Games of Zeus 02- Silent Echoes

by Aimee Laine

  • • •

  Taylor poured herself into the kiss, the warmth, the radiance, the beauty of it. While the water dribbled all over her, she ran her hands up Ian’s chest and around his neck.

  Opening her eyes, she found the face of the man she loved.

  “We shouldn’t be here,” he said.

  “I know, but I missed you.” She ran her hands down and to the belt around his waist, one fashioned of braided wheat stalks from the farm where he worked.

  “Your mama ever finds out about this, she’ll skin me,” he said.

  She smiled up at him, the rain drenching every inch of them, even underneath the oak’s broad arms. “Mama need never know.”

  His lips took hers again as she pulled him toward the tree’s trunk, leaned against it and tugged until his body fit hers. He’d always been so welcoming, yet shy.

  “You’re the man I love. Why must there be these here rules?” Fingertips to face, cheeks, forehead, eyelids and nose. She loved to touch him, to run her hands over his skin, against the hard planes of a working man’s muscles, and lower when time allowed.

  “Them townsfolk say you’ve taken up with the belt man.”

  She pulled back, shock and dismay coursing through her. “And you believe them?”

  He shook his head. “Never.” His hands gripped her waist, tugging her closer, tighter against the growth in his breeches.

  Above them the tree’s branches rustled, water falling through and upon them.

  “Someday, someday we won’t need to hide,” she said. “Nor make love only in the dark or in the rain.”

  His lips curved. “I’d like that, milady. One day, I would like to make love to you under the auspices of the night sky without the fear of death.”

  “I will make it so, John. I will make it so.”

  • • •

  On a rush of air, Ian pulled away from Taylor. He stared at her, the sad eyes, the tormented soul, the weariness. The rain slowed, trickling to just a mist as the only streetlight blinked on. Drips hit him between the eyes and snaked down his nose, but the tremble didn’t come from the cold or the tickle.

  It arose from the memory. The vision. The thoughts that had passed through his mind while they kissed.

  Not real. Just weirdness from being outside.

  “Ian?” Taylor asked.

  “Yeah?” His voice escaped breathy and unsure.

  “Did you … I mean …” She exhaled against him. “Never mind.” Taylor leaned up, laid a touch to the side of his lips. At her shiver, he wrapped his arms around her, drawing her tighter against him, and rubbed up and down her back. “I think I’m going crazy. I have to be.”

  He feared his question, but it had to be asked. “Why?”

  Taylor angled up to him. “Because … because I’d have sworn I had an out of body experience just now.”

  “Like … aliens from space came and snatched you?”

  She giggled but bobbled her head side to side against him. Into his shirt, she said, “I called you John.”

  “You did, yeah.”

  Taylor jumped back, out of Ian’s arms. “You heard that?”

  As loud and clear as the coyote that doesn’t exist, yup. “Do you want me to have heard it?”

  Her lips quirked up. “Can I … can I try something?”

  “Sure.”

  Taylor moved toward him again, slid her hands up his chest and around his neck. She tugged him toward her and merged her lips with his.

  Ian accepted the kiss without hesitation, tilting his head left as she went right and reversing their positions a moment or two later.

  Taylor slowed their progress, pulling back and meeting his gaze. “Nothing happened,” she said.

  “What did you expect?”

  Her head shook. “I don’t know. Something. Something … weird. But you felt it, right?”

  “I’m not sure what I felt, but you did call me John, and if you want to kiss me in the rain again, I’m happy to oblige.” Always. Forever.

  “We better go.” Taylor slipped her hand to Ians, and together they walked back to the car.

  Standing at the driver’s side door, Ian gazed out at the yard, and in his mind’s eye, a large oak loomed in just the spot where Taylor had stood.

  When he blinked, it disappeared.

  14

  Ian woke calm, nude and alone. He’d slept the sleep of the dead, waking at no time during the night. Rested and with as clear a head as he could believe possible, he slipped to the side of the guest bed, grabbed the robe Lexi always left draped over the chair and tied it on tight enough so Emma couldn’t yank it off and attempt to embarrass him.

