Not by much. Bern didn’t say it. “It’s probably registered as an historical home.”
Rowdy rolled his lips together, then let them loose with a fleshy pop. “No. I know the historical homes in this area. We don’t have many, and that’s not one of them.”
“How about the Taylor girls?” Livie wasn’t about to give up. “Myra and Betty.”
Rowdy tipped his head back and forth as if that would help jog something. “You mean the batty old Taylor sisters?”
Bern felt someone walk over his grave, just like the old saying.
“Yes,” Livie said enthusiastically, as if that’s exactly who she meant.
“They lived in the rock house, but it isn’t any historical landmark. In fact, it should have fallen down long ago. It’s probably just a pile of rubble now.”
“The rock house,” Bern said. Something niggled at him, almost a sense of familiarity. A frightening sense of familiarity.
“The house is in the middle of a rock field, and Old Man Taylor built the place from the very stones around him. In the 1880s, I believe.”
The place sounded interesting. Maybe that was why it got to him, its unusual nature.
“And the Taylor sisters?” Livie probed. Her excitement was palpable.
Rowdy Reed rubbed his jowls again. “I don’t remember much. I was a kid. But while I was growing up, they never left that house. One of them died, and it was said the other one just kept the body there and didn’t tell anyone until the mailman reported an awful smell.”
Livie slipped her hand into Bern’s. “Was it murder?”
“If it was, they never put the sister in jail. She was the older one, I think. She died”—the old man scratched the top of his head—“in the eighties, I believe it was.”
The eighties wouldn’t work. Livie was thirty-five and Toni only a couple of years younger.
“Are you sure it wasn’t the seventies?” There was the slightest hint of desperation in Livie’s tone. She’d been thinking the same thing Bern had.
Rowdy waggled his head. “Could have been.” He tapped his temple. “Noggin’s not what it used to be.”
“Do you remember if one of them had a husband named George? Before the war?””
His laugh rattled with phlegm, as if he’d smoked for many years. “I can’t even remember their names. But I don’t recall anything about a husband, just the batty sisters.”
Bern figured they’d learned all they were going to. “Can you tell us how to get this rock house?” Bern asked.
“It’s down the highway a piece.” He launched into a series of instructions and landmarks. Bern nodded, cataloguing it all.
Livie eyed him. “Does it have an address?”
“Not anymore.” The old man grunted. “The road’s not maintained. It’s probably just an old track by now. I’m not sure you’ll be able to drive up it, or if the house is still standing.”
“If it’s there, we’ll find it,” Bern said, taking Livie’s arm. “We appreciate your help.”
“Well, well, it’s a lovely area. Are you sure I can’t show you some listings? Great values up here. With the Shasta Cascades as a backdrop, you can’t find a prettier place on earth.”
“Thanks, but no thanks.”
It took another five minutes to extricate themselves. Once back in the car, Bern brought up a map on his GPS. He pointed at the screen. “It’s out there somewhere.”
“We’ll never find it.”
“If not, we’ll come back and ask around some more.”
Livie gave him a look. “Just like a man, never asking for directions.”
“Men have GPS. We don’t need to ask.” Then he smiled and leaned over to kiss her.
Her face still close to his, she whispered, “Do you think I’m crazy?”
“No more than I am.” Which probably meant they both were. And yet... “It can’t be coincidence that we found a man who remembered the house and the sisters.”
“You mean like some sort of supernatural intervention directing us?”
He chuckled at that. “Maybe. Like we’re supposed to find this place. We’re supposed to discover”—he shrugged—“something.”
She nodded solemnly. “Yes, we are.”
“Then let’s find this place and see what we find.”
Chapter Twenty-one
Rowdy Reed—what a name—had been correct; the road was barely discernable from the highway and the farther they traveled along it, the more potholes Bern’s wheels fell into.
