by Lexi Post
Realization dawned through the pain in his head. He’d been unconscious a full day. Jurgen had taken the decision out of his hands. Maybe he should be thanking the man. What more could they have said? Kat had a stranglehold on her past as strong as the curse that kept her in the 1790s. What place did he have there?
Slowly, he stood and walked back to his car. He crawled into the backseat, not willing to risk driving, and lay down. There was no rush. All he had to return to was his penthouse, his job and the occasional visit to family. The once-a-month visits to the stable were one activity he could look forward to. That was something.
* * * * *
Oldtime—Wednesday
Kat strode toward the Vandend farm, her temper barely in check. She had two reasons for her visit and she planned on being successful with both. Marching up the steps to the old porch, she banged on the wooden door. Max swung it open and she narrowed her eyes at him. “As I thought. Your ankle is fine. You need to come back to work.”
He backed in and avoided her gaze. “I planned to tomorrow. I was just making sure I was completely well.”
She reached around him and pulled the thin square machine out of his hand. “I’m sure you were, once you finished whatever you were doing with this.”
“Please.” He looked over his shoulder. “Don’t let Grandmama see it. She hates anything Newtime.”
“I’m not liking it much either when I have no one to fill the root cellar, stack the wood or clean the windows.”
“Right.” He lowered his voice. “Give it to me and I will go to the inn posthaste.”
She glared at him a moment longer, then nodded once. As soon as it was in his hand, Max was as good as his word. He brushed past her out the door and strode down the lane.
Now for the tough job. “Dame Vandend. Are you here?”
“Yah. I’m in the garden.”
Kat walked through the small, dilapidated house and stepped through the open back door.
Dame Vandend wasn’t tending to her garden. Rather she sat on a chair in the middle of it, a bottle of whiskey on the bench beside her and a glass of the amber liquid in her hand.
Some example she was for poor Max. The man wanted nothing more than to be involved with Newtime and his grandmama wanted everything to stay the way it was. Unfortunately, time eventually took its toll, and the woman would be sorry for her laziness one of these days.
Kat strode to the bench and sat. “I want to know about the curse.”
The older woman cocked her head. “Which curse?”
“There’s more than one? I want to know about the one you mentioned at the last town meeting. Where you said the village was cursed to stay in Oldtime and only by Braeden…” She swallowed down the pain of his name. “Braeden and I having congress with each other would we stay in Newtime. That curse.”
“Oh.”
“You know a lot more about why we remain in Oldtime. It took me a while, but I finally put the pieces together. You want us to stay in Oldtime. Why?”
The old woman took a sip of her whiskey before turning her intense gaze on Kat. “Don’t you want to stay in Oldtime? I thought you preferred we keep our ways pure.”
“That was before I knew being in Oldtime was a curse. I thought we were special, but then I hear we are being punished somehow.”
“Not punished.” Dame Vandend readjusted her significant seat. “How can living longer than any other people in the world be a punishment?”
Kat lowered her brow. “So that’s it. You want to live beyond your rightful time. That’s why you like this curse?”
The old woman’s smile was crooked. “It’s not such a bad thing, no?”
“Yes.” Kat looked to the sky and took a deep breath before refocusing. “If this is a curse, that means there must be a way to break it.”
“What?” Dame Vandend stiffened, almost to the point of sitting straight.
“What can we do to break the curse?”
The woman’s lips closed tight.
Kat stood, her agitation growing. “Do you realize what this curse has done? Nora’s daughters are looking at a life with no love, no husband and no children. Your own grandson, whose mind is smart and could easily invent any number of the objects found in Newtime, is stuck in this time, forced to be a laborer or farmer.”
“That’s honorable work.”
“Yes it is, but his mind is ready for bigger challenges more suited to him. And who would he grow old with? Have a family with? All he can see is what he can’t have and will never be happy in the 1790s.”
The older woman looked down and took another swig of her whiskey.
“Why did you call me maiden at the first meeting after Braeden arrived?”
“Because you are, were. Your Brom didn’t marry you and never will.” The woman gave her a shrewd look. “You may think you have found him again but he is gone, generations now. You will never have him back.”
“I don’t want him back. Yes, I loved him but he left, had his own life with the family we were supposed to have and never looked back. I don’t want him. I want Braeden.”
“Then why do you hold on to Brom?”
“Why do people keep telling me that? I don’t—”
“You do. The curse will never be lifted while you do so.”
Kat stilled. She had something to do with the curse? “What do you mean?”
The older woman shook her head and took another sip of whiskey.
Kat gripped the edges of her gown in frustration, wishing instead to shake Dame Vandend until she spoke. “Fine. But you think about what kind of life you are forcing on others as you idle your way beyond the years you should have had. Don’t forget after you’re gone, and no one knows the way to break the curse, you will condemn the rest of us to live it out until perhaps only your grandson is left, living here alone.”
The old woman looked at her with her last statement, but pursed her lips.
Beyond frustrated, Kat turned and stalked out the gate in the backyard fence, slamming it back as she opened it. The old wood shattered but she kept walking.
