"Almost ready!" she added brightly as she sliced carefully through the second tomato. Surely, her heart shouldn't flutter this much from one silly kitchen mistake. Then it could be some other reason. Maybe it was silly, but Ben's wild suppositions gave her the creeps.
She had thought that her attraction to Ben had been what had been bothering her. Could ghosts actually be influencing their actions?
****
Ben watched as Corrie bustled about the kitchen cleaning up after their quick lunch. Corrie certainly had a domestic streak, he decided as he remembered the way she had produced the tomato sauce out of practically nothing two nights before. Too bad she wasn't as creative with the ideas he'd been feeding her. He shook his head.
"Are you sure you don't want me to help you clean up?" Ben wasn't crazy about kitchen duty, but his mama back in Enterprise, Alabama, would have a fit if she suspected he hadn't offered.
Corrie glanced back over her shoulder, smiling from behind a flyaway strand of hair. "There's not that much left to do here and, to paraphrase an old saying, too many cleaners make a bigger mess. You just sit back and enjoy your tea." She returned to her work.
Ben traced a design in the condensation on Corrie's tea glass, left unattended across from him. He sipped at his iced tea and admired the graceful, economic moves Corrie made as she stacked the few dishes in the machine, covered the tray of remaining lunchmeats, and wiped down the counter. He noticed everything about her, and as he'd spent time with her, he'd grown to appreciate and like the person she was as much as he'd first been drawn by some sort of hormonal or chemical attraction.
He'd also noticed how she seemed to make an effort to distance herself from him. Not emotionally; he felt they were connecting well, at least, mentally. But, she had maneuvered everything so that there was no way they would touch. Not even accidentally. Ben took another cooling draught of tea. If she hadn't been so careful not to touch him when she'd handed him his plate earlier, he might have missed it.
What had her so wary that she was afraid to let her skin come into contact with his? An image of the two of them, bodies naked, gleaming with sweat, and spent with the exhaustion of lovemaking flashed into his mind. Could it be that she was afraid of that? Of him? He drew in a deep, horrified breath. Surely, she wasn't…
A virgin? No, he couldn't believe that. Not when she'd responded to him as she had — several times now. But something was certainly bothering her, and if not him, then what? He set his mind to find out what.
"Do you think the information you got this morning will help with your story?" Corrie settled onto the stool across the butcher block from him. She took a sip from her own glass of tea and swallowed.
He watched, entranced, as the muscles of her throat contracted and expanded as she drank. He hadn't been thinking about Cory and Ham for the last few minutes. He'd been thinking about Corrie and him! He drew in a deep breath and exhaled it as a sigh.
"I think I've found enough to say that there are, indeed, ghosts at Venable Inn," he told her slowly then went on to enumerate. "The guest register, the pitcher, the view to the past, not to mention Cory's visit to my room—"
"Dream," Corrie countered.
"Visit. Dream. They're all related. Anyway, since you've corroborated some of the events, I can report that there are ghosts here, but I don't really have the story I need to finish my book."
"What about the way Cory and Ham died? That seems to be a pretty romantic story to me," Corrie suggested.
Ben nodded. "It is, and I was hoping that because of that romantic story, there would be another chapter — a climax, as it were — by now. Ham and Cory's deaths are fact that no one can dispute. What I need is a reason they're still here over a hundred years after that fact. That's where the real story is."
Corrie put down her glass and reached across the table to pat his hand. Her fingers were chilly and damp from holding the glass, but even with that coolant, heat sizzled between them. Ben turned his hand over beneath hers and captured her fingers before she could pull away.
"You mean the unfinished business?" she asked breathily.
"Yes. And I'm afraid I'm going to go home tomorrow morning with lots of facts and no story. Without the ending that I need," he answered huskily. He drew her hand up to his mouth. And heaven help them both, he thought as he brushed his lips against the silky, smooth back of her hand.
She drew in a sharp breath. "Don't worry, you'll get it," she whispered as she slowly drew her hand away.
