Peppermint Creek Inn

by Jan Springer

  Her heart clutched warmly and curiosity burned inside her as she peered into the bag. The minute she saw its contents, her stomach did a somersault. Shaking her head, she pushed the bag away as if it were contaminated.

  “I can’t.”

  “You can,” Tom replied gently.

  He withdrew the white box of charcoal sticks along with a strip containing four photos. He held up the photo strip for Sara to see and tried to smile the same way he’d smiled when he’d sat in the photo booth in the drug store he’d gone to as the camera snapped shots of him. Sara found herself smiling at his antics.

  “I figured I’m an impartial object for you to draw,” he chuckled. “And don’t say you don’t do drawings of people because I’ve seen the paintings hung up in those cottages. And I especially like the one of the twins making a snowman. Is that how you imagined them to look?”

  Sara nodded. He’d hit the nail right on the head. They had been her twins, or who she’d imagined them to be at their various ages.

  She stared at the box of charcoals as if it was the devil itself. “I can’t draw you. I can’t draw anything anymore. It’s gone.”

  “A talent like yours never goes away. You’ve got to dig deep down. Bring it back to the surface. I’m a safe enough subject don’t you think? I come with a blank slate so to speak. Will you give it a try? Please? For me?” he coaxed, his eyes blazed with a fierce heated confidence, urging her on.

  Sara gave in and took the strip of pictures in hand, examining them carefully. It would be kind of nice drawing his handsome features. Those long, delicious black lashes, the endearing lines around his mouth, the wonderful slant to his green eyes.

  “Sure, I can try.”

  That gorgeous crooked smile fluttered across his features catching her off guard again, making her pulses pound, making her pussy cream with anticipation.

  “Good that’s all I’m asking, Sara. Keep your twins alive in your paintings. Keep me alive.”

  Sara jolted. “Why are you talking this way? You sound as if…” She shook her head slowly. “I don’t know, almost as if you were going to disappear on me. Are you?”

  His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard, obviously not wanting to tell her but knowing he had to.

  “I ran into Jeffries.”

  “You what?” Her mind whirled as terror rammed into her. Justin Jeffries had seen Tom. She needed to get him out of here. Needed to get him to somewhere safe until she heard from Jo and Garry.

  “I spoke with him.”

  “Did he recognize you?” She gulped down her fear. “Of course he didn’t. That was a stupid question. If he had, you’d be in jail or— No, he doesn’t know who you are.”

  “His glasses were pretty soaked and he had trouble seeing me, but he said something that got me thinking it might be just a matter of time before he puts two and two together. He asked me if we’d met somewhere before. I think we should leave today.”

  “Okay.”

  Tom blinked at her with apparent disbelief. Obviously, he hadn’t expected her to agree.

  “On one condition though,” Sara quickly added.

  “Name it.”

  “We start looking for answers ourselves.”

  Sara noticed the sparkle of interest light up his eyes as he leaned forward in his chair.

  “How’s that?”

  “You up for a visit to a ghost town?”

  Chapter Eleven

  A late afternoon mist gently hovered over Jackfish Bay. The rain had cleared out early afternoon and the sky had turned a brilliant warm blue.

  They’d driven down the narrow winding road to the ghost town and parked the truck in a clearing near the train tracks. Now as Tom stood on the tracks, scanning the gray rippling waters of Lake Superior his gaze immediately pinned onto the large rocky island about a quarter mile out in the bay. The eerie feeling of déjà vu slammed into his stomach like a fist and he suddenly found it difficult to breathe.

  That island. Why did it draw him so intensely?

  Closing his eyes, he focused on breathing in the cool, breezy lake and tried to conjure up a memory. Within seconds one appeared.

  For a flash of time, Tom stood on the rocky island’s shoreline. The gentle lapping sounds of water did not soothe him as he stared at the ghost town littering the main coast. A seagull flapped overhead. The sunshine beat against his naked body. But still he shivered.

  He felt so damn cold. Even his teeth betrayed him. They wouldn’t stop chattering.

