expected to find her here packing or opening boxes or counting inventory. He wanted to find her alone. Last night when he had kissed her, he’d actually been able to feel her excitement. It was more than a physical connection, something close to a mental binding. He’d made her pulse race, and she hadn’t felt that in years. He knew that because he’d sensed it. It made him feel excited and alive and in control, feelings he hadn’t felt in centuries.

  He should leave. Just because he’d kissed her didn’t mean he had any strings to her or any status in her life. If anything he shouldn’t complicate matters for her any more than they already were. Her life was not his concern. But he couldn’t help it.

  There were things that he owed her. The other day she had asked how he’d died, and he would have given anything to avoid telling her. Now he wanted to tell her. He felt like she deserved to know. Before she’d been a stranger to him, someone he would have never trusted with information so personal.

  He didn’t think he’d ever trusted anyone before. Maybe long ago he’d trusted his family and maybe even Jane, but the feelings were so old they were almost nonexistent. They were dead and rotted and gone as if they had never existed at all. Trust wasn’t threatening like he would expect it. It was acceptance, and he felt right with it.

  He had to see her.

  He vaporized through the curtain and was in the center of the store. Sarah was standing by the door, arms folded defensively across her chest. Sarah’s mother stood beside her.

  “I told you I was coming.” A man faced both women. “I don’t know why you’re so surprised.”

  “I don’t have time for this.” Sarah bit her
lip.

  Sarah always bit her lip when she was upset. She wasn’t just upset, though. She was scared. Nathan sensed it in her voice.

  Adrenaline pumped in Nathan’s veins. He moved closer. Sarah knew he was here. He saw it in the worry lines that pulled at the corners of her eyes. He smelled it in the perspiration that formed at her temple just beneath her hairline. He heard it in her heartbeat. Even from halfway across the room he could hear its rapid pace.

  He stepped back and studied the man speaking with Sarah. He was dressed in something he recalled Sarah calling a suit. His hair was thinning at the crown, but he was in fairly good physical condition. This man was at least ten if not more years older than Sarah. He couldn’t be her former husband.

  But he couldn’t think of another man Sarah would be frightened of. Sarah had never said anything to him about her former husband being violent, but why else would her hands be shaking like they were?

  A woman sat at one of the tables. At a glance, Nathan would have thought she were just a customer, but she was too intensely focused on Sarah and the man not to be connected with them in some way.

  Everything about the woman at the table was expensive. From her black dress to her sleek, shoulder-length dark hair. Her pregnancy intensified her beauty, if that were at all possible. She had no trouble turning a man’s head, and it was clear that she knew it.

  The man was Sarah’s former husband, and he wanted something. Nathan read it on Sarah’s face.

  A girl with facial piercings approached the woman at the table. “Hi. I’m Claudia. You must be Art’s new wife.”

  Sarah flashed the girl a look to kill, but Claudia ignored her.

  “Hi, Claudia.” The expensive woman flashed smile of perfect white teeth. “I’m Tanya.”

  “I like your nails.”

  Tanya extended long, red-stained fingertips. “Thanks. I get them done at this little place next to my office.”

  “When I get my nails—“

  “Claudia, can you go check the mail?” Sarah’s tone was irritated.

  “I did on my way in.” Claudia pointed to a stack of letters on the counter.