  Muffled sounds of chatter reached him from below. A check of the clock showed it to be close to nine, yet no one had bothered to wake him. The stair creaked beneath his foot, and the sounds in the kitchen stopped, but the scent of sweetness spiraled toward him.

  Bypassing the empty living room, Ian ended up in the kitchen, where Lexi and Tripp sat on one side of the table with Emma across from them.

  “Where’s Taylor?”

  “Who?” Emma sipped from a mug.

  “Want some breakfast, Ian?” Lexi pushed to stand, but Tripp pressed her back down and rose.

  “Uh … Taylor?”

  “Again, who?” Emma tipped the cup up.

  Ian pulled out a chair and plopped into it. “What the hell are you up to, Emma? Taylor. I brought her here last night.”

  “Maybe you were dreaming?” Not a hint of smile broke through.

  “Huh?” Dammit, is that what’s happening to me? Am I dreaming these out of body experiences?

  “Dude, do you see Taylor here?” Emma asked.

  Ian twisted left and right. “No.” What the hell is going on with me?

  “Exactly.”

  He dropped his head into his hands. Had it all really been a dream?

  Lexi chuckled.

  Tripp’s slap to the back of the head had Ian popping upright. “Emma’s been ready to play that little charade since Taylor woke and told her about your midnight kiss in the rain. She’s in the shower, by the way.”

  Ian raised an eyebrow. “You’re one conniving little—”

  “Sister.” Lexi’s interjection couldn’t stop his thoughts or the smile.

  “Payback’s a bitch, Emma. Be prepared.” He inclined his head toward her. “How are you, Lex?” Ian twirled a finger in her direction. “I mean … you know.”

  “Well, the docs claimed there was nothing they could do so early in the game, and everything on the inside looked good, and I haven’t had any problems since, so … I think we’re good.” The bags under her eyes said her worries hadn’t disappeared. She leaned into Tripp’s body when his arm draped across the back of her shoulders.

  Ian grabbed a banana from the bowl in the center. “What did Taylor say this morning?”

  “She said you snore.” Emma grabbed a lemon poppy seed muffin from the tray.

  “I do not.”

  “Yes, you do.” Taylor’s voice came from behind. “Sorry I didn’t wake you, but you were sound asleep. I figured you could use it.” The kneading of his shoulder muscles sent relaxing warmth through him. “And thank you, as well, for staying with me.”

  She’d asked him to sleep with her, and sleep they did. “Welcome.” He lifted his mug and put it down, tilting his head in her direction but staring at Emma. “You are still on my shit list.” He aimed a finger-pointed gun her direction.

  “Ah, best watch what you say to me. I’m the one that has your plane booked to take you up to DC today to talk with Sherrill.”

  “Why?” Ian said as Taylor said, “Who?”

  Emma tapped her chest. “Sherrill is the woman who has the photo Lexi told you about. She’s going to give you a private viewing. Got a whole box of them, in fact. You get to go through them one by one and see if you can find the actual one Lexi described. Maybe we can match it up with an ancestor.”

  “Don’t I have to stay here
?” Taylor asked. “What with the bond and all that?”

  “Probably.” Tripp’s smirk took hold of his lips. “But, what they don’t know won’t hurt them. And, with you two gone and out of our hair, Lexi can rest and relax, Emma can do whatever she does, and you’ll be out working on finding the answer to who those bones were.”

  Mental note, get the original topology for Taylor’s house. Find out if there was an oak.

  “And …” Emma said, “the plane is set to come back tomorrow night, so when the police have all their little duckies in a row, you’ll be fine and dandy to go home, Taylor.” Emma uncapped a clear tube and, from it, pulled out a stick-like Q-tip, though much longer. “This is a DNA test kit. We need a sample for Michael. So, if you would just—”

  “How do you know how to do one of those?” Ian’s surprise came through in his tone.

  She stuck her tongue out at him. “I read the directions.” She waved the Q-tip in the air. “Open up. This will go off by courier, and if we’re lucky, we’ll have it back before the end of the week.”

  Taylor drew closer to Emma. “Anything to clear my name and be done with the crap.”

