Stacey Joy Netzel Boxed Set

by Stacey Joy Netzel

  He couldn’t believe he’d felt Melanie’s touch. Actually felt the jolt as her hand passed through his arm. It hurt like hell and was the most wonderful thing he had experienced over the past one hundred and whatever years.

  See? Even that had changed. He couldn’t remember exactly how long he’d been dead anymore. Things were muddled in his mind, mixed with increasing memories of a more modern time. Familiar, non-threatening memories. He wasn’t sure what events he’d observed over the years as a ghost and what experiences were snippets of a life he couldn’t have lived yet still felt as much a part of him as his soul.

  About the only thing crystal clear was Melanie.

  ****

  The white legal pad landed next to the keyboard with a plop. The number two pencil bounced twice before rolling to the edge, diagonal to the paper’s straight edge. Drew Nelson reclined in his chair and ran his hands through his short hair before resting his head back against his interlaced fingers.

  Writing longhand was old school, but something about the soft rasp of lead across paper spoke to him on a visceral level. Made him feel like he’d been destined to be a part of this business. With his most recent editorial now ready to be typed into the computer for the Friday edition, satisfaction offered a brief respite to the tension knotting his shoulders.

  Returning to Lindeman’s Crossing had definitely felt like coming home, but not long after arriving in town, he’d started to feel a bit unsettled. As if he had something to prove but no idea exactly what.

  More recently, he’d experienced flash-photo visions of weird things. Gold in the river. Ink stained hands. Deceitful smile of a dark-haired beauty. His dreams had become stranger than usual, not to mention the times he suspected someone was watching him. Not in a malevolent way, but just a sense that there was a nearby presence interested in him. He never saw anyone, yet when walking along the street to get a cup of coffee, he’d feel the hair on the back of his neck prickle.

  And then there was that episode outside the office. He’d swear on his mother’s grave he saw a shadow of a man on the sidewalk even when no one was around and the position of the sun made the notion impossible.

  One blink and it’d been gone. Despite trying to convince himself his imagination had been working overtime, he couldn’t forget that image. Even now, he found himself glancing toward the window.

  No sun today. Instead, thunder rumbled overhead, heralding the arrival of the weather man’s predicted storms. With a sigh, he sat forward in his chair and brought his arms down from behind his head.

  A reach for the pencil was arrested by a shot of pain through the muscles in his left forearm. The sting subsided, leaving a tingle radiating through his entire arm.

  “Damn,” he muttered, wondering if he’d pinched a nerve somehow.

  A boom of thunder rattled the window panes behind him and he spun in his seat as see his assistant editor burst in from the sidewalk.

  “Oh my God, I just made it,” Lisa exclaimed in a breathless rush. A few droplets of water scattered into the air as she shook her long blond hair away from her face.

  Rain pelted the pavement outside and drummed on the hoods of the parked cars until the closing door muted the sounds. Rubbing at the remaining discomfort in his arm with a grimace, Drew transferred his gaze from the torrent of rain outside to the two cups of coffee in Lisa’s hands. Already the mouth-watering aroma had reached his nose.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Jake took the kids to a baseball game in Denver, so I’ve got most of the day to myself.”

  “And you came to work? You feeling okay?”

  “I’m only staying for a minute.” She set one of the to-go cups on his desk. Her gaze dropped to his hand. “What’s the matter with your arm?”

  Out of nowhere, the image of a beautiful smile and wide green eyes blindsided him. He blinked, clenched his jaw, and gave his head a tight shake.

  “Drew?”

  “Huh? Oh, nothing.” He reached for the coffee and toasted her with a forced smile, doing his best not to crumple the cup between his fingers. “Thanks. I’ll get the java tomorrow.”

  “Tall white chocolate mocha, please.”

  He laughed and took a drink of his black brew in hopes of regaining his equilibrium.

