A Stirring from Salem

by Sheri Anderson

  Copyright

  Copyright © 2011 by Corday Productions, Inc.

  Cover and internal design © 2011 by Sourcebooks, Inc.

  Cover design by Danielle Fiorella

  Cover images © Jupiter Images; Corbis Images

  Sourcebooks and the colophon are registered trademarks of Sourcebooks, Inc.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from its publisher, Sourcebooks, Inc.

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  All brand names and product names used in this book are trademarks, registered trademarks, or trade names of their respective holders. Sourcebooks, Inc., is not associated with any product or vendor in this book.

  Published by Days of our Lives Publications, an imprint of Sourcebooks, Inc.

  P.O. Box 4410, Naperville, Illinois 60567-4410

  (630) 961-3900

  Fax: (630) 961-2168

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  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Anderson, Sheri.

  Stirring from Salem / Sheri Anderson.

  p. cm.

  “Based on characters from Days of our Lives, originally created by Allan Chase, Ted Corday, and Irna Phillips.”

  I. Days of our lives (Television program) II. Title.

  PS3601.N5465S75 2011

  813’.6—dc22

  2011004676

  Contents

  Front Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  1. Charley

  2. Patch and Kayla

  3. Charley

  4. Abby

  5. Marlena and John

  6. Tom-Ali Clinic

  7. Charley

  8. Abby

  9. Scarlett

  10. Bill

  11. Kayla, John, and Marlena

  12. Jackson and Abby

  13. Scarlett

  14. Kayla and Patch

  15. Charley

  16. Marlena and John

  17. Charley

  18. Kayla and Patch

  19. Flying High

  20. Tom-Ali Clinic

  21. Charley

  22. Marlena, John, Patch, and Kayla

  23. Charley, Abby, and Jackson

  24. Charley, John, and Marlena

  25. Patch and Kayla

  26. Scarlett

  27. Cornelius

  28. Marlena and John

  29. Cornelius

  30. Vince, Charley, and Brendan

  31. Patch and Kayla

  32. Marlena and John

  33. Charley

  34. Abby

  35. 2:30 A.M.

  36. The Watering Hole

  37. Bill and Cornelius

  38. Scarlett

  39. John

  40. Abby and Jackson

  41. Mapusha Weavers Synergy Co-op

  42. Vince, Charley, and Brendan

  43. Abby and Chelsea

  44. Marlena, Patch, Kayla, Bill, and Cornelius

  45. John, Scarlett, and Jackson

  46. Marlena, John, and Bill

  47. Patch and Kayla

  48. John and the ISA

  49. Chance, Jackson, and Abby

  50. Charley, Scarlett, and Cornelius

  51. Kayla and Cornelius

  52. Marlena and John

  53. Charley

  54. John, Patch, and Shane

  55. Cornelius

  56. Charley

  57. Kayla and Patch

  58. John

  59. Marlena

  60. Three Months Later

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Back Cover

  For Phyllis and George, whose son makes every day of my life a romance...

  Few places on earth are as dazzling as London on New Year’s Eve, and this year was no exception.

  Hundreds of thousands of revelers swarmed the streets for miles around the Thames as they waited in the freezing night air for the most recognizable clock in the world, Big Ben, to strike midnight. The centuries-old celebration in historic Trafalgar Square had been relocated to the “London Eye,” a massive Ferris wheel on the Thames that could be seen from all across the most visited city in the world. And when the ten-minute fireworks extravaganza started, London would erupt into glorious chaos.

  Most people huddled together for warmth on the packed streets while they waited, but the glitterati were celebrating in the world-famous clubs and bars across London. Charley Gaines, a beautiful teenaged former heiress, and her brothers were at the hottest New Year’s Eve party in the city at the rooftop club Rockwell.

  Jubilation, passion, debauchery, and hope mingled in the air. Dom Pérignon corks popped. Everyone was there—from Princesses Beatrice and Eugenie to The Black Eyed Peas and Quentin Tarantino.

  “Jackson,” Charley said as she tapped her big brother on the shoulder, “I want to get out of here before the city goes mad.”

  There was no answer. Charley turned to see that he was in a lip-lock with Abby Deveraux. Jackson and Abby had been seeing each other off and on since they had met the previous summer in Monte Carlo. It had been a tumultuous summer for the Gaines family—a summer that had ended not only with the collapses of their father’s financial empire and their mother’s OMG fashion house, but with their parents’ tragic deaths as well.

  But this was New Year’s Eve, and Jackson, Charley, and Chance were determined to put the old year’s tragedies behind them as best they could. It’s what their larger-than-life, full-of-pride, and totally image-conscious parents would have expected.

  “It’s not even midnight,” Charley said, shaking her head with a smile. Then her other brother squeezed past her as he headed to his Tom-Ford-suited date. “Chance!” she shouted.

  The next in line to the now-defunct Gaines throne was carrying two shots of Milagro Select. “Can I get you one, Sis?” Chance smiled, indicating the pricey liquor as he inched his way through the massive partying crowd. “It’ll have to be after midnight.”

  “No, I’m leaving…and tequila’s not my thing, in case you forgot!” she reminded him.

