Inconnu(e)

by Vicki Hinze

  He’d always rattled her. But she kind of liked him thinking he hadn’t. “True, you haven’t, and this is no time to start.”

  “Well?”

  He looked about as approachable as a ticked-off Doberman guarding his turf. She licked at her lips. How in the world could she explain seeing a ghost and not expect the man to think she was crazy—despite all the weird occurrences here. She’d seen, actually seen, a ghost—maybe. “I wasn’t holding out on you. I saw something last night, and it shook me up. When we got back here, I intended to tell you about it, but then you brought up the legend and us making love, and well, I got sidetracked and the whole thing kind of got pushed right out of my head.”

  He smiled, clearly liking the thought of that. “Understandable.”

  “That arrogant attitude of yours is shining through, MacGregor, and I swear we don’t have time for it.”

  “Okay. I’ll gloat later at making you forget yourself. What’s this crisis all about? What did you see?”

  “A man. When we were out on the cliffs.”

  “Before I came out there?”

  “No.” This was the touchy part. “You were there. He said his name was Tony.”

  “You talked to him while I was there?”

  He didn’t believe her. Not surprised, but oh-so-disappointed, she nodded.

  “I didn’t see anyone, Maggie.”

  “I know.” She paced from the side of the bed to the turret room rug then paced it again, rubbing at her temple, which had unwisely chosen this very moment to begin throbbing. “Get dressed, darling. We’ve got to talk with Vic before he leaves, and he’s already here.”

  “Vic?” MacGregor tossed back the covers, rolled out of bed, then reached for his slacks.

  Maggie’s breath stuck in her throat. She hadn’t seen him naked before and, as he pulled up his slacks, the ridge of muscles flexing in his broad chest taunted her. Her palms and breasts tingled, remembering too intensely the feel of his fine, dark hair, his sleek skin, grazing them. Lush velvet over sun-warmed granite. Her throat went thick. Damn him and his beautiful nose and his beautiful body. He looked as perfect as he’d felt.

  “What’s Vic got to do with this?” MacGregor grabbed his shirt, tugged it on then started working on the buttons. When she didn’t answer, he paused and stared at her. “Maggie? Honey, what’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.” She answered too quickly, and her voice squeaked at least an octave too high. Heat surged up her neck and flooded her face. Seeing his insistence for truth coming, she answered before he could express it. “I, um, hadn’t seen you, um... .”

  “Maggie, are you embarrassed?” He sounded incredulous. “Honey, we just spent the night together. I’ve got your fingerprints on every inch of my body. You can’t possibly be embarrassed.”

  “Shut up, MacGregor:” She glared at him. “Seeing you is... different.”

  He smiled, looking extremely pleased with her. “Oh.”

  “Don’t you dare get smart-mouthed. I really don’t need that this morning and, I’m warning you, any lip and I’ll subtle revenge your backside for at least the next thirty years—provided you don’t provoke me into killing you before then.”

  He didn’t look worried at all by the threat. In fact, he looked kind of delighted by it. Ah, geez. Her mind really had taken a flying leap. He liked getting out of subtle revenge.

  “Let me get this straight.” He cocked his head. “I’m supposed to be upset that you find my body appealing?”

  “No, but...” Well, hell. Now, no matter what she said, she lost. How did she get herself into these situations with him? She rubbed at her throbbing temple. “Will you just get dressed, MacGregor?”

  “I am dressed.” He shrugged and slid her a wicked smile that had her heart fluttering.

  So much for recovering even a shred of dignity. “Well, it’s about time.”

  “Let’s discuss it later. Right now, tell me about Vic and this man from last night.”

  She blew out a deep breath. “The man said his name was Tony. I’d never seen him before, but I figured Miss Hattie might know him. So I went downstairs awhile ago and asked her about him.”

  “What did she say?”

  “Nothing. But she’d been holding this pan, and when I mentioned Tony’s name, she dropped it. The question clearly upset her, Tyler. Unfortunately, before she could answer it, or refuse to answer it, Vic came in.”

  “So she didn’t say she knew this Tony, or that she didn’t.”

  “Right. No confirmation or denial.” Maggie frowned. “But once before, when I asked her if strange things went on here, she laughed and said that things were just as they’d always been.”

  “Ambiguous as hell.” He finger-combed his hair.