The town had been pretty and quaint, and the scenery was stupendous as they drove northwest along the highway, the Shasta Cascades in the distance, thick stands of trees, the grass green enough to suggest recent rains in the area. Once they found the dirt road heading off to the left—far more easily than Livie had anticipated—the rolling hills gave way to scrubby grassland sparsely dotted with skinny trees. Then even that greenery fell away as the road climbed into a barren landscape of boulders, rocks, and parched brush.
They saw no sign of a house. “This has got to be wrong.”
Bern shook his head. “It feels right. Taylor would have built the house with these rocks.”
He had a point. There was certainly a hell of a lot of rock. But why would you build a house here when there were much prettier sites with trees and babbling brooks?
The road—if the pitted dirt track could actually be called that—curved round a big boulder, and Bern slammed on the breaks. Rain water had forged a gully that bisected the road. Bern’s car wouldn’t make it through.
“Look,” he said softly, peering through the windshield. The muscles of his face seemed tense, and his shoulders rippled, almost as if he’d shuddered.
Then Livie saw it, too, the house perched on the hill, overlooking the valley beyond. It looked as if it had grown right out of stone and earth. A rock house. A chill washed over her. Déjà vu. As if she’d seen this very sight so many times.
Bern seemed to shrug away the tension. “We’ll have to walk.” He looked down into the footwell of the passenger side. “Good thing you wore tennis shoes.”
Her wardrobe choice hadn’t been intentional, just jeans, tennis shoes, and a sweatshirt to ward off the autumn chill in the air. “How far do you think it is?”
Bern cocked his head, gazing along the line of the road ahead, which was straight for a while as the terrain rose, then curved sharply to the right and led up to the house. “Half a mile maybe. A bit more.”
Livie glanced at her watch. She walked far more than that at lunch, and they had plenty of time before they were in danger of being late for dinner. “Let’s do it.”
After closing the car door, she leapt over the gully. Bern beeped his remote, locking up, just like a city boy.
He made the leap, too, then grabbed her hand. “Come on.”
His touch was cold. She waited for his skin to warm, but it didn’t. Despite her daily walk, with his quick pace and wide stride, she was breathing faster in no time. He spoke little, his gaze intent on the house as time-worn pebbles crunched beneath their feet.
“Do you feel it?” she asked.
He swallowed. “I don’t know.”
Livie didn’t believe him. Or maybe she was just talking herself into this odd sense of déjà vu. Maybe she wanted it so badly she was creating it.
She tugged on his hand, pulling him off the road. “This way will be faster. There’s a path.” It cut across the rocky landscape, but the climb would be tougher.
“There’s no path,” he said.
“Yes, there is.” She could...feel it. Her feet knew the way just as her fingers knew the letters on a keyboard.
She walked in front, leading. In no time at all, she was warm with exertion, her steps sure. The house loomed larger now. She could make out the stones of its rocky face. The wide porch was held up by massive columns fashioned of jutting rock.
Livie could feel those stones beneath her fingertips, as if she’d run her fingers over them time and
again.
They stopped in the shade of a monstrous outcropping of boulders, the view of the house hidden.
“Drink?” Bern handed her the bottle of water he’d carried from the car.
Livie took a grateful slug, handed it back, then watched the movement of his throat as he drank. His skin was smooth, slightly tanned, the shadow of beard down his neck, and an intriguing hint of perspiration.
Livie’s mouth watered. Stepping back, she put a hand on the rock, craggy and cool out of the sun on this side. As he lowered the bottle and capped it, his gaze on her was almost physical. She turned, splayed her fingers, and through a gap between the boulders, she saw the house on the hill, like a sentinel, watching.
Behind her, he shifted, screwing the bottle into a wedge of rock. Then he was at her back, pressing close, rigid against the base of her spine, ready. Running his hands up beneath her sweatshirt, he palmed her breasts. Her nipples grew tight against her bra.
“I want you,” he murmured, his breath on her nape, then his hot, sweet tongue. He pulled her head back by her hair and grabbed her chin, devouring her mouth with a hungry kiss.
