Shifter Romance: BODHI (LOST CREEK SHIFTERS NOVELLAS Book 4)

by Samantha Leal

  His tall muscular frame dressed resplendent in a long jacket of azure jacquard, a white satin shirt with a stately high collar, and tight fitting taupe pantaloons adorned with brass buttons, the subject of this portrait boasted a chiseled face featuring carved cheekbones, a cleft chin, and eyes that shone as bright and azure as the image of the bluest sky. This face came framed with a shoulder length mane of thick ebony hair that fell free across muscled shoulders, and came adorned with a soft, subtle upturn of his full moist lips.

  Quickly questioning the identity of the Victorian styled ‘beb’, as she so cleverly deemed him, Jasmin and her co-workers were quickly introduced to the painting’s downright ethereal subject.

  “The beb, for your information, is Lord Nathaniel Barrett; the man who originally made his home in this very building—or, at the very least, a reasonable facsimile,” Jessymyn informed her employees, adding with a proud smile, “A local historian is writing a book about this area and he interviewed the lovely elderly couple that owns this fine establishment. And, as it turns out, the structure of this tea room is based on the floor plan of a manor house they visited while on a trip to London. They had seen the home of a stately nobleman named Nathaniel Barrett, a widower who lived the gist of his days alone and miserable in his big old house. They thought that it would be a fitting tribute to build a house much like his, then fill it with laughter, good food, and lots of company for his lonely spirit.”

  Now, Callista couldn’t help but note, Jasmin just happened to lay directly beneath her Victorian heart throb.

  “A place she’d probably love to be,” Callista mused in silence, adding in a more serious tone, “It’s almost as if he is watching over her.”

  Yet not close enough, apparently; for after rushing about to call an ambulance, reassuring their customers that things like this usually didn’t happen at this upscale establishment, and notifying all employees on hand that there was indeed “Nothing to see here—Move along and refresh the sugar bowls while you’re at it”, Jessymyn and Callista returned to the fireplace to find that—much to their shock—Jasmin was gone.

  A full month had passed since Jasmin’s disappearance; and in that time, concerned friends and family had contacted the police and conducted extensive personal searches for the woman who could not, would not be found.

  “It’s as if she disappeared into thin air—although, I must admit that I never have quite comprehended the phrase, ‘disappeared into thin air.’ I mean, wouldn’t the air have to be pretty blasted thick for someone to disappear clear into it? Foggy and smoggy, even?” Callista mused, shaking her head from side to side. “Oh well. Wherever she is, I sure do miss her.”

  Callista had found a kindred sister in Jasmin; a true and dear friend who shared her interests—ranging from romantic Victorian literature and movies to an intense disdain for food service work (nope, make that an incredibly overwhelming, nearly paralyzing disdain for food service work)—and shared her unique and truly vibrant personality.

  “Translation,” Callista mused with a smirk. “She’s incredibly, indescribably weird. I am even more so. Each of us, at long last, found someone on the planet Earth who could stand to be around us for more than—oh, say—ten minutes or so.”

  In a world where good friends were few, Callista had found the best; only to lose her in a bizarre, mystery-laden disappearance that seemed to know no easy solution.

  “Where in the blazes is she?” Callista pressed, taking a break from her duties to approach the captivating oil painting that had exerted such an intense hold on her friend.

  Sniffing full in the face of the gorgeous, distinguished looking gentleman who formed the focal point of this interesting artwork, she ignored his seductive, come hither eyes and went straight for his (presumably) foxy jugular vein.

  “Stop pouting at me, you Bargain Basement Darcy, and tell me where my friend went!” she released in a furious whisper, drawing quizzical stares from those around her. “Dish! Spill the Earl Grey tea or be prepared to pay! And pay big!”

  Chastening herself for chiding and harassing an inanimate object, Callista made to step away from the painting, only to freeze in her place as she noticed something markedly different about this annoying artwork.

  While the original framed image posted on the wall of Chez Victoria had featured a single subject—the afore mentioned pouty, undeniably hawt but annoyingly tight lipped Victorian nobleman—this portrait seemed to feature a second subject; this one far more familiar to her, nonetheless disbelieving, eyes.

