Oberon Boxed Set (Books 1-3) Welcome to Oberon

by P. G. Forte

  It wasn’t the bobcat’s fault, after all. It was a wild animal. A predator. A hunter. It had only done what it had been born to do. It was her fault Selke had died. No matter how much she’d like to believe otherwise.

  And if she’d hadn’t given in to Ryan’s badgering – if it hadn’t happened on the one day she’d actually locked the center up when she left – she knew that, by now, she would have convinced herself that someone else had come in while they were out. That someone else was at fault. Someone. Anyone. Just not her, please, not her! She already had enough guilt.

  As things stood, however, there were only two people who could have been responsible. And of the two of them, Ryan was clearly the more careful, the more cautious, and undoubtedly the more sane.

  Unless he’d taken to playing mind games with her. Just like Tim used to do. Tim. She thought about the man who had been her husband while she watched the cat tear at its food. In a lot of ways, this seemed exactly the kind of joke he would have found amusing. Not that he would ever have gone so far, of course.

  Memories nagged at the back of her mind and she pushed them away. He would not have gone that far – she had to keep believing that. She had to believe that she would not have left her babies – not even for an instant – with anyone capable of doing something so heinous.

  She’d have fought him tooth and nail for custody, if she’d suspected he was so crazy that being with him would put the girls in danger. She would have pulled strings, bent rules and done anything she had to. Because, to do any less... that would have made her almost as much of a monster as he had been.

  Her heart began to pound as she thought about it. Panic flooded her system. She felt her mind begin to unravel as it came too close to the fear that lurked in the deepest, darkest, recesses of her soul.

  He wasn’t a monster, not really. No matter how it had seemed during the last months of their marriage. And she hadn’t left her children with a murderer. She wouldn’t have done that, no matter how desperate she’d been to leave him. Their deaths had been an accident, a tragedy – not some stunt he’d set up to torment her.

  She chanted the litany over and over again, while she dredged up every good memory she could from the early days of their relationship, until at last she felt the certainty set in. Until her breathing slowed and her thoughts quit clamoring in her head.

  It was her fault they were dead. Yes, absolutely. She’d accepted that. But she’d been young and blind and selfish. Not criminally negligent. Not willfully stupid. Not, not—

  “It wasn’t like that,” she whispered to the empty air. “I was a good mother. I was.”

  It was the same thought she’d been clinging to for years. Whenever she’d feel her sanity slipping away. Whenever she found herself questioning the accidents that plagued her.

  However much it might hurt to accept that her daughters were lost, it was even worse to imagine the opposite – that she might have unknowingly abandoned her children to a killer. Even if he was their father.

  It hurt too much to hope that they could still be alive. And finally, she’d reached the point where she couldn’t do it anymore.

  It was better to stay numb. To stay frozen. To stay away from the pain that being with other people always seemed to cause.

  Until Ryan had come along. And now— oh, but it was hopeless. She was still insane and he was playing games. And lying to her. And breaking her heart all over again.

  Damn it, how could he do this to her, she fumed as she viciously chopped up frozen anchovies into bite-sized chunks for the two Western gulls in her care. She’d trusted him! She’d loved him. How could he go behind her back like that? How could he lie to her and betray her and make her even more unhappy than she’d been before he’d come along?

  She’d been had. Oh, boy, had she been had. She’d been had, she’d been taken, she’d been – shit. Why was it that everything she thought of today had sexual connotations? This was not about sex. Except... oh, hell, maybe it was, at that.

  That was just the way some guys were, wasn’t it? Sleep with him a couple of times, and he thinks he owns you. He thinks he can just waltz right in and take over your life, make all sorts of decisions about things that don’t concern him in the slightest. And then be all hurt and surprised when you don’t gaze at him adoringly and wonder aloud how you ever managed without him.

  Typical. Tears splattered the cutting board and left dark circles on the frost covered fish. She swiped at her eyes with the back of her hand and began cutting up a Talapia.

