“Nonsense,” Mrs. Lanigan said. “No one should have to die at fourteen.”
“You know what I mean.”
Her fingers searched until she found my wrist. “I do know what you mean. But that doesn’t make it true.”
“She was destined for greatness. I’m just plain old Charlotte Wilde. Moderate talent, below average courage and above average disappointment.”
“Poppycock. You’re hardly a failure. How many people can write a book?”
“A book no one reads but my parents?”
“Ardan and I read it.”
I scooped some soup onto the spoon and placed the utensil in her hand. “Yes, what did you call it? Drivel?”
“Fine, if you’re going to make a federal case over it, I lied. I loved your book. As a matter of fact, I’d like the second one. When’s that idiot agent going to sell it?” She brought the spoon to her mouth. This time without spilling.
“She can’t seem to get any nibbles,” I said.
“What a twit,” she said. “We’ll publish it ourselves. People do that now. Ardan’s friend from college just published his first novel. Most dreadful thing you ever read.”
“Maybe I should.” I took the spoon from her and filled it again.
“You will. I’ll help you figure out a marketing strategy. Edward always said it was because of my clever mind that he was able to build his empire.” Her cheeks had flushed as she spoke. I saw a glimpse of what she must have been like as a young woman, full of fire and ambition. She ate from the spoon but instead of giving it back to me, she scooped it into the chowder herself.
“Eat the whole bowl or you’ll never get rid of me.”
“Will you stay with me until I finish?” she asked. “Tell me more about your new book?”
“It’s another Luci book,” I said. “This time she’s at a vineyard and the winemaker is murdered.”
After wishing Mrs. Lanigan goodnight, I went back to my room to find a sweater. Outside, twilight presented in rich pinks and oranges across the sky. In contrast, Blue Mountain, majestic and rugged, showed me how it earned its name. At home I would be curled up in front of the television with a glass of wine. What did Ardan do this time of night? Effie had promised to leave dinner for me after I had Mrs. Lanigan settled. I hadn’t seen Ardan since that afternoon. He’d gone into Hailey for a few errands. I hoped he was home by now.
To my delight, I didn’t have to search for him. He was on the couch in the living room, with his long legs stretched out on the coffee table. Lights were dimmed. The gas fireplace cast a warm glow about the room. Dressed in sweats and an Oregon Ducks sweatshirt, he looked better than a man should in slouchy clothes. A paperback was open on his lap, but he stared into the fireplace, seemingly lost in thought. He looked up at the sound of my footsteps.
“Hey.” On the table next to him was a glass of red wine.
“Hi. Your mother’s all tucked in for the night,” I said.
“Great. Effie has dinner for us in the kitchen. I thought we could eat together. If you’d like?”
“Sure.”
“I’m having a glass of wine first. Would you like one?”
“This is the best job ever,” I said.
He got up and went to the buffet where he kept wine and other liquor.
It was my novel he’d been reading. “Haven’t you read this already?”
“I’m reading it again. It’s different now that I know you. I can hear your voice in my head.”
“Your mother says I have a squeaky voice.”
“You do not have a squeaky voice. Sweet is a better description.”
I picked up my book. Flipping through, I saw that many passages were underlined.
He handed me the glass and gave me a sheepish grin. “I highlighted passages I particularly liked. I do that with writers that are better than me.”
I flushed at the compliment, hiding my embarrassment by taking a sip of wine. The taste of the bold, fruity wine almost knocked me over. “Holy crap, this is good.”
“Mark Ryan’s Dissident.” He sat back in his place on the couch.
“Mark Ryan?”
“He’s a winemaker out of Walla Walla. They’re one of my favorites. I go every October to buy wine. This year Kevan and Blythe went with me. We had a lot of fun.”
“I don’t know anything about wine. I’m more of a food person.”
“Wine and food go together,” he said.
Like you and me.
I stared at him. But no, he’d not said it out loud. It was his voice in my head again. Was it my imagination or wishful thinking? I shifted, pulling my legs under me.
He turned to face me. “If you can make this much progress with Mother in less than twenty-four hours, I don’t know what to expect next.”
“I think you both need to accept she may be here to stay.”
He closed his eyes and sighed. “I wish she liked it here better.”
“Give it some time. She’s still adjusting to a new reality.”
We talked for a few minutes about different ideas for equipping her room and bathroom with tools to help. We both finished our glasses of wine. He poured us another.
“What were you thinking about before I came down,” I asked, emboldened by the wine.
“Something strange happened today. Last year I went to my house in Italy to write—”
“Wait. You have a house in Italy?”
“Yes, in Tuscany, to be exact.”
“Go on.”
“I had been working on a book for years that I chucked because I started having vivid dreams about a young couple. Images mostly. It felt like I was meant to write their story, even though I didn’t fully know what it was. You know how it is—ideas just come to you out of nowhere. When I sat down to write, the story—their story—poured out of me.”
“Their love story?” I asked.
“Yes. He’s rich and she’s poor. His father doesn’t approve and threatens to cut him off if he marries her, but he does it anyway. He gives up everything to be with her. They moved to a small town somewhere and he opens a store.”
