by Annie Seaton
She pulled out of his arms and bumped his shoulder again laughing up at him.
“No, Wesley, you just think you do because I keep you out of trouble.”
“Toss you for the last sandwich.” He bumped her back.
“It’s all yours. I have some chores to run before I go back to work.”
“What poor old soul is in need of your ministrations now?” He wagged his finger at her, while she packed up the lunch papers. “And tell Mrs. MacPherson they were the best sandwiches this week.”
“You tell her yourself when you mow her grass this afternoon. If you followed the Rede, young man, I would not be constantly bailing you out of trouble.” Wesley watched Lizzy stroll back along the path to the road, a deep unease settling in his stomach.
The afternoon passed quickly; the library was busier than usual. The regular customers were in—Old Mr. McGinty picked up his cowboy books, and his wife took an armful of romances home in her voluminous flowered handbag. Two teenagers burst in after school, seeking help with their overdue homework. The one public computer was in constant use. Looking down at the next name on the registration sheet on the front counter, Lizzy tried to ignore the butterflies in her stomach. She smiled when she re-shelved the Kama Sutra. The strange white couple had not returned.
Lizzy’s heart rate picked up when she heard the library door swing open half an hour before closing. She sat quietly with her hands folded loosely on the desk, so she would not knock anything over in her usual clumsy fashion. A well-dressed, clean-shaven Josh Deegan walked over to the counter, cowboy boots clicking on the wooden floor, an open-checked shirt revealing a long tanned throat. He produced a small bunch of miniature yellow roses from behind his back and held them out to her with a sheepish expression on his face.
Lizzy peered at him over the top of her glasses, feeling the unfamiliar warmth start at her toes and work its way up her legs, her heart thudding and hands shaking. She now knew exactly who Joshua Deegan was, even if unimpressed by the type of music he created. She had cared for his aunt Helen before she passed on and had listened to many stories about her favorite nephew, but Lizzy did not intend to pander to his ego even though she was strangely attracted to him.
“He is in Nashville now and lives the life of a rock star,” Aunt Helen had sighed. “He just needs the love of a good woman.” Lizzy smothered a smile. All of her old friends in the valley were romantics, trying to marry her off to a variety of grandsons, nephews and family friends, but mainly to Wesley. Her own family, who were scattered across the world, had been pushing her at Wesley ever since they met him, that first year he moved to the valley. She was quite happy with the way she lived, thank you very much, and did not intend on settling down with anyone. She could not understand this strong attraction to Josh Deegan, country and western singer.
“An apology for my extreme rudeness this morning.” His deep voice sent warmth spreading to her stomach. She reached out, willing her hand to stop shaking. Taking the roses, she buried her face in the perfumed petals. If she had known the day was going to turn out like this she would have worn something half-decent to work.
“You were a bit rude.” She smiled at him. “But your lovely apology is accepted.” Josh brushed a finger lightly over the hand clutching the roses, and a quiver ran through her. It was crazy. All he had done was touch her, and she was trembling like jelly.
She stood carefully to keep the items on her desk from being knocked by a stray elbow, and led him over to the computer on the back wall of the library, waiting until he sat. He looked up at her without speaking. She returned his intense gaze, feeling uncomfortable while he stared at her and she racked her brain for a witty comment.
She finally cleared her throat, asking timidly, “Is there anything I can help you with?” After all, she was the librarian.
“No, thank you, not unless you have supernatural powers.”
Feeling warmth move to her face and neck, she hurriedly reached over him and typed in the pass code.
“Sorry, can’t help there,” she replied nervously. “You have half an hour until close.” She hurried back to her desk, knocking a book from the trolley on the way past. Looking back, she was relieved to see he hadn’t noticed her clumsiness.
What on earth is wrong with me today?
Josh spent the half hour of computer time checking his email, tweeting, and adding an entry to his private Facebook page, so his friends knew where to find him. His cynical message advising them of the lack of cell phone service made him laugh. He couldn’t even use his phone to access the web. While he was Googling a ghost search, he felt a quick tap on his shoulder. Embarrassed to be caught looking up ghosts, he closed the browser.
