He stared at the photograph again. “This is the real thing?”
“Yes, and I can even explain it. I looked up your family tree.”
“You did what?”
“I looked up your family tree. I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to invade your privacy,” she said.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to bark.”
“Caleb, you have ancestors who used to live here. Did you know that?”
He shook his head. “My folks weren’t the kind who were into figuring out their roots.”
“Well, there are a lot of Web sites that do just that, and I printed off your family tree. I feel like such an idiot for bursting in on you this morning, and at least this explains why I was so…confused.”
She was palpably sincere. Her eyes were silver in the moonlight, and he could smell the faint scent of her perfume. Somewhere in his core, he felt a stirring and a warmth. He’d wanted to touch her from the minute he’d seen her, but he’d never been more tempted than he was at that moment.
He needed to walk her home, see that she was safe.
He needed to keep his hands off her.
“Actually, you barging in that way was rather titillating,” he said, unable to prevent a smile.
She laughed, her cheeks turning a becoming shade of rose, but she didn’t look away. “Look, what I’m trying to explain to you is that I’m not a lunatic and I don’t usually go banging on men’s doors and yelling at them. I guess I did have a dream, but if you look at this, you can see why I thought what I did. I mean…this could be a picture of you.”
“Point taken,” he assured her, then shook his head sadly.
“What?”
“I’m afraid this means you’re not going to barge in on me again.”
“I upset Bertie. I think I’d better behave from now on,” she said, turning away. “I need to explain things to her, and apologize.”
“Show her the picture. She’ll understand,” he said.
She smiled and started walking. He stayed by her side, shoving his hands into his pockets to keep himself from reaching for her, determined not to act like a jackass and ruin this tenuous connection between them. The night was warm, but with a sea breeze that stirred her hair as they walked and carried a tantalizing whiff of her perfume to him. He found himself noticing everything about her. The silky sheen of her hair and the way that it swayed on her shoulders as she walked.
The way she walked.
The way she was built.
Her skin was smooth, and she was wearing a sleeveless knit dress that revealed a lot of that skin, and molded her curves so tightly that he had to swallow. Hard.
She had a great mouth, generous and well-defined. Beautiful lips. Perfect nose. He remembered how it had felt to have her underneath him that morning, the feel of her flesh against his.
He almost tripped over a cobblestone as they moved down Avila, ready to make the right that would lead them to St. George.
“Are you all right?” she asked.
“Yes, just clumsy,” he assured her.
“It was strange that day, when I saw you just staring at the house,” she said.
“It’s a beautiful old house,” he said.
“But it seemed as if you were drawn to it.”
I’m drawn to its owner.
“I like historic architecture,” he said lamely. They had reached her house, and stood staring up at it. The mansion had been magnificently constructed. That night, however, he felt as if the darkened windows were eyes, staring back at them. It was as if something brooding was living inside the house. He gave himself a mental shake; he wasn’t prone to whimsy or flights of fantasy. It was a house.
A house and nothing more. But history happened in houses. Events occurred. The good, the bad and the very ugly.
Adam said there were two kinds of hauntings. Residual, the events of the past happening over and over again. And active, or intelligent, when spirits remained behind, chained by the trauma of their deaths. They could even learn to move objects and travel from place to place, which was why Abe Lincoln could be seen both striding the halls of the White House, or sitting in the seat where he’d been shot at Ford’s Theatre.
He couldn’t communicate with ghosts himself, but he worked with a number of intelligent and completely sane people who did speak with those long gone.
But this house…
It was as if the house itself wanted to tell him something.
He was suddenly anxious to get back inside.
But not tonight.
“Caleb?” Sarah said softly, studying him.
He turned to her. Her eyes were so wide and concerned.
Silver and beautiful.
“Let’s get you safely inside, okay?” he suggested.
And maybe, just maybe, I can stay awhile, he thought.
9
She walked ahead of him to the carriage house, taking her keys from her purse. She opened the door, and he followed her inside, where she turned on a light. The room was neat and clean. He walked over to the bathroom and went inside, came back out and, shrugging sheepishly, ducked down and looked under the bed.