  She forced herself to focus on the tasks at hand, thrust the tears and the pain to the back of her mind.

  When she was finished with the gulls, she fed the pelican. Its eyes stared back at her, like dark marbles, giving no clue to its thoughts. Maybe it didn’t have any. Maybe everything she knew or thought she knew was wrong. That had certainly been the case with Bob.

  Ten years ago she’d made the mistake of thinking his interest in her was still personal. That even after she’d confessed to her craziness, to her guilt and her fears, he could still be in love with her. That the indecision she thought she saw in him – all his soothing words about life giving them a second chance –meant that he was maybe rethinking the choice he’d made to end their relationship.

  That this time, she actually had a chance of being his first choice, rather than a distant third.

  The memory of how furious she’d been when she learned the truth, and of how big a fool she’d made of herself over him, was still as raw and painful as ever.

  And now, it appeared she’d been wrong about Ryan, as well. She’d suggested he take the rest of the week off yesterday, not really thinking he’d do it, but needing to make the offer, all the same. Needing to prove to herself that he’d be there for her, even if she didn’t need him to be.

  But apparently he’d taken her at her word. She’d neither seen nor heard from him since then, although he’d left his dog behind. Undoubtedly for her protection.

  What was it about her, anyway? Why did men always want to save her? Why couldn’t they just love her, instead? Did she really come across as that damaged? That helpless? That crazy?

  Maybe it was the crying. She’d broken down twice now, in front of him. Three times if you counted the other night. Or maybe it was the voices.

  A shudder ran through her. It was just coincidence, his saying that last Saturday. Whatever he heard, or thought he heard – that couldn’t have been what he meant. Unless he was lying about not being a mind reader?

  She considered that for a moment. It was possible, she supposed. He’d lied to her about the test results, after all. Or, well, it wasn’t really a lie, was it? He just hadn’t said anything at all about them. But he’d definitely lied to Ray.

  It didn’t matter. Mind reader or not, she didn’t believe he’d heard anything the other night except the wind. She couldn’t and wouldn’t believe anything else! The voices were in her mind. That’s all there was to it.

  They were in her mind, and nowhere else.

  If there was one thing she was sure of, it’s that there was no afterlife. No immortality. No survival of the soul. And definitely no such thing as ghosts.

  How many psychics had she gone to, seeking some closure, some solace, some tiny scrap of hope that a part of her daughters had lived on, in some form – in any form at all? Only to meet with failure.

  She’d told them nothing about herself, of course – not wanting to influence them. Not wanting to set herself up to be duped, either. And in return she’d gotten exactly the same from them. Nothing of any real importance. No mention of any children on the other side, though the description of her grandfather had been uncannily accurate. No mention of an accident, either. Even though several had talked repeatedly of boats and water and a small black dog.

  Selke. She felt a tiny, frail ray of hope pierce through the darkness. But no, that hadn’t even been coincidence. That was just good observational skills. Hadn’t all of her clothing been cove
red, at one point or another, with dog hair?

  God, she missed him though. She missed the way he’d try to wag his stump of a tail. Missed the sound of his claws clicking along the hardwood floor behind her. Missed even the sight of him curled up on her chair – shedding the hair she knew she’d end up wearing.

  It wouldn’t take a psychic to figure out she was a dog owner.

  No, and they’d been off the mark about anything to do with the spirit realm. Way off. Every last one of them. Leading her at last to a grim, inescapable conclusion. Her babies were gone. Gone for good and forever.

  And everything else that she felt; all the clues and coincidences, all the constant synchronicities, the feeling of being watched – - f being haunted, even – were the product of her own imagination. Her sick, incurable desire for something she would never, never have again.

  Ten years. Ten long, lonely years and then one brief, bright flare of happiness. One small glimmer of hope. And then ashes again. Ashes and dust. How fitting that it should have been Ash Wednesday that she’d chosen to let her heart burn to a cinder.

