by Debra Dixon
Mountain Mystic is a work of fiction. Names, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
A Loveswept eBook Edition
Copyright © 1994 by Debra Dixon
Excerpt from All is Fair by Linda Cajio © 1986 by Linda Cajio.
Excerpt from Bad to the Bone by Debra Dixon copyright © 1996 by Debra Dixon.
Excerpt from Rescuing Diana by Linda Cajio copyright © 1987 by Linda Cajio.
All Rights Reserved.
Published in the United States by Loveswept, an imprint of The Random House Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc., New York.
LOVESWEPT and colophon are trademarks of Random House, Inc.
Mountain Mystic was originally published in paperback by Loveswept, an imprint of The Random House Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc. in 1994.
Cover image © Peter Bernick/shutterstock
eISBN: 978-0-307-80456-3
www.ReadLoveSwept.com
v3.1
To my sister, Lori Clark—
who found a family treasure
hidden in the mountains of East Tennessee
And to my grandfather, Byrd E. Daugherty—
newly found but much loved
A special thanks to:
Brenda Y. Smith, M.N., C.N.M., Associate Professor, University of Tennessee–Memphis, College of Nursing, for answering questions and sending wonderfully concise and informative literature. Her kindness and generosity made my research a pleasure. Any mistakes regarding midwifery practice and procedure should be attributed strictly to the author.
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Acknowledgment
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Editor’s Corner
Excerpt from Linda Cajio’s All Is Fair …
Excerpt from Debra Dixon’s Bad to the Bone
Excerpt from Linda Cajio’s Rescuing Diana
ONE
“It’s the top-rated talk show! You can’t say no.”
“Yes, I can.” Joshua Logan spoke evenly, but he gripped the phone tightly enough to turn his knuckles white. He had no intention of going anywhere in the near future. “You don’t need me to sell the book. Five years ago, half the country bought Touching History. The new book will find its way without me.”
Derrick Tremont, his agent, swore into the phone. “You can’t still be serious about this ‘back to the mountain’ nonsense? I can understand your wanting to get off the university lecture circuit. You sure as hell don’t need the money, and if you want to stop being an archaeologist and digging around in the dirt, that’s up to you. You’ve already established your credentials. But you can’t turn your back on this publicity tour!”
“I can, and I have. I thought we were clear on this, Derrick. My contract doesn’t require me to put on a dog-and-pony show. As far as I’m concerned, the publisher bought the book. They bought the gimmick. They didn’t buy me.”
“For God’s sake, you are the gimmick! A psychic Indiana Jones! What else would you call a flesh-and-blood scientist who admits that he can get psychic impressions from the ancient artifacts he handles?”
“Retired,” Joshua told him flatly.
Silence stretched out through the miles of telephone cable. Finally, Derrick said, “I can’t change your mind, can I?”
“No.” But I wish you could, Joshua thought as he flipped off the mobile phone. A new mind would solve a lot of his problems. He’d let his psychic genie out of the bottle, and now he was having some trouble putting it back. He wanted out of the limelight, out of the high life, and back into real life.
When his head began a familiar throbbing, Joshua knew he wasn’t going to get any more work done on the new cabin today. The past was closing in on him, and he needed space. Not bothering to pack up his tools, he headed for the most restful spot on the mountain. Once there, he leaned his back against a smooth tree trunk stained green by moss and slid slowly to the cool earth.
Welcoming the quiet of the familiar and primeval forest, he let the magic of his surroundings soothe his mind and make him whole again. When the relentless pounding in his head diminished to a faint, manageable touch of pain, Joshua opened his eyes to the lush green kaleidoscope of the Appalachian Mountains. He pulled clean air and the scent of morning dew into his lungs. Without a doubt, Joshua knew that coming back to live in East Tennessee had been the right decision.
He heard the muted whisper of water pulsing through the sluggish creek beside him, and he felt his equilibrium returning. The mountains had given him a place to fade away from the world, and more important, a place to let the echoes of the world fade away from him. Smiling, he realized this headache had been the first in weeks.
Soon the lush greenery would be replaced by the flames of autumn, his favorite season. Trading his career for peace of mind didn’t seem like such a sacrifice when he got nature’s beauty in the bargain. He’d come home, away from the emotional clutter of the cities, and he intended to stay. He doubted even an offer to excavate legendary Camelot would drag him off.
What was left of his career would have to come to him, and even then he wasn’t sure he’d try again. Every time was like opening Pandora’s box. Each new connection would only add to the emotions that had battered his consciousness for the past few years.
Emotions that didn’t even belong to him. Sometimes, emotions so old they had to be measured in centuries.
Years earlier he made a mistake that both created and ultimately ended his brilliant career as an archaeologist. In his impatience to touch history, he had opened himself to the shimmer of emotion and knowledge that coursed through him as he held that freshly excavated artifact.
His abilities had created a maelstrom in the world of archaeology and academia. A profession that normally thrived on unexplained mysteries began asking questions he couldn’t answer. All he understood was the seductive power of holding a piece of the past, discovering what had come before.
