Blue Ink
Blue Mountain Series Book 3
Tess Thompson
© 2019 by Tess Thompson
All rights reserved.
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution‐Noncommercial‐No Derivative Works 3.0 Unported License.
Attribution — You must attribute the work in the manner specified by the author or licensor (but not in any way that suggests that they endorse you or your use of the work).
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No Derivative Works — You may not alter, transform, or build upon this work.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the authorʹs imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to similarly named places or to persons living or deceased is unintentional.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Also by Tess Thompson
About the Author
For my soulmate, Clifford Paul Strom.
I will always find you.
…and when one of them meets the other half, the actual half of himself, whether he be a lover of youth or a lover of another sort, the pair are lost in an amazement of love and friendship and intimacy and one will not be out of the other’s sight, as I may say, even for a moment…
Plato
What greater thing is there for two human souls than to feel that they are joined to strengthen each other, to be at one with each other in silent unspeakable memories.
George Eliot
Chapter One
Charlotte
* * *
The herd of elk appeared out of nowhere on a dirt road outside of Peregrine, Idaho. One second, I was squinting into rays of morning sun that reached through thin clouds in beams of blinding light. The next, they appeared, brown and beastly, directly in the middle of my path. I cursed and slammed on the brakes. My forehead smacked against the steering wheel and bounced back up like a rubber ball on concrete. Black spots danced before my eyes. Pain shot through my head. I winced and touched the tender spot on my forehead.
I blinked. Were they real?
Yes, still there. A herd of elk, and me, Charlotte Wilde, a city girl in a Volkswagen Bug wearing skinny jeans and black pumps, were at a standoff in the middle of a muddy, soggy meadow.
Seemingly unconcerned with my unexpected arrival, several dozen female elk nibbled on tufts of grass that grew alongside the road. The lone male, with antlers as wide as my car, lifted his head and stared at me with curious eyes. The patchy quality of his coat told me he was in the process of shedding his winter warmth. How I knew this I can’t say, other than it was probably one of those useless facts about animals my father collected to share with his young patients at his pediatric dental practice. Or rather, his former dental practice. Right now, he and my mother were gliding down the freeway toward Florida in their brand-new Airstream.
Despite his uneven pelt, the male was magnificent. I shivered as a current of energy passed between us. Did he sense my trepidation? Could he smell the shedding of my former skin?
I was the first to break eye contact. Notwithstanding the beauty in front of me, I had to get to Ardan Lanigan’s house by 9:00 a.m. From our brief email correspondence, I suspected he was a man of precision. I had exactly three minutes to get there.
How did one get past an entire herd of elk?
Grassy meadows stretched out on either side of the overgrown road. I opened the car door to inspect my chances of running for it if the elk decided to surge the car. No good. At least an inch of water lay on the muddy road. Neither my Volkswagen Bug nor my black pumps were worthy opponents against the rugged terrain of Idaho.
Were elk aggressive creatures? I had no idea. They were slow. They hadn’t moved an inch in either direction and didn’t seem inclined to do so anytime soon.
There was only one thing to do. I had to call Ardan Lanigan and tell him the trouble.
I pulled up his number on my phone and prayed for him to answer.
“This is Ardan.”
“Hi. It’s Charlotte Wilde. I’m almost to your house, but I’ve run into some elk. They’re blocking the road.”
“Are you hurt?” His tone was one of concern. All right, then. He was a sensitive man despite being richer than God.
“No, no. I stopped before I hit them. But they’re giving no indication or interest in moving along their merry way.”
“They’re like that here. It’s my brother Kevan’s fault. He treats them like domesticated animals, so they’re not afraid of humans.” I couldn’t discern if that fact amused or irritated him.
“What do I do?” I asked.
“Can you describe where you are?”
“Just after a sharp curve. That’s why I almost hit them,” I said. “Well, that and the ridiculously bright sunbeams.”
“Yes, right. That turn comes out of nowhere. A design flaw necessary because of the flow of the creek.” There was a slight pause before he spoke again. “Hang tight. I’ll come get you.”
Before I could answer, the line went dead. I glanced at the screen on my phone. The two bars had changed to No Service. A wave of homesickness washed over me. I longed for the sanctuary of my apartment in Portland, Oregon. Sure, the hallway smelled of Mrs. Pikes’ bean soup, and the lobby of mildew. Outside, the sidewalks were uneven and decorated with urine from the homeless. Millennials with man-buns and kombucha in their coffee mugs marched in the streets. Even so, it was home. I, for better or worse, was a city girl. I liked my restaurants and public transit. I preferred my pathways without elk.
I glanced into the rearview mirror and sighed at the state of my appearance. My brown eyes were bloodshot from getting up so early. I’d chewed off all my lipstick on the way from Boise, becoming increasingly anxious as I climbed to higher and higher elevation with no sign of civilization. Until I reached the town of Peregrine, which consisted of a half-dozen brick buildings, a Victorian house turned inn, and a surrounding population of five hundred people, I’d seen only wildlife. A falcon, presumably of the Peregrine variety, had swooped so low during my visit at a rest stop, I’d spotted his yellow beak.
