by Janet Dailey
“I know it doesn’t, but—”
“Ghosts are spirits. Most of the time, they’re invisible. But there is a way you can see ’em,” he declared.
“How?”
“A rider can see a ghost—even if it’s invisible—by looking at it from behind his horse’s ears,” Jessie stated with complete certainty. “Jest sight down that horse’s nose like it was a rifle.”
“What!” Joanna exclaimed in disbelief at the wild claim.
“Why’s that so hard to believe?” Jessie protested. “Animals—horses and dogs—can see things we can’t. If there’s a ghost around, your horse will be pointing his head at it. Why do you think folks say that a horse ’spooks’ when he shies from somethin’ that his rider can’t see. You try it sometime. Just look between his ears when you’re sittin’ a’straddle him.”
“I’ll do it,” she stated to put an end to all this superstitious nonsense.
“You wouldn’t happen to have a pitcher ofthat cold spring water in the house, Jessie? I’m a little thirsty,” Linc said. “How about you, Joanna?”
“If you have some, yes,” she nodded, remembering that he didn’t have running water in the old cabin.
“It’ll just take me a minute to fetch it.” He rose with a turn and walked into the house.
Joanna looked at Linc and lowered her voice. “Does he really believe all that nonsense about the ghosts?”
“You should be here when he really gets wound up. Of course, it’s best when it’s dark and you’re sitting around the flickering light of a campfire. He can scare you silly with some of his tales.” Linc paused. “Storytelling is almost a lost art. Radio, television, movies, they have taken it over.”
“I guess that’s true,” Joanna agreed.
When Jessie returned, he was carrying two mismatched glasses of water. It was cool and sweet. She drank every drop of hers. Jessie nodded his approval.
“Best water around,” he stated with pride.
“Mmm, delicious.” She wiped a droplet of water from her chin and handed him back the glass. “Thanks.”
“Ready to start out?” Linc asked and pushed to his feet.
“Sure.” She stood to walk with him to the horses.
“Keep an eye out for them haints,” Jessie advised.
Chapter Eleven
The boat was a simple runabout, powered by an outboard motor. A pair of flotation cushions offered some relief from the hardness of the board seats. Any change of position in the small boat almost required logistic planning even though there were only two people. With all their fishing paraphernalia—tacklebox, bait, nets, and rods—there wasn’t much room for their feet.
In a quiet cove, the boat drifted on the still waters of the lake. The skeletons of trees poked their white limbs above the surface close to shore, long ago drowned by the damming of White River that had formed the lake.
The striated layers of a limestone bluff were drenched by the rays of the setting sun. Hugging the shoreline, a mallard hen kept counting heads and quacking to make sure her brood of ducklings stayed together. High overhead, a hawk soared in a lazy circle, gliding effortlessly on the air currents.
The boat rocked gently as Rachel shifted her position slightly and cast her Line into the deep water. Her first few attempts had been uncoordinated and inaccurate, but she had since regained the knack of casting so the line sailed out smoothly and on target.
“Very good,” Reece nodded in smiling approval.
His dark eyes noticed the way she beamed proudly at his compliment. They noticed a lot of things about her, from her appearance to the unmasking of her personality. A cloth hat covered her light brown hair, its shapeless brim protecting her pale complexion from the burning rays of the sun.
Over a modest tanktop of yellow knit she was wearing an old blue blouse with long sleeves as a light jacket. At Reece’s insistence, there was a life belt around her trim waist. Splotches of white paint on her faded jeans indicated they had long ago been relegated to less than everyday clothes. The worn material softly hugged her hips and legs in a way that was decidedly attractive.
Dressed as she was, there was a gamin charm about her. A complete abandonment of pretence that she was any more than what he saw. Proud, spirited . . . vulnerable, she was naturally woman. Her eyes no longer tried to keep him from seeing inside.
Rachel was all the things he had thought her to be and more, much more. A heady excitement swelled inside him until he wanted to shout his happiness to the world.
“What are you smiling about?” Rachel studied him with a look that was wary yet openly warm.
“You.” His smile deepened with incredible inner pleasure.
“I must look a mess,” she admitted without embarrassment.
“A beautiful mess,” Reece corrected in a vibrant tone of undisguised adoration.
Her attention shifted to her fishing rod as she tested the tautness of the line. “One of the first signs of age is failing eyesight. I think you need yours tested.” She was deliberately provocative.
With a small, negative movement of his head, Reece dismissed her reasoning. “I have contracted a malady that attacks all ages,” he explained. “It is a widely known fact that love is blind.”
Rachel faltered, unable to look at him, afraid to breathe, afraid to hope that it wasn’t an empty phrase. Her fingers closed tightly around the handle of the fishing rod. For several seconds, there was only the quiet lapping of the water against the sides of the boat.
“I promised myself I wouldn’t rush you.” His sigh was heavy with irritation. “That I would wait until—” He stopped in midsentence then abruptly refused to retract his admission. “Love is a beautiful word. It is what I feel, and I don’t regret saying it.”
When she finally looked at him, she was fighting the happiness that misted his image. “Do you know what I feel like right now, Reece?” Her voice was husky with emotion. “I can’t seem to act my age. My legs are like rubber and, I swear, I’d swoon if you touched me.”