  She watched the pelican stretch its wings. Its flight feathers were growing back nicely. Soon she’d release it, and watch as it took to the sky – free and healthy. Two things she would never be again.

  Perhaps she hadn’t gone far enough the other night. Perhaps she should have burnt the whole damn place to the ground – and herself right along with it. What was it that stopped her?

  She wasn’t sure. Fear of the nothingness she knew awaited her? The knowledge that she didn’t deserve to rest in peace? Or maybe because she owed it to her children to keep breathing for as long as she could stand it. To keep their memories alive for as long as she could?

  Ten years. How long was enough?

  * * * *

  Lucy took a long last look around the bedroom. It was perfect. Rose scented candles stood ready on each of the nightstands, and in their bathroom a bottle of vanilla flavored massage oil steamed peacefully in the bottle warmer. A picnic basket containing most of the ingredients for the meal she’d planned sat ready on the bed. Olives and oysters and double cream Brie. And cherry tomatoes—out of season, of course, and not nearly as good as the ones they’d get later in the year, but that could not be helped. She’d fared better with the avocados and the artichokes.

  Two weeks of searching had turned up several bottles of a nice Cabernet that was a near match for the wine they had shared all those years ago. She’d struck out when it came to the fresh strawberries, however. To compensate she’d bought a box of marzipan fruit and two cans of whipped cream.

  She was ready. Closing the door behind her, she headed down the hallway toward her kitchen to check on the rest of the meal. She looked at her watch, to see how much time she had, and felt a momentary tightness in her chest when she saw how late it was. Where was he? Surely he wouldn’t be late tonight?

  Not that there was any hurry, of course. They had all night to eat and talk, and to love each other. To remember the way things used to be. Could still be. Were.

  She could hear Mandy and Kate giggling in the family room as they watched one of the videos she’d rented for them. She thought of Scout and her cousin, probably already checked in at the spa—already in bed, perhaps. And Marsha, out to dinner with Sam. She tried to rein in the jealousy which for weeks had threatened to overwhelm her.

  She’d had a whole lifetime of loving and being loved, after all. It was petty of her to begrudge her two best friends a little of the same happiness she had, wasn’t it? But she did, all the same.

  As she checked on the artichokes, wiggling a couple of the outer leaves to see how loose they were, she imagined how it would feel to slide one of them into his mouth, to feel the touch of his lips as they brushed against the tips of her fingers. The faint tug as she pulled the leaf out again, and his teeth clamped down on it, resisting her. She imagined the taste of and the feel of melted butter as it dripped down her chin. The sweet aftertaste in both their mouths as he licked the butter away and then kissed her.

  The artichokes were ready she decided, turning off the heat beneath the pot. And so was she. Ready to break down the wall that had sprung up between her and Dan. Ready to break through the silence that threatened to suffocate them both. Ready to reclaim her marriage.

  And reclaim her husband, too, from whatever it was that had stolen so much of his attention recently.

  She had everything she needed to accomplish her task, except for one little thing. Dan still wasn’t home. She resisted the urge to check her watch again, and uncorked one of the bottles of wine. It was just as well that he was late. It was a fairly young vintage, after all. It could use a few minutes to breathe. She poured herself a glass of it, anyway, admiring the deep, clear color of the wine.

  Three drops, red as heart’s blood fell on the white tile counter. She wiped them up and licked her finger, and then turned at the sound of the door opening, her chest tight again.

  “Hey babe. Sorry I’m late,” Dan said, smiling as he came toward her. He was carrying a bouquet of roses and a small, insulated paper bag.

  Lucy could hear her heart thudding in her ears. “Hey, yourself,” she murmured, putting her glass down, and leaning back against the counter. She cocked her head to the side. “What’s in the bag?”

  He put the roses on the counter and leaned in close. “Your Valentine’s present.” He pushed her hair back behind her ear and nuzzled her neck. His voice was a warm whisper. “Part of it, anyway. I thought maybe we could take this back to our bedroom with us later, maybe have our dessert in there tonight?”

