When the Spirit Is Willing Read online

  He touched her face lightly, tracing her cheekbone with his thumb. And then his hand slipped behind her neck and his mouth covered hers. Her mouth moved under his, tentatively at first. But then quite suddenly, as if she had been waiting for his kiss for a long time, something exploded inside her and she responded hungrily, greedily. His lips hardened, answering her need with his own, his mouth moving on her mouth as though he couldn't get enough of it, just as she couldn't seem to get enough of his. She could feel her muscles expanding, her blood warming, as though she were some wild creature just emerging from a long winter of hibernation, walking forward into the sun.

  Her heart pounded. Her hands had gone to touch his neck, his crisp dark hair. His arms were around her, holding her, supporting her, pulling her in against the lean hardness of his body.

  "Laura," he murmured against her mouth.

  She had forgotten that passion could ignite so quickly, like a brushfire in the dry brown hills of California. She had forgotten what passion felt like. She had forgotten…

  The back of her neck tingled as though someone was watching her. Jessica!

  She dragged her mouth away from his, looked guiltily around. To her relief she saw that the room was empty. But suppose Jessica had walked in on them?

  "Laura?"

  Carter's hand again cupped her cheek, his thumb lightly stroking her mouth, which felt bruised, but not unpleasantly so. He looked as shaken as she felt.

  "I'm not—I don't—" She broke off, took a step back so that his hand dropped, then laughed, a little breathlessly. "Good grief, I'm acting like an outraged virgin." She drew in a shaky breath. "I'm sorry, Carter. I know I asked for that. I guess I wanted it. But…"

  "But you're not that kind of girl?" he suggested, a glimmer of amusement appearing in those dark dark eyes of his.

  "Well, I'm not sure that's so," she said honestly, which made him laugh out loud. "I just don't think it's responsible of me to… well, to…"

  "For heaven's sake, Laura, all you did was kiss the man."

  Priscilla. She was sitting in the dining alcove, elbows on the harvest table, hands clasped under her chin.

  "How long have you been there?" Carter demanded.

  "Long enough." Her green eyes were sparkling. "I always enjoy love scenes on television, though I must admit I was quite shocked when I first saw one—such wild abandon. Though the kisses never look quite real, do they? The lovers always look as if they're chewing on a wad of tobacco rather than kissing. Watching you was much better—you were both having such a good time."

  "Did you ever hear the word voyeurism?" Laura asked. "Does your ability to render yourself invisible make invading people's privacy okay?"

  "Well, as to that my dear," Priscilla said, suddenly sitting up very stiffly, "I might ask about your invasion of my privacy."

  "You've been listening for some time, haven't you?" Carter said, sounding amused.

  Laura didn't find the situation amusing. She was embarrassed, mortified that Priscilla had been present through that whole…

  How could she be embarrassed by a ghost?

  She was, though. And also embarrassed that Priscilla had caught them talking about her. "Look, Priscilla," she began. "If you don't want us to look into your past, we'll stop right now. We're curious, naturally, and you don't seem to want to talk about it, but…"

  "I've no real objections, Laura. You are right that it's not something I want to talk about, but if you find my little story of interest, by all means, look into it. In the meantime, I'll check on Jessica and Max. Last I saw of them, she was sound asleep and Max was stretched out on the floor snoring." She waved a careless hand. "Feel free to carry on where you left off."

  There was an awkward moment after she left, without disappearing first this time, then Carter drew in a breath. "I could use another cup of that excellent coffee," he suggested.

  Laura poured some for both of them and they sat down at the table. Carter smiled at her. "Don't look so worried, Laura. As Priscilla said, it was only a kiss."

  A kiss that had awakened longings she didn't want to acknowledge.

  "I should explain," she began, but his fingers touched her lips to silence.

  "There's no need." He smiled. That smile of his was a force to be reckoned with. "If you want to stand back and look at the situation for a while, we can do that. I do understand that you loved your husband and you haven't quite recovered from his death."