  “Exactly.” Maggie passed him her brush off the dresser. “Your hair’s standing on end.” When he took the brush, she added. “Anyway, it’s clear she has no intention of answering me, so I have to ask about Tony elsewhere. I figured who better than Vic. He knows everyone around.”

  “Clever.” MacGregor’s eyes shined appreciatively. “Vic’s delivered the mail here since God was a baby. If there’s a Tony in the village, he’ll know it.”

  “Exactly.”

  MacGregor swept her brush through his hair then put it back on the dresser. “Do you think this Tony is our entity?”

  She lowered her gaze, afraid if he thought she’d lost her mind it’d show in his eyes. Shaky enough without seeing that this morning—Why couldn’t I have a fever?—she wisely avoided the risk. “I don’t know. Maybe. Or he might just have been a villager.”

  “It was awfully foggy.” T.J. glanced at the window. “Sleeting like hell out there.”

  “It wasn’t sleeting, it was misting. Don’t spare me, Tyler.”

  “I meant now. But last night it was misty, and the fog was damn thick. I could just not have seen him.”

  “And hearing him? Could you just not have heard him, too?”

  Sam Grayson flitted through T.J.’s mind. T.J. blinked then blinked again. He should have figured this out sooner. “I get it now, honey.” He hugged her to him, his insides like jelly. She stood rigid enough to snap, her hands at her sides as if she didn’t trust his embrace. Likely, she didn’t, and the fault for that rested squarely on his shoulders. “You didn’t tell me because you were afraid I wouldn’t believe you.”

  She stiffened even more. “If you didn’t, I wouldn’t blame you.”

  “Yes, you would. Situations reversed, I’d blame you, too. But we’ve got a bond, Maggie, and you need to remember that.” Sam Grayson’s belief in her had been all important to Maggie. That bore remembering, too. T.J. cupped her face in his hands and looked directly into her eyes. “I promise to always believe you, Maggie. Always. No matter what. You just have to trust me, honey.”

  Trust him? Maggie couldn’t trust him—or any man. But she didn’t dare to risk talking about it. She didn’t deserve his trust. And right now, she was closer than she’d been in a dozen years to crying. God, but she needed a bath to calm down. But that, too, would have to wait. Just as savoring the sincerity in MacGregor’s promise would have to wait. “Come on.” Maggie moved away. “Vic’s bound to be done with his coffee by now. We’ll miss him.”

  “We’ll catch him.” MacGregor caught her by the arm and pulled her back to him. “First things first.”

  He gave her his best killer smile. “Good morning, honey,” he whispered, then kissed her lips.

  Oh, she could get used to this. So used to this. So used to him...

  Vic! She pulled back, faking frustration with a deep sigh and false bravado. “Geez, MacGregor. I’m telling you we’ve got a solid lead on our entity and you’re acting as if it’s no big deal.”

  “Not so, sweetheart.” He rubbed her shoulder. “Vic’s been in this village seventy years. He isn’t going anywhere that we can’t get to him in a few minutes.”

  “But—”

  “Shhh, a man’s got to keep his priorities s
traight.” He slid his hand under the hem of her sweatshirt and up to her bare skin. “And, right now, loving you is mine.”

  Every muscle in her body seemed to contract at once. “I, um, thought we were going to sort out some things first.”

  He let his hand drift up her spine, the look in his eyes heated. “I have.”

  She wasn’t ready to hear this. She knew it. “And?”

  “It’s stopped sleeting and the sun’s out, Maggie.”

  A glance at the window proved that true. “So?” Hadn’t he said the weather wasn’t connected to them?

  “Our entity wants us together.”

  “That’s no reason—”

  “Shhh.” MacGregor pressed a silencing finger to her lips. “It’s not. But I want us together, too.” He caressed her with his gaze. “I want to make love with you, Maggie. I need to make love with you—without holding back.”

  She needed him, too. So much so that she trembled with it. But she couldn’t give in to it. After they’d made love last night there’d been fog. It hadn’t felt right for all the reasons they’d already explored, and it still wouldn’t be right now because none of those reasons had been dealt with and eliminated. Well, keeping Tony a secret from MacGregor had been eliminated, but Carolyn remained between them.