“Time’s up. I’m about to close, Mr. Deegan.” He looked up to a lopsided smile on her pretty face, framed by that swinging silvery hair.
“Ten more minutes? Can I bribe you with more roses…champagne…dinner?”
“I would love to, but we have to leave. The alarms are set automatically in the county office for fifteen minutes after closing time. It gives me just enough time to lock the door and get out.”
Running his fingers through his hair in frustration, he tried to keep his temper. Lack of sleep had played havoc with his mood over the past couple of days. It wasn’t Lizzy Sweet’s fault he had landed in Hicksville, courtesy of Aunt Helen.
“No problem. Have I got time to borrow a couple of books?”
Nodding, she pointed at the antiquated card catalogue. “The one on the right is the subject catalogue, it will direct you to the book you need.”
Five minutes later, he stood at the counter with an armful of books, and she quickly gave him a temporary borrower number, using his driver’s license for identification. He smiled, noting her interest in the books he dropped on the desk.
“Is there a local newspaper?” he asked while she stamped the books, avoiding looking directly at him. She reached under the counter and handed him a thin paper, folded in half.
“It’s not the New York Times, but it is full of local news. You can have my copy; I’ve finished with it.” He reached for the paper and the books, and she blushed when his fingers brushed hers. She certainly was a timid little thing. She could do with a few days away from this little hick town.
“Thank you, for the paper and the books. I’ll probably be back in a couple of days to use the computer again.” He smiled down at her and her blush deepened.
“If there is anything else you need to find your way around town, just give me a call.” Lizzy wrote her number on the back of his temporary library card and handed it to him.
Josh looked up at her curiously, wondering if she was hitting on him or if it was a genuine offer of help. He leaned towards the latter. He had a legendary reputation with women, but the reaction from Miss Lizzy Sweet was different from the usual adoring attention of his fans.
God, she’d never even heard of him, something he really was not used to. This really was Hicksville; he just hoped the three months went by quickly. Maybe he’d ask her out, might be a nice way to pass the time.
She cleared her throat nervously. “Um…I have to lock up now; we only have a couple of minutes to get out.”
He realized he was still staring, and she looked down, rearranging the pens on her desk. He thanked her again, put her card in his pocket, and headed for his Porsche as the front door of the library locked behind him.
Chapter 3
LIZZY SNIFFED THE AIR and ran lightly down the back steps of the library building to her car. A storm was brewing. She could feel the buildup of ozone in the air. Deep purple clouds swirled across the summer sky, and the sighing of the tree branches soothed her uneasiness. For the first time in her life, and that was a very long time, she was unsettled by a mortal.
A mortal man.
She had been attracted to men over the centuries and had her share of sexual escapades, but never with a mortal. She could not understand where this sudden attraction came from. It was not as
though he was particularly handsome; in fact, he was quite ordinary in the looks department. Despite that, she couldn’t take her eyes off him. It was out of character; it had made her more nervous and clumsier than usual, which unfortunately was fairly often.
Josh was tall, with slumberous brown eyes and a strong jaw. She had noticed the cute little dimple in the center of his chin when he had arrived clean-shaven this afternoon. He had shaggy long hair of a nondescript brown, but then, she had always liked long hair. She closed her eyes. His body was nice, not made for bodybuilding, but one that she would put in the warm and cuddly category.
She was going to have to cast a serious spell tonight to remove this mortal from her thoughts. The storm building in the east provided the perfect background for spell casting. The lightning played around the edges of the purple clouds, and the sky darkened. A clap of thunder rumbled in the distance and Lizzy lifted her face to the elements, smiling to herself when she remembered those warm brown eyes. Closing her eyes, she visualized his arms around her. A warm contentment snuck over her, and she smiled and drifted off into dreams of Josh. Maybe the spell could wait a day or two…
On the way home, she turned her car into Mrs. MacPherson’s driveway, pleased to see the big black motorcycle parked on the curb. As usual, Wesley had left his chores until the end of the day. Lizzy smiled when she heard the roar of the lawn mower as it came around from the back garden in the fading light. Lightly tapping on the door, she sighed appreciatively when the smell of baking bread drifted across her nostrils. The thumping of the old lady’s walking cane on the bare floorboards preceded the rattling of the chain on the door.
