A Season of Miracles

by Heather Graham

  “Still, for a man,” Gracie murmured, “that’s not old at all. That’s the prime of life.”

  “There has to be a younger generation,” Griff said firmly, “after all the years Douglas worked to create his empire. Hey, maybe that’s my real role in life. You all are supposed to work, and I’m just supposed to go off and procreate!”

  “Sure, sure,” Jillian teased.

  “Well, I am good at being suave and charming,” Griff said. Then he seemed to grow solemn. “Most of the time,” he added softly.

  “Sometime in his life a girl must have turned him down,” Daniel said dryly.

  “With my big brother at the helm, I was always searching. Afraid I’d have to marry for money.”

  “Right. As if any of us would ever need to marry for money,” Daniel said.

  “Douglas could leave the whole kit and caboodle to the girls. They’re his grandchildren,” Griff commented.

  “And why not you—for your charm?” Jillian asked.

  “And why not Daniel—for his expertise?” Griff shot back

  “And why not me, just because I work like a son of a gun?” Theo asked.

  “And then we’ve got the new kid on the block—Mr. Marston,” Griff said.

  “A stockholder, not an heir,” Robert reminded them. “Though Douglas could get sick to death of all of you and leave the whole thing to me,” he suggested, sitting back with a grin.

  “Or he could leave it all to a home for wayward cats,” Jillian said, rising. “What difference does it make? Grandfather is in great shape. There are no guarantees in life. Any one of us could go before he does.”

  “So true,” Eileen said soberly.

  “Nope, not me. I’m not going anywhere,” Griff said, and they all laughed.

  “Well, I’m going off to bed. I assume we’re trying to get out of here the same time tomorrow?” Jillian asked.

  “Same time,” Daniel answered for all of them.

  “If anyone deserves the whole thing,” Theo suddenly said, looking up, “I suppose it would be Daniel.”

  “He works the hardest,” Jillian said lightly.

  “We all work hard. Even Griff,” Daniel said.

  “And this is pathetic. Grandfather has been as good as gold to all of us,” Jillian said, starting to feel offended on her grandfather’s behalf.

  “Jillian, we’re just fooling around,” Theo said.

  Griff nudged him. “Right. Don’t get on her bad side.”

  Jillian sighed with deep exasperation. “Good night. I am definitely leaving now.”

  She gave them all a wave and walked out of the room. Robert waited, intrigued by what might be said now that she had left the room.

  “Jilly will get it all,” Eileen said gloomily, resting her head on the table. “He likes her best.”

  Griff stroked Eileen’s hair. “What’s not to like? Let’s see, she’s beautiful, bright, talented, socially aware, adored by all who meet her—and if that’s not enough, we’re about to make her famous.”

  “Yeah. I’m behind it,” Eileen said with a grimace. “What’s the matter with me?”

  “It’s excellent work, Eileen,” Robert commented, watching her.

  “Thanks. I am good, huh? Well, of course…” She studied him carefully for a moment. “You two looking like perfect Ken and Barbie dolls doesn’t hurt.”

  “That’s right. The whole world is going to know you, too, Robert,” Griff said.

  “The whole world knows his name already—Fortune 500,” Theo reminded them.

  “But now they’ll know he’s great-looking, too,” Eileen murmured.

  “Hey, get your eyes off him,” Gary teased.

  “I’m sorry, were you talking to me?” Eileen asked innocently. They all burst into laughter. “Just kidding,” she added quickly.

  “Daniel is still the hardest working,” Gracie commented quietly.

  “Gracie!” Daniel protested. He stood. “I’m off to bed, as well. Good night, everyone.”

  Robert left the room a few minutes later and went upstairs, too. He paused outside Jillian’s door. There were no sounds from within. He walked on to his own room. For a long time he stared out the window at the snow. After a while he prepared for bed and slid beneath the covers. He was tired but restless. Tomorrow was going to be a long day. There was a lot of time to be made up; one day at this point was very important, with Christmas so close.