There had to be a way to keep the village in Newtime permanently. She’d failed to keep it in Newtime temporarily. Her heart lurched at the memory of her and Braeden’s last time in the forest. He hadn’t come back. They could have talked, but he never returned. She couldn’t accept he was gone forever.
Her gut told her Stephen would be at the festival next weekend. She wasn’t sure she could face him. She loved Braeden so much, the pain of losing him was like gangrene in her soul. It far eclipsed what she’d felt after losing Brom and she didn’t know what to do.
Reaching the inn, she opened the kitchen door and stepped in.
“Katrina.” Her mama’s sympathetic voice greeted her. She stood next to the table with open arms and offered the comfort only a mother could.
It was too much to resist. Without a word, Kat stepped into her mother’s embrace.
“I’m so sorry. What happened?”
She held on to her mama’s warmth a moment longer and then stepped away. The sadness in her parent’s gaze almost tumbled the limited control she had. She swallowed hard. “I called him Brom.”
Her mother’s shock undid her. Kat collapsed into a chair and put her head in her hands as the tears fell and the pain of the moment swept through her again.
Her mama hugged her from behind. “There, there. We will figure out how to fix this.”
Her mother took the seat next to her and Kat wiped her eyes with her sleeve. “I don’t think this can be fixed.”
“Tch, tch. Of course it can. You love him, yah?”
She nodded.
“And he loves you, yah?”
She shrugged. He cared for her, at least until she called him Brom.
“I’m sure he does.” Her mother patted her hand. “Now why did you call him Brom?”
“We were just talking about Brom. Braeden asked me to tell him everything and so I did. Then…” She paused. She a
lmost couldn’t say it, still shocked it had happened. “We were having congress when I called him Brom.”
Her mother’s look turned serious as she rose from the table, which made Kat worry all the more. It proved there was no way to ever bring Braeden back. She covered her face with her hands, unable to bear the situation she’d made for herself.
“This is serious, Katrina. Fixing it may be…difficult.”
The sounds of coffee being prepared reached her ears, but her stomach tightened. Her mother rarely called anything difficult. She worried her lower lip, desperately holding back tears.
While the fire caught, her mother returned to the table. “Why did you call him Brom?”
“I don’t know.” She lowered her hands. “I thought it was because we had just been speaking of him, but he didn’t believe me.”
Dame Van Tassel shook her head. “No. That is not why. You still hold on to Brom here.” She put her hand over her chest. “You have to let him go. You must make peace with him.”
“But I am at peace.” Kat rose and put the coffee on the heated surface. “He’s been gone for more than four years. He had a family and children. What more can I do?”
“Yah, he left you and had a wonderful life, but Kat, you have not left him.”
She leaned against the cupboards and crossed her arms over her stomach. “I—”
“No. You have not left him. In fact, you resent him for having that life, don’t you?”
She looked at her clasped hands. “Yes. I do.” She lifted her gaze to the window and envisioned them walking along the lane. “We had such beautiful plans. We were going to have a family, run Papa’s farm, grow old together.”
“But that didn’t happen. He disappeared into Newtime.”
“Yes. I’m sure he saw it as a great adventure. I can see him enjoying the sights and sounds of a different time. Oh, I’m sure he came back, but we were gone. Brom would never have the patience to wait a year to find us again.”
“Precisely, and yet you had the patience to wait. And after you realized he had made his own life with a new wife, you held on to the past, keeping it alive, keeping it authentic.” Her mother raised her brow.
Had she? Was that what she’d done? Was that why she’d been so adamant that Oldtime stay pure? Was she as guilty as Dame Vandend in that respect?
Her mother joined her and pulled cups from the cupboard. “You still hold on to him. You kept his frock.”
“But I had forgotten I kept it.”
Her mother stared at her before continuing to place the cups and spoons on the table. “And what else do you still have? The wedding dress. Yah?”
She turned away from her mother’s shrewd gaze and lifted the coffeepot to pour.
“Is there more you have held on to in addition to your dreams?”
When she’d completed her task, she sat and faced her mother. “Yes. I have the ring he made from a vine. I have the blanket we used when we got caught in a rain storm. I think I still have the poem he wrote me.” She sat in stunned silence. There were other items she’d kept from their time together as well.
Her mother patted her hand. “You need to let him go, Katrina. Whether you can repair the damage you have done with Braeden or not. You will only find happiness living in the present, not the past.”
She lifted her gaze in wonder at her mother’s wisdom. She hadn’t expected to learn more at her mother’s knee at the ripe age of twenty-eight, but obviously, she had much more to learn. “Thank you, Mama. I understand now.”
“Good.” The older woman spooned in a large amount of sugar into her coffee.
Somehow she needed to determine how to expel Brom from her life and embrace the present.
It would not be an easy task.
Chapter Thirteen
November—Newtime
Braeden wrapped his arms around Kat’s lush body, pulling her back against his chest, her rounded ass cupping his erection. The water splashed from his tub, wetting the marble floor. He didn’t care. He wanted to be inside her.
He palmed one breast and played with the nipple until it was a tight nub. He kissed the bend of her neck and she tilted her head, giving him more access. “I want you, Kat.”
She wiggled her butt against his cock.