  He looked at the chilly black waters. Could he make it off the island? Did he even want to try?

  The vision disintegrated leaving Tom with nothing but more questions.

  He’d gone into that water? At this time of the year? But why? Why had he gone out to the island? Any sane person could see it was too cold for a swim.

  Maybe he’d been here last year? But as his gaze raked over the rocky island, he felt relatively comfortable with the idea he’d been here not too long ago.

  The peacefulness of the area shattered as Sara called excitedly from somewhere ahead. Shifting the heavy knapsack on his back, he cast one last wary look at the island before quickly leaving the railway tracks. He followed the worn path leading up an incline. On the other side of the grassy knoll, he spotted her anxiously waving to him.

  “Over here,” she called.

  He trudged through the tall grass to meet her.

  “Here it is.” Sara made a sweeping motion with her arm. “Good old town of Jackfish.”

  Tom gazed at the sight.

  Many of the debilitated wooden structures had caved in through the seasons. Some stood at awkward and tilted angles. Others stood proudly, their empty black windows yawning at them.

  “You’ve been here before, haven’t you?”

  He nodded, meeting Sara’s anxious gaze.

  “Nothing I can put my finger on. But yes I get the feeling I’ve been here before. And what I’m wondering is why? Why would I come to a place so isolated?”

  “You must have had a good reason. And if what you are feeling is true, this confirms what Justin said about you being here with him and Sam. They are the ones who handcuffed you and beat you to a pulp.”

  “I could have put up a good fight when they tried to arrest me.”

  “Sorry, but I won’t buy that angle. Justin didn’t have a mark on his face and he didn’t look like he was hurting. Beating a prisoner is illegal, Tom. Shooting him in the back isn’t proper procedure either. Now more than ever, we have to prove your innocence. The only way for us to do it is to keep looking around and see if you can remember.”

  Before he could say anything, she was heading down the pathway. Her arms and legs moved with a determined confident stride, urging him to follow her.

  A cold feeling of dread began a slow creep along his spine as she led him along the path running adjacent to the railway tracks. She pointed out various abandoned buildings and what they’d been.

  Eventually they stumbled across a lone cottage perched on a cliff. Beside the cottage sat a two-story shell of a leaning building. The name “Jackfish” was haphazardly scrawled on a wooden shingle nailed to the derelict, a public announcement to anyone who dared enter the ghost town’s confines.

  “It was 1884 when the railway blasted its way through here, leaving a railway construction town in its wake. This was the hotel for the workers.” Sara pointed to the building. “They had a town dock. It’s gone now and at one point three dynamite factories were erected to make dynamite to blast the bedrock for the rail bed throughout Northern Ontario.”

  Tom tried to imagine himself working for the railroad. With Sara as his wife. A passel of kids. A house with a white picket fence. Leaving her for weeks on end to work on the railroad would have been hell, but coming home to his lovely Sara would have been heaven.

  He peered over at her as she gazed at the deserted shell of a building. The pained and haunted look she’d carried since he’d met her had disappeared, replaced b
y eyes bright with fevered excitement.

  She looked so alive, so damned beautiful that it took every ounce of his strength to keep himself from pulling her into his arms and kissing those full, luscious lips, from cupping her heavy, silky breasts in his hands and tweaking her plump nipples.

  His cock suddenly strained against his jeans with razor-sharp awareness and he almost groaned, almost gave himself away.

  “Tom? Did you hear me?”

  “Sorry?”

  “I said we’ve got about two hours of daylight left here. Is there any particular area we should scout first? Anything that draws your attention?”

  “Everything draws my attention.” Especially you, he added silently. “You pick.”

  Sara smiled prettily and he could feel the lust traveling through his system, could feel his belly tighten with awareness, his cock grow thicker, harder, longer.

  “All right, this way.”

  He followed her up the overgrown walkway, her cute hips swaying seductively in front of him as they trudged toward an ancient-looking relic of a building with a horribly sagging roof. Climbing up some moss-covered stairs they stepped onto the creaking veranda.