  “But New Year’s Eve is a time to celebrate. This last year is almost over,” he said emphatically over the escalating din. “Only way to go is up.”

  “And we will!” Charley proclaimed a little too emphatically. “I feel it.”

  “Me, too,” Chance lied. The Gaineses all hoped for the best but had learned to expect the worst.

  Someone blew a paper horn in Charley’s ear. It didn’t matter that these were some of the wealthiest celebrities from around the globe; cheesy horns and noisemakers were at the ready.

  “Ten…” the crowd started as the countdown all around Europe began.

  “Oh, no!” Charley gasped.

  “…nine…”

  “See you tomorrow?” she yelled to her brother over the deafening noise.

  “…eight…”

  “Gotta go over our resolutions!” she continued, straining to be heard.

  “…seven…”

  “Bye!” She needed to make her getaway.

  “SEX!”

  Chance nodded, laughing cheekily at the crowd’s countdown joke as he turned and handed his date the intoxicating drink.

  “…five…”

&n
bsp; “’Scuse me, ’scuse me!” Charley repeated as she shouldered her way through the crowd.

  “…four…three…”

  Time was running out, and Charley began to panic. If the club was a madhouse now, in ten minutes it would be a zoo. She was in a sea of Dolce & Gabbana, Prada, and even some cherished logos that represented her mother’s internationally coveted OMG brand.

  “Charley, how was your Christmas?” squeaky-voiced Dalita Kasagian yelled, distracting Charley whose heel caught on the rug as she tried to avoid Dalita.

  “…two…”

  Charley lurched for the exit and struggled to keep from falling flat on her face. As she started to go down, the club went totally mad.

  “Happy New Year!” Horns blared, people kissed, confetti flew, and fireworks filled the London sky. Charley fell into the arms of a tall, dark, and strikingly handsome man who was standing with a Eurotrash entourage behind him.

  “Just who I was looking for.” The man smiled evenly through pearly white teeth. “Charley Gaines.”

  Did he just say my name? she thought.

  “Vincent Castle?” Charley gasped as she realized who he was.

  Vince Castle was only the most successful photographer since Annie Leibovitz. Charley’s mother had always wanted him for the OMG fashion layouts. And as an aspiring photographer herself, Charley was in total awe.

  “Good eye.” Vince smiled as he indicated the madness. “This is nuts.”

  Before she could agree, Vince wrapped his arm through hers and led her out of the party everyone in London would give their eyeteeth to be in.

  As they made their way through dozens of kissing, groping, and dancing partyers, Charley was dumbstruck.

  What does Vince Castle want from me?

  As the clock hit twelve, the Eiffel Tower exploded with a profusion of fireworks that lit up the entire sky. It was the epitome of high romance on the Champs-Élysées as Parisians flooded the avenue.

  “Happy New Year, Sweetness,” the roughly handsome Steve “Patch” Johnson said to his wife as he tucked a spiky blonde lock of hair behind her ear.

  “I love you, Steve,” she replied with a look in her eye that let him know she meant it.

  The countdown in the City of Lights was spectacular, especially viewed on the high-def TV in Steve and Kayla’s magnificent chalet home in South Africa. He pulled her into a deep and very long kiss. It was as if they had set off the fireworks that were showering on the TV behind them.

  Kayla responded fully. She did love this man, even if he was the antithesis of who everyone thought she’d marry.

  They’d had a long and often rocky path to where they were now: happily married with a beautiful daughter living in the States and a scrappy two-year-old son, Joe, asleep in his room.

  Steve, nicknamed Patch by those in their hometown Salem due to the eye patch he wore covering a decades-old injury, held his wife in his arms and twirled her as the party continued in the background. He pulled her back to him and danced close. Their bodies matched each movement as if they were one.

  Sirens suddenly punctuated the festivities on the screen. The partying was turning into a full-out riot.

  “Aren’t you glad we’re not there?” Steve laughed.

  He pulled away from Kayla and went to turn off the electronic intrusion.

  “Are you glad we’re here?” Kayla asked sincerely.

  “Why wouldn’t I be?” Steve said as he took her hand and led her out onto the deck of their thatched home. “Look at this.”

  Kayla looked out into a clear summer night. South of the equator, the world was upside down, so New Year’s Eve was during the heart of summer in their South African home. And Kayla loved it.

  “Sometimes I wonder if this is just a dream,” she admitted. “And I’m going to wake up back in Salem.”

  “It’s not a dream, Sweetness,” he said, smiling.

  Steve took her hand and led her to a chaise lounge on the large wooden deck where they’d spent so many romantic moments. The moon shone brightly in the near-black sky. Millions of crystal-clear twinkling stars dotted the sky and could be seen all the way to the ground.

  “Was the sky ever like this in Salem?” she asked.

  “Nope, but don’t tell ’em. We don’t want a string of company,” he said, smiling.

  “We can always use more volunteers,” she reminded him.

  They were in the small town of Hoedspruit, just outside world-renowned Kruger National Park, for an extended stay. Kayla, a physician, oversaw the Tom-Ali Clinic, a small medical facility founded by Dr. Bill Horton to serve the magnificent game farms and also villagers who were in dire need of medical attention.