  She was grateful to him for his understanding, but still felt a need to explain. Or perhaps she just had a need to tell her story to a sympathetic ear. "I loved my husband, yes," she said flatly. "I just wish I could have grieved for him properly."

  He tried not to show his surprise. "I think I told you that Brady loved parties," she said. "There was a group he went to college with. Called themselves 'the mob.' Nice people, women as well as men, but all addicted to having a good time. One by one they got married. But that didn't stop the partying. It just made the group bigger. When I was pregnant with Jessica, I didn't always feel like making merry. But I felt I shouldn't stand in Brady's way. They were his friends. After Jess was born, I went with Brady on what the group called 'mob sprees' again, though sometimes after working on a house all day, I was tired."

  She made a face. "I sound like a whining party pooper."

  "Is that what he called you?"

  Twin streaks of color appeared on her cheekbones. "Sometimes," she admitted. "In a joking sort of way." She hesitated. "I kept thinking it was time we all grew up. There wasn't a lot of drinking or anything like that—a few beers, maybe—it was just this constant pursuit of a good time. It seemed…"

  "Adolescent?"

  She nodded, her face solemn, her eyes glinting with pain. "What happened, Laura?" he asked.

  She was silent for a while, then she spoke very slowly, as if reluctant to part with each word. "From time to time, there were other women. Whenever I found out—and I always did find out—Brady would swear it had meant nothing, he would never do it again, he loved only me. He was very…convincing. Each time I forgave him and tried to forget, telling myself it was better for Jessica to have two parents, and he'd surely grow out of this… compulsion eventually. But each time I'd lose a little of my self-esteem, a little of my… feelings for him. And sure enough, a few months later, I'd see that certain way he looked at some woman, and he'd start making excuses to go out without me… and I'd know…"

  Her hands were clasped tightly on the table. He wanted to hold them, kiss away the tension that was in them, but decided now was not the time.

  "One of the regular mob sprees involved a weekend of skiing at Squaw Valley," she continued. "I went a few times, but this particular weekend Jessica seemed to be coming down with something. She was three and a half, usually healthy, but that day she was fretful and feverish. So Brady went without me. As I said, he'd done that many times before. I was never much of a skier. I don't seem to have the coordination for it." She spread her hands on the table. "So he went without me—and he died."

  He waited.

  "He was skiing with Carrie, a kid who'd hung out with the mob for a couple of years. She was the younger sister of one of the guys. I'd always thought of her as a kid. She was only sixteen when she first showed up. Anyway, Brady was skiing ahead of Carrie, going downhill, fast, hotdogging as he called it. He turned his head to yell something at her and he crashed into a tree. He was killed instantly."

  There was more—he was sure of it.

  "For once, I hadn't suspected—" She sighed deeply. "After the funeral, one of his old school friends took me aside and told me she thought I should know the truth. Brady and Carrie… it had gone on for months."

  She was gripping her hands even tighter. "In so many ways he was this terrific husband. Funny, loving, hardworking when the mood was on him, always good-natured, a terrific father to Jessica when everything was going well. I kept trying to remember him that way. But then I'd think of him and Carrie and all the Carries that ca
me before. I'd get so furious, I'd have strangled him if he wasn't already dead." She hesitated. "Not exactly a picture of the properly grieving widow, is it?"

  "Under the circumstances, I'd say anger was a normal reaction," he said, his dark eyes showing sympathy.

  "I suppose." She sighed. "It was the final betrayal that did me in. I'd gone on loving him as much as I could—but in the end there wasn't any love left in me." She looked at him very earnestly. "I wouldn't want you to think I regret marrying Brady—for a while, he made me very happy, and Jessica makes it all worthwhile. It's just…" She spread her hands in a helpless gesture and lapsed into silence.

  "What brought you here, Laura?" he asked gently. "Why did you leave California?"

  "Brady's parents were there. My parents, too."

  This time he couldn't figure out what the problem had been.