“Oh, Lizzy, come away in from the heat.”
“Only a quick visit, Mrs. Mac, I want to get home before the storm breaks. I just came by to return your lunch box. Did Wesley tell you we enjoyed the sandwiches?” Mrs. MacPherson smiled and put her hand on Lizzy’s arm.
“Making your lunch is the least I can do to thank you for the way you care for me, girl.”
Lizzy had spent a great deal of time over the last fifty years looking after the elderly folk of the valley. She weeded gardens, made them herbal potions, and generally kept an eye on their well-being. She had taken over the role from her grandmother, moving into the little cottage when Gran moved to the Florida Keys for the warmer weather.
“My old bones need some warmth, Lizzy,” said Gran.
Lizzy burst out laughing when her svelte blonde grandmother talked about her old bones. Although the curse of the old crone had meant a solitary life, she was happy and content keeping in regular touch with her family. Or had been content, until Joshua Deegan pushed his way through the library door this morning. Mrs. MacPherson interrupted her musings.
“Take this bread home and give some to Wesley, too. Leave it on the porch for him, dear. I enjoy watching him in the garden, especially with his shirt off.” The little old lady giggled like a young girl. “He is built.”
“Mrs. Mac, you are naughty,” laughed Lizzy. “I’ll give him the bread on my way out.”
“I don’t know why you don’t settle down with that boy. He really loves you, you know.” Mrs. MacPherson sounded sad.
“No, he doesn’t. He is in love with himself.” Lizzy reached over and gave the frail little woman a hug. “Now, come on up and I’ll help you get settled for the night.”
Mrs. MacPherson leaned on her while they climbed the stairs to the bedroom. Lizzy made sure that all of her medicines and the telephone were in easy reach. She was ninety years old and nearing the end of her time.
“Lizzy, I put a parcel on the table downstairs for you. I thought you might be interested.” The old lady looked at her from under lowered lids. “One of my grandchildren sent me some of Helen’s grandson’s music. He is going to move to her farm.”
“Oh…he’s already arrived,” said Lizzy slowly. “There was a cowboy in the library today borrowing some books on ghosts.”
Mrs. MacPherson laughed until she wheezed, tears streaming down her face. Lizzy searched through the pills on the night table until she found the inhaler.
“Oh, what fun, Helen always said she wasn’t going to move on until she had her nephew settled. Apparently, he is some hotshot in the music business, and she left him the farmhouse so he would come down here and smell the roses.”
Lizzy was thoughtful when she let herself out of the old lady’s house, warm bread in one hand and The Best of Josh Deegan in the other. He had already started with the roses; it would be interesting to hear what he had to sing about and how he handled the supernatural goings-on in their valley. She would have to speak to Aunt Helen.
Leaving a cob of warm bread in a snowy cloth on the front porch table, she put her bread and the CD in her car before strolling around the back of the cottage to see Wesley. He had finished mowing the grass, and he stood in the darkening light, occasionally silhouetted by flashes of lightning.
Lizzy caught her breath at the sheer beauty of him. He watered the herb garden, clad in a pair of cut-off denim jeans and nothing else. Her gaze lingered on his broad golden shoulders, glistening with perspiration. The bluish lights in his long black hair reflected the lightning, and his white teeth flashed when he turned to greet her. A sneaky grin crossed his face, and she backed away as he turned the hose toward her.
“Don’t even think about it, Wesley.”
“Lizzy, dear, you look so hot.” She squealed and ran when the cool water from the hose arced in the soft light, dousing her head. She stood dripping wet, her hair plastered to her face, and she shook her fist at him. “You are an immature child, Wesley Gordon.”
