Ever After

by Odessa Gillespie Black

  “The only thing you should worry about is me throwing her in that pond if she is nearly as irritating tomorrow as she was today.”

  “There are a number of other guys who could take her on that tour.”

  “Aren’t you curious as to why Ava Rollins gave her everything she owned? I am, and I plan to find out why.” Cole’s voice was final.

  At least we were on the same page about something.

  I hurried upstairs.

  * * * *

  A calming shower washed away the dirt from the fall. On the feather bed, a lump poked my right cheek. As old as the mattress was, it was probably rotten. It would be a long night.

  With the lights off, the room was even bigger and more horror-movie-esque. Opening the drapes allowed the moonlight in. I stood in its glow for a few minutes and then turned back to the bed that would have consummated a fairytale couple’s wedding vows. Its posts were as big around as my body and looked like Roman columns with added carvings of souls wrapped from the floor to the canopy top. Surprisingly, the soft feathers enveloped me into a perfect body-shaped indention.

  The dark lonely room fell away to pleasant but unsettling dreams.

  A well-traveled path in the woods behind this house opened to a stream with worn grass along the edges. Tinkling water wrapped itself around rocks as it flowed down to a pond or lake. I almost stepped on a young man lying stretched over the softer grass of the bank. A hat covered his face. A makeshift fishing pole poked from between his toes. Muscles worked in his arms as he moved the hat from his brow.

  My chest was crushed from the inside but gloriously full of admiration at the same time. And I hated it.

  “Oh, it’s you. Shouldn’t you be playing with a doll somewhere?” he said, his voice between high and velvety.

  Grass green eyes. Legs so long they poked out of tattered brown pants. Dark skin and well-defined muscles that could have only come from the working-class. Fifteen or sixteen years old.

  “Annabeth? You in there?”

  Who was Annabeth? And why couldn’t I place his face or his name?

  My Victorian dress draped the ground and showed enough cleavage to encourage impure thoughts from any man. Tendrils of light-colored curls fell from an updo I’d never wear, the breeze blowing them across my face.

  “Shouldn’t you be plowing a field somewhere?”

  He sat up from the balled up piece of cloth he’d used as a pillow. A look I’d seen thousands of times before, but where I didn’t know, slid across his tanned cheeks, putting his red lips in a gorgeous smirk. He rifled around in a sack beside him, brought out some worms, and jerked his line in. When he tossed the hook to my feet and slid a bowl of pulsating dirt against the hem of my dress, my stomach churned, but I sat down.

  “You ever put a worm on a hook?” he asked, just one corner of his lips turning up. My heart hiccupped. God, he was gorgeous.

  Sitting knees to the side, I blushed when the dress’s bodice pushed even more cleavage into his visibility. The devilish grin diminished.

  “I bet you’re too scared,” he said, his voice low, gravelly, and tantalizing.

  I fell more into the dream, as certain details about her life sewed themselves in place of mine. They, I’m not sure who all that entailed, but they always thought I was just a little girl. Not caring that doing so increased the eyeful he’d already gotten, I leaned forward and took the pole. His eyes simmered into a gaze he’d given me a time or two, but my older sister always interrupted the moments.

  Determination welled inside me. I hated worms, dirt, and anything that yielded poking the guts out of a living creature.

  “I’m not scared to try anything once.” I shot him a meaningful glance.

  He leaned back on his elbows, his eyebrows furrowing, a devilish smile on his sun-warmed cheeks.

  The fat worm wriggled in the soil and would surely ruin my dress. This was not sexy. It wiggled between my fingers, begging for one last chance at life.

  I took a deep breath and stabbed the worm. Pink tinged guts came out on the end of the hook. My stomach lurched, but I held my composure.

  “You might just have some potential.” The guy’s brow rose with a smirk. He threw a piece of grass at me. When I ducked my head and batted my lashes shyly, his grin fell away. He put the fishing pole against a tree.

  He tilted his head, his pupils dilating as he looked into me instead of at me. In that moment, the earth shattered and reassembled itself. A million butterflies lifted my stomach into my chest when he scooted over, laying down more grass as he took the place beside me. For a few seconds, the air was thick. Heat prickled my face as his lips neared mine.