  Emma closed in. “That would be nice, wouldn’t it?”

  • • •

  “A private airplane?” Taylor took her seat, belted in and tried to calm the butterflies that had taken wing as soon as she stepped from the car.

  “Yup.” Ian took the spot next to her, leaving the entire rest of the ten-seat space empty.

  “How long have you had it?” The engines rumbled as they pushed backward.

  Ian’s belt clipped. “About five years, though we share it with a few people.”

  “It’s gorgeous.” The cream interior, married with a tan and light blue, soothed even as her stomach tightened. Along with the scent, she believed, for a moment, that she sat amidst a giant gingerbread cookie.

  “You nervous?” he asked.

  She stared hard out the window. The lineman waved them forward with his orange sticks. “A little. It’s smaller than everything else I’ve been in.”

  “It’s not a 747, but it does the trick.” His hand slid under hers. “Our Captain is a thirty-year veteran of the fine establishment that is corporate money-sucking airlines.”

  Taylor linked her fingers with Ian’s and held tight as the plane barreled down the runway and lifted from the earth.

  “And his First Officer is his son, whom he has trained very well.”

  The thrust of the engines kept her glued to her seat. “Do they ever come back here?”

  “Not unless we need them.” He pointed to a handset. “We can call them or knock on the door, but otherwise, they work. We … do whatever.”

  Once in the air, her body relaxed as if one with the empty space that contained them. She leaned her head on Ian’s shoulder. “I hear New York in your voice, but not strong, even though you said born and bred once.”

  “Born and bred is right. My parents are still there as is my brother.” Ian’s lips touched Taylor’s forehead. “But, they come from the south. Grandma and Grandpa Sands were both southerners. My mom’s parents, too.”

  Taylor closed her eyes, keeping herself attached to him. Just the way he talked about his parents and family told her he loved them. “Why’d they move north?”

  “Jobs. My dad’s a doctor, and he did his residency in Rochester. Ended up in White Plains, and they just stuck.”

  “And your brother’s going to be a doctor, too?” Keeping her eyes closed, Taylor waited to hear his voice again, to listen to it, the soft lilt that came through when he lost the sarcasm. The strength in the depth of his tone.

  “Supposedly, yes. He’s smart, but he’s also a smartass. One of his professors didn’t think he was, and I quote, ‘physician material’ because of his attitude. Michael’s out to prove them wrong, but still be himself.” Ian’s voice wrapped Taylor in warmth. “Someday, I’ll own a farmhouse of my own.”

  She jolted upright, knocking Ian in the chin with her head. As he groaned, she said, “Sorry! Oh—oh, my God. Are you hurt?”

  Ian shook his head, covering his mouth and rubbing his chin. “No. Just caught me hard. What happened? Did I bore you with my family history until you fell asleep and had one of those hypnagogic jerks?”

  “I—” She’d heard him, in the same tone, same voice, clear as could be, telling her about his family only to switch to a more southern drawl and exclaim over a farmhouse—she knew she had.

  Ian held Taylor with both hands. “What’s going on? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  “I—” She didn’t know what to say. Taylor lowered her gaze, dropped her forehead to Ian’s shoulder. “I’m going crazy, that’s all.”

  “Tell me.”

  “I’m sure it’s just stress.”

  He kneaded the muscles around her shoulders. “Sometimes, keeping the crazy in is worse than letting it out.”

  Taylor let free a small laugh. “That’s one way of doing it. Another would be to forget it all happened.”

  “What happened?” He cocked his head to the side. “Wait—” His head angled to the other side. “Something like the other night?”

  Taylor gave him a quick nod.

  Ian fell back against the seat. “Tell me.”

  She drew in a deep breath. “I was listening to you and all of a sudden you said something completely off the wall.”

  “What was it?”

  “Someday, I’ll own a farmhouse of my own.”

  Ian snorted. “Well, that I did not say. Who’d want a farmhouse unless they’re a farmer? I’m more a New York condo with all the amenities.”

  As much as Taylor wanted to smile, the fact voices and scenes had begun to play out in her mind without her control really began to worry her. The fact Ian wouldn’t want a place she’d love to have added to the problems.