  "It's complicated," she said. "Brady's parents worshiped him. He was their only son. My parents—" She hesitated. "My father and mother are divorced. My dad left my mother when I was fifteen. He… fell in love with another woman. A much younger woman. She was only six years older than me. It was…tough on my mother. And on me."

  She laughed shortly. "Obviously it didn't make enough of an impression. I'm a walking cliché—I fell in love with a man who had all the best and worst characteristics of my father. Dad's every bit as funny and charming as Brady was. And just as fun-loving, unfortunately." She shook her head. "Eventually, Dad and I became friends again. So did he and Brady. And Mom adored him—Brady, I mean. So after his death—everybody kept talking about how wonderful he was, what a loss he was."

  She paused, looking down at her coffee cup as if she could see her future in it, or perhaps her past. "All of which was true," she added, her voice breaking just a little. "But I suddenly felt I couldn't go on listening to it. I was afraid that sometime I'd suddenly blurt out the truth and destroy this perfect image they all had of him." She took a sip of her coffee and her voice strengthened. "Besides which, both sets of grandparents kept referring to Jessica as their 'poor baby,' and I knew that wasn't good for her. So I decided to put some distance between us all, give myself a chance to heal."

  "And have you?"

  Her smile was wry now. "I don't know. I'm not angry anymore. Just sad, I guess."

  He wanted badly to take her in his arms again, but suspected it wouldn't be a good idea.

  "Jessica and I do talk to her grandparents on the phone regularly, of course. I love them all. So does she. It was just too… difficult."

  There was a brief silence, then she looked at him directly. "I made a vow when Brady died, Carter. I vowed I'd never again get involved with another man who used charm to attract a woman, a man other women would want. I don't mean I'd want a man everyone else would reject, but if I do get involved with anyone he won't be anything like Brady or my father. He'll be a serious-minded man, one who believes in all that 'keeping myself unto thee until death do us part' stuff."

  "Someone who doesn't go to parties?" he asked with a wry smile.

  She frowned. "You said there was a reason for your parties? We never did finish that conversation."

  "We'll get back to it." Showing would be preferable to telling, he'd decided.

  "You do understand, don't you?" she asked as he stood up.

  He nodded.

  "I did want to… I mean, I was …am attracted to you. That's just the problem, I'm much too attracted to you for my own good." There was despair in her voice. "I don't think it's a good idea for you to keep coming around here stirring up—"

  "Stirring up what?" he asked innocently.

  She looked at him.

  "I don't think we should see each other again," she said firmly. "I can't—"

  Again, he put his fingers over her lips. "It's okay, Laura. I understand," he said briskly. "There are difficulties, however. Your daughter loves my dog. And he seems to love her. I don't know that it's fair to separate them. We also have a ghost in common. Do you suppose we could just be friends?"

  She looked at him again. Just that one glance made electrical impulses dance between them. He could hear the air crackling. He cleared his throat. "Maybe not. But I do think we should clear up this business of Priscilla, which would necessitate a trip to the library. I can go alone, of course, but it does seem rather…"

  She made a face. "Good grief, surely I can go to the library with you. We're both adults, after all."

  "I'll do my best not to be too charming," he promised gravely.

  She refused to smile.

  "Also, I'm hardly likely to seduce you in a public library," he said.

  She did smile this time, but the smile had a skeptical edge to it. Evidently she wasn't convinced he'd behave. He didn't blame her. That one kiss had aroused a lot of passion, and passion was something he'd been missing for a long time. He wasn't sure he could be around her for five seconds without grabbing her and…

  There was no way one date at the library was going to satisfy him, of course. But he was imaginative; he was quite sure he could come up with a way to see her again, and again. In fact…

  The idea that came to him was so unexpected, yet at the same time so appropriate, it filled him with wonder. But he couldn't even begin to examine it until he was alone. He held out his hand. "We could call ourselves business partners," he suggested.

  She put her slender, callused hand in his. There was a definite tremor in her fingers, which told him she, too, had felt the magnetic current that ran between them as soon as his skin touched hers. Her smile was uncertain. She wasn't going to trust him. Which was very wise of her. As Sly had said, Laura was a very sensible young woman.