  Standing at Nathaniel’s back was the spitting image of the very woman she was looking for; one who regarded her over the gold-trimmed rim of a lovely hand-painted floral print fan.

  Although not a classic beauty, the robust lady before her sported a winning beam and a thick flowing mane of dark curly hair; not to mention sparkling blue eyes that peered at her through the prism of clear glass spectacles.

  “Jasmin,” she gasped aloud, not really caring who heard her as she drew closer to the painting. “I know I should be questioning my ever lovin’ sanity right now—even more so than I generally do on a regular daily basis. I know that I should be disbelieving my own eyes at this point. Somehow, though, I always knew that she was with him. Somehow, and in some way, I knew that she had crossed over—that she had transported herself back to the time that we both so adored. The time, perhaps, where we both belonged.”

  Shifting her gaze to the exquisite floral fan that shone resplendent from Jasmin’s grasp, Callista suddenly felt the weight of a hard day’s work bearing down upon her thin, short frame; dulling her senses as a wave of fatigue threatened to consume her.

  As her gaze was captured by the intimate, ebullient floral print that lined and adorned Jasmin’s hand fan, she felt her senses brim and swim in a thick, confused haze. Her heart and pulse pounded in a single accord as her public surroundings dissolved around her. The vision of lace-covered tables and velvety seats gave way to a blinding prism of ebullient dew glistened red roses set against a silky backdrop.

  Within seconds, her knees buckled and she felt her body fall with an unceremonious thump to the ground beneath her.

  Scarlet red dissolved to black—and she was lost.

  Chapter two

  Callista awoke to the same vision that had greeted her moments before; only this time, she couldn’t help but notice this image seemed more three dimensional in nature.

  Plus now it talked. Criminy.

  She recognized immediately the pristine, out and out gorgeous image of Lord Nathaniel Barrett; his tall, muscular frame dressed in the same long jacket of azure jacquard, white satin shirt with a stately high collar, and oh so delightfully tight taupe pantaloons adorned with brass buttons, pictured in the portrait.

  Even more impressive was his chiseled face framed by the glorious mane of long thick ebony hair and featuring carved cheekbones, a cleft chin, and full, moist lips.

  Lips that now parted to say something that—immediately at least—seemed totally inappropriate and entirely too personal.

  “Well I must say it, Darling,” Nathaniel observed, staring into her bleary, half opened eyes with no small amount of curiosity. “This seems like a most peculiar case of déjà vu.”

  Callista parted her pert pink lips to inquire just as to who in the blazes he thought he was, calling her ‘Darling’—only to snap it shut moments later, as another woman stepped out from behind the tall imposing form of Lord Nathaniel Barrett, one whose round and bespectacled face she immediately recognized.

  “I’d like to think of it more as déjà vu all over again,” Jasmin observed, cocking her head in Callista’s direction.

  Nathaniel pitched his head back, letting loose with a deep sonorous laugh as he considered the words of his apparent lover.

  “I swear it, my love, I really don’t know as to how you manage to be so very witty, all day and every day,” he praised her, wrapping a loving arm around the surface of her sturdy shoulders. “You never fail t
o make me laugh and amuse me.”

  Gracing her lover with a cheeky grin, Jasmin nudged him gently in the ribs as she revealed, “Well that particular line, I must admit, is not mine to claim. It was baseball’s great Yogi Berra who coined the phrase, ‘It’s déjà vu all over again.’ But hey, since that dude hasn’t been born yet, I can claim these words as my own,” she paused here, adding as she pumped her fist triumphantly in the air, “Time travel rocks!”

  Callista rolled her newly opened eyes, expressing her sharp and abject disagreement with this point.

  Oh, she had to admit that Jasmin glowed in a period dress that fit and flattered her rubenesque curves; a smooth, glittery full-length satin frock with a boned bodice boasting lush satin bows, ruffled lace lining the neckline, additional lines of lace accenting its wide sleeves, and a flowing skirt that bustled soft and graceful around her buxom waist.

