Not that he needed anything to get him up. His discovery of the window to the past would be enough to urge him on for days to come. And even if he didn't find another example of ghostly happenings, he'd have enough to make a ghost story out of Venable House Inn.
But something told him he'd find much, much more.
He pulled back the shower curtain and stepped out of the old-fashioned bathtub, feeling more alert than he'd already been. Today was going to be his lucky day, and he whistled a cheery, if off-key, tune as he toweled himself dry then wrapped the towel around his waist. He amused himself making faces in the cloudy mirror while he shaved.
If it weren't for the attractive proprietress of the place, he'd be tempted to skip the shave and start the beard he'd always wanted. But something told him that Corrie Wallace liked clean-shaven men. Who knew? He might get lucky with her too.
He stepped into his jeans and gathered up his shaving kit, then padded, barefoot, back to his room. The rich aroma of coffee teased his nose and he drew in a deep breath of the reviving scent. If there was coffee, it must mean his hostesses were ready for him. He hurried into his room to dress.
There wasn't much to do but slip into a worn pair of boat shoes, pull on a T-shirt, and fasten his jeans. He supposed he could dry his hair, but somehow it had seemed wrong to plug in and operate that electric convenience in the old-fashioned room.
He combed his wet hair away from his face, noting that it still dripped, and tucked it behind his ears. He shrugged. It was almost summer in south Alabama; it would dry soon enough on its own.
Pocketing his room key, he pulled open the door and bounded through the gallery and down the stairs.
No one was in the dining room. Ben stopped short. He had smelled brewing coffee, hadn't he? Or was it another ghostly manifestation? Then he saw the note taped to the door.
Since it's just the three of us, you can join us in the kitchen.
Ben pulled off the note and crumpled it in his hand and accepted the invitation. He pushed open the door.
Corrie sat hunched over the butcher block table dressed in work clothes similar to those she'd worn the previous day, and nursing a cup of coffee like a drunk after a three-day bender. Vanessa Brooks bustled efficiently around the kitchen, watching a skillet full of sausage while turning pancakes on the griddle. Ben would have been happy with a doughnut and a cup of coffee, but Vanessa had gone to a lot of trouble, and his mouth watered in spite of himself. "Good morning."
Corrie managed a grimace, but Vanessa offered him a cheery smile. "Pancakes'll be ready in about two minutes. Coffee's in the pot there." She inclined her head toward a coffee maker and a collection of mugs.
Ben helped himself, doctoring the dark brew with copious amounts of sugar and milk. He'd never liked the flavor of coffee as much as he liked the smell. But he'd come to appreciate the reviving qualities of the drink in college, so he did what he could to make it palatable. He carried his mug over to the butcher table where Corrie huddled over her coffee.
"'Scuse me, ma'am. Is this seat taken?" He caught the leg of a stool with his foot and dragged it out.
Corrie made an unintelligible sound, which Ben took for a go ahead, and seated himself.
"I take it you're not a morning person, then," he commented cheerily, not expecting an answer.
"Humph," Corrie said and raised her mug to her mouth and drank.
Vanessa set a plate of blueberry pancakes and sausage in front of him. "You can say that again. That child don't come alive until noon."
Corrie gave Vanessa an evil look then turned her attention back to her coffee. But as soon as Vanessa had bustled back to the stove, Corrie cast Ben a sideways glance. "Meet me in the front garden as soon as you're done," she murmured under her breath. She pushed herself off the stool. "We have to talk."
****
Straw gardening hat and gloves tucked under her arm, Corrie stepped outside. The warm, morning air did as much to revive her as the coffee had, and she paused a moment to bask in the magnolia-scented sunshine. If it didn't come so stinking early, she could almost like this time of day.
She really hadn't anything to do in the flower beds this morning, but this was the one place where she could be sure that Vanessa wouldn't blunder in while she was talking to Ben. What she had to say was for his ears alone, and Corrie didn't want Vanessa anywhere near.
Taking her gloves out of her hat, Corrie gazed out over the lawn then put them on, and positioned the hat on her head. She looked down and spotted a weed and pulled it. Then she saw another, and another, and another. Soon she was on her knees working at the weeds with vengeance. She might not have planned to do yard work today, but there was plenty to keep her busy while she waited for Ben.
Pulling weeds was one of those mindless, mechanical things she could do this early in the morning without having to use the brain that still hadn't come awake. No thinking required.
Surprisingly, her mind was functioning. Though she pulled the weeds, her hands on automatic, she replayed the scene — both scenes — that had been so disturbing the night before. It was a good thing she had weeds to pull, because she sure wouldn't be able to concentrate on programming languages today.
Before she knew it, she'd traversed the length of the west side of the garden, leaving a trail of damp holes in the sandy soil where she'd yanked out the offending weeds and little piles of limp foliage already drying in the early sun.
Corrie dusted the sand off her gloves and surveyed her handiwork. Satisfied that not a weed remained on that side, she pushed herself to her feet, dusted the dirt off her hands and turned.
"You wanted to see me?"
She almost collided with the solid and very broad chest of Benjamin Chastain. Her breath caught in her throat. "You startled me," she managed after a moment. "I didn't hear you come up."