  Why wouldn’t Jillian trust him? Why did she pull away from him? Was it because of her husband’s death, her feeling that she should still be in mourning? Damn, he was worn out. He wished she were there, that he would look up and see that she had come into the room again. But she wasn’t coming, not tonight. Still, he was wide awake, staring at the ceiling.

  At least, he thought he was wide awake. He heard a noise and looked toward the window, then nearly fell out of bed. His visitor had arrived again. The ghost of Milo Anderson was looking out at the snow, as he had done just moments before. Moments? Hours? He was deeply asleep, dreaming again. God, but he couldn’t wait to get out of this house.

  The ghost heard him and turned.

  Robert groaned.

  “Ah, paying attention at last.”

  “Milo, you’re turning into a major pain.”

  “Sorry, but I have to get you to pay attention. To believe.”

  “Believe what?”

  “You’re in danger of repeating the past.”

  “There is no past.”

  “You’re stubborn. You refuse to see. Hundreds of years ago, men believed the world was flat—they couldn’t see that it was round. Let’s assume that you believe in God. Do you see him? No. Can any man explain what happens after life leaves the body, when energy is gone, when the heart ceases to beat?”

  “Science—”

  “Scientists are the first to admit they don’t have all the answers.”

  “Milo, I need some sleep. I’m supposed to be protecting Jillian, and I’ll do a much better job if I don’t have to spend all night arguing with you. Go haunt Jillian. She loved you. She still loves you.”

  The ghost was strangely quiet. Then he said, “I miss her very much.”

  “Then, go haunt her.”

  “I don’t seem to be able to.”

  “Look, Milo, I used to be completely sane, efficient, intelligent, but you’re making me crazy. I don’t understand this. You say Jillian is in danger, that we’re all in danger of repeating the past. What past? I never knew Jillian. And if Jillian is in danger, why can’t you figure out a way to warn her? Why are you so busy warning me?”

  “Well, you love her, don’t you?” the ghost said, as if it was a ridiculous question.

  “Yes, but you did, too, didn’t you? You still do, I suppose. Wait a minute. I still don’t believe this. I’m going to wake up and you’ll be gone.”

  “Naturally I’ll be gone, I’m a ghost. These appearance things aren’t easy, and apparently you’re the only one to whom I can appear.”

  “That makes no sense.”

  “Maybe it’s because you’re the most guilty.”

  “The most guilty?” Robert flared angrily. “Guilty of caring about her? This makes no sense. Neither do you. Suddenly appearing—”

  “It wasn’t suddenly. I needed all year to get this far, to find out what I was still doing here, to begin to understand.”

  “Now you’ve really lost me.”

  Milo threw up his arms. “There’s the problem. Don’t you see? Anytime something isn’t right there—right before your eyes—you think it doesn’t exist. You say you have faith, but you have no faith.”

  “Yes, I do. I’m not sure exactly what I believe, but who is? Maybe there is a God, one supreme being, and maybe death is just a dark void and nothing more.”

  “You are one stubborn bastard.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Sorry. No, I’m not sorry. You’re a fool. Everything out there is belief. Love is belief. When it’s real, totally unselfish and
giving, it’s a damn miracle.”

  “Oh, great, I don’t believe in voodoo, so now I’m an evil person incapable of real emotion?”

  “Evil? No, not evil. But guilty, yes. You see, she died before.”

  “Who?”

  “Jillian, of course.”

  Robert felt a chill shoot through him unlike anything he had ever felt before. “She died before? You mean she died and was resuscitated? When? As a child?”

  Milo was shaking his head with impatience. “No, no. Robert Marston, there you are again, exactly as you were before. A good man, a sane man, passionate on behalf of what he sees as justice, ready to do what is required of him. Ready to march off to war and lead the troops.”

  Robert threw up his own hands. “I’m arguing with a ghost. I am losing my mind. Milo, I’m going to force myself into deeper sleep. I will not dream you anymore, do you understand?”

  Milo leaned forward. “I don’t have all the answers. I wish I did. I’m here because, well, because Jillian shook the snow globe.”