  Her friend’s lustrous mane of ebony hair was piled high atop her head; revealing a pair of glittering diamond earrings and a smile that glimmered brighter still.

  “I have never seen Jasmin so happy,” she observed with a slight smile. “She’s just radiant.”

  And their surroundings, when she finally got around to sitting up and examining them up close, glowed nothing but resplendent before her admiring eyes.

  Recognizing immediately the glamorous interior of the Chez Victoria tea room, she nodded as she spotted the room’s shining wallpaper of scarlet brocade, and plush ivory carpeting; also noting the glow of brass chandeliers and the spectacle of a hand-painted mural that depicted angels in flight across a gem blue sky.

  Yet, replacing the full assortment of tables that generally came filled with customers waiting to be served, came a long, lace-covered single table adorning the center of the room; topped as it was by a gleaming setting of polished rose print china.

  “Cha, there is just one problem with all of this,” she decided finally. “While this joint does indeed look like an early version of the Chez Victoria tea room, it is not the elaborate tourist trap of a business where I work and pick up my paychecks four days out of the week. So in essence, I seem to have skipped out of work early to travel to a different country and century. Drat it to blazes, the boss is going to kill me!”

  Letting loose with a loud, frustrated groan, Callista pointed an accusing finger in the direction of her watching friend.

  “So it seems you’ve really done it this time, Lawrence,” she accused a still smirking Jasmin. “Now you’ve transported us both back in time, with little probable hope of return. Good job! So what do you plan to do for an encore?”

  Jasmin rolled her eyes.

  “Ah Callista, always the drama queen,” she scoffed, adding as she offered a helping hand to her confused, frowning friend, “And as far as what I plan to do for an encore. Well, how about a whole new and downright enchanting life in another place and time? Doesn’t that sound awesome sauce?”

  Chapter three

  A short time later, Callista found herself sitting upright in the lavender-cushioned chair bordering the long table at the center of the dining room; sipping some soothing lemon tea from a rose print tea cup.

  Facing her at the table was the couple who brewed and served her this heavenly concoction; its hot languid streams soothing her rattled nerves as she asked them, “How did I get here?”

  Nathaniel, sitting tall and proud at the head of his elaborate lace-covered table, shook his head from side to side in response to this question.

  “Blast it if I know, Miss,” he admitted, shrugging his broad shoulders as he continued, “Now as I recall, milady here did mention something about inviting a friend to tea sometime.” He paused here, arching a feathered eyebrow to sly effect. “She just didn’t mention that you’d be coming from such a far piece. Do you, by chance, need us to cover what Jasmin so adorably refers to as your cab fare? I still fail to understand as to why you ever so clever 21st century types surrendered the use of carriages; far classier rides, and—all things considered—horse droppings are far easier to clean up than what she describes as fossil fuels.”

  After meeting what she saw as Nathaniel’s weak attempt at humor with a polite smile (while all the time inwardly screaming, “It’s a blasted good thing he’s cute! How does Jasmin put up with more than ten to fifteen minutes of all of this dry Euro humor in any given setting?”), Callista turned her attention to her, for once quiet, friend who sat sipping tea at the opposite side of the table.

  “I full well realize that this is not the first time in the course of your earthly existence that you have been asked this question, Jasmin,” she pressed her friend. “And still, I must ask you once again. How did you get us into this mess?”

  Jasmin chuckled.

  “To tell you the truth, Callista, I am not exactly sure as to how you and I travelled back in time,” she revealed, tone serious and thoughtful. “If you’ll recall, I bumped my head on my meal cart at Chez Victoria just before I transported; even so, I don’t exactly credit my accident with bringing me to this place and time.”

  With these words, she leaned forward, pinning her friend with a thoughtful stare.

  “For so long, Callista, you and I dreamed about, read about, and talked about this time,” she reminded her. “I think we always knew that we belonged here. And our job at Chez Victoria was not doing a great deal to bring the time of Victoria into our lives.”

  Callista nodded.

