Lost Yesterday

by Jenny Lykins

  Marin never dreamed the first time she heard those three simple words directed at her would cause such an ache in her chest. She wanted to grab Katie and hold her and Hunter in a tight circle and never let go. But Katie was already climbing the stairs, one step at a time, her tiny alabaster hand in Mamie's strong, brown fingers.

  Marin watched until they disappeared around the corner, then Hunter resumed his position with his arms about her waist and pulled her back against his rock hard chest.

  "Now, where were we?"

  They were interrupted yet again before she could answer.

  "Hunter, I would have a word with you."

  Hunter's frustrated breath blew across Marin's neck, then he kissed the hollow beneath her ear. He continued to kiss as he spoke.

  "Terribly sorry, Mother. I am busy at the moment." His murmur raced across her skin in hot little chills. "I can see you first thing in the morning. Check with my secretary about the time."

  It would be interesting to see how the lemon-sucker reacted to this. She had been almost congenial when they arrived from Tranquille. But though dinner had buzzed with lively conversation, Lucille had maintained her usual, tight-lipped dinner table silence. Marin wasn't sure if her mother-in-law's air of disapproval was from the talking itself, the topic of opening Tranquille to the public, or from Katie's presence at the table. And to be honest, she didn't care.

  As it turned out, the lemon-sucker's response was to move around in front of them with a defiant stare, obviously determined to throw the proverbial cold water on their amorous activities.

  "Oh, bloody hell," Hunter swore as his ardor nose-dived under Lucille's incessant gaze. "What is so important, Mother, that you feel the need to abort my attempt to woo my wife?"

  Lucille flicked the briefest of glances at Marin.

  "I feel certain that wooing this wife is a needless exercise." She paused long enough to allow the intended insult to sink in.

  "Oh, yes! How scandalous that I have a willing bride!" He turned to Marin and said with mock severity, "Stifle your improper urges, wife, and go in search of a much needed dose of virtue!"

  Marin bit the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling. Instead she blinked a slow, seductive blink and moistened her lips.

  "Once before you told me not to throw myself at you. To stifle my urges. I guess I'll never - "

  Hunter grabbed Marin's wrist and hauled her behind him into the parlor before she could finish her sentence.

  "Come and sit down, Mother, and tell us what is bothering you so." Under his breath he said to Marin, "Stifle even the smallest urge, and I shall throttle my mother for the nuisance she is!"

  Now there was a temptation.

  Lucille was visibly displeased that Marin was to be included in the conversation. Nevertheless she followed them into the parlor, then sank with stiff-backed haughtiness onto the peach brocade of the chair.

  "What is this utter nonsense of opening Tranquille?" She spoke to Hunter but glared all the while at Marin, as if to say, "This was your idea!"

  Hunter leaned back against the settee, one booted ankle propped on his knee as he toyed with the ribbons decorating Marin's sleeve.

  "It is not nonsense. This could be a very lucrative business venture. And considering the lost crop, and previous disappointing years, if you wish to continue to swathe yourself in silks and satins," he scanned the length of his mother's expensively clad body, "it is a necessity."

  Lucille harangued Hunter for a good quarter hour before he lost all patience and told her that the matter was not open to discussion. Marin had to admit that though Lucille wouldn't have won a congeniality award, the acid in her voice was more or less absent.

  "Well then, shall we move on to another matter? One that has tongues wagging throughout the city."

  Hunter pulled a deep, long breath into his lungs, and Marin could almost hear him count to ten as he let it out.

  "What is it?"

  "I would like for you to have a proper wedding."

  The blank look on Hunter's face as he stared at his mother was priceless. Where was a camera when you needed one? He blinked a couple of times but continued to stare at her, as if waiting for the punchline.

  The silk of Lucille's gown rustled as she rose from the chair in a huff. Marin noted that Hunter didn't bother to stand in his mother's presence.

  "Really, Hunter. You cannot be so thimble-witted. You have had a ba...child born out of wedlock delivered to your door. The mother drops dead within hours. And then you hastily wed the woman you hired as my companion, who quickly turned into your secretary and governess to your child. Did you think eyebrows would not raise and tongues would not wag?"