  “Listen, I stopped by to get your opinion on something. Olivia gave me these pictures at church this morning and asked if we’d do a piece about the cemetery walking tour the historical society does each month.”

  She tossed a few eight by ten black and white photos on his desk and Drew pulled them closer. He spotted his dad right away, and Mr. Edwards next to Olivia’s husband George as they stood beneath the massive red oak tree that shaded the grounds. Experience told him they were at the end of the tour, near Andrew Lindeman’s gravesite.

  An unexpected shiver shimmied along his spine. He experienced a flash of a woman’s face frozen in a scream. He was under water. At a funeral. Then Lisa’s voice.

  “Everyone on the tour enjoyed the history. Apparently it sparked a lively discussion on the bus ride back to the senior center and she thinks an in-depth town history article would be great for the paper. I think it’d be fun to do some research, so are you okay if I run with this?”

  This had to stop. It was freaking the hell out of him. He flipped the top picture over and immediately his heart slammed into his ribs. Pulling the second photo closer, he stared at the image of a young woman kneeling in front of the black granite tombstone. Her fingers seemed to caress the stone, the old one sunk into the earth, almost as if tracing the letters of the dead man’s name.

  Melanie.

  Chest tight, barely able to breathe, he felt his pulse thrum through his veins.

  “Drew?”

  Lisa’s finger snap in front of his face jerked his attention from the picture before him. He sat up straighter. “Sorry, what?”

  “Do you care if I write the piece?”

  Swallowing hard, he tried for a nonchalant shrug. “Sure, go ahead.”

  “Awesome. I’m going to stop by the museum on my way home so I can get started.”

  When she reached for the photos, he clutched his coffee in one hand and fisted his other on his thigh to keep from snatching them back.

  After she snagged an umbrella from the door and left as quickly as she’d arrived, Drew stared out the window in dumbfounded silence. He had no clue where the name came from, it had simply appeared in his mind.

  But he’d never met the woman. Never even seen her before. How could he know her name?

  Chapter Four

  Melanie drove to work on Monday wishing she had some of that gold from back in 1859. After the dream she had last night, she wanted nothing more than to drive straight to the cemetery to see Andrew. If she weren’t only one month into her new job, she’d call in sick and do just that.

  But life went on and Andrew was a ghost. Unless he’d buried his gold instead of banking it, he couldn’t help her pay the mortgage on the little cottage.

  In the middle of arguing her current case in front of the Colorado District Court, an idea struck her. She would tell Andrew’s side of the story. They’d write a book and she’d publish it. Between herself, Andrew and John, they’d document the complete, accurate facts and then the whole world would know the truth of what really happened in Lindeman’s Crossing.

  “Ms. Sparks? Do you wish to redirect?”

  Melanie cast a discreet glance at her associate and caught the quick shake of his head. She cleared her throat and looked at the judge. “No, thank you, Your Honor.”

  “Then you may call your next witness.”

  She straightened in her seat and focused on her job, not allowing her mind to return to Andrew until the drive home. Court ran long and traffic was awful. By the time she reached Lindeman’s Crossing she was so anxious to speak with him she didn’t even bother to stop at home and change out of her espresso-colored suit and black heels.

  Upon entering the cemetery, Melanie
saw she wasn’t alone. Near a gravesite not far from Andrew’s, a man and three children sat on a bench. Melanie heard the youngest child talking, but couldn’t make out the little boy’s words. His tone, however, told her they shared happy memories, not sad. She lifted her hand and smiled as she passed.

  Today she didn’t hesitate to reach out to the tombstone resting in the shade of the oak tree. Warmth greeted her touch. Melanie straightened. He was here; she knew it. Not only from the stone; his presence tingled in every cell of her being. She turned around to find him leaning against a neighboring stone, arms folded casually over his chest. A hint of a smile played about his lips.

  “Summoning me, Melanie?”

  Heat flooded her cheeks, but she smiled in return. “It’s warm.”