  Then I knew. I loved him.

  “Potential for what?” A high-pitched blast came from behind us.

  We jumped apart. A girl, a few years my senior, jabbed her fists into her hips and from her dark brown eyes, shot me daggers of hatred. “Mama’s looking for you.”

  The dream fizzled away, and I floated for a few seconds. Then my legs pumped against the ground, my lungs searing.

  A rotting corpse was three feet behind me and gaining speed. I turned, slid, and darted between walls of endless roses, their thorns catching the skirts of my dress.

  She got a handful of fabric and jerked.

  I flailed, slipping from her grip. Fabric tore. I tripped on a cement bench in the next turn and limped on the stinging knee. Rose-briars sliced my face. When I could breathe no longer, I collapsed in the corner of two rose walls, thorns prickling my back.

  Bony fingers reached through the wall and bit into my shoulders. The corpse pulled me kicking and screaming through the thorny partition.

  Chapter 4

  Covered in perspiration, I jerked upright in bed.

  “The curse is upon you. One of you has to die.” A throaty, female voice followed me out of the nightmare. No cuts on my arms. No slashes on my face. But the musky scent of roses filled the air.

  Trembling uncontrollably, I crawled back to the center of the headboard.

  A bathroom. A dressing room. A picture window at dawn. A canopy bed. Antique everything.

  Stupid nightmares. I missed my hot, faceless ghost guy.

  Jerking a blanket over my face, I nestled under the covers.

  Dealing with cranky Cole Kinsley in the morning would require a fresh mind and a body rested enough to keep up with his athletic pace. Operation Torture Cole Kinsley couldn’t come soon enough.

  * * * *

  Aromas that reminded me of home led me downstairs.

  Family members sneered at me as I passed them. I probably had dressed in something they’d never be seen in. A pair of casual green capris and a matching shirt that covered everything. Not nearly as bold as the me in my dream with my chest falling out of a dress.

  I had brushed my unruly curls up into something that resembled a style and topped it off with lip gloss and mascara. I didn’t normally bother with those things, but this guy was worth it, even if he was mean and standoffish. If Cole thought I was beautiful after a plane ride and a roll down a hill, maybe he could move from possibly being attracted to unable to keep his hands off me in a day.

  In the dining room, children laughed, parents reprimanded, and forks clinked. I avoided them and ducked into the kitchen where I met Nancy, a round, elderly woman whose only joy in life was cooking for the staff and guests.

  In the hospital-sterile scullery, stainless steel counters and restaurant grade appliances spanned the walls. A small table with ten chairs—small compared to the thirty-person table in the dining hall—sat in the middle.

  “This is where the staff members take their meals. You don’t mind to eat with us?” Nancy’s eyes were large.

  “I’d rather eat with y’all than be eaten by the vultures in the other room. They keep giving me mean looks.” I winced with a half-hearted smile.

  “I like you.” She nodded, pulling a plate out of the pantry.

 
It was massive, food on one side and dishes for every sort of occasion on the other side. An old, wooden table that would seat about as many as the table in the dining hall sat in the center of the room. It wasn’t carved and fancy, but it was nice.

  “Three helpings of everything. I know,” Nancy said.

  Confused, I started to reply, but a man’s grunt followed.

  Cole staggered to the other side of the table. He jerked a chair out and plopped down, forehead to hand. Not a word. Not a glance.

  “Headache?” Nancy slapped stuff on his plate.

  “Something like that.” He glanced pointedly at me and went back to face-in-the-palm.

  “If I’m that much of a bother, I’m sure you could find someone else to show me around. Maybe Dalton?”

  “Sure. Whatever. He seems like your type,” Cole said.

  Nancy’s head wagged back and forth between us, her brow furrowed.

  “Cole Kinsley. That’s no way to talk to ladies or your employer.” She sounded motherly. “You better watch that mouth.”

  Cole’s mouth pinched shut.

  Nancy turned to fill another plate, grumbling all the while.