She wanted him, too, here, like this, with the house above them. She closed her eyes and felt as if they’d done this a thousand times. She knew the pads of his fingers as they trailed down her abdomen to the waist of her jeans. He popped the button, delved into her panties.
Livie spread her legs, letting him take her with his fingers. “Oh God,” she whispered. Like this, so many times, in this place, other places, any time they could find a moment alone.
He circled and teased, drove her mad with need.
“Please,” she whispered. “Take me. I need you.”
He fumbled her jeans down over her hips. Livie toed off a shoe so she could remove one pant leg. It was all they needed. He eased back, unzipped, kicked her legs apart, then hooked an arm beneath her belly, positioning her.
When she felt him nudge her core, Livie opened her eyes. As he pushed deep, she groaned, bit down on her lip. “You’re mine,” she said, her voice hoarse with desire.
“I’m yours,” he echoed, stroking deep inside her.
Her body was wet and hungry for him. As if he hadn’t touched her last night, as if weeks had gone by. She braced herself on the rocks, pushing back on him, forcing him deeper. “You feel so good inside me.”
His body was hard, his muscles rigid. She loved the feel of him. She knew it, this place, the house above them, the feel of him inside. Here, like this.
“Christ.” He bit her neck like a lion taking his mate.
She relished the pain. He was hers. She deserved him. He should always have been hers, never anyone else’s. One day he would be hers. She’d do anything to make that true. “Yes, yes, yes,” she chanted on a breath.
He touched her then, put his finger to her heat, and she felt him everywhere. He pounded her, the taking violent and powerful, turning her inside out. Her fingers and nails scraped at the rock, and even that pain was good, pain and pleasure burning away everything but this moment, this man, hard and relentless inside her, the scent of him filling her head. Then she tumbled into ecstasy as he panted words against her ear. “Mine, mine, mine.”
He pulsed and throbbed deep within her, his legs trembling, his breath harsh against her nape. Then he shouted her name in his release, held her tight and still as he filled her with his essence, their bodies one, their climax simultaneous. “I’m yours, all yours, never hers, only yours. Forever. I’ll never leave you. Ever.”
* * * * *
His words echoed long after their bodies had cooled and their breath had returned to normal. He didn’t know what he’d meant. He only knew that the house did something to him, filled him with anger and resentment, need and desire. The house stood between them, would always stand between them. He’d pounded into her as if to make her see it didn’t have to be that way. There were choices. They could change things. He would leave, take her with him.
All those thoughts had throbbed in his mind, filled him, taken him over.
“Jesus, I’m so sorry,” he muttered against her hair.
They’d ended up on the hard ground, his arms wrapped tightly around her. Her palms were scraped, her belly, her thighs. He’d been so damn rough.
“I loved it,” she said simply, no judgment or anger.
“I didn’t even use a condom.” He hadn’t been thinking. He’d needed, and that was all that mattered.
“I’m on the pill. It’s okay.” She trailed her scraped fingers down his shirt. Her jeans were still half on, half off. Her shoe had rolled back down the path a couple of feet. He was fully dressed, only his zipper undone.
“It’s no excuse. I didn’t even ask. I don’t know what came over me.” But he did. It had been like that first night in her office, where he wanted everything and he wanted it now. As if he’d been waiting forever.
Livie tipped her head back, put a hand to his chin, forcing him to meet her eyes. “I’ve never felt more desired. I’ve never been taken that way by anyone. And it was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever known.” She pressed her lips to his.
Jesus, he hadn’t even kissed her sweetly, simply rutted like a needy animal. He hadn’t known himself in that moment.
“I wanted it,” she said.
“But you didn’t ask for that.”
She pursed her lips like an old woman, the look making him want to laugh despite his tension. “Stop,” she ordered. “I loved it. Don’t ruin it.” Then she pressed flush against him, her lips to his. “It was hot, like the elevator. Like every time. Like last night. And I want it just like that over and over.”