If Cory and Ham's unfinished business was what he suspected it was, he'd need all the help he could get to keep from making them both unwilling pawns. He suspected what Cory and Ham wanted, but could he allow them to take advantage of him and Corrie Wallace?
Sure, he wanted Corrie more with each passing moment. But could he, in all conscience, let anything happen between them that he wasn't certain Corrie truly wanted as well?
But tonight they should be safe. He'd bet anything that Cory and Ham had to wait until June third. And come the third of June he'd be nowhere near this place.
****
"I really don't like the looks of this sky," Corrie murmured as she stepped outside into air thick enough to spread like butter. Though the air was sultry, a sharp breeze cut through it, making Corrie shiver. She crossed her arms over her chest and rubbed the raised flesh on her bare arms. Then she turned her attention back to locking the door.
Ben waited for her to slide the deadbolt into place. "This weather isn't anything unusual for around here. It's a little early in the season maybe, but not much. And it'll cool things off if it does storm." He stepped down onto the flagstone walk.
"You're probably right." Corrie placed the key in her purse and trotted down the steps. "I ought to be used to this muggy air, but after living in North Alabama for so long, I've had to get acclimated all over again." She glanced at the thickening clouds that had gone from milk white to a dull gray. "I'd feel better if the part to the generator had come in."
"What's the matter? Afraid of the dark?" Ben teased as he opened the door to his Mustang and helped her in.
Corrie managed a smile, wasted since Ben couldn't see it as he made his way back around to the driver's side. "No, I have plenty of candles. Hurricane lamps too. But I also have a freezer full of food and a huge inn to keep cool."
Ben slammed the door shut and started the car. "Surely, the power doesn't stay off that long?"
"It can sometimes. In the past, it's stayed off for days." But that was after a major weather event, she reminded herself. She wrapped her arms around herself and shivered with an uneasy feeling of impending doom. "The last thing I need is for my electricity to go off and cost me my refrigerated supplies." She reached to buckle a seat belt as Ben backed into the drive.
"There aren't any cross shoulder straps," Ben murmured as the car crunched out onto the lane.
"Any what?"
"Shoulder straps with the seat belts. Just the lap belts."
Corrie looked at him, alarm bells ringing in her ears. "But that's illegal! You have to have functioning seat belts."
"Not in cars as old as this one. The law isn't retroactive." He reached across her and pulled the seat belt out from where it had been wedged. "Here." He straightened and glanced ahead into the darkening sky. "I've always intended to put the newer ones in, but they cost money, something I seem to be perennially short of."
Legal or not, she hadn't ridden in a vehicle without the security of that extra strap of woven vinyl in years, and without it, she definitely felt insecure. As if she weren't nervous enough already.
"You know, I've had this car since I was a teenager. Bought it from my uncle for eight hundred dollars. I saved for almost a year to come up with that much money. And the car barely ran then. I learned how to get it going again, and I've kept it running for more than twenty years."
Corrie didn't need to see his face to understand his pride. She could hear it in his voice and see it in the well-maintained interior. Sh
e ran a finger over the polished dashboard. Not a speck of dust, dirt, grit, or grime anywhere. "It must have cost a fortune to refurbish it," she murmured.
Ben chuckled. "It seemed like it at the time. I couldn't have done it and made a loan payment too. But, I was on first-name terms with every junk dealer between here and Atlanta for a couple of years. Now, she runs pretty steady." He caressed the steering wheel lovingly. "I take care of her, and she takes care of me. Don't you, girl?"
Corrie tried to envision a young Ben tinkering under the hood, grease under his nails, sweating under a shade tree in the hot, Alabama summer. It was a notion hard to reconcile with the educated college professor he was now, but Corrie liked the contrast. Besides, if he had been like stuffy, prissy Dr. Chi, she wouldn't be riding in his red car on the road to Bayou La Batre.
And she wouldn't be so intrigued.
****
They'd had to forgo the table on the deck that overlooked the boat harbor in favor of a booth by the window in the air-conditioned interior, thanks to the threatening weather. But, all in all, Ben could say that the evening had been successful.