  Cole cut his eyes at her but didn’t dare sass back. He swiped up his fork.

  Instead of handing an overloaded plate to me so I could take it elsewhere, she made it a point to place it directly across from Cole.

  “This is Cole’s attitude adjustment. After he eats, you’ll hear a change in his tune.” Nancy gave me an apologetic smile and patted Cole on the shoulder. “I keep telling you, you’re going to have to slow down on all that food. One day that metabolism is going to slow, and all those calories and cholesterol are going catch up with you. You’ll never find a wife if you’re fat and mean.”

  “A wife is the last of my concerns. I work off the food when I’m actually working. I had things to get accomplished today.” Cole aimed an irritable look at me. With a mouthful of food, he forced something that could have been a grin. “You should trade with me for a day. I can cook.”

  Wow. He made jokes.

  He made an awful giggle-snort through the food in his mouth. Manners weren’t his strong point.

  “Don’t talk with your mouth full. You’re hopeless.” She clucked her tongue and then turned to me. “My dear, if you’d like seconds, you should probably put in for them now. Cole can down some food.”

  I stared fearfully at Cole’s plate. Could he really eat all that?

  He gave her that little eye gesture thing. Sort of flirty. Yet full of bad boy.

  Nancy’s cheeks reddened. “You’re not a bit cute.”

  Cole turned back to his plate. Every gargantuan bite of food he shoveled into his mouth should have weighed him down, but the circles under his eyes lightened and his demeanor shifted. Cole devoured the last of a pile of pancakes and eggs. His hand brushed mine as we both reached for a napkin from the center of the table. He jerked back.

  “Sorry,” I said, still a little put off with him.

  Frozen, he stared into my eyes for a few seconds. His gaze went to my hair. Cole’s eyes glinted a lighter green as his gaze traveled down my neck. He stopped the appraisal by grabbing up his napkin. He wiped his lips. “I just don’t like people in my personal space.”

  “Personal space?” I smirked. “You weren’t too worried about personal space last night. I think I have a bruise or two from your grip.”

  A frying pan clattered. Nancy turned from the oven and stared at us.

  Cole’s eyes twitched again, the way they did when I’d said just the right thing.

  “Yeah, walk much?”

  I bit the inside of my lips.

  Nancy wrenched the dishtowel. Was she going to pop him with it?

  “Where are your manners?” Her face pinched in disapproval.

  “Don’t even start.” He dropped his fork on his plate with a loud clang and shoved it away.

  “Don’t you take that tone with me, young man.”

  Cole stood and took his half-emptied plate to the dishwasher.

  “So, Miss Knowles, are you married? Cole hasn’t been on a date in quite some time.” Nancy turned to face the sink, a smile visible on the side of her face.

  Cole actually dropped his plate. Luckily, the rack inside the dishwasher was plastic coated.

  Nancy’s mischievous smile widened. “You know what they say about the energies of people who argue like cats and dogs when they meet—”

  “I’ve heard quite enough of your astrology b.s. Stars do not dictate who I fall in love with. Trust me on this one.”

  I could have crawled under the table.

  “Suit yourself. Go milk a cow, plow a field, or shovel manure until you’re old. Just waste away a lonely old man, ’cause that’s what you’re going to be.” Nancy’s shoulders sagged in disappointment. “There will never be any babies around here for me to spoil.”

  Cole openly stared at her as if he might hurtle the closest thing he could find in her direction. Nancy tipped a nod in my direction.

  Cole’s eyes twitched as he stared her down.

  She huffed and gave up, turning back to the stove. She picked up a cast iron frying pan, and went to work cleaning eggs out of it.

  “I’ll see you whenever you’re done with breakfast. Take your time. You can afford to, but some of us do have to work. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ll be feeding the cattle.” He shoved through the swinging door. Nancy turned an apologetic smile in my direction.

  “Don’t pay him too much mind. He’s been this way since I’ve known him. He doesn’t take kindly to females. Except Ava. She was the closest thing he had to a mother other than me.” One side of Nancy’s mouth pulled back in a sad grimace.