Where the five hundred residents of Peregrine were hiding was anyone’s guess. Thus far, I’d spotted only two humans—a woman working the counter at an empty coffee shop and a clerk sweeping the sidewalk in front of the grocery store.
Elk clearly outnumbered people.
I looked back at my reflection. Was that a pimple on the end of my nose or a dab of strawberry jam from the scone I’d devoured earlier? I rubbed. Off it came. Strawberry jam. I eat when I’m anxious. And happy. Or sad. I love food. Now that I thought about it, I was hungry again. I should have stopped at the coffee shop and gotten something to nibble. No. A second breakfast was not going to conquer the battle with the size of my bottom.
I was thankful for the dry air. Any smidge of humidity and my espresso-hued curls sprang from my head like one of those rainbow wigs that clowns wear.
As I sat there, amongst the elk and under the bluest sky I’d ever seen, a hint of worry niggled at me. Had t
his been a good idea to come to Idaho? Good idea or not, the perfect trifecta had forced my hand.
One, my parents had decided to sell their dental practice and my childhood home to travel across the country in an Airstream, thus freeing me from the guilt that befalls only children. Two, despite modest success with the publication of my first mystery, featuring feisty private investigator Luci Storm, the second in the series had been rejected by my agent as too serious for today’s troubled world. “Escape fiction,” my chain-smoking, waiflike agent had said during our last conversation. “That’s what people want. Can you write a fun, flirty chick-lit book? Maybe toss in a little sexy time? Maybe an experience from your own love life?” If she wanted light, using my love life as fodder was not the way to do it. There was no sexy time. No fun. No flirting.
Which brings me to the third reason for Escape to Idaho. My small savings was gone, courtesy of my dismal choice of a boyfriend’s gambling problem.
Therefore, when my former boss Bliss Heywood called to see if I was interested in coming to the middle of nowhere Idaho to look after her mother-in-law, I didn’t hesitate to accept the offer.
Due to macular degeneration, Mrs. Lanigan’s eyesight was poor. She’d fallen one night and broken her hip. Now, recuperating at Ardan’s house, she had fallen into a depression. According to Bliss, she had no interest in getting out of bed. Could I come and sprinkle some of my magical fairy dust on her and make everything better? Bliss thought a little too highly of my skills, but who was I to argue? I needed the money.
It was quiet, Bliss had explained, as if I needed further convincing. I could write during my free time. Her brother-in-law, Ardan, had a beautiful home. I could stay rent free in one of his guest rooms. He even had a lap pool, so I could do my daily half mile.
I figured looking after a sweet grandmother would seem easy compared to the executive assistant positions I’d had over the years. Besides Bliss, all my jobs had been working for men. All jerks in their own unique ways. The list included: Mr. Grabby-hands, Mr. Over-caffeinated, Mr. Phone-attached-to-ear, Mr. No-deodorant. Good times.
It all came down to one thing. With no rent to pay, I could bank my salary, affording me another year to write without a pesky day job interfering. My writing was all I had left. The rest of my life was in the proverbial toilet.
So, Idaho it is. Elk be damned.
Chapter Two
Ardan
* * *
After I hung up with Charlotte, I tossed the phone onto the counter like it was on fire. The dark eyes of my housekeeper, Effie, sparkled with excitement. Moonstone, our local psychic, lover of all things purple, and loyal family friend, crossed her arms over her generous bosom and grinned.
“What?” I asked, as if I didn’t know.
“Ardan Lanigan, don’t be coy,” Moonstone said. “It’s elk and a damsel in distress, just as I envisioned, isn’t it now?”
“It is elk,” I said. “And Charlotte Wilde is stranded.” She also had a pretty voice to go with her pretty face. If her author picture on the back cover of her book was accurate and not a work of fiction.
“I don’t like to be the type who says ‘I told you so,’ but I told you so.” Moonstone played with one of the peacock earrings that dangled from her left lobe and continued to look smug.
“Mr. Lanigan, this is so exciting,” Effie said in her clipped British accent. Everything out of her barely adult mouth sounded better than it was in real life because of that adorable accent. “At last, your soulmate has arrived.”
“This whole thing’s ridiculous,” I said. “Charlotte isn’t my soulmate. We haven’t even met.”
“Don’t pretend like you don’t understand the concept of soulmates,” Moonstone said. “Just because you haven’t met doesn’t mean you’re not soulmates. It simply means that your destiny awaits.”
“You of all people should know this,” Effie said.
“I should?” I asked.
“You’re a deep thinker,” Effie said. “Reading all the smart books.”