Turning the hose off at the tap, he strolled over and threaded her wet hair through his fingers, squeezing the water from it. She shivered as it ran down her neck. Wesley moved in closer, and his hands moved from her hair down to her shoulders. The smile that started to curve her lips died away. In a defensive gesture, she raised her hands against his chest, firmly pushing him away.
“I came here to help Mrs. MacPherson, not to play childish games with you, Wesley.” He dipped his head, kissing her lightly on the lips. Scowling at him, she ran back to the car, shaking the water from her hair.
“There’s some bread on the porch for you,” she called back to him and waved goodbye to Mrs. MacPherson, who was standing at her window upstairs, smiling down affectionately at them.
Chapter 4
JOSH CROUCHED IN FRONT of the old stove and set a flame to the kindling he had chipped in the barn. Fat raindrops had sent him scurrying inside for cover, his arms protecting the firewood he had gathered from the old woodshed.
He grinned ruefully and settled into the old rocking chair, trying to catch the slight breeze blowing in the front door. It was a long way from the air-conditioning in his Nashville apartment.
Earlier he’d rifled the pantry for a meal and gotten the fire going, and now a can of chicken soup warmed on the stove. The heat of the fire under the stove added to the hot summer evening. He sighed. Not even a microwave oven in the kitchen. This house was making him crazy. His mysterious night visitor was trying to frighten him out of the farmhouse. He couldn’t talk to anyone, his iPad had no connection, his cell phone had no service, and he was missing thousands of tweets and Facebook updates. How the hell was he going to stay on top of his business?
The trip from Nashville had taken two days. When he arrived close to midnight on Friday night, he had crawled into his old bed without even unpacking the Porsche. He had dropped into an exhausted sleep that first night, waking when an almighty crash reverberated through the house. Glancing at the illuminated dial of his Rolex, he sighed when he saw it was only two o’clock. Another loud crash came from downstairs, and he swung his legs from the bed and listened intently. Regular clangs and crashes echoed up the stairway. It sounded like an animal had gotten into the kitchen.
Wearing only his boxers, he was creeping down the old wooden, staircase on silent, bare feet when a squeaky step screeched in the darkn
ess, frightening the life out of him. It also put an end to the clanging in the kitchen.
Holding his breath, he crept around the corner and hit the light switch. The kitchen was empty. Pots and pans were all over the kitchen counters, and the old combustion stove was alight. Josh shook his head in confusion and crossed to the back door, rattling the lock. It was secure.
He moved silently to the living room, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up. He stood in the doorway of the dark room listening for any movement. Nothing.
Checking the rest of the house, he saw no one or any sign of a break in. Whoever had broken in was long gone, and they had locked the door behind them. He returned to bed, grumpy and unsettled, but he fell asleep immediately, sleeping uninterrupted until bright sunlight slanted across his eyes.
The smell of baking bread and coffee teased his nostrils, and his stomach rumbled in anticipation as he slowly woke.
His eyes flew open, and he sat bolt upright in bed. He was alone in the house, and there were no neighbors for miles. Sniffing the air, he could almost taste the coffee. Pulling on his jeans, he walked quietly downstairs, determined to surprise the kitchen visitor.
He crept across to the kitchen door and slowly pushed it open. The room was empty and silent, the aromas gone, no sign of coffee or food. The pots and pans were all neatly stacked in the cupboard, and the stove was cold. He must have been more tired last night than he thought. What a strange dream.
The following night, just after midnight, another almighty crash woke Josh. Again, he crept around the house in the dark, but there was no sign of an intruder, either human or animal. In the hours before dawn, he inhaled aromas of minestrone, fresh bread, his favorite citrus tart, and pot roast.
On Sunday night, decidedly cranky from lack of sleep, lack of connectivity, and the lack of progress on the songwriting front, Josh crept outside the kitchen door. He sat in the dark on the back porch, a large piece of firewood by his side while he waited for his mysterious visitor to appear. No one was going to chase him away from his inheritance.