  He resumed toying with the ribbons on Marin's sleeve, staring into the distance at nothing before looking at his mother with total boredom.

  "Forgive me, Mother. For a moment I was struck with the notion that you desired a proper wedding for the memories it might make. Not to hold down the local gossipmongers. That was thimble-witted of me." The tug on the ribbons stopped. "As for the wagging tongues, why do you not wag your own a bit and tell the town harpies that Marin was hired as your companion as well as my secretary, that you chose not to have a companion and that Katie loves her like a mother?" He uncrossed his legs and leaned forward. "And I love her, by God, and I do not need an elaborate wedding with a group of two-faced spectators to make it any more legal than it is!"

  Marin didn't know what Lucille's reaction was to Hunter's words. She didn't notice anything after Hunter said, "And I love her." Though he'd shown her in countless ways, she'd never heard him say the words.

  Her heart sang. It soared. It felt like it had sprouted wings and now held her on a cushion of air. She stared at his fierce face as he watched his mother disappear from view. When she was gone he turned to look at Marin.

  His expression gentled when he whispered, "Dear God, I love you."

  *******

  "Fireball."

  The now-familiar beep became gradually louder, and though her eyes never opened, Ryan and the hospital room appeared to her as if out of a black fog. He leaned over her, running the warm mist of his hand across her forehead. The love in his touch was almost a living, breathing entity.

  "Your condition's getting worse, Marin. You can't continue to hover here. You're afraid to let go. That's why you couldn't follow me. Trust me, Sweetheart. Just trust me. I promise you'll be happy."

  Marin looked at his precious face, unshed tears stinging her eyes. She tried to speak, to move, but couldn't. But through her spirit she would say what needed to be said. She had to take this opportunity now to apologize for their last day together.

  I'm sorry about the fight. She had to swallow a sob before going on. The day you left on your mission. I was afraid you wouldn't come back. I was so afraid. She stopped once more to quell the aching sob welling in her chest. I've never forgiven myself for my last words to you being in anger. You died and my last words to you were 'Who cares.'

  Ryan sat on the edge of the hard, hospital bed. He placed his hands above her shoulders and leaned down, his beloved face only inches from hers.

  "Your last words to me were 'I'm so sorry, Honey. I love you more than life itself. Come back to me.'"

  A wave of relief swept over Marin, tears of joy slid from her eyes to zig-zag across her temples.

  You got my letter.

  "Yes, Fireball. I had it in this pocket," he glanced down to the zippered pocket over his heart, "when my plane went down."

  The vivid, orange ball of fire she had imagined her husband dying in, the technicolor nightmares she had worked to smother in her conscious mind, all came back with crushing force.

  Oh, Ryan.

  "Don't you see, Sweetheart? Our life together isn't over. That's why I'm here."

  The temptation to go with him was so great. But when she'd tried the last time he'd come to her, she had been unable to cross through the door. Would the same thing happen again? Was it her love for Hunter that
held her? But Hunter was going to die soon, too.

  "Marin, Sweetheart, just trust me. I can only come to you once more." He stood and held out his hand. It faded to a thin vapor. Ryan's gaze jerked upward and he yelled, "No! Wait! It's too soon!"

  Marin reached for his hand, but there was nothing to grasp.

  "Ryan!" she screamed. "Oh Ryan! Come back! Oh God! I love you!"

  The sob finally tore from her chest, the pain so intense her heart might have been torn with it.

  A warm, solid hand grasped her upper arm as the black fog returned to engulf her.

  "Marin. Marin, wake up."

  She turned her head in the direction of Hunter's voice and slowly opened her burning eyes. Instead of encountering his translucent ghost in her hospital room, she stared at the flesh and blood face of her new husband as they lay in their bed.

  He turned to the nightstand and lit the lamp, adjusting the flame with studious care before turning back to her.

  Her heartbeat had just started to slow when he fixed her with his soul-searching gaze.

  "Who...is Ryan?"