  “MacGregor, it isn’t that I don’t want you. You know I do. And I’m glad you’ve sorted through all this, but I need more time.” She forced herself to meet his gaze. “I don’t want it not to feel right between us again, either. In my heart, I know it isn’t supposed to be that way—not for us. And that it was...” Her voice trailed.

  “Hurts you,” he finished for her. “I’m sorry, honey. I was being selfish.”

  “No.” She looked up at him. “I kind of like knowing you want me, MacGregor. It’s just...” She borrowed a part of Tony’s warning. “It’s not yet time.”

  “When it’s right, you let me know, mmm? I’ll be waiting.”

  The promise shining in his eyes had her heart aching. “You’ll be first on the list. I swear it.”

  T.J. stepped beside Maggie onto the road in front of Seascape Inn. Patches of ice clung to low dips in the spackled road where sleet pits had pounded into the light dusting of wet sand. Weeds and brown grass lining the sides of the surface crept onto its edges, and Seascape’s rarely used mailbox had melting sickles of ice dripping into the dirt and puddling at its base. “Vic’s probably headed toward the lighthouse. After Seascape, Hatch is next on the route.”

  They hurried past Fisherman’s Co-Op. Leslie’s minivan wasn’t parked out front. Skirting around the wooden pier, they disturbed a squirrel who, indignant as hell, chattered angrily at them then ran on into the woods above the high-tide line. “Watch your step, Maggie. The ice is slick.”

  She nodded and they went on, heading toward the narrow point at Land’s End where the lighthouse stood silhouetted against the sky. On T.J.’s first visit here, it had still been operational. He missed the light. It’d always struck him as a welcoming beacon, guiding the fishermen home.

  The path’s slope steepened and, sure of his step, T.J. glanced up to the sky. It had clouded over, dull and gray, casting an odd pallor on the winter foliage and the ground, and the horizon had muddied, looking nearly black. “We’re in for more storms.”

  Maggie scanned the sky, frowned, then lowered her gaze to Land’s End. The wind shifted, tugging at her hair. “Look.” She pointed, her nose and cheeks red from the suddenly frigid air. “There’s Vic. He’s coming this way.”

  A few minutes later, Vic stepped up to them, his fur-lined cap riding low on his ears, his breath fogging in the cold air. “Morning.”

  “Morning.” T.J. shook Vic’s gloved hand and reminded himself again to order a pair of gloves from one of his catalogues.

  They dispensed with the courtesies, chatted for a few moments, then T.J. glanced at Maggie. She gave him the nod. “Vic, we need to ask you about something.”

  He blinked, his eyes watery as he faced the wind. “If this is about the condoms, T.J.—sorry to be indelicate, Maggie, but that’s the tidiest word I know for ’em—I’ve been the soul of discretion. Ain’t mentioned ’em to a soul.”

  Maggie’s face went red for the third time that day, and it wasn’t yet noon. “It’s not about that, Vic.”

  “Oh.” He cleared his throat and hitched up the mailbag on his shoulder, looking sorry indeed that he’d raised the matter. “Well, what is it, then?”

  “Do you know a man named Tony?”

  Vic narrowed his gaze and clacked his teeth together three times, clearly pondering. “I’m friendly by nature, but I ain’t usually so accommodating as to answer questions about locals for folks from away, but if T.J. here will personally vouch for you, young lady, then well, that’ll be good enough for me, and I’ll answer your question.”

  T.J. nodded. “She’s trustworthy, Vic.”

  Maggie’s expression crumbled and she looked as guilty as sin. About what, T.J. hadn’t a clue. He pretended he hadn’t noticed, hoping Vic wouldn’t either. She still hadn’t revealed her mission here. Maybe it wasn’t simply to rest, as T.J. had deduced. But what else could it be? Miss Hattie had told him all about Maggie and how she’d cared for her mother. Pretty much what Maggie herself had told him, though she’d been much more modest about it. That had put his mind to rest on the mission business. A woman who put her life on hold to care for another, well, she wasn’t apt to be the kind of woman to be doing anything sneaky or underhanded—or so he’d thought, until seeing that guilt in her expression.

  “Figured you would vouch for her, T.J. Miss Hattie ain’t ever wrong about folks.” Vic rubbed his clean-shaven jaw. “Only Tony I ever heard of anywhere around Sea Haven was Anthony Freeport. Some of his close friends called him Tony, including me. From the time we were sprouts, we were about as close as friends can get. We were quite a team, me and him and Hatch. But, other than him, I can’t place a soul in these parts who goes by the name.”