The grimness was erased from his expression as he leaned forward, absently setting his pole aside. His eyes were dark with longing, possessive in their study of her face. He brought up his hand to caress her cheek. There was a fluttering of her lashes but she didn’t swoon.
“It isn’t too soon?” He needed to verify that she didn’t object to this quantum leap in their relationship.
“It probably is,” she replied. “There hasn’t been enough time to be sure. It could all be a mistake.”
“It isn’t. Don’t ask me how I know but it isn’t,” he insisted. “We are not young any more, Rachel, and I’m glad. We have the experience to see and appreciate the worth of what we share, and the wisdom to treasure it.”
The smallest smile touched her mouth. “You sound so wise and experienced. You must be a lot older than I am, because there isn’t a single sane or sensible thought in my head,” she declared with the faintest trace of humor.
His soft laugh was barely audible. The warmth of his breath caressed her skin as he brought his mouth against her lips. They strained toward each other across the distance between their seats, bridging it with their kiss yet unable to close the gap.
The kiss burned with the passion of the young, its fire sealing the promises of their words. There was a certain savoring quality about the embrace, a sense of rapturous wonder that must be tasted slowly to be enjoyed.
When the feast was brought to a reluctant end, Rachel sighed in partial satisfaction. They continued to gaze at one another as if assuring themselves that it all was real, and their contentment was mutual.
A passing speedboat sent its wake into the cove where the runabout bobbed on its rippling waves. Reece let his gaze slide to their surroundings and return to her.
“Here we are in a small boat in the middle of the lake with smelly fish bait at our feet.” There was regret in his bemused expression. “It is hardly a romantic setting. I can’t even properly hold you in my arms. Shall we go ba
ck to the cabin?”
She straightened to sit erectly, mocking him with a reproving look. “Without catching our supper?” she chided. “I don’t know about you, but I’d like something more substantial than scrambled eggs.”
Reece chuckled. “It is amazing how hungry I suddenly feel.”
The reel began to spin on Rachel’s rod as a fish took the baited hook on her line. The sudden sound startled her until she realized what it was.
Then she cried out in triumph, “I’ve got one!”
Her fingers became all thumbs as she clumsily began to reel it in. Reece laughed heartily at her uncoordinated efforts.
“It’s probably a minnow,” he teased.
’That’s more than you’ve caught,” she responded to his challenging remark. Just at that second, the fish broke the surface of the water. Rachel stared at the size of it and forgot to keep reeling in the line. “Did you see that?”
Reece was already whistling in surprise. “It’s a big one. Don’t lose it.” He reached for her pole. “You’d better let me land it.”
“Oh, no.” She moved the pole out of his reach. “This one’s mine. I’m not going to let you take credit for catching it.”
His glance of surprise became one of approval. He liked the spark of competition in her eyes and that assertion of self-reliance. He sat back and let his help take the form of encouragement and advice.
A worn trail wandered away from Jessie’s cabin and eventually wound its way to the lake. The way was narrow and they were forced to ride single file with Linc taking the lead astride the dappled buckskin. When they reached the shore, the forest gave way to a natural clearing and Joanna urged her horse to ride up alongside of the buckskin.
“Where do you suppose Reece took Rachel fishing?” She could see several boats out on the lake but they were all too far away.
“It’s hard to tell. It’s a big lake,” Linc didn’t hazard a guess.
Something rustled in the brush near the edge of the trees. Her horse turned its head toward the area, snorting and pricking its ears. Joanna looked, too, but saw nothing.
“Aren’t you going to test out Jessie’s theory?” Linc asked with an amused, sideways glance.
She reddened slightly, because it had been on her mind to lean forward in the saddle so she could look between her horse’s ears and possibly sight a spectre.
“There are no such things as ghosts,” she stated emphatically and settled deeper in the saddle seat.
“But you were going to look, weren’t you?” he guessed.
She started to vigorously deny it but the laughter in his eyes was completely without malice. A slightly sheepish look crossed her face.
“For a split second, I was,” Joanna admitted. “I really don’t know why. I don’t believe for a minute that I would see anything.”
“But, just in case—” Linc added the qualification that had prompted her initial reaction.
“Yes, just in case,” she agreed on a note of amused self-derision.
“You’re not alone. Everyone who has ever heard that story has tested it out to see if it’s true. It’s human nature to be curious and skeptical at the same time,” he grinned, then changed the subject to point to the top of the hill. “There’s a great view from that knob. Do you want to ride up and take a look?”
“Sure.”
This time there was no trail to follow and Linc had to blaze a new path. It was long and twisting, dictated by the course of least resistance. Even then, Joanna still found herself dodging and ducking low-hanging tree limbs. Occasionally their progress was punctuated by the strike of metal against stone as the shod horses scrambled over rocky stretches.
As they neared the top of the hill, the ground became barren of trees and undergrowth. The slope became steep and the horses lunged the last few feet to the crest. Joanna reined in her horse beside Linc’s and let it blow.