  “Ooooohhh, kind of spooky in here.” Tom chuckled as he bent over slightly to enter the low doorway of the semi-dark cabin interior. Cool, damp air blasted against him. “Casper, where are you, ole buddy?”

  “Quiet, you’ll wake him up,” Sara whispered as she gazed wide-eyed at the debris of dented tin pots and other tin items littering the strangely tilted floor.

  Tom’s eyes narrowed curiously as he followed her gaze.

  “What are you looking for?”

  “Antiques.”

  He couldn’t stop the laugh from escaping him. “Antiques? This junk?”

  Sara ignored his remark and with a shout of glee that momentarily startled him, she twisted her way through the debris, and bent over. From a nest of yellowing papers, she pulled out a slightly dented old-fashioned rusty and white enameled coffeepot.

  “It’s perfect. Absolutely beautiful,” she said as she held it up and stared at the derelict-looking object with sparkling eyes.

  “Beautiful?” The thing looked beyond repair. He cocked a cynical eyebrow trying to find what she saw in the rusty piece.

  “One man’s garbage is another man’s treasure. Turn around,” she instructed.

  He did as he was told.

  “What are you going to do with that rusty old thing anyway?” he asked as he felt the flap of the knapsack lift up.

  “For your information, many of my dried flower bouquets, which I set in your so-called rusty things have won first, second and third prizes at the Fall fairs.”

  “Prizes?” he mumbled doubtfully.

  Then he remembered the slightly dented teapots filled to overflowing with all kinds of beautiful dried flowers on the stone mantel in Sara’s bedroom. And again strewn about her living room. The same teapots that made him think of campfires and spaghetti westerns.

  “That’s right. Lots of prizes,” she said with utmost confidence that made a smile lift his lips.

  He sucked in a harsh breath as he felt her luscious body heat slam into his ass as she dumped her treasure inside the knapsack. His body tightened with awareness. His mouth suddenly went dry as he imagined how wet her pussy would be as his tongue slid deep into her tight channel. How hard her velvety vaginal muscles would clamp around his thick rod as he filled her right to his hard, aching balls.

  “The next one goes in my pack.” Her giggle broke him from his sensual thoughts and he watched as she set upon searching for more of her prize materials. Bending over, she picked up an enamel water pitcher, and Tom cursed silently at the seductive curves of her luscious ass pressing against the tight pants she wore and wondered if she’d allow him to take her anally.

  He held his breath at that thought.

  He’d make her get on her hands and knees. Make her push her face into the pillows and lift her bare ass way high in the air. He’d run his hands over her velvety cheeks until she moaned for more. Then he’d slide a butt plug into her, a big plug that would prepare her for him.

  Her face would be flushed—her erotic moans would drift through the air as the plastic sank into her tight depths. He’d make her wear it. Make her wait. Make them both wait. The ache of anticipation of him taking her anally would drive them both crazy with lust. When she was finally ready, he’d remove it and thrust hard into her. She’d love the pressure of his cock sliding up her ass. She’d bite back at the pleasure-pain, her breaths coming in harsh gasps as he fucked her over and over until she cried out for mercy.

  She must have noticed the look of lust on his face because she was suddenly staring at him with a heated need that made his heart do a double take.

  He barely heard her next words as his mind reeled from the beauty of that sexy bedroom expression on her flushed face.

  “You’ll change your mind about my treasures once you see the finished product,” she whispered softly as she held up yet another junky-looking tin pot. “A lot of sandpapering,” she added softly. “A splash of aluminum paint, followed with perhaps a dusty rose color or maybe pioneer yellow or an Amish blue—”

  “All right.” He cut her off, his voice sounding strangled, aroused. “I get the picture. That one’s yours. Turn around.”

  Sara handed him the disgusting spider-webbed antique and he lifted the flap dumping it inside.

  “Just watch out for those sandwiches I have in there. I don’t want pancakes for supper tonight.”

  “Too late,” Tom teased.