  Maggie let out a sigh of relief that had T.J. grating his teeth.

  She looked up at him, her eyes sparkling. “He was a villager.”

  Feeling as if he’d been kicked in the stomach by a mule, T.J. tried to interrupt. “Maggie—”

  “Vic, I’m so glad we asked you. I need to find Tony. Do you know where he lives now? Or maybe where he works?”

  “I know where he is right this second.” Vic’s expression turned grim, deepening the lines in his face to creases. “Near the church. In the cemetery.”

  Oh, hell! Anthony. Tony. T.J. grimaced. Why hadn’t he put this together before now? True, he’d rarely heard the man referred to as Anthony. Everyone in the village and at Seascape just called him Miss Hattie’s soldier. Still...

  Maggie frowned. “Is Tony the groundskeeper at the cemetery?”

  Grumbling something under his breath, Vic rubbed at his neck and darted a covert plea for help T.J.’s way. “Er, not exactly.”

  “Well, what does he do there?”

  “Maggie,” T.J. cut in. “Vic’s trying to tell you that Anthony Freeport is buried in the cemetery. He’s dead.”

  Chapter 14

  Maggie’s knees threatened to collapse. She locked them.

  “Tony died back during World War II.” Vic tucked a protruding letter back down into his mailbag.

  “Are you all right?” MacGregor curled an arm around her waist.

  She leaned against him. “I’m fine,” she lied. On the cliff, Tony had been wearing an old-fashioned green suit with shiny buttons. It could have been an Army uniform. Schooling her voice, she looked at Vic. “You knew Tony well.”

  “Since we were sprouts.” He repeated his earlier remark, then slid MacGregor a look that asked if Maggie were slow to keep up. “Tony was my best friend.”

  An Army uniform! Shock streaked through Maggie like a thousand-volt power surge. She failed to keep it from her voice. “Anthony Freeport was Miss Hattie’s soldier, wasn’t he?”

  Vic grabbe
d the bill of his cap and tugged it down as if to hide his eyes. Whether burning because of wind or remembrance, they were glossy. “Yep. Tony was the love of Miss Hattie’s life then, just as he is now.”

  Maggie turned to MacGregor. “Tyler—”

  “I know, honey.” He didn’t look at all surprised.

  Why wasn’t he surprised?

  “Tony was special,” Vic said. “Loved Hattie more than life itself. He swore nothing would ever separate them—not even death. Promised her that the day he left for duty. I drove ’em over to Bangor to the station, and I heard it with my own ears.” Vic’s expression grew melancholy. “Tony was a fine man. A fine man. He deserved Miss Hattie.”

  Miss Millie had been right. Vic loved Miss Hattie, but he’d loved Tony, too. And because he had, he’d condemned both himself and Miss Hattie to spending their lives alone.

  A flash of Miss Hattie at the cemetery putting yellow flowers on the grave came to mind. It was Tony’s grave she visited every Tuesday. And—oh, that had to be it! That had to be the reason Maggie had gotten ill so suddenly at the cemetery.

  She and MacGregor had been about to see whose graves Miss Hattie had put the yellow flowers on. Tony hadn’t wanted Maggie to see his headstone because then she’d have known his name. And it wasn’t yet time. But... why?

  MacGregor agreed with Vic. “Tony must have been special. He was well loved.”

  Incredibly sad, Maggie fought tears. What had gotten into her today with this urge to cry business? Well, she had to admit that Tony and Miss Hattie and Vic’s situation was worth a good cry. Vic, worshiping Miss Hattie from afar, being a good friend to her. Miss Hattie, tending Tony’s grave nearly half a century after his death, regretting the life they didn’t get the chance to build together, knowing he’d loved her so much he’d vowed even death wouldn’t separate them. How very, very sad. And how very rare and special indeed their love had been.

  Maggie blinked hard, her heart heavy. The vow. Had that been what Tony had wanted her to know before learning his identity? That he had made that vow? That it was why he remained at Seascape as an entity?

  MacGregor’s deep voice claimed her attention. “Have there been reports of strange things going on at the inn?”