  “The snow globe?”

  “It’s in her bedroom in the city. Great piece. I found it at a flea market one day, and I knew I had to get it for her. I got a feeling when I shook it…as if I’d been in that scene before, you know?”

  “No, I don’t know.”

  “You’re impossible to work with. A facts-and-numbers man. Pity you couldn’t have been an artist.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Well, we get what we’re dealt, right?”

  Get what we’re dealt. He had an uneasy flashback to the tarot card reader.

  “Go away, Milo,” he murmured.

  “You go away, if you’re going to be worthless. This is my room, after all.”

  Robert jerked up suddenly, staring at the apparition. “Your room? You mean, you’re in here all the time?”

  “No, no, no, don’t go getting hot under the collar like that. I wasn’t around last night, if that’s what you mean. Please!”

  Robert leaned back. “Then, go away now, will you?”

  The ghost paid no attention. “I’ve tried to get close to her. Even before this weekend. She’s why I’m still here. We all come back to…to get it right. And it seems we go in the same groups, similar relationships. And the same instincts are there, which is why she’s in danger. She’s a threat, but I haven’t exactly figured out to whom this time. That’s the problem. You have to find out.”

  “I am finding out. I brought the cat’s ashes to a cop friend. He’s having them analyzed. I have the broken girth in my overnight bag, and I’ll take it to the cops, too. I don’t have the license number of the truck that went by, but we know that the fence was hit by a car. I’m here. I’ll be here. Near her. By her side, when she needs me.”

  “That’s what you said before.”

  There was a sound from the darkness illuminated only by the thin sliver of light coming in from the bathroom, where he had left the door ajar. Robert bolted up to a sitting position, shivering, giving himself a mental shake. Sleeping. He’d been sleeping. Dreaming. Something in his subconscious tormenting his sleep.

  He was awake now, and there were no ghosts with whom to share the questions plaguing his mind.

  There had been a real sound.

  He looked toward the bedroom door.

  She was there again. Jillian. Eyes wide, red-gold hair catching what there was of the light, shimmering down her shoulders, cascading over her back.

  She closed the door and walked over to him.

  “Jillian…”

  “Shh.” She pressed a finger to his lips and she crawled in beside him.

  He groaned softly, thinking he should resist, thinking resistance would be insane. The perfume of her hair was intoxicating. The sweetness of her flesh was more than he could bear. She didn’t want to talk right now. Fine. They would talk tomorrow. And the next day. And the next. He was in love with her. Each time he touched her, he longed to touch her again. The sound of her voice was unique; he could get lost in her eyes. He could no more send her away than he could cut off his own right hand.

  Despite her nearness he actually leapt from the bed, strode to the bathroom and looked behind the shower curtain. He checked out the closet.

  They were alone. Completely alone.

  Even so, when he walked to the bed to crawl back in, he paused instead, then scooped her into his arms.

  Her green eyes widened in question.

  “I’m coming to your room tonight,” he told her.

  Hours later, he was still awake, staring into the darkness. She was asleep with her head on his chest, soft hair tangled over his flesh. He held her close, with the deepest sense of tenderness. He’d never known what it was like to feel this kind of commitment to another human being. It was a strange, beautiful and overwhelming sensation.

  “I am in love,” he murmured aloud. “And I am losing my mind. Absolutely losing my mind.”

  In a while, wrapped in her arms, he slept at last.

  No ghosts haunted him this time.

  Just visions of the snow. Of horses, running against the stark whiteness on a winter’s day. He could feel a heartbeat, feel the thunder of the horses’ hooves.

  He was running, running, running….

  He had to get there, had to get there.

  He just didn’t know where.

  Jillian’s alarm clock rang all too early. It was time to return to the city.

  CHAPTER 12

  Tuesday was completely chaotic.

  They were so busy, in fact, that Robert had done little more than watch Jillian when he could, find out that she was leaving with Douglas when he had to work late himself, and then, when he was back at his apartment, call Henry to make sure that she was home safely. Not surprisingly, away from the house in Connecticut, what had seemed incredibly real started looking ridiculous. There were certainly no further visitations.