  "I'll call you," he said. As usual.

  CHAPTER NINE

  "You don't remember what the wallpaper looked like?" Laura exclaimed.

  She and Priscilla and Jessica were in the starkly bare master bedroom. At least Laura and Jessica were inside the room. Jessica was playing with rug samples on the floor, spreading them out like stepping stones and leaping from one to the other. Priscilla hovered in the doorway, looking much as usual, except that a faint mist surrounded her, as if she was considering dematerializing. A shiver traveled down Laura's spine.

  "More than a hundred years have passed since I decorated this house," Priscilla reminded her.

  "But you remembered the living room and the kitchen."

  "Well, I don't remember this room. Maybe I was never in it."

  "Why wouldn't you be in it? It's by far the biggest bedroom in the house. And it has a wonderful view of the Olympics. It must have been yours and your husband's."

  All of a sudden, Priscilla's "persona" seemed much fainter than usual. Laura could almost see through her, which was very disconcerting. "I don't remember," Priscilla said stubbornly.

  Laura sighed. "I guess I'll have to take Carter up on his suggestion and do some research in the museum library."

  "Good idea," Priscilla said. For the first time since Laura had called her to the bedroom, her mischievous smile was in evidence.

  "I'll start spackling the walls in the meantime," Laura said. "Everyone who lived in this house had a different idea of where to hang pictures. Look at all those nail holes."

  Priscilla had backed farther into the hall. Something was definitely bothering her. Maybe she was offended by Laura's manner. "Don't worry, Priscilla," Laura said, smiling at her. "I'll find out what was on the walls some other way."

  "Why is it so important to you?" Priscilla asked.

  Laura frowned. "You were the one who wanted the house to look as it did when you… lived in it."

  "I didn't mean every little detail had to be exact."

  Now she sounded positively annoyed.

  "I'll work something out," Laura said, after staring at her hard for a minute. The mist was getting thicker. Was Priscilla going to disappear? Laura shook her head. "I can't spend too much more time messing about with research," she muttered. "I have a deadline to meet."

  The mist c
leared abruptly. Priscilla's outlines were once more sharp and clear. The feathers on her hat appeared to be bristling. "What do you mean by that?" she demanded.

  "Deadline?" Laura was squatting, wrestling with a screwdriver, trying to pry the lid off the can of Spackle. "It means a set time by which something must be done."

  "I know what it means," Priscilla snapped. "I want to know why you're in such a hurry."

  Laura glanced up at her, surprised. "I told the real-estate agent I'd probably have the house ready for resale by the end of the year."

  The silence that followed was so fraught with tension, Jessica stopped jumping from pad to pad and started pulling her right earlobe as she looked worriedly from Priscilla to her mother.

  "You're going to sell my house?" Priscilla exclaimed.

  "That's what I do, Priscilla. I remodel houses and sell them. That's how I support Jessica and myself."

  Priscilla was rapidly disappearing.

  "Was she crying?" Laura asked, after the fog had dissipated.

  "I think so," Jessica said uncertainly. "Sometimes it's hard to tell what she's doing when she's coming or going."

  Laura stood up, feeling a clutch of apprehension in her stomach. Surely it wasn't normal for a child to accept the vagaries of a ghost so matter-of-factly. It would be a good thing when she did get through with this house and they could take up a more ordinary way of living.

  Why did she have trouble believing that? Why did the thought of it suddenly make her feel even more lonely? She knew why. She was beginning to look upon Priscilla as a friend. And she felt a definite affinity with this house. Though she'd snapped at Carter when he'd suggested it would be difficult for her to leave, she had to admit it was true. It would be even more difficult for Jessica. "I guess I upset her," she said lamely.

  Jessica nodded. "She might be in my bedroom. She likes that room best. I'll go see if she's okay."

  Obviously Jessica saw nothing strange about checking up on the welfare of a ghost. Feeling resigned, Laura selected a putty knife from her tool carrier and began spreading Spackle over the nail holes in the wall.