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying that the story is a lot like Nicholas and Augie. Mother told me stories about them sometimes. I figured the idea that my characters move to a small midwestern town was borrowed from their story. But I had no idea who Nicholas really was until today. When I read those letters today, I completely freaked out. Coincidence? Maybe. But don’t you think it’s odd?”
I had goosebumps up and down my arms. “Have you ever seen pictures of them?”
“No. My mother didn’t have any.”
“But you could describe the people in your dream to her?”
“I describe them in my book, yes.”
“What about the brother? Is he in your book?” I asked.
“No. In my story, the hero is an only child.”
“Do you think they’re sending you the story from wherever they are?”
“It’s possible. I mean, I believe in heaven or a life after this one. I’ve always wondered where writers get their ideas. Maybe there’s more to it than mere talent.”
“I’ve always thought creativity came from a mystical place. The mysteries of the universe and God are both powerful and elusive.” I’d always believe this to be true. Since coming here, I felt it even more so.
“You’re so damn pretty and smart.” His neck flushed pink. “I’m sorry. I can’t believe I just said that.”
“It’s okay. You’re pretty too.” I flashed him my best flirtatious smile, reckless and wild like the beasts of Idaho. Here I was drinking wine with a man I’d met less than twelve hours ago, sitting in front of a romantic fireplace wishing he would take me in his arms and kiss me. The entire thing was ludicrous. I didn’t care. Nothing but this moment mattered. Not my past mistakes with men, so numerous they were laughable. Especially the latest one who sucked the life out of me down to my bone marrow.
Only days ago,
I was a dried-up sack of nothingness. Desolate, lonely, ashamed of myself and the ways in which I’d allowed my life to implode. But here? I was reborn in this land of dry air and elk and blue-eyed Ardan Lanigan.
He set aside his empty glass and inched closer until he was next to me. I smelled the sweet scent of wine on his breath. Stubble showed on his chin. His lashes lowered as his gaze traveled down my body and back up. Holding my gaze, his voice lowered in both pitch and tone. “You make plain cotton t-shirts look ridiculously sexy.”
Normally I would have made some self-effacing comment, but not here in Idaho. Here I was self-confident and brash. I shivered with desire. “And you with sweatpants.”
He stared at my mouth and bit his bottom lip. Wasn’t that my job? To either bite my own or his? Either way worked for me.
“I can’t kiss you yet,” he said. “It’s too soon.”
“Right. Kissing me would be shameful.”
“I’ve known you for less than twenty-four hours,” he said.
“I couldn’t agree more.”
He leaned in and kissed me anyway. That kiss! I’m a writer, prone to romantic notions, so it should be assumed I exaggerate certain moments of my life, both good and bad. I add color or emphasize certain details for dramatic purposes. But not this. The heat of his mouth against mine obliterated every kiss that had come before.
His kiss pushed aside the past and altered the course of my future. From that moment on, I belonged to Ardan Lanigan.
I’d always belonged to him. I just hadn’t met him yet.
When he pulled away from me, he tucked a mass of curls behind my left ear. “I can’t resist a girl with curls. I can’t resist you.”
“Is that right?” The thrill that came from the first heady nudge of intimacy coursed through me.
“Yeah.” The corners of his mouth lifted in a smile both charming and genuine. His eyes danced with the joy of being right there next to me. “That’s the last kiss I’ll steal. You can give me the rest, as I earn them. And, let me tell you, I plan on earning every single one of them.”
Gulp.
Chapter Six
Ardan
* * *
My brothers both told me they fell in love with their wives at first sight. Being a romantic, I believed it to be true. My novel of Augie and Nicholas was based on this belief. However, I never thought it could happen to me.
Until today.
The moment I saw Charlotte I knew there was something between us I’d never experienced with anyone else. It was not simply her physical beauty, which was limitless. There was a quality about her both familiar and fascinating.
Whether or not I believed in love at first sight, I hadn’t planned on kissing her on the first day I’d ever met her. I was possessed by a power larger than myself. Charlotte was my destiny. That’s the only explanation. Or perhaps it was as simple as Moonstone’s vision. Her sureness that Charlotte was my soulmate gave me a confidence I’d never had before. I would never in a million years have been so bold—so alpha male—without the confidence that Moonstone’s prediction was true. She’d been right about everything else, including my brothers and their wives.
After I kissed her, we ate dinner in the kitchen and talked of benign subjects, having both agreed that any further time together on the couch would lead to a lot more than a first kiss. After we ate, we both went to our rooms.
I tried to sleep, but tossed and turned, my mind churning between images of Charlotte and the strange discovery about Nicholas and Augie. Was it possible that divine intervention had whispered the story to me? Had the same power brought Charlotte to me?
All my life I’d believed that more existed than we can see with our mortal eyes. Here it was again. Evidence that the mysteries of the universe and God were not easily understood by an ordinary man. An unknown force had brought Charlotte and that box of letters here at the same time. Was it to solve an eighty-year-old mystery, or heal Mother, or bring Charlotte and I together? Perhaps a combination of all three?
Around midnight, my phone buzzed. I jumped up. For a mad second, I believed the call would be from Charlotte.
It wasn’t Charlotte.