  “Do you think he hates me because of this whole crazy will mix-up?”

  “Cole Kinsley could care less about the money. And as I’m sure you’ve heard already, Ava didn’t make mistakes. She was born incapable. Regarding Cranky-pants, he’s miserable because he’s lonely. And from what I saw of his reaction to you this morning, you probably remind him of everything he doesn’t have.” Nancy patted my shoulder and turned to answer a service bell in the dining hall.

  * * * *

  The long stone hallways were lined with paintings from different eras. It was time to get to know the woman who thought enough of me to leave me everything she owned.

  The first painting on the left was a young girl. The plaque read, “Ava Maryann Rollins 1948.” She’d had brown hair, green eyes and a tall, skinny figure. She reminded me of a snooty pencil. The rest on the left side of that hall showed the progression of her age until 1999.On the other side of the wall staring across at her were countless paintings of people wearing clothing from the 1800s until now. All their faces were emotionless, so there wasn’t much I could learn there.

  The golden double doors of the ballroom were closed. The day before, Thomas had shown them to me but hadn’t opened them. The only activity they’d had in years was the apparent party the family had thrown that night.

  The hardwood floors shined, and the brass chandelier sparkled, but the musty heaviness in the air might never go away. Fastened to the wall between floor-length mirrors, candelabra’s of the same brass hung unlit.

  I opened the grand piano and let my fingers trail over the keys. How long ago had stringed instruments played against a backdrop of gay laughter? I closed the piano with a nostalgic sigh. Oh, to have lived in those times.

  Pulling the door shut, I went to search out Cole. Even in the summer heat, I shivered as I walked the long picture-filled hallway. Welcoming the warm summer heat and the noise of the worker’s activity outside, I hurried from the patio. Past the rose maze. Toward the barns. A worker carrying a box passed me.

  “Excuse me. Do you happen to know where I might find Cole Kinsley?” I said.

  Without a word or smile, the worker pointed toward the field and hurried on.

  They hated me too.

&
nbsp; In the distance, a tractor headed toward a waiting group of cows. On its front, two prongs stabbed into a round bale of hay. The crowd of cows followed the tractor like ducks. When the tractor dropped the hay, the cows huddled around it.

  I gave Cole a half-hearted wave.

  He returned a snarl of acknowledgement.

  Cole parked the tractor and rounded the corner of the barn in long, swift strides. He wiped his hands on a white towel and slung it over the rung of a ladder propped against the barn wall.

  I took a deep breath, preparing myself for his foul attitude.

  “The electrical is out in the catacombs, so we’ll walk around the immediate landmarks. Probably best to start at the nature trails.” Cole walked ahead of me. His pace kept me in an almost run as we made our way past the barn toward the woods.

  “Maybe I want to start with the catacombs.” I smiled sweetly.

  “Figures.”

  “You should really lighten up. You’re gonna stroke out. So, seriously, I’ve never seen an underground tunnel. Can’t we use flashlights?” I asked in a syrupy voice.

  “I wouldn’t have said anything last night if I’d known you’d actually want to go down there, but if you insist.” We turned around, and he increased his pace. “I mean, they are just dark holes burrowed into the earth, with God only knows what crawling around in it.”

  Funny. It hadn’t taken much for him to give in to me.

  He walked toward the newly wood-sealed doors of the barn. He probably sealed them before they ever saw their first sign of weathering. Everything in the barn was in pristine condition, organized by shape, size, and type.

  “I’ll show you the entrance as long as you promise me something.” Cole turned, and he settled a serious and infuriatingly sexy gaze on me.

  What had he just said?

  “Uncloud your ditzy head and listen to me. Repeating myself is about as enjoyable as having you under my feet at every step. Now, don’t go into the tunnels without me. They can be confusing, and if you get lost, it could take a day or more to find you. I don’t feel like trekking through them for hours because you won’t follow sane advice.” Cole turned back to a stack of drawers near the door and grabbed out only one long, silver flashlight and dropped it in a loop in his jeans. When he turned back, he slammed into me.