  One thing really bothered him, though. When he tore through his overnight bag, he couldn’t find the girth. He emptied his bag, his briefcase, tried every compartment, big and small. He went over his own actions again and again. When he had left the stables that day, he’d tucked it into an inner coat pocket. In his room, he’d packed it; he was certain of it.

  And now it was gone.

  He started wondering if he was really losing his mind. That maybe he hadn’t packed it. He called the house in Connecticut, asking Jimmy if he had left it somewhere. He talked to Agatha, asking her to search his room.

  He didn’t have it, and neither of them could find it.

  Perplexed, he tried to remember if anyone had been in his room. Not that he knew about. But anyone in the house might have slipped in. He hadn’t kept it locked.

  It was frustrating. More, it was, in his mind, proof that Jillian really was in danger.

  Wednesday, business meetings seemed all-consuming. He barely saw Jillian, and once again he worked late. She left the office with Douglas, so Robert had no reason to worry about her.

  Thursday he stopped by her office. No one was there to announce him, so he just walked on in. She was working at her easel, sketching, and she was completely absorbed in what she was doing. He walked over to see the design that was occupying her, but she wasn’t working on a design. She had done a sketch. Working with charcoals, she had drawn a woman in a long flowing cape, seated on a horse, reaching down to touch a man who stood beside her. It was a beautiful piece, evocative, every bit as good as the work Brad Casey had done that had led to the new ad campaign.

  “That’s gorgeous,” he told her.

  She started and swung around. She hadn’t known that he was there. “Thanks. I’m supposed to be working, but…” She flipped over the sheet she had been working on.

  She seemed disconcerted that he had interrupted her; her smile seemed forced.

  “So…what’s up?”

  “Want to do dinner tonight?”

  “Sure. Sounds great.”

  “You know we’re heading for Florida this wee
kend, right?”

  “Yup. Looking forward to it,” she told him.

  “Think we can get out of here between six and six-thirty?”

  “I’ll be ready to go,” she promised him.

  Not sure why he felt disturbed, he left her.

  * * *

  Jillian didn’t know why both Douglas and Robert seemed so edgy, but they were like a pair of overprotective parents, watching her constantly. Wanting her with them as often as possible.

  Still, she loved her grandfather, so she took his attention in stride.

  And every minute of every day, she knew with greater certainty that she wanted to spend her life with Robert. She couldn’t understand why she sometimes shrank from him, why she felt at times that she had to run, when she so wanted to lean against him, to be totally passionate with him, laugh with him, talk to him, lie with him, bask in his scent, in his warmth. Dinner? Of course she wanted to join him for dinner.

  She thought, though, that she should tell Douglas her plans, so he wouldn’t wait for her. When she walked down the hallway to find him, Amelia wasn’t at her desk, so Jillian opened the door to her grandfather’s office. Douglas wasn’t there, but Eileen and Griff were. They didn’t even see her at first, they were so busy reading a paper that she presumed had come from the open right-hand drawer of his desk.

  “What’s up?” she asked.

  Eileen gasped, spinning around.

  Griff slammed the drawer shut on his own hand.

  “Jillian!” Eileen said.

  “Yeah. What’s up? What’s so fascinating?”

  She started walking toward the desk.

  Griff produced a paper. “Schedule. For Florida. We get in Friday night around nine. Miami International is a zoo, so they say, but we should make South Beach by ten, ten-thirty. Great place to play. Wonderful clubs.”

  “And you can just people watch,” Eileen said quickly. She frowned. “Well, except for you—you have to get your beauty sleep. We start shooting at eight a.m.”

  “Don’t you have to be there, too?” Jillian enquired.

  “Yes, of course,” Eileen said.

  “But it won’t matter what we look like,” Griff added quickly.

  “Ah.”

  “Oh, I guess we can let Jillian go clubbing a little bit,” Eileen said to Griff.