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Thunder rumbled in the distance as Marin stared at him, the tears from her dream still glistening in her eyes. Hunter prayed that Ryan was a brother, an uncle, a friend. But in his heart he knew better. He had not forgotten the night right after she arrived when he'd taken her the letters she'd written him. He'd found her asleep, and after leaving the letters he'd taken a moment to admire the view. That's when she'd sighed a sensual, unsisterly sigh and whispered, "I love you, Ryan." Surely she never called Niles Kilpatrick "Ryan." Could it possibly be his middle name?

  Hunter's heart banged against the wall of his chest while she just stared at him with a haunted look in her eyes. All the old feelings of betrayal began to creep back into his mind.

  "Who is Ryan?" he repeated with a little less patience.

  Marin sat up slowly, her movements slow and stiff, like that of a very old woman. She leaned against the headboard, drew her knees up to her chest, then rubbed her eyes with the heels of her hands. He waited for her next words with dread.

  "Ryan was my husband."

  Shock and disbelief jolted him. That was the one answer he had not anticipated. But that was the one answer he could not believe. The scars on his back and thigh began to ache at the thought of another betrayal. He searched her face for some clue as to her feelings. The dim, golden light of the lamp on her features revealed nothing.

  "Your husband," he said, the only reply his brain could manage.

  "Yes." She blinked, and the tears on her lashes fell to her cheeks. "He died."

  "He died. I see." He didn't see at all, but he decided to play along with this game. He tried to keep his voice gentle. To keep the anger out of it. "And how long were you married?"

  Marin drew in a deep breath and tilted her head back until it thudded on the headboard. A tear traced below her temple and into her hairline as she swallowed.

  "A year."

  Hunter squeezed his eyes closed and rubbed the middle of his forehead with his fingertips. Did she honestly think he would believe this? He had to force himself to ask the next question.

  "And did you love him?"

  He watched as she brought her gaze level with his, praying that her answer would be no. She stared at him, as if willing him to believe her next words.

  "I loved him very much. I loved him as much as I love you."

  Heat surged across his neck and over his scalp, but he didn't know if it came from hope - or regret.

  "Did he love you?"

  Marin bowed her head and swallowed again. Her only answer was a nod.

  "Dear God in Heaven!" He lunged to his feet and buried his fingers in his hair. This conversation was preposterous. He dropped his hands and turned back to her, spearing her with his gaze. "For God's sake, Marin! You were a virgin on our wedding night! How do you explain that if the two of you were so much in love?"

  He didn't know what he expected but it wasn't the reaction he thought. Marin narrowed her eyes in anger and jumped from the bed, flinging her pillow behind her.

  "Mari Sander was a virgin! Not me! I told you when I got here, this is not my body! I'm five seven, gray eyes, light brown hair. I've never kept my origins a secret from you!" She turned away, only to whirl back around and poke him in the chest with her finger. "I'm from 1996. I was curator of this house! Pierce Hall! It was open to the public, just like what I want to do at Tranquille. I told you the gist of my life the day we buried Delia and you were being pigheaded. Did all my information match Mari Sander's? Did you bother to ask any questions then? I gave you the perfect opportunity, but no. You didn't even bother to ask. Hell, if it wasn't for you I wouldn't even be here!" She turned her back to him and walked away. "Life was easier when you were a ghost."

  She caught her breath in a horrified gasp after her last statement and darted a look over her shoulder at him. Then she buried her face in her hands and curled into herself, as if in unbearable pain, a heartwrenching sob like none he had ever heard in his life rising from her. She stomped her foot on the floor, as she had done that day on the front lawn before the storm. As though if she stomped hard enough, whatever was causing her to cry would go away.

  Hunter was at a complete and total loss. He was angry and jealous over this Ryan person, but everything in him that loved her told him to comfort her. His love for her won out, and he found himself gently turning her around by her shoulders. She buried her face against his bare chest and clung to him with desperation.

  His anger cooled somewhat over her despondency. She had made no sense at all with this talk about not being here if it wasn't for him. Of course she wouldn't. He had paid her way and employed her. But what in heaven's name did she mean about life being easier when he was a ghost?