  He brushed a brief kiss against her lips and then pulled away, and handed her the bag. “Here. Take a look.” He rested his hands on the counter, one on either side of her, and watched as she opened the bag.

  “Lavender ice cream?” Her favorite. She stared at him in wonder. There was only one place in town that made it, and then only during the summer. “How’d you get it?”

  He flashed her his most mischievous grin. “It was easy. I just called and asked if they’d make up a batch of it special for me. Told them I’d give them a real good deal on the lavender this year, if they did. That’s why I’m late tonight, I had to stop downtown and pick it up.”

  Lucy clutched the pint container against her chest, mindless of the chill, as she thought about the velvety smoothness of the ice cream, the sweet taste of lavender, the way it would feel later tonight, as it melted on her skin.

  Dan’s eyes gleamed as he watched her. “Well? Don’t you have anything for me?”

  She nodded and reached for his hand. “Come on. I’ll show you. Bring the roses,” she said, smiling at him over her shoulder.

  She’d been foolish to be so worried, she thought, as she led him down the hallway towards their bedroom. Nothing had changed between them. They were still on the same wavelength, still in sync. Still in love.

  She dropped his hand as they entered the bedroom. Crossing to the bed, she pulled down a corner of the bedspread, so he could see the rose petals she’d layered between the sheets: red and white, just like the ones he’d brought her.

  He smiled at her from across their bed. “The red rose is a falcon and the white rose is a dove,” he recited softly. “The red rose whispers passion and the white rose breathes of love. Looks like we might have been thinking along similar lines today.”

  “Hmmm.” She returned his smile. “Looks like.”

  He frowned suddenly. “Except... I think I may have reversed the order of those verses.”

  She shrugged, and rested one knee on the bed. “Does it really matter?”

  “No.” His glance sizzled as it wandered slowly over her. “Not at all. So, what are you tonight? A falcon, or a dove?”

  “I don’t know.” She shrugged again. “I haven’t decided, yet. Maybe neither.”

  “Neither, huh?” He looked amused. “Why don’t you come over here and let me change your mind about that.”

  She peered up
at him teasingly, “What’s your hurry, Cavanaugh? You got places to go?”

  “Just one,” he said. His glance went briefly to the basket on the bed between them. “Are we having a picnic?”

  She nodded. “Take a look.”

  She held her breath and watched as he lifted the lid and looked inside; watched the smile that slowly crept across his face, watched his throat work as he swallowed. He remembered. Her heart soared at the look in his eyes when he looked at her again; at the heat and the passion that blazed within them.

  “C’mere,” he said and his voice, husky with emotion, warm and dark, set all her nerves aflame. He reached for her across the bed and she went to him, she felt his arms close around her, felt the sting of tears in her eyes as he kissed her. His lips, warm and familiar, told her everything she wanted to know. All the things he hadn’t put into words in so long.

  She fell back with him into the pillows, and the scent of roses surrounded them.

  Finally he pulled away. “What about the kids? Have they eaten?”

  She nodded. “All taken care of.”

  “Good,” he murmured, leaning in and kissing her again. Her mouth opened eagerly for him, her arms stole up around his neck.

  But then he pulled away again, groaning slightly. “Wait. I’m forgetting about the dog. I gotta take him for his walk, before it gets too late.”

  She smiled at the reluctant, dazed look on his face. “No need. I took him for you.”

  “Oh. Good thinking. Thank you.” His eyes glittered with desire as he leaned towards her again. And then he stopped, and a dark, foreboding expression replaced the warm sensuality. “Wait... what do you mean? You took him where?”

  She frowned at the suspicion in his voice. “Well, to the park, of course. Why?”

  “The park? Lucy— please tell me you don’t mean the green belt?”

  She nodded, watching in dismay as fury raced across his face and he glared at her. “You have got to be kidding me,” he practically spat the words out. “Have you lost your mind, woman?”