  He straightened, staring at the stone with a perplexed frown. “It shouldn’t be. It’s always shaded.”

  “It’s you.” She watched him stride to the tombstone. When his hand rested on it, she asked, “Do you feel it?”

  “I haven’t felt anything until yesterday in the rain.”

  “And now?”

  “It’s warm,” he confirmed. His piercing gaze rose to hers and held. He moved closer. “It’s you. Nothing’s been the same since the day you came.”

  “Is this a good thing?” She meant to tease, but her voice betrayed her with its seriousness.

  “A very good thing,” he replied, just as serious. “I wouldn’t dare to complain, however, I am curious as to why.”

  She looked at the bench to see one of the children watching her and lowered her voice. “I don’t know about the tombstone being warm, but as for the rest, I think there may be a reason.”

  “One you will share, I trust?”

  “Of course, but first, follow me.” She started toward the opposite side of the large oak. “I don’t want that family over there thinking I’m a lunatic talking to myself.”

  “You make a beautiful lunatic.”

  She laughed softly even as her heart thudded. Looking back over her shoulder, she teased, “Flattery won’t get you anywhere, Mr. Lindeman. Especially you.”

  His smile lit up those amazing gray eyes of his. “You wound me. I never say anything I don’t mean, Melanie.”

  She exaggerated her wounded gasp. “You think I’m a lunatic?”

  “You are the one talking to a ghost.”

  “You’re impossible.”

  “You’re beautiful.”

  “Thank you.” She acquiesced with a slight nod, smiling as she kicked off her heels and sat in the grass with her legs curled beneath her.

  He lowered himself beside her. “What happened yesterday?

  When their eyes met, it took a second for her to register the switch from what had felt like flirting to his intense question.

  “How did you know how cold the water was—what it took to push the girl to safety?”

  Vanessa. She took a deep breath and held his gaze. “I dreamt the entire thing. I’d even go so far as to say I lived it, it was that real. And it was awful. I’m so sorry, Andrew. You didn’t deserve what they did to you.”

  His jaw clenched. He looked…scared. “How do you know that?”

  With one palm flattened over her heart, she said, “I feel it right here.”

  She started to reach out to him, but he jerked away, his expression wary.

  “And what about Van Buren’s ‘unarguable testimony’?”

  Melanie swallowed her hurt, knowing he’d been too wounded by condemnation to trust that someone could believe in him on faith alone. “I heard what you said the other day when John told the story.”

  His eyes flickered with the memory, then his gaze shifted across the small field separating them from a forest of Aspens. “And you take my word over his? He was a business owner, an upstanding, well-respected pillar of the community.”

  For all the hurt and anger in his voice, she heard an underlying ring of hope.

  “I had another dream last night.” Her soft statement drew his gaze to hers again. “Tell me what happened that day,” she requested. “I want to hear it in your words.”

  “Why? Why do you even care?”

  “You’ve existed in the shadow of lies long enough. After all these years, isn’t it time someone knew the truth?”

  Chapter Five

  Andrew blinked before sliding his gaze away.

  “What are you afraid of?” she asked.

  “I was a damn fool.”

  He shot to his feet and raked both hands through his hair as he paced before her.

  “Did you love her?”

  He appeared surprised by the question, making Melanie dread his answer even more. Finally, he lifted a shoulder and said, “Back then, I would’ve said yes without hesitating. Now, I can honestly say I loved the idea of Lorena more than anything else. She possessed the refinement of the women back home, yet she had a wild streak that I found so exciting. I thought I’d found the woman of my dreams…until that day at the bank.”

  “She was very beautiful,” Melanie murmured.

  “Yes,” he agreed without emotion. “And cunning. She rode into town with her father that morning and we’d arranged to meet at the bank so I could take her to lunch. When I stepped into Jacob’s office, Tucker grabbed Lorena and held her at gunpoint as Jacob emptied the safe. When he was done, Tucker shoved the bags at me, told me to ride the hell out of town and meet him at Rockledge Pass where he’d exchange Lorena for the money. She looked so frightened, pleading with her eyes for me to save her.”