  “Right. Yeah. Sure,” she said and snuggled back into the crook of his arm.

  The plane began its descent as the two fell into silence, and upon wheels touching ground, their pilot opened up the cockpit door. “Welcome to Washington.”

  • • •

  A car ride later, Taylor and Ian arrived at Sherrill’s house. Together, they traipsed up the limestone path dotted with spring flowers of pink, red and white. A bumble bee buzzed in the center of a lavender sprig.

  The front door opened before they reached it, and a woman in her mid-sixties, with flowing, auburn hair, dressed in a pantsuit of raspberry silk, stood in the entry. “Welcome!” Her face lit up as she held her hands wide. “Ian, Taylor. So good to meet a few more of the faces I’ve been hearing about.”

  Taylor took the three steps first.

  Sherrill clasped her hands around Taylor’s. “Emma’s told me a little about you, but she didn’t mention just how beautiful you are.”

  “Ah … thanks.” The flush of her cheeks would show, Taylor knew.

  Sherrill tugged with Taylor’s hand still between hers. “Come, Ian. Come. Come. Come.”

  Taylor turned her head toward him and tilted her head. A chuckle broke with Ian’s smile. They walked through a two-story foyer and into a great room with camel-colored, suede couches and a giant TV paused on a talk show guest’s face in full relief.

  Sherrill took a spot on the couch, pulling Taylor next to her. Ian lowered to a seat opposite. Between them, a cardboard banker’s box sat with its top open. Photos scattered across the coffee table. Some in color. Others in black and white.

  “How was your trip up?” Sherrill held a pack of photos still in a plastic sheathing in her hands.

  “Uneventful,” Ian said.

  “Good, good.” She patted Taylor’s arm. “Emma said you wanted to see my grandparent’s old photos, right?”

  Ian shifted to the edge of the chair, leaned his elbows on his knees and clasped his hands together. “Lexi thinks she saw a photo of Taylor and me when she did her mumbo jumbo mind-finding thing.”

  Taylor didn’t understand how Lexi could kno
w or see a photograph someone else owned, but figured she must have seen it before, though, even in her mind, that didn’t sit well.

  “It was a black and white. Would have been about a hundred years old, maybe more,” Ian said.

  Sherrill reached for the box and pulled a six-inch album from within it. “I’ve been looking through all these today. They’re all the ones that held the photos from the walls. I set aside this box because I thought you might be interested in it most.” She laid one book on her lap. A flip of the front cover showed perfectly placed, fully archived photos on the inside. “Where did Lexi see it in their house again?”

  “On the wall by the fireplace,” Ian said.

  Sherrill’s head bobbed up and down as she rifled through the pages. “Then, this is the right batch. All those went into a box my mom had when they died. I had them professionally preserved last year.” She turned a page over, revealing more photos. “Some were yellowing from the chemicals in the framing materials.” Another flip of the page. “Others were crackling from the temperature change over so many years. Some are in perfect condition.” A deep breath escaped from Sherrill. “Here.” Her finger tapped against an image. She nudged the album closer to Taylor.

  The two staring back could be none other than herself and Ian, though the image didn’t make sense. He wore overalls—which by the looks of him, he’d never touch, and she donned a bonnet and long dress that covered every bit of her body. Again, an outfit she’d never use in her line of work. They stood three or more feet apart with an old wagon behind them. His subtle look to her and her shy smile away said it all, yet if anyone asked, they might mistake her smile for the small child in the foreground.

  “Would you say that looks like you?” Sherrill asked.

  Taylor nodded, toying with the ring on her right hand. “Yup. Totally us. I don’t know what to say about this. I mean, I guess these are some sort of ancestor to me then, right?”

  Sherrill smiled. “Perhaps.”

  “Why do you have these?” Taylor asked.

  Ian leaned over Taylor’s shoulder. “Sherrill is the granddaughter of George and Marge Fergs—the people Lexi and Tripp bought the farmhouse from.”

  That meant little to nothing except that Taylor had remodeled their house.