Touching History had been his attempt to explain. Instead of satisfying the curious, the book had catapulted him to celebrity status. After that, everyone wanted a piece of him, a bit of his soul. Everyone expected and wanted him to be just what Derrick said—a psychic Indiana Jones, archaeologist to the stars.
Joshua picked up a stone and sailed it past a small American chestnut tree. He made a sound that was partly sad and partly disgusted. How ironic, Joshua thought as he heaved himself up and began to walk. From the start, both the chestnut tree and his career had shown great promise, but then faltered.
Neither of them could handle the invasion. The chestnut couldn’t handle the incurable blight that continued to kill American chestnuts. He couldn’t handle the invasion of privacy or the emotional echoes that would surround him if he left the insulation of the mountains.
For him, there’d be no more cities, no more medical tests, no more psi tests, no more dog-and-pony shows. That much he could safely promise himself, he decided as he moved through the woods. The new cabin was almost finished, a testament to his conviction that he belonged there. He felt better than he had in years despite the fact he’d been driving himself to the point of exhaustion to finish the inside of the new house before winter.
“If you’d let the contractor finish it, you’d be living in there now!” he told himself as he ducked under the branch
of a sugar maple. “You’d be sleeping there instead of in an old swaybacked cabin with a tin-patched roof that leaks like a—”
Abruptly, Joshua halted not only his words but his progress toward the gray, weathered cabin. A bright red splash of color drew his attention to the top of the hill. An ancient Range Rover perched on the side of the road as if its owner thought better of turning the truck onto the gravel driveway, which snaked down a steep incline.
Studying the old cabin, which nestled in a small hollow, Joshua noticed the door was slightly ajar. But then, he never bothered to lock it. For a split second he wanted to mentally reach for the echoes inside the cabin, to get a sense of who had invaded his house and why. Even as he suppressed the impulse, he swore silently, realizing that his abilities had become a habit, his way of staying one step ahead of the world. Until his return to the mountain, very little in life had surprised him.
And wasn’t that one of the reasons you came home? To start living your own life instead of others’?
Joshua forced himself to judge the situation on evidence alone. He checked the truck and ruled out a flat tire. He also ruled out a neighborly visit. Folks on the mountain wouldn’t put a foot in his cabin without an invitation. They stopped by occasionally, hollered at the edge of the porch, and waited for a response. If they didn’t get one, they left.
Not a burglar either, he decided. Unless he was a very stupid one. He’d have to haul anything he stole up the hill to the truck fifty yards away.
The most likely explanation was some hiker wannabe with car trouble. He had a mobile phone at the new house, if the hiker wanted to take the twenty-minute hike over the ridge. But he hoped the stranger didn’t. The only echoes in the new place were his own, and he wanted to keep it that way.
Joshua closed the distance to the old cabin. Wide steps of rough-hewn stone climbed to a covered porch, which was graced by two rocking chairs his grandmother had insisted he put there. “J.J., no use havin’ a porch if you don’t sit on it! That’d just be a waste of trees.” She was right. These same rockers would eventually grace the porch of his new home, which was a much larger, stylized version of a traditional mountain cabin.
Quietly, he crossed the porch and with the tips of his fingers pushed the door. It drifted open until he could see the one-room interior. Nothing had been disturbed. Nothing looked out of place, not even the woman who was currently testing the comfort of his bed. Her eyes were closed as she allowed herself to sink gently back into the softness. Joshua wondered if she’d be disappointed to know that the Jacob’s ladder quilt hid an overstuffed down-filled comforter instead of an old feather bed.
An aura of serenity, which had nothing to do with psychic impressions, surrounded the woman as her arms spread out in a contented stretch. It was the sense of having made peace with herself and her life. Joshua envied her that peace and suspected some of her tranquility had rubbed off on him. Instead of angrily demanding to know why she had broken into his cabin, he made himself comfortable against the door-jamb.
From where he stood, he had a great view of his mystery guest. Black stretch leggings revealed every line, every curve of her legs until they disappeared beneath a long, brightly hued T-shirt of a coral reef and vivid fish, which undulated along the contours of her body. He liked the T-shirt and her legs, but doubted she’d be pleased to hear it. Instead, he quoted from an appropriate fairy tale.
“ ‘Well, well. Someone’s been sleeping in my bed.’ ”
The woman lost her languid calm instantly. Arching her back in an unconsciously sensual movement, she came up off the bed with a sharp intake of breath. Her dark hair swirled as her gaze locked with his.
“And she’s still here,” he added, and raised an eyebrow.
Any other woman might have gulped, screamed in fear, stammered an apology, or gushed one in a rush of words; she did none of those things, although regret and apprehension did flicker across her expression briefly before disappearing. As her hair came to rest just below her shoulders, she settled herself, almost visibly drawing her poise about her like a mantle.
Joshua felt trapped in the serenity of her eyes, held hostage by the grace with which she faced him in what must have been an embarrassing situation for her, Even though he tried, he couldn’t sense her emotions; she was closed to him. Deprived of his sixth sense, Joshua felt like he’d walked out of the sunlight and into the blackness of a cave.