He'd picked the place because of the sign that proclaimed dancing nightly and the hope for an excuse to hold Corrie in his arms. But tonight was Sunday, and folks didn't dance on Sundays in Bayou La Batre, he discovered. And that was a rotten shame. For the way Corrie looked tonight in the peach-colored, summer dress, demure but with just enough white lace to remind him of whipped cream, made his mouth water.
He looked across the table to Corrie and smiled. She'd relaxed some tonight, and he liked what he'd discovered. He hoped it was because she'd finally come to trust him, but he suspected that it had less to do with trust than that she'd escaped the influence of the house and its invisible occupants. He wondered if she had come to realize that Cory and Ham were playing with them. Or had he been the only one so privileged?
Corrie sighed.
"You okay?" Ben reached across the table and took her hand, pleased that she didn't pull away.
She smiled contentedly. "Yes. That was so good. I haven't been out for a real meal in… I don't remember how long it's been." She smiled again. "Probably, not since I left Huntsville."
Her hand felt warm and soft in his large palm. And of course, there was that humming flow of current that was always present whenever he touched her bare skin. Ben wondered if she could feel that same electricity. "You up for dessert?" He wasn't hungry — at least not for cheesecake — but neither was he ready to take her home. He'd been deprived of his chance to dance. At least, he could sit and hold her hand for a while longer.
Corrie studied the dessert menu propped between the salt and pepper shakers. Ben could see the way her green eyes lingered on the photograph of the decadent concoction that boasted of several different types of chocolate. She gnawed at her pale lower lip as she debated.
Ben watched her mental tug of war play across her expressive face, but his eyes kept focusing on the rosebud mouth, chewed bare of any lipstick. He wished that he'd been responsible for kissing the color away, but maybe he'd get a chance to do that later.
Outside, the clouds had gathered and darkened to an ominous gun-metal gray. The wind whipped whitecaps out of the gentle swells that had lapped against the boats and pilings earlier in the evening. A low grumble began in the distance and then faded away.
Corrie expelled a breath and sighed. "That cinches it." She took her napkin from her lap and blotted her mouth. "I'd almost talked myself into the Chocolate Suicide, so rich it would clog up your arteries on the spot." She grinned. "I'd sure die happy though."
The rumbling came again. Closer. Louder.
"But, I think we'd better head back to the inn," she murmured, ruefully eyeing first the sky and then the dessert menu.
"We could have them make up one to go," Ben suggested as he signaled for their server.
"I'm tempted, but I'll pass. I had more than enough to eat tonight."
Ben applauded her. She hadn't finished that sentence with some stupid remark about watching her weight. He understood nutrition as well as the next PhD, but eating dinner with a woman who counted every calorie was a definite turnoff. And Corrie was a woman who turned him on more with every minute he spent with her.
"But you can have one if you want."
The thunder muttered louder.
"No. I think we'd best get on. I'm not familiar enough with the roads around here to want to find my way home in the kind of rain these things can blow up." He handed the waitress his credit card.
Corrie shrugged. "It's up to you. Sometimes all it does is grumble and bluster, and we don't see a drop of rain." She reached into her purse and found a tube of lipstick.
Ben watched, fascinated, as she applied the tangerine tint. He wondered vaguely if it tasted as good as it looked, and he vowed that he would kiss it off before the night was done.
The server returned with his card and the credit receipt. Ben quickly calculated the tip and then scrawled his name. He peeled off his copy and shoved both card and slip into his pocket. "Ready?"
Corrie smiled, her even white teeth gleaming against the fresh application of tangerine. "Any time."
Ben slid out of his seat and crooked his arm. "Your carriage awaits."
As Corrie placed her hand on his elbow, Ben smiled and led her outside.
The air was thick with moisture, and the fresh scent of impending rain mingled with the salt tang. Corrie laughed as the wind tossed her hair into her face and blew her skirt up in a scene reminiscent of Marilyn Monroe.