“Wench,” he growled. Lifting her, he floated her over the tip of his cock and eased her tight pussy onto him. When he’d filled her, she sighed and leaned back against him, splaying her legs wide across his. The warm water caressed them as he moved his hand down over her belly to find her hidden folds where they connected.
“Take me.” Her words were but a whisper but they sped through his body like a command.
He used his finger to make slow circles on her clit while he brought his other hand up to squeeze her breast. She tightened around him as he played with her body, her hips grinding against him.
His balls constricted as his cock pushed into her, lifting her with his thrusts.
“Oh God, Brom.”
His eyes opened wide, male laughter filling his ears. He stared into the darkness of his room for a moment, catching the vestiges of sound. The chill of her betrayal cooled his heated body, causing him to shiver. “Computer, low lights. Seventy-eight degrees.”
The lights came on and the air-conditioning ceased. He sat up.
He’d heard that laughter before. It was full, boisterous, yet scratchy. He ran his hand through his hair and winced. The bump on his head was still tender. According to the doctor, he did have a concussion.
Looking at the clock, he groaned. Midnight. Not again. He stared at the nightstand drawer where he’d thrown her comb. He should throw it away. He couldn’t live the rest of his life with sex dreams about Kat, especially if they turned to nightmares. He needed to get laid. He needed to forget about her. He needed a drink.
Rising, he shivered, his body still sweaty from his dream. He stepped into his closet and grabbed his old terrycloth robe. Shuffling into the living room, he manually hit the light switch for a change. He reached behind the bar for the cognac, but changed his mind and pulled out the scotch instead. After pouring a shot, he settled himself into his leather La-Z-Boy.
The aroma of scotch reminded him of his last night playing the Headless Horseman, coming back to the stables to have a drink with Ludo. It still boggled his mind that a whole village could disappear and reappear. If he hadn’t seen it with his own eyes, he’d never have believed it.
He should tell Stephen. Shit. He would have to meet with Stephen to tell him he wasn’t going to be the Headless Horseman anymore. He hated giving it up, but he wouldn’t go near Sleepy Hollow again. He took a sip of the scotch, savoring the amber liquid across his tongue before swallowing. The relaxing burn eased the nightmare away as it made its way to his stomach. There was nothing like a good single malt.
What year was Ludo’s? It was revolutionary times. How many people could say they had scotch that old? It would have been nice on the colder nights to have had a bit of scotch or whiskey before the ride, but Ludo was never in the barn then. That was a bit odd, but then again, what wasn’t odd about Sleepy Hollow?
He raised a brow and took another sip. Riding Daredevil was pure pleasure, but he could ride at the stables he’d found. Still, there was no horse like Daredevil, except perhaps the white one he and Daredevil raced across the church meadow.
Braeden sat up and put his glass down hard on the side table.
The laughter. That’s where he’d heard it. The ghost on the white steed, but what did that have to do with Kat? Why the laughter? Why—
“Fuck. It’s Brom.”
It made sense. The ghost looked so much like himself, it had to be Brom. Brom was the original Van Brunt to play the Headless Horseman and scare Ichabod Crane from Sleepy Hollow. But if Brom had lived in Newtime, why would he haunt Sleepy Hollow?
Kat. Kat wouldn’t let him go. That had to be it. So not only had Braeden been dealing with a dead man, but a ghost as well.
He lifted his
glass and leaned back in his chair. He definitely owed Jurgen a thank you for knocking him out. He was better off never stepping foot into the weirdness that was Sleepy Hollow again.
* * * * *
Newtime—December
“Braeden, you have to go see him.”
He stared at his brother, shocked by his anger. “Why is this so important to you?”
Stephen stalked across the room, though pacing was usually Braeden’s forte. “It’s not important to me, it’s important to you. You need to see Reed.”
Braeden looked outside at Stephen’s children roughhousing in a pile of snow. He remembered the two of them doing that when they were young. So much had changed. “I helped him find his apartment and I will see him at Christmas. Why now?”
Stephen stopped in midstride. “You helped him find the apartment with internet searches. That is not the same as sitting down and talking to him. Besides, he asked for you.”
Braeden swallowed. “Why?”
“I think he wants to thank you for all you’ve done and make you stop. He wants to be on his own now. I’m not sure, but based on what he said last week, that’s my hunch.”
Braeden rubbed the side of his face. He didn’t want to see Reed. As much as he loved him like a brother, he was always afraid his friend would remember what happened and that he’d been the cause.
Stephen sat on the ottoman across from him. “You told me Kat wouldn’t let go of her past, right?”
He stiffened. What did Kat have to do with Reed? “Yeah.”
“Well, I think it’s time you confronted yours. You need to tell Reed what happened.”
“What? No. That’s crazy. What good will that do?”
Stephen leaned his elbows on his knees. “You look like shit. You have bags under your eyes, your hair is a mess and your clothes are far from their usual neatness.”
He ran his hand through his hair. “I haven’t been getting much sleep.”
“Why?” Stephen stared at him with a determined look Braeden recognized. Shit. He hated that look. Stephen was like a cat with his prey when that gleam appeared in his eyes.