  “Between our repeated quest to keep the sugar bowls filled and our repeated mantras of ‘Do you want chutney with that?’, not to mention the number of times that we have to tell the school girls there on field trips that Mr. Darcy does not live at Chez Victoria,” she mumbled, “We weren’t precisely living the dream.”

  Jasmin chuckled.

  “True this,” she agreed. “And especially when I saw Nathaniel’s portrait and found myself staring at a real life Mr. Darcy—only far hawter and much kinder—I made a subconscious decision to leave my old life behind and come to—well--an even older life, I guess. I think that, in my mind, I kind of wished myself here.” She paused here, her gaze colliding with that of the man who stared intent at her from across the table.

  Callista watched with a smile as the couple before her shared a soft, secret smile; their gazes holding as the whole world seemed to dissolve around them.

  “Somehow Jasmin, in the back of my mind, I knew that you had left us to go to a better place. And while I missed you, I was never panicked about your whereabouts. Somehow, and in some way, I knew that you were okay—better than okay, or so it seems.”

  Nathaniel nodded.

  “I make it my life’s purpose and mission, Miss Callista, to ensure that the woman who means so much to both of us is better than okay,” he assured his new guest. “Before Jasmin arrived in my life, I was nothing more than a lonesome widower with no real joy or purpose. I almost wished that I could simply fly away from here, to join my dearly departed wife in a place of peace and quiet.”

  Jasmin snorted.

  “Cha. The dude wanted peace and quiet, so who does he hook up with?” she sneered as an aside to a smirking Callista. “Moi.”

  Nathaniel smiled.

  “I sincerely hope that in your time, my darling, the phrase ‘hook up with’ equates to ‘falling madly in love with,’” he told her, tone dripping with sincerity as his azure eyes fair devoured her. “For I am indeed in love with you, deeply and passionately.”

  Jasmin nodded, blowing a kiss across the table that a smitten Nathaniel promptly caught.

  “And I with you, love,” she returned, adding as she shifted her gaze in Callista’s direction, “My place is here, with Nathaniel. And, as much as I do miss all the folks back home, I can’t help but feel that this is my home. This is my time.”

  Callista grinned, but only briefly.

  “I can see that this is true, as I’ve never seen you so very happy,” she assured Jasmin, adding as her tone and gaze hardened considerably, “but why bring me into the s
ituation? Why take me away from my life back home, which admittedly was not the most thrilling life, but it was mine, and bring me here?”

  Jasmin shook her head.

  “While you may not believe this, Callista, I didn’t bring you here—at least not consciously or intentionally,” she revealed, leaning across the table to look her old crony straight in the eyes, “Now, as Nathaniel indicated, I did often wish that I could invite an old friend to tea—especially now that I’m working on my first big novel for Nathaniel’s publishing house, Four Gables Press.”

  Brightening immediately, Callista’s blue eyes flew wide as she considered these words.

  “So you’re finally writing that big Victorian novel we always talked about?” she asked, tone brimming with interest.

  Jasmin nodded.

  “I am. A big ol’ romantic historical novel with goth overtones and lotsa sex. I call it The Wind and the Dove,” she revealed, adding with a wink, “And while Google and the Clearview Public Library both have their charms, nothing screams ‘hands on research’ like actually travelling back through the centuries to the time you’re writing about, and living the life of your characters. I highly recommend it.”

  “As do I,” Nathaniel chimed in, adding as he waggled his feathered eyebrows to teasing effect. “I especially love to help Jasmin research the lotsa sex part.” He paused here, clearing his throat loudly as he stole a cautionary look in his girlfriend’s direction, “Did I just—how would you say it in your time?--overshare?”

  Jasmin guffawed outright.

  “It’s cool, Love,” she assured him, continuing as she turned to face Callista, “I so wanted to share my new book with you—to get your feedback, to just celebrate the whole experience with you. I also have an aim to introduce the womenfolk around here to the concept of women’s rights. I swear it, Callista, their idea of liberation is walking halfway across their private sitting rooms with the top two laces of their corset undone—three, if they’re feeling dangerous.”