The call was from Felicity Spinner.
Dammit, the woman had impeccable timing. She knew exactly when to reappear just in time to ruin anything promising in my life.
I let it buzz and stared at the wall. Two years had passed since I’d last heard from her. Here she was again. The moment Charlotte enters my life, she suddenly appears.
I drifted back in time, remembering what havoc she’d caused the last time I’d seen her. She’d arrived drunk on the doorstep of my condominium in San Francisco, wrecked over another bout of sex with my brother, Ciaran.
This was their pattern. Ciaran came to town. They hooked up. She was his San Francisco hook up. There was a woman in every city. When he left in the morning, as he always did, she came to me. Usually, I’d fix her up with a grilled cheese sandwich, tomato soup, and a romantic comedy on television. After a good cry on my shoulder, she’d swear this was the last time. No more Ciaran. I suspected she truly believed it at the time, but I didn’t. I knew there would always be one more encounter with my brother. Each time, she would think this would be the time he’d see she was the one.
For weeks after, she would come by my place every night. We’d have dinner and watch movies. There was never anything physical between us, but we were close. Too close.
But then something altered the pattern. My brother, the ultimate playboy, met Bliss Heywood. Bliss was his one and only. He knew it the moment he met her. When Felicity contacted him, he told her he was officially committed. Devastated, she came to me.
I recalled the moments in perfect detail.
I was on the couch watching a soccer game. Melanie, my girlfriend, was on her way over with Chinese food. When the doorbell rang, I figured Melanie had forgotten her key. I rose from the couch and sprinted to the front door. Felicity stood there with makeup smeared down her cheeks and whiskey on her breath.
“He blocked me,” she said. “From his phone and email. Everything.”
I knew she meant Ciaran. There was no reason to pretend otherwise.
“He’s met someone,” I said.
“The one. He said she was the one. I just wanted to talk to him. I needed to talk to him one more time.” Felicity sobbed and threw herself into my arms.
She weighed just over a hundred pounds, despite her height. Embracing her was like hugging a bag of bones. She sagged against me. I lifted her into my arms and over to the couch. As I gently set her down, she threw her arms around my neck and pulled me to her mouth.
“Don’t. I have someone,” I said. “She’s important to me.”
“Please, Ardan, just this once. Take me to bed.”
“I’m not your pain killer,” I said.
The front door opened. I looked up to see Melanie drop the bag of Chinese takeout. Noodles and fried rice spilled out of the cartons. Sweet and sour sauce smeared the carpet.
I leapt to my feet. “It’s not how it looks,” I said.
“That’s all you’ve got? I trusted you,” Melanie said. “Screw you.” She leaned over and picked up the carton of cashew chicken and hurled it at my head. I ducked. The carton smacked right into the middle of my flat screen television. A second later, the door slammed behind her.
I knew better than to go after her. Melanie thought I had a weakness when it came to Felicity. She knew I’d been in love with her when I was a kid. She might have been able to listen to my explanation, except for her own damaged past. Melanie’s husband had cheated on her. She would never trust me again.
I turned to the pitiful, rumpled mess on my couch. Felicity had curled into the fetal position. “I’m sorry, Ardan.”
For the first time in the history of our friendship I understood the truth. We were in a toxic, unhealthy relationship. Several of my past girlfriends were threatened by our intimate friendship. One accused me of being in love
with her. Another said I would never have a relationship with the right woman if I continued to drop everything when Felicity needed me. I had to end this pattern.
“We need to take a break,” I said. “I can’t do this any longer.”
“But Ardan, I need you.”
“Seriously. We’re done. Go home.”
We hadn’t spoken since.
Now, the phone buzzed again. Felicity Spinner.
I switched my phone to silent. My thoughts returned to Charlotte. I couldn’t allow anyone to interfere or come between us. Especially not Felicity. Not this time. Whatever she wanted, I couldn’t give her.
The next morning, I dressed in my swim trunks and a sweatshirt and went downstairs. Effie usually fixed my coffee and a light breakfast whatever time I wandered into the kitchen. Today was no exception. She was already hard at work stirring batter in a large mixing bowl.
“Good morning, Mr. Lanigan.”
“Morning, Effie.”
“I’m making your favorite coffee cake.” She set aside the wooden spoon and poured me a cup of coffee, handing it to me as I sat at the breakfast nook.
“I slept terribly last night.” I said.
“Why is that?” She returned to her mixing bowl.
“Overstimulated.”
“By one Charlotte Wilde?”
“Don’t be silly,” I said. “I hardly noticed her.”
“Don’t you give me that cheeky smile. I know a smitten man when I see one.”
I drank the cup of coffee while reading the New York Times on my tablet. “It’s the same terrible news as yesterday.”
“Out there, maybe. In here, life is better than it was yesterday. I’m not touched with the gift like Moonstone, but the vibration in this house changed the moment Charlotte walked through the door.”
“I kissed her. Last night.”
Effie dropped the wooden spoon into the batter. A few drops landed on her nose. “You did?”
“Yes. I’m a bolder version of myself when I’m with her. She makes me feel confident and clever like my brother, Ciaran.”
Blue Ink Page 8