“Right now?” He could have taken her again.
“No. My butt is in the dirt, and I’m missing a shoe. Next time remind me to wear a skirt you can just lift up.”
“And no panties,” he said.
“Now we have to go see that house, or we’re going to be late getting back to your brother’s, and I don’t want them to think I’m the kind of person who doesn’t care about anyone else’s schedule.”
“All right.” He helped her rise, dusted off her pretty ass and leg, winced a final time at the scrapes he’d left on her.
She pulled up her jeans while he grabbed her shoe. Bracing her foot against a rock to tie her laces, she looked back at him. “I can feel you inside me.” Her voice was soft, her gaze almost dreamy. “And I like it.”
He’d come in her, but had nothing to clean it away. Yet what she said did something to him inside, a sudden ache, a need. To see her with child. His child.
She finished straightening her clothes. “Do you remember what you shouted?”
“No.” He’d simply shouted his release to the world.
“My. That’s what you said.”
“No, it was mine.”
“Wrong. You said that before, but when you came, you cried out My.” She paused a long moment. “Maybe that’s short for Myra.”
* * * * *
They made fast work of the rest of the climb. It wasn’t far, but steep enough for Livie to need the rocks as handholds to pull herself up.
She was sure he’d called her name. Not her name. The other one’s name. And the other things he’d said. I’m yours, all yours, never hers, only yours.
They’d felt different together against that rock. Different people, different feelings, yet the needs were just as deep. Her own thoughts had seemed...different. She deserved him. He should have been hers. Those words didn’t belong to her.
“Maybe seeing the house makes us remember things,” she mused. “Not concrete memories, but thoughts and feelings.”
“It’s just a house.” But his voice was gruff.
Why did talk of reincarnation bother him now when last night he’d agreed with her? Perhaps it was easier to take in theory, but the reality was more dangerous. Livie knew she’d felt something when he was inside her. Someone. She was sure he had, too.
She pushed herself up with a last effort an
d scrambled onto the road. Still nothing more than dirt, it was in better shape up here, as if the rain had run straight down it, then the sun had baked it smooth.
The road curved to the front and ended in what must have been a turnaround. Wide stone steps led up to the porch. The supporting columns were made of smaller stones plastered together, as was the porch rail and the walls of the structure. There was probably a technical name for the building method, which Bern would know. But he was simply staring up at the house with...a look. Forbidding. Hard-edged. As if he’d trapped some deep emotion inside.
The stone was intact, but much of the wood was rotting, the porch, the overhang, the window frames. The front door was faded and peeling, the brass accessories crusted with green tarnish. Birds nested in the eves, their droppings in piles beneath their twig nests. The roof was pocked with holes. There was a desolate feel to it all. No one had cared. Not for years. If it wasn’t made of stone, the house would have been a pile of rubble.
“This isn’t a good place,” Bern said, staring up at the empty windows along the second floor. “Don’t you feel it?”
“I just feel sad.”
“It’s evil.” His gaze was bleak, his features taught. “I don’t like it.”
“We don’t have to stay. I just wanted to see it.”
Then he wrenched his attention back to her, as if for a moment, he’d been seeing something far different than what she saw. “We’re here. Let’s look around.”
If there’d been a garden, it had long ago succumbed to scrubby weeds. She didn’t think much would have grown in this place. Following in Bern’s footsteps, they rounded the corner of the house. The structure wasn’t huge, but merely appeared massive because of the thickness of its stone. Straggly bushes edged the wall. They might once have been roses. Livie couldn’t be sure.
Following the wall, they turned once again. The back lawn was overtaken by weeds and covered with dirt that had blown across it. They were on the top of the hill, and the rocky landscape sloped down, eventually giving way to trees, meadows, and even a small lake. The Cascades rose majestically in the distance. In the other direction lay the town of Red Cliff with its grid of streets, trees, grassy parks, homes, and shops.
Twisted By Love, Reincarnation Tales, Book 1 Page 17