  He dropped the flap and she twirled around to face him. Her eyes flared with heat and he noticed the way her plump nipples were poking hard against the thin T-shirt she wore. He knew she wanted him just as badly as he wanted her.

  Perspiration broke out on his forehead as he restrained himself. He could take her right here, right now. Push her against the crumbling wall, slide her pants and panties down and plunge his heavy, thick cock into her warm, wet cunt. Her face would scrunch up with the pleasure and he’d catch her cries with his eager kisses.

  Without warning, she stood on her tiptoes and planted a playfully light kiss on his nose. Before he could grab her, she turned around and danced like a water nymph out the door, leaving him alone with a magnificent hard-on that just about made him scream out in frustration.

  It was at that point he wondered if she had planned on coming here to this rustically romantic ghost town so they wouldn’t have to worry about the cops coming down the road to the inn and them being discovered at any moment.

  Here they could relax.

  They could enjoy themselves.

  Enjoy the carnal pleasures that were pent up and begging to break free in both of them.

  “C’mon, let’s go see what other treasures we can find,” she called from outside.

  “You’re the only treasure I’ll ever need, sweetness,” he whispered softly beneath his breath and followed her outside.

  —

  Two hours later, twilight shadowed a warning to Tom that it was time to execute the plan he’d been formulating as they’d scavenged through the ghost town of Jackfish. Leaving Sara alone while she examined a three-legged stool with her flashlight in yet another deserted house, he sauntered out into the cool evening air.

  Down by the moonlit Jackfish Bay he saw the cozy little boathouse they would spend the night in. Smiling, he grabbed both their knapsacks and headed into the romantic nightfall.

  —

  Aside from the gentle breeze rustling the leaves outside the glassless window of the debilitated cabin and the lapping water of the nearby bay, Sara found it quiet. Way too quiet.

  But the silence wasn’t new to her. With the help of her shrink Smokey, she’d finally been able to come to grips with the idea she was now alone and Jack and the twins were gone. After that realization, she’d more or less settled into a relatively quiet existence at Peppermint Creek Inn, keeping the inn running with the help
of some hired students and bored housewives, and going into her peppermint product business. Since Tom had entered her life with his sexy heated looks, which made her burn and yearn to be fucked, she realized she couldn’t go back to living alone.

  Thoughtfully, she bit her lower lip. Today when she’d suggested they leave Peppermint Creek Inn, come here and stay at the ghost town where he had last been seen, she’d secretly planned a seduction, something he would hopefully remember if the memory of his other life came back. She was being selfish also, because she wanted memories, too. In case he remembered his past and on the off chance he forgot her like the woman who’d gotten hit in the head with a coconut in Smokey’s amnesia example, she’d at least have had Tom for one night of passion.

  She craved to find out what kind of lover he would be. Would he be gentle and tender, or aggressive and fierce? Maybe he would be a sweet combination of both? From the sexual satisfaction she’d experienced from his suctioning mouth on her swollen breasts and his expert tongue inside her pussy during the picnic, he wasn’t shy about taking what he wanted. And her experience with him that night when she’d taken his thick cock deep into her throat proved he wasn’t shy about his own sexuality either.

  By the heated looks he’d thrown her way today as she’d tried to pretend she hadn’t noticed, had made her hornier than she’d ever been in her life. At one point when they’d first arrived, she’d even sensed he would simply grab her and slam her against the nearest wall, rip her clothes off and start fucking her.

  God, she’d wanted him to.

  But he hadn’t.

  The sexual need in his eyes though had been unmistakable.

  Sara closed her eyes and inhaled a deep, stirring breath. She could smell the oncoming rain drifting in the air. It was cool and damp with the distinct scent of ozone. It reminded her again of that horrific day. The day Jack had been murdered and of her miscarriage. Storms would probably always remind her of what had happened.

  Just on cue, thunder rolled quietly in the distance.

  Sara’s eyes popped open and she looked up just in time to catch the lightning flicker briefly in the glassless window. A brief surge of adrenaline shot through her quickly followed by something new.