“Yes, and my psychic abilities have been proven more times than any of us want to remember,” Moonstone said. “When it comes to predicting the arrival of the Lanigan brothers’ soulmates, I’m batting one thousand.”
“A thousand. And do you even know what that means?” I asked. Moonstone had never watched a baseball game in her life.
“That’s not true,” Moonstone said. “I’ve been watching baseball with my husband, Sam.” She emphasized the word husband. Moonstone was a newlywed. She used the word husband as often as she could.
“And yes, I do enjoy saying the word husband,” Moonstone said. “For as long as I waited for my soulmate to arrive, I have every right to do so.”
She was a mind reader. No doubt about it. She had predicted the arrival of my brothers’ wives, Blythe and Bliss Heywood—sisters who’d married my two remaining brothers. Who could predict that other than a psychic?
The whole idea of Charlotte Wilde had started a week ago when I’d joined Moonstone and Sam for dinner at my brother Ciaran and his wife Bliss’s house. We’d met to discuss Mother. As in, what to do about Mother?
Ciaran had put it to the song lyric from Sound of Music, substituting Mother for Maria. His antics hadn’t amused me. I was the one who had taken Mother in after her broken hip. My siblings ran scared the moment the doctors called to tell us she couldn’t see well enough to stay alone. I was the one who had hired two perfectly qualified nurses in a row, only to have Mother run them off within one day of their arrival. I was the one who had to console a tearful Effie on a regular basis.
A month ago, Mother was living alone with her loyal staff of two in a penthouse condominium in San Francisco. I was living happily here on the side of a mountain. Between my brothers and their wives, I wasn’t lonely. Not exactly lonely. Yes, I would love a woman of my own to share life with, but how could I find one that liked living here? Isolation was not everyone’s dream. In fact, most women my age deplored the idea of a life in rugged Idaho.
By dessert, we still didn’t have a solution to our big problem called Mother. Bliss had rested her arms on her pregnant belly and looked guilty. She’s the type who likes to solve problems with efficient, logical solutions. Mother, however, was a tough case.
With her fork poised over a piece of chocolate cake, Moonstone had stilled as her eyes glazed over like a hazy window. I knew from experience this meant she was having a vision. When she snapped out of it, she looked over at Bliss. “I know what to do. Get Charlotte Wilde.”
Charlotte Wilde had been Bliss’s executive assistant. She was now the author of a mystery novel which Mother and I had thoroughly enjoyed.
“Charlotte?” Bliss had asked. “My Charlotte?”
Moonstone nodded. “She’s the one to look after our large problem with a capital M. She’s also Ardan’s soulmate.”
I’d almost choked on my forkful of cake.
Bliss and Ciaran had stared at Moonstone like she’d just declared the most obvious solution and why hadn’t they thought of it?
“I just exchanged emails with her,” Bliss had said. “She had a bad breakup six months ago. The jerk stole all her savings and gambled it away in Vegas. She can’t find a publisher for her new book.”
“That’s right,” Moonstone had said. “Therefore, it’s time.”
Time for what?
“She might be willing to come,” Bliss had said. “But we can’t tell her about your premonition. That will scare her off.”
Ciaran and Moonstone had nodded like that was a perfectly normal fear. Sam had just shrugged and shot me an apologetic smile. He knew better than to get in the way when Bliss and Moonstone had something on their minds.
Now, Effie waved her hand in front of my face. “Mr. Lanigan stop your daydreaming. You need to get Miss Charlotte. She might be afraid of elk.”
“She sounded afraid,” I said.
“She’s from the city,” Moonstone said. “She doesn’t know about the
ir spiritual powers.”
I grabbed the keys to my truck from the bowl on the counter. “I’ll be back shortly.”
“Be charming,” Moonstone said.
“Don’t act shy,” Effie said. “Be confident.”
“Don’t forget to carry her,” Moonstone said. “She doesn’t want to ruin her shoes in all that mud.”
Charming? Not likely. Overcome my shyness? That was impossible. Carrying a pretty girl across the mud? In my wheelhouse. If I didn’t have to speak, all would be fine.
As I drove out of my driveway and down the dirt road toward the bend in the road where the elk had trapped Charlotte, I thought about Moonstone’s prediction. Was she right? Was Charlotte Wilde my destiny? Would I finally find love after all my attempts with women who clearly were not even close to being my soulmate? I feared that in this instance, Moonstone had her psychic wires twisted. There was no such thing as fate when it came to me and women, unless it was from a dark force. My destiny was to be alone for the rest of my life. Forever a bachelor, never a husband. Only an uncle, never a father.
Moonstone might have a vision, but I had the past as evidence. When it came to romantic love, I was a disaster.
A Peregrine falcon rode the wind above me.
A voice sounded in my head.
Assume the best and it will be.
It was the voice of my father.
What if I did assume Charlotte was for me? How would it change my behavior? What if I assumed my great love had come to me at last?
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