Suddenly, Ben wasn't as concerned about the rain as he should be. All he could think about was the laughing woman beside him. He didn't know why, but he knew with certainty that something was going to happen tonight.
He knew it. He felt it.
And he sure hoped it wouldn't be the ghosts' doing.
****
"Where are they, Ham?" Cory murmured over the sound of the wind banging the shutters angrily against the house. She stood at the front window staring anxiously out into the gathering storm.
"You know as much as I do. They went into town for dinner. Surely, they'll be back soon. Neither of them appear so foolish as to stay outside in weather like this." A loud peal of thunder punctuated Ham's statement.
"I'm afraid they won't come back, Ham." Cory had always loved the fierceness of a storm, but tonight she seemed to shrink into herself in an attempt to escape the roaring wind. Lightning split the sky, and she all but collapsed. What had made her so fearful?
"Look, Cory. Here they come now."
For a moment, Cory seemed all right as she watched the automobile appear out of the gloom. But as Corrie and Ben dashed up the walk, their hair and clothes whipped by the wind, Cory's fears returned.
"I don't understand. Why are we seeing this now? It's as though we're being made to relive —" Her voice was silenced by another boom of thunder.
Ham wished that he could comfort her, hold her in his arms, and ease her fears, but as always since that fateful night, he could not. In life, Cory had been afraid of nothing, but now this very real storm had reduced her to a whimpering child.
Ham heard, rather than felt, the rush of damp air as Corrie and Ben flung open the front doors. Laughing, they struggled to close and latch them against the wind, then they paused a moment to catch their breath.
****
Corrie had left a few lights on in anticipation of returning after dark, but even they failed to cut through the threatening gloom. She should have flipped on another light, but she stood for a moment beside the door, comforted by the solid, reassuring form of Ben Chastain beside her.
She conjured up a cheery smile. "Well, all in all, I'd say that went very well." Why did she suddenly feel so insecure when she'd been completely at ease at the restaurant? She wiped her damp hands — due to the rain and not her nervousness — on the skirt of her dress, too wet to be much help in drying anything.
"Yes, it did," Ben agreed slowly. Then he a
dded, "But we're not quite finished. There's still that cherry we need to top off the sundae."
Corrie wondered just for a moment whether he meant Sunday the day or sundae the dessert, but decided that it really didn't matter. Not when Ben was taking her in his arms and pressing her against his hard, strong body. He lowered his face to hers.
No, it didn't matter at all, Corrie realized as she tilted her face up to his. Sunday or sundae, the kiss was to be the icing on the cake. She closed her eyes as Ben's lips touched hers.
Corrie steeled herself for the terrific onslaught of heat and passion, but was disappointed that it was curiously absent. Oh, the kiss was wonderful and satisfying, but it wasn't what she had expected.
The fire wasn't there.
Ben released her and stepped back, a satisfied smile on his face. Apparently, he wasn't having the same reservations as she.
What was wrong with her? Why did her feelings seem to be running hot and cold? She stepped back and managed a smile. "Thank you for the wonderful evening," she made herself say.
"But?" Ben's smile faltered.
"We need to check the doors and windows. In case I forgot to close one before we left. I don't want the rain to come in," she explained lamely. And it was a lame excuse, she knew full well. She'd checked and double-checked all the windows before they left. The house was closed as tight as a drum.
"I'll help. You want me to do the upstairs?"
Relief flooded her as Ben made the suggestion. Corrie still couldn't explain it, but being in this house alone with Ben — and two ghosts — in the dark of night made her very uncomfortable. "Thanks," she answered breathlessly. "I'll take care of the downstairs. Let me switch on the lights so you can see your way up." She reached for the light switch beside the door and wondered why she couldn't seem to breathe.
"Well, I guess it's good night, then," Ben said quietly. He headed for the stairs.
Corrie reached for the switch again, but snatched her hand back as thunder seemed to crash on top of them. Lightning exploded so close she could feel the charge in the air. It illuminated the glowering sky and the room with an eerie white glow.
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