For the first time in a long time he had to rely on intuition and physical cues to read a woman. Instinct told him this woman wasn’t a hiker wannabe. Not with those sparkling white sneakers. She felt like country club and yachts. Then she introduced herself and blew away all his assumptions about the cool beauty in front of him.
“Hello. My name’s Victoria. Victoria Bennett.” Her voice sneaked inside him and tightened every muscle in his belly.
“Victoria,” he repeated, more to buy himself time than anything else. Good God in heaven, what was a nice girl like her doing with a bedroom voice like that?
Nothing in her classically sculpted features hinted at the sultry power in her voice, which was earthy … quiet and smooth, liquid and hot. All at the same time. All of that with promises of more. It was the more that worried him. It was the more that would keep him awake that night.
“I’ve been looking for you,” she said, and this time he caught the slight edge of nervousness in her voice.
“Next time give me a little notice. I’ll sleep in and wait for you.”
Pink tinged her cheeks, making him wonder how easily she blushed … and where. In the natural course of events, a man should know how easily a woman blushed before he knew what she looked like in his bed. With Victoria, he seemed to have done it backward.
He could still see the impression of her body in the bedding. When he lay down that night, he would wonder if her essence would sink into his bones the way her voice had, if he would feel her beneath him. The idea excited and disturbed him more than it should.
Instinctively he checked for a wedding ring and found none. That made him happy. Happy enough to forgive her for invading his cabin. You’ve been living the life of a monk far too long, Joshua warned himself, if killer cheekbones are enough to make you forget about trespassing laws.
As the awkward silence lengthened, Victoria racked her brain for a clever reason that would explain why she’d plunked herself down on his bed. Thinking clearly or cleverly was hampered by her unexpected reaction to the virile man before her. He fit her definition of a mountain man perfectly—tall, muscular, a face carved out of the past, eyes more blue than gray … mysterious, mystic almost.
Judging from the way the soft, well-worn chamois shirt molded itself to his upper body, he got plenty of fresh air and exercise. His shoulder dug into the jamb, and his hands circled his biceps. He looked like a man biding his time, probably waiting patiently for an explanation she didn’t have.
“I’m sorry about …” She let her voice trail away as she moved toward him. The sudden narrowing of his eyes and the shake of his head warned her that the less said about how he’d found her, the better. Surprised, but perfectly willing to ignore the bed, she got to the point. “Dr. Grenwald sent me.”
Joshua couldn’t hold back a grin. “Remind me to thank him. I wasn’t aware he was running a dating service.”
“He isn’t, so don’t bother to thank him,” she said dryly. “He’s my backup physician. I’m the new midwife.”
He laughed outright. “Miss Bennett, you’ve broken into the wrong house. I don’t have a wife, much less a pregnant wife who might need your services.”
“You are Joshua Logan?” When he nodded, she said, “Well, then you’re the man I’m looking for. Dr. Grenwald seemed to think you might be willing to … help me.”
“Deliver babies? I don’t think so.” He hadn’t meant to sound so abrupt, but he knew what that delicate pause meant. He’d heard it too many times before. She wanted something important. Something she hesitated to ask. In his exper
ience, when people hesitated, they usually wanted a piece of him.
Shoving off the door and stepping pointedly to one side, Joshua told her bluntly, “Looks like you wasted a trip.”
Shocked by his abrupt change of manner, Victoria stood rooted in place, wondering what she’d done to turn his attitude from amusement to anger. Besides trespassing and then being rude enough to ask for a favor? She was lucky he hadn’t physically tossed her out before now.
She shouldn’t have gone inside his cabin. Never mind the fact his door had been unlocked. Never mind that it swung open when she rapped her knuckles against it. She should have waited on the porch. She should have …
God, how she hated those words! Her life was filled with things she should have done. According to her parents, she should have: divorced Richard long before she did; asked for alimony; come home after the divorce and married someone suitable; or at least come home when they declined to lend her enough money to finish the midwifery program and get her master’s degree.
She should have done lots of things. But she didn’t. For once in her life she had listened to her heart. Otherwise she’d be wearing pearls and vegetating in Connecticut instead of delivering babies in rural Tennessee.
Refocusing on the present, Victoria tried to decide what to do. Logan was obviously waiting for her to say a polite good-bye and get out of his house, but she couldn’t leave without at least trying to get his help, even if it created what her mother would call a “dreadful scene.” Forcing her most contrite smile, she asked, “Would a completely sincere apology buy me any more time?”
“To do what?” Joshua asked, and ruthlessly quelled his libido, which produced an interesting list of activities—all starring Victoria Bennett.
“To plead my case.”
He knew he should say no. That was the smart move. He even formed the word with his lips, but what came out was “Can you do it in twenty-five words or less?”
“I can try,” she promised him.
The soft pleading in her smoky eyes was too much for Joshua. Against his better judgment, he hesitated, running a hand through his hair. If he agreed, she’d probably thrust an antique watch or piece of jewelry into his hands, hoping he’d do the psychic bit.