"Sorry, you seemed pretty engrossed in your weed eradication program," he drawled slowly.
Corrie shrugged. "Somebody has to do it." She looked out at the large lawn, still striped with retreating shadows and noticed that the grass had grown shaggy. She made a note to herself to call Mr. Jessup to come over and mow.
Ben cleared his throat, and Corrie dragged her gaze away from the lawn and up into Ben's dark blue eyes.
"Have you changed your mind?" A note of uncertainty darkened his tone.
Corrie found herself contemplating the husky timbre of his voice while her eyes shifted to the blond hair drying in the gentle, morning breeze. A wisp had disengaged itself from the rest and played peek-a-boo with one eye. She started to reach up and put it back in order, but caught herself.
She had almost forgotten what she'd intended to talk to him about. Nibbling her lip, she wondered how she could tactfully bring it up.
"Is it about last night?"
Well, that would keep her from having to hem and haw her way into it. "No. Yes. I don't know," she murmured wearily. She shook her head with a frustrated sigh. "I think we need to set down some ground rules."
****
"What are they saying, Ham?" Cory stood at the window and strained to see what was going on in the garden below, frustrated that she was unable to move past the boundaries of the house.
"I don't know. They're too far away to hear and they keep facing away, so I can't even try to read their lips."
"What if she's sending him away?" Cory's thoughts teetered toward panic.
"Why would she? She seemed to like him well enough last night."
"Until we got them to kiss each other. Did she really like it?" Cory arched a brow. "I think she was feeling for us — me — that time, not herself. What if she's upset about Dr. Chastain forcing his attentions on her? We could have done her a terrible disservice."
Ham sighed. "I suppose you're right. Maybe, we should be more circumspect with them from now on."
Cory looked out the window, watching the others as they strolled further from her vantage point. She sighed. "But it was so wonderful to feel your body against mine ag
ain…" Though it was impossible for her to feel heat in her present state, she fanned her face with her hand. "I couldn't bear it if he left too soon."
"Then, perhaps, it's time for us to think of ways to make him stay." Ham considered for a moment. "If he's looking for proof that we are still here, then we'll just have to give it to him.
****
"Rules about what?" Ben asked, more irritated than concerned. After what had happened the prior night, he'd expected a friendlier reception. And hadn't she already set the guidelines for his exploration of the house?
"About what happened last night." Corrie looked away, but Ben could still see the color rising to her cheeks.
The telltale stain told him more than she did. "I take it you're not referring to what I saw, then," he concluded. "Look, I don't know what got into me last night in the kitchen, but as I recall you asked me to kiss you." Granted, she hadn't asked for the passion, but it had happened. And she had definitely responded.
Corrie opened her mouth as if to speak, then closed it again. "I know," she murmured. "But, I don't know why," she whispered hoarsely.
This is rich, Ben fumed. "I suppose now you're going to tell me you're not that kind of girl. It sure felt like it to me."
"I'm not," she whispered. "At least, I never was before. Nobody could have been more surprised than I was to hear myself asking you to kiss me. It was almost as if someone else was speaking for me."
Ben started to fire an angry retort back at her, accuse her of being a tease, but he saw the anguish written on her face and stopped. He hadn't exactly been acting like himself, either.
Sure, it had been a long time since he'd been with a woman, but he wasn't so desperate that he'd come on to her as if he were a horny teenager. Yet, he remembered the desperation with which he had wanted to kiss her last night. Had he wanted her so badly that he had misread her signals?
"I get it, Corrie. I do. I wasn't exactly myself either." He reached toward her and turned her face to him with the touch of one finger. He saw the misery in her expression and hated that he had been to one to cause it. "I didn't mean to scare you."
Corrie sucked in a deep breath, held it then exhaled. Her face was pinched and drawn. "You didn't scare me, Ben. I scared me. I've never, ever reacted that way to a man before, and it terrifies me." She looked away.
Ben felt a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, and he wasn't sure whether to be flattered or offended by Corrie's remark. "Do you want me to leave?"
Her head snapped back around so fast she could have gotten whiplash. "No," she answered sharply. "I don't want to keep you from your research. Ham and Cory's story should be told."
Ben saw it all too clearly then. Now he knew he was insulted. "Of course. You want the publicity for the inn."
"No. I never even thought of that."
"Don't try to kid me, Corrie. I've been around the block a few times. You were afraid I wouldn't find anything so you figured you'd give me some reason to stay." He laughed ruefully. "Only you didn't count on me getting a panoramic view of 1903 last night." He turned back toward the house. "What were you going to do, Cory? Seduce me? Blackmail me into giving you the publicity? I wouldn't have done it." He snorted with disgust. "It's a good thing for everybody that you backed out at the last minute."
Corrie clutched at his arm, and Ben shook her off before he could get to like the humming warmth of her touch. "No, Ben. It never crossed my mind."
"Give me a break, Ms. Wallace. I see through your Little Miss Innocent act. I'll stay and write the story, but it's because of Ham and Cory. Not you." And his woefully meager bank account; although, he couldn't admit that out loud. Ben reached the steps and climbed them two at a time. "And I'll make sure that I'm never in a position to compromise you again."