He stepped out of his saddle in a single, coordinated move and held the bridle of her horse while she dismounted to join him on the ground. The muscles in her legs quivered slightly, showing the strain of the ride.
“I have the feeling I’m going to be stiff tomorrow,” she said.
“A long soak in the tub tonight should ease most of the soreness.” Linc released the reins to both bridles, letting the ends trail loose.
The horses were trained to stand when the reins dragged the ground. They lowered their heads to graze on the tufts of sun-yellowed grass on the knoll.
His hand rested on her shoulder near the base of her neck, its slight pressure guiding her away from the horses. Joanna took her first look at the panoramic view from the high knob. The western horizon was turning yellow as the fiery gold orb of the sun sank lower in the sky. In all directions, there was the roll of high-ridged hills that seemed without end, their slopes thick with trees. The vantage point gave her a view of the many-armed lake, its surface shimmering like glass.
“I promised you a view,” Linc said.
Joanna realized they had stopped. “You were right.” It was an understatement but there weren’t any words to do it justice.
“The Ozark Mountains are one of the oldest mountain ranges in the country, possibly the world. You’re looking at what is probably the last hardwood forest we have,” he explained.
She became conscious of the weight of his hand on her shoulder and the touch of his fingers against the sensitive skin on her neck. Through her clothes, she could feel the warmth of his body heat as he stood close beside her. It rippled through her like the spreading heat of a warm fire.
“The mountain men trapped their furs here and the Indians hunted the game of the forests, but this area wasn’t really settled until the start of the nineteenth century. Most of the early pioneers came from the Southern Appalachians. They brought with them their stories, superstitions, and sure-cure remedies. The very roughness of the land isolated them from the rest of the world and gave birth to their culture.”
“Where did they learn all their superstitions?” Joanna wondered. “From the Indian? The Negro?”
“As I said, they came from the Appalachians, which was settled mainly by the English. I guess there are areas where even the accent is decidedly English. So are the songs and stories. “
“And the English claim to have an abundance of ghosts haunting their many castles,” she remembered. A scattering of clouds were turning orange as the sun began to settle behind them. “Look at the sunset,” she murmured.
“Let’s settle back and watch it,” Linc stated and pressed his hand on her shoulder to push her to the ground.
While she sat cross-legged, Linc stretched out on his side, propping himself up with an elbow. He tore off a long blade of grass and chewed on one end. The cloud-haze turned the sun into a crimson red ball that spread its stain across the sky. Joanna watched the hues change from gold to coral and red.
“People aren’t going to believe me about this place,” she declared.
“Why?”
“Back in California, they will laugh when I tell them about nearly running into a wagon pulled by a team of mules. They’ll think I made it up. You have to admit it does sound farfetched,” she pointed out with a wry shake of her head. “Then there’s Jessie.”
“He does have to be seen to be believed,” Linc agreed.
“They’d think I was crazy if I told them how Jessie predicted I would be kissed twice before nightfall just because that cardinal flew across my path. And the ghost stories, and looking between a horse’s ears to see one.” It stretched the imagination too far.
“And how will you describe me to your friends?” He watched while he twirled the blade of grass between his fingers.
“You?” Joanna repeated, momentarily at a loss for a reply. “Oh, well”—she stalled—“that’s easy. I’ll just describe this bossy man, always throwing his weight around and telling people how to behave. You are the only blight on an otherwise perfect vacation.” She deliberately baited him.
“Is tha
t a fact?” Linc rose to the challenge.
With a laugh, Joanna attempted to elude his reaching hand, but he caught the loose fold of her blouse near the waist. It checked her escape long enough for him to grab an arm with his other hand. Her laughing shriek didn’t faze him as he dragged her backward onto the ground.
She struggled briefly, trying to get free, but his superior strength was too much for her. She stopped fighting him and lay passively under his grip, her head resting on the ground while silent laughter dominated her expression. She looked up at him, out of breath.
“I was only kidding,” she insisted, unable to sound totally serious. “I’m sorry, really.”
“How sorry?” Linc demanded.
Something in the tawny gleam of his eyes changed the mood from playful to one that was filled with a sexual tension. Her heart hammered wildly against her ribs as she felt the weight of his body pressing down on hers, holding her to the ground.
His hands pinned her wrists and his face was inches above hers. There was a raw ache inside her that seemed to spring from nowhere. Her gaze strayed to his mouth, its firm, well-cut line hovering above her.
“Line,” she murmured in unconscious longing.
He lowered his mouth onto hers in hard possession and all of her resistance went up in flames. Her lips parted as he kissed her deeply. She wasn’t conscious of slipping her hands free of his grip, but somehow she had managed it because her fingers were threading through the springing thickness of his hair, rough and sensual against her palms.
She felt light and boneless, putty in his hands, hands that were caressing her with a sureness and ease. It was all very earthy and natural. When his fingers tugged her blouse free from the waistband of her jeans, it seemed right. Her nerve ends thrilled at the touch of his hand against her flesh, so warm and gently evocative, arousing and exploring.
She seemed filled with the golden fire of sundown, all radiant and glowing. It was a wild, new sensation that hinted at something greater. Needles of sexual excitement pierced her, stabbing at her loins with the need to know that fulfillment.