  He tangled his fingers in the mass of auburn curls and tried to imagine the rich color a light brown instead. What would it feel like if her head rested three or four inches higher on his chest? It wouldn't feel like Marin.

  He cupped the back of her head in his palm and patted with what he hoped was comforting gentleness.

  "Marin. Can you tell me what's wrong?"

  Her breath shuddered in her chest before she sobbed, "No."

  Another unexpected answer.

  Now what? He was not at all good at this sort of thing. Maybe if he kept her talking.

  "What did you mean when you said life was easier when I was a ghost?"

  Obviously that was the wrong question to ask. The weeping that had begun to taper off came back full force. But Marin cried like no other woman he'd ever seen. Hers was almost a silent cry, as if she fought to hold all the pain in so no one could see how she was hurting.

  She backed away from him as lightning illuminated the room and thunder crashed overhead.

  "Just forget what I said, Hunter. I don't know what I meant. I was just babbling."

  Hunter sat on the edge of the bed and pulled her down beside him. Tomorrow he was going to fetch Doctor Ritter and make sure Marin had recovered from that head wound. In the meantime he would try to put aside the thought of her calling out another man's name in her sleep.

  He pulled her to him and tucked her under his arm. With one finger he pushed several damp tendrils of silky mahogany from her tear-stained cheeks. He slowly laid back, pulling her with him, until they were cuddled together, their legs tangled over the side of the bed.

  Another crash of thunder was rivaled seconds later by the crash of the bedroom door hitting the wall. The sound of bare feet running across the floor could be heard right before Katie catapulted between the two of them. Seconds later two furry grenades joined the trio. Katie curled into a little ball, her face replacing Marin's on his chest, as she repeated over and over to herself, "Funder can't hurt you. Funder can't hurt you."

  *******

  Marin sat through the examination with defiant boredom. Before Doctor Ritter had arrived she'd objected to his visit.

 
"I'm fine. And even if I wasn't, it wouldn't change my past." But her arguments had fallen on deaf ears.

  And now this morning the air was decidedly chilly between the newlyweds. If Hunter had been able to make love to her last night after their confrontation, she might have been able to reassure him about Ryan. Katie and the animals had picked an inopportune time to get scared. All Marin knew was that she wasn't going to be the first one to make a move. She'd told him the truth. She had nothing to apologize for.

  "Say 'Ahhhh,'" Doctor Ritter ordered.

  "Ahhhh."

  He checked her eyes, listened to her heart with that antique stethoscope of his, asked her several silly questions that Marin had to bite her tongue to keep from laughing over. He dropped all his medical paraphernalia into his bag and snapped it shut.

  "You are as fit as a fiddle, little lady."

  Hunter jumped from the chair in protest.

  "Are you certain? There is nothing wrong? No lingering problems from the head injury?"

  Marin just raised an "I told you so" eyebrow.

  "What are you getting at, Hunter?"

  Hunter flicked a glance at Marin, but she scooted back into her chair in declaration that she wanted to hear what he had to say.

  "Well, she still holds to that story about being in someone else's body...among other things."

  "What other things?"

  Hunter was clearly disgusted to be having this conversation. The muscle in his jaw flexed a few times, then he stared at her while he spoke to the doctor.

  "She thinks she was married before. For a year. She thinks she's a widow."

  The doctor's sunken eyes widened, then turned to Marin in query, but she refused to deny Hunter's words. Indeed, she gave a little shrug to the doctor that said, "He's right."

  The doctor cleared his throat and dragged his gaze back to Hunter.

  "Er, ah, was there any...indication that she was previously married?"

  "None whatsoever. In fact, quite the contrary!"

  "Well. Ahem." Dr. Ritter cast an uncomfortable glance at Marin, who continued to remain silent, then he turned back to Hunter. "You have to understand, son, that the mind is a complex organ that is still more mystery to my profession than medical fact. There is no way of knowing if this...condition will be permanent or if it will correct itself tomorrow. I surely wish I could tell you. But," he lifted his bag with peppy optimism and walked to the foyer, "I would venture to say that as long as she is in such robust health then thank the good Lord and ignore this little notion of hers. It's harmless enough, after all."