****
Corrie exhaled an exasperated breath as Ben closed the front door behind him. If she'd had something to kick, she would have kicked it. Instead, she snatched up one of the little piles of weeds and hurled it across the lawn then watched as the breeze caught and scattered green debris all over the green carpet. She groaned as they settled into the dewy grass. Now she'd have to pick them all up.
She'd worked long and hard to get the Centipede grass to look as well-tended as a golf course green. She wasn't about to let one fit of temper end months of hard work. Still muttering angrily to herself, she set out to gather the results of her temper.
It only took a few minutes to gather up the scattered weeds. But it was long enough to permit her to cool off and to get her thoughts back on their organized track. She'd have to find a way to make amends to Ben Chastain, though she wasn't certain how. She glanced at the long stretch of flower bed that adorned the east side of the house.
By the time she'd worked her way down through the lilies and sweet William, she'd surely have a plan.
Fat chance, an ornery side of her brain warned her. And the rational side was inclined to agree. Corrie sighed and set to work.
The trouble with trying to think of a plan to deal with Ben Chastain was… Ben Chastain. Instead of focusing on the plan, she focused on the man. All she could think about were those incredibly broad shoulders and the way his fair hair teased his indigo eyes. And his lips… the way they had crushed hers, forcefully, yet tenderly setting her on fire the way…
Darrell never had.
How could she get Ben to believe her that she'd never done anything like that before? Hadn't even known that such feelings were possible? She remembered the hard look on Ben's face when he had stalked angrily away.
But then, she also remembered the uncertainty she'd heard in his voice when he'd asked if she wanted him to leave. She hoped — she knew — that Ben's feelings for her were as strong as hers. She sensed — no, believed — that he had felt the same connection between them.
Surely, they would be able to straighten this stupid mess out.
They had to.
****
It was all that Ben could do to keep from slamming the door behind him. He would have felt better if he'd done it, though he would have accomplished little more than venting his frustration.
If only his other frustrations were so easy to relieve. Closing his eyes, he sank wearily onto his unmade bed. How could a day that had started so promisingly go so sour so fast? He glanced at his watch. It was only 8:30.
As much as he wanted to focus on Corrie, it was Cory and Ham he had come to research. He reached for the yellow pad he'd left on the bedside table and started to review his notes. Not that he'd ever forget one detail of what he'd seen when he opened the front door and glimpsed a view of the past.
He'd even seen Corrie wearing lace and ruffles as the other Cory had in the small wedding portrait in the lobby. Or had he really seen Cory Venable and not Corrie Wallace at all?
He started to make a note of the question, but stopped before he'd written a complete sentence. He put the pencil down. What if it really had been Cory Venable he'd seen? Maybe Corrie Wallace had only ventured into the room after he'd called to her.
He got up and paced. Ben got some of his best thinking done when he was on his feet. His students called him the prowling professor because of the way he walked and moved when he lectured. He crossed the room then came back, stumbling over the rag rug that relieved the stark bareness of the wooden parquet floor. He stopped.
"I wonder…." He hadn't meant to voice the conjecture out loud, but now that he'd broken the silence in the room, he went on. "I wonder if I were to handle something that Cory or Ham had used when they were alive, would I be able to pick up any vibes from them?"
He reached for the brass knobs on the chifforobe, closing his fingers over the cool, worn metal. Nothing.
But then, he didn't know whether that piece of furniture had been there since Cory and Ham's time or whether it was a more recent addition to the household. He ran his hand along the front panel of the door, feeling the grain of the wood, worn almost smooth by years of use by human hands.
Still
nothing.
He moved to the chiffonnier and ran his hands over the polished exterior. He touched each of the drawer pulls then opened each drawer, feeling the unfinished surface inside.
If either of them had handled these pieces, nothing remained to tell him so. Or — he clung to desperate hope — these had not been here when Cory and Ham were.
Surely, Corrie or Vanessa would know.
Ben closed the drawers and hurried out and down the stairs.
He found Vanessa humming a tune and running a carpet sweeper over the rug in the dining room. She looked up as he entered and smiled. "If you're not going to be in your room, may I go up and straighten?"
Not expecting the question, Ben stared at her blankly for a moment. He blinked, and answered. "Oh sure." He started to go outside to look for Corrie, but remembering the way they had parted earlier, he thought better of it. "Oh. Before you go up, can I ask you something?"
Vanessa raised an eyebrow and looked at him suspiciously.
Ben wondered what she was thinking, and figured he'd better clarify himself quickly. "About the inn," he added.
"Corrie's the one you should ask, it being her house and all, but I'll try to help. Fire away." She continued to push the sweeper back and forth while she listened.
Suddenly, Ben felt foolish under the scrutiny of this obviously capable, no-nonsense woman. "This is going to sound odd to you, I'm sure," he explained. It would probably sound weird to him if he heard it from anybody else. He cleared his throat. "I sometimes pick up vibes from articles that belonged to or were handled by…." What was the word he should use?
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