  “She was a good actress.”

  Andrew continued as if he hadn’t heard her. “Jacob must’ve had second thoughts. Or he was making it real, I don’t know, but he drew his gun on Tucker.”

  “And you seized your opportunity.”

  “Yes, I—” Andrew spun around to stare at her, his gray eyes stormy with confusion. “I…what? What did I do, Melanie?”

  “You hit him. Hard. Knocked him on his ass. The gun went off, Lorena screamed. You were terrified she’d been shot, but had to make sure Tucker was down.”

  “How…?”

  “When you knocked Tucker out, Lorena grabbed the money and ran. Shocked and betrayed, you went after her. You’d almost caught her when the little girl fell into the river. As you kicked free of the stirrups, the bullet hit you, piercing your right lung. You used the last of your strength to save her, but no one saved you. Not one single person would reach out to help you.”

  A deep breath restored her depleted oxygen after the torrent of words.

  Andrew sank onto his knees in front of her, anguish in his eyes. “You dreamt all that?”

  She swallowed hard and wiped the tears she just now realized streaked down her cheeks. “I lived every moment. I felt your anger. Your desperation. Your pain.”

  Andrew lifted his hand toward her, then hesitated and dropped it back to his thigh. “I am so sorry, Melanie. I do not understand this connection—why you would be made to experience such a terrible thing. I would never want to cause you pain.”

  One more tear slid down her cheek as she gave a tremulous smile. “My great-great-great-grandmother’s name was Vanessa Brisbane.”

  His eyes widened almost imperceptibly. His nostrils flared as his chest expanded.

  “She married in 1870 and moved from Lindeman’s Crossing to Milwaukee, Wisconsin.”

  “You are Vanessa’s granddaughter?” he breathed in wonder.

  “Third generation, yes.”

  He sat back on his heels. “I watched her grow up—looked forward to every time she came to town with those wild, red curls framing her beautiful little face and those amazing green eyes.”

  His gaze traveled over Melanie’s face.

  “Just like yours. I see the resemblance now. I missed her so much when she left. She was the one bright spot in those first years when my soul was so dark.”

  Melanie ached to touch him, but twice now he’d shied away from her, so she kept her hands in her lap. “I think I was m
eant to feel what you went through to save her, what you sacrificed. And now I also know what I need to do. I’m going to tell the world what really happened.”

  He looked away, across the field again.“The world isn’t going to care what happened to me.”

  “I’ll make sure they care. John and I already spoke yesterday—he plans to investigate what happened to Jacob, see if he can find any proof of his involvement. Anyone who learns the history of this town will know the truth of what you did.”

  He shifted around to sit with his back against the tree. “John’s a good man—distant relative, actually.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes.”

  Melanie sensed a change in him. If she had to define it, she’d say he seemed relieved. She frowned. No, not the right word.

  Drawing up one leg, he rested his forearm on his knee and brushed the palm of his other hand over the short-cut blades of grass in the foot or so of space between them.

  “It tickles.”

  She realized he was talking about the grass. Touching it. Feeling it.

  “And it’s cool,” he added. “I can feel the moisture.”

  Peaceful. That’s the word. The sensation resonated in his voice, seeped from his aura into hers.

  He looked up suddenly and all thoughts of peace fled from her mind. She’d never seen his eyes darker, and when he spoke, his low voice soothed her tender heart.

  “It started yesterday when you touched my arm. I was so startled by your words about the river being cold that feeling your touch didn’t fully register until after you’d left with John.”

  She smiled slightly. “It was rather shocking.”

  His gaze held her captive; started her heart on a race without a finish line.

  “I want to touch you, Melanie.”

  All she could manage was a nod.

  The muscles in his throat convulsed. “I’m afraid.”