  The clinic was named for Bill’s parents, Tom and Alice, who had done so much for their hometown of Salem and the world that everyone seemed to want to honor them in some way.

  Patch and Kayla lay for a moment drinking in the enveloping silence that was interrupted now and then by the sounds of South African nature, which included king crickets, exotic birds, and the rustling of leaves as the winds and wildlife moved through the bush.

  “Lack of civilization,” Steve murmured. “Who’d have thought I’d love it.”

  “You hear about the major photo shoot?” Kayla asked.

  “That’s now?” Steve asked.

  She nodded. “This week. At one of the high-end game farms. One of the biggest photographers in the world is shooting it.”

  “Maybe one of his divas will wander off and get eaten.” Steve grinned.

  “No fat on their bones,” Kayla answered.

  “Skinny bitches,” Steve scowled. “Blech.”

  “And another reason women adore you,” she replied, smiling.

  “How about I carry you back to our four-poster and have my way with you, woman.” Steve grinned sexily.

  “Thought you’d never ask.”

  They would have preferred to make love right there on the deck under the blanket of stars or on the down sofa in the vaulted living room of the amazing thatched home that would be worth millions in the States. But they could lock the master suite with no fear of a surprise visit from their little son, Joe.

  Steve placed Kayla on the bed and slipped the shoulder strap off her gauzy linen dress. Just then the phone rang.

  “Happy New Year, whoever you are,” Steve muttered.

  “It could be Stephanie.” Kayla gasped as he kissed her neck.

  “A twenty-year-old calling her parents? I don’t think so,” he said, ignoring the ring. Candles on the side tables cast a soft glow on his wife. Her All-American face was more beautiful than ever.

  The answering machine picked up. Steve kissed Kayla’s bare shoulder.

  “Kayla, it’s Bill,” a slurred voice said on the other side of the call.

  The lovers felt as if a bucket of cold water had been splashed on them.

  “A tracker was just brought to the clinic with a bullet hole in his shoulder and…”

  Kayla picked up the phone.

  “Bill?”

  “Hey.” Bill’s voice was relieved but still shaky. “I left Cornelius a message to get over here but didn’t hear back. I—have to leave,” he stammered. “You’re gonna need to handle it, Kayla. S-orry.”

  Kayla was startled to hear a dial tone. “Bill?” But he’d hung up.

  “Something tells me we’d better get a move on,” Steve said as he drank in what he’d heard.

  Kayla was a mixture of disbelief and disappointment. “Bill was on call for emergencies tonight.”

  “And he knows he can count on you, come hell or high water,” Steve answered. “We can take up where we left off later,” he added, noticing her extreme frustration.

  “As much as I’m disappointed we were interrupted, it’s not that.” Kayla offered. “I know it’s New Year’s Eve, bu
t…he was on call, Steve,” she repeated. “And I think he’s drunk.”

  There was a long silence as Steve met her gaze.

  “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that,” he admitted. “Lately, I think Bill’s been hittin’ the bottle.”

  It was nearly 8:00 a.m. when Charley heard the key in the front door of the twelfth-floor Knightsbridge flat where she was living with Jackson.

  While she adored both of her brothers equally, she preferred to stay with Jackson because Chance’s flat in the trendy gay section of Soho had become known as Party Central. Besides, Jackson had three bedrooms in exclusive Kensington, not far from Holland Park, where they’d spent their childhoods in glorious surroundings. Once known for the literati, artists, and art collectors who had lived there in another century, the exclusive section was now home to the likes of Madonna and Simon Cowell.

  As he entered the living room, which reeked of taste and money, Jackson was in an amazingly jolly mood for having been up all night.

  “Oh, what a night, Sis!” He grinned as he pulled off the silk tie that was now loose around the neck of his Brunello Cucinelli cashmere tux.

  “It was for us all,” she said, smiling as she emerged from the hallway leading to her bedroom.

  “You get lucky?” he joked, knowing his baby sister, who was a nineteen-year-old virgin, planned to remain as pure as the freshly driven snow. “I could use some hair of the dog,” he added as he moved to the fully stocked bar in the corner of the living room.

  “Actually, Jackson, I did get lucky,” she said with a sultry tone. “Really lucky.”

  The protective older brother stopped in his tracks.

  “Tell me you won the lottery,” he said as he cocked his eyebrow questioningly.

  “Better.”

  “What could be better than winning a double rollover? Remember last year?”

  A group of six of their friends had indeed won last year’s lotto to the tune of ten million euro. A win like that would have been spectacular, considering what the Gaineses had lost in a financial debacle that rivaled the Madoffs, but even those winnings would have only been a drop in the family bucket.

  Yes, they were lucky enough to have a benefactor who had paid off a portion of the multimillions involved. But new victims were still coming out of the woodwork, claiming that the Gaines children were responsible for their losses. The pressure of taking responsibility for his father’s sins had driven Bernie Madoff’s son to commit suicide. The Gaines siblings were determined not to let that be their future.