© 2005-2006 Ann Marie Bradley

From FOREVER OVER ALL

A thousand pounds of four-legged dynamite appeared on the narrow road directly ahead of Maggie Ross’ Jeep Wrangler. The demon charged straight at her vehicle; the horse’s rider, seemingly oblivious to certain collision, kneed his long-legged mount.

Lightning cracked the sky apart. The horse balked, then reared its head against the pull of the reins. The white of its eyes, its flaring nostrils flashed crystal-clear in the crackling bright light. Closer still the beast charged through the pouring rain. The rider sat tall and proud on the horse’s back; showed no fear of the ton of steel blocking his route. As horse and rider drew close, Maggie saw the man’s almost translucent face. The ruggedly handsome features seemed vaguely familiar. No, that’s impossible.

Self-preservation kicked in, and she steered her Jeep to the side of the road with just seconds to spare. Her heart beat hard against her chest. The vehicle missed crushing the aggressors by inches. Maggie’s fear turned to anger.

“Road hog,” she shouted at her assailant’s back. “Trying to kill me?”

Loose gravel and mud pelted the SUV before horse and rider faded in the distance.

“Idiot!” Maggie shrieked to the empty road.

The close, humid atmosphere inside her vehicle supercharged, as if gaining electricity from an invisible generator. Twenty pounds of bristling cat jumped from the seat beside his mistress and tore through the Jeep. Maggie sought to soothe him with her voice and at the same time attempted to maneuver the SUV away from the creek and back onto the county road.

She floored the accelerator. The Jeep slipped and slid to a standstill. “For crying out loud. Now what?”

Jet-black storm clouds reached out and grappled with the late afternoon sky, winning final possession of the heavens.

Maggie fished an umbrella from under the driver’s seat and a flashlight from the glove box. Fighting wind and rain, she pushed open the driver’s side door to assess the problem. Indistinguishable shadows danced across the Jeep, and she clicked on the flashlight. Both back tires bogged down deep in fresh mud. She trembled. A definite chill filled the air. She looked down the road both ways, but no house or vehicle was in sight. Alone in a deserted world.

She tucked the umbrella under her left arm long enough to slip a hand through the leather cord dangling from the flashlight. Struggling against the wind, she opened the umbrella and managed to grip both its handle and the flashlight in one hand. With the other hand she gathered twigs, shoving the bundle under the tires as far as possible. The stormy sky loomed like a dark layer of cotton above her, but the occasional flash of lightning aided the dim beam of the flashlight. Maggie tasted the thick air, sharp with a wet earthy tang. A gust of wind caught her umbrella, ripped it from her hand, swirled it high in the air, and whisked it across a pitch-black field.

“Great. Anything else?”

She turned to chase the flying contraption, but thick, gummy ooze caught her shoe, and she fell flat on her face in the wet red earth.

Spitting out a mouthful of expletives along with the mud, she struggled to her feet. A chill wind whipped a lock of hair over her eyes. Soaked to the skin, shivering, and a little hysterical, Maggie swiped at the flashlight’s glass, then quickly gathered more twigs and stones to shove under the tires.

Satisfied she had enough traction for the tires, she climbed behind the wheel, and pulled her hand free of the leather cord. Loose, soppy curls fell in her face. Maggie pushed them back with sticky fingers. She turned the ignition and eased the gearshift lever into drive. Ever so slowly, she pressed the accelerator. The tires spun, then grabbed on the debris. Gravel bit into rubber. The Jeep tore itself free at last.

She sucked in a calming breath and glanced down the obscure road. Dark clumps of trees lined the roadway on both sides. Her throat dry, teeth chattering, she adjusted the heater’s thermostat to high before continuing her journey.

As the heater blower warmed her feet, the smell of burnt leather assaulted her nose, and memories of wet boots drying on the radiator ruffled through her mind. She smiled with remembered pleasure the snowball fights she’d had with her dad.

A formidable wind slashed and shoved against the Jeep. Maggie shifted uneasily in the driver’s seat, slowed, then slid the car to a complete halt. Rain streaked the windshield like tears. Leaning back against the worn vinyl upholstery, she fingered her sundial necklace.

A rustic bridge loomed in front of her. The edge of the headlights’ beam caught a weathered sign, and she read, “Blue Creek Bridge, 1857.”

Swallowing her anxiety, she assessed the aged wooden structure. “Okay. It must be safe. It’d be closed if it wasn’t. Right, Moosie?” Her right hand moved automatically to stroke the butterscotch Maine Coon cat now curled up on his pillow between the seats.

Maggie guided the Jeep Wrangler onto the bridge. The thick wooden planks creaked under the weight of the vehicle. “Hold on to your tail, Big Guy,” she whispered to her pet.

One foot balanced on the accelerator and the other poised right above the brake pedal, she eased the sport vehicle forward then stopped. Forward then stopped. Halfway across the bridge, a blue-gray, ghostly mist floated up from the creek below. The unnatural curtain, a kind of dense moving veil, enshrouded the Jeep.

Bile rose in Maggie’s throat and she choked it back. She could barely breath, let alone see the road ahead. She stopped the vehicle and closed her eyes a moment.

I just had to come down here, didn’t I? Couldn’t let the place go without seeing it. Oh no, not me. Why should I want to find out about my birth family? They gave me up for adoption, didn’t they? She straightened slowly in her seat and continued south, even though she’d lost some of her earlier enthusiasm.

Ten minutes later, she stopped the car. Once again, the glare of the headlights’ rays provided just enough light to read a decaying sign swinging in the wind from a wooden gate. “Sunrise Point.”

Reality slowly germinated within her. I really have inherited an honest to goodness southern plantation. This was it. Even though she couldn’t see the expanse of property in the darkness, it boggled her mind to know hundreds of acres of land and a mansion belonged to her. Tracing her heritage had never been important to her before, but now it stared her in the face, she realized she needed to find her roots.

Maggie strained her eyes, able to make out only a scant outline of the two-story house through the rain and gloom. She held her breath and clasped her necklace.

Funny, she seemed to recognize the house, but that was impossible. She had no recollection of having been here, or ever having seen what the plantation looked like. She was accustomed to a far different world. Her early years hadn’t exactly been spent in poverty, but neither had they been filled with riches.

Lightning flashed and thunder rolled as the full-fledged assault gathered energy. Rain clouds opened and water gushed out as if somewhere above a faucet burst open full force.

She turned up the volume on the compact disk player, letting the words to her favorite Cranberries’ hit drown out the thunder. Moosie flicked an ear and arched his back.

Blinded by the pelting rain, Maggie switched the windshield wipers to high-speed. A rocket of light struck a massive white pine to her right. A cracking, crunching noise pealed though the darkness. Moosie hissed and growled, and with a loud meow, took refuge under the seat. Maggie barely held in her own scream as the long-standing tree pitched to the ground, fiery branches groping out like monstrous arms only a few feet away from the vehicle. The rain dowsed the flames and the biting odor of singed pine assailed her nose.

The sky turned an ominous green. Maggie steered the Jeep past the toppled giant and continued along the gravel drive. Nearer the house, a sunken garden peeked through the liquid blackness. Sweet scents filtered through the car’s heater, tickled Maggie’s memory, but stayed just far enough out of reach that she could not define why she knew she’d smelled them before, here, in this same garden. The unkempt plants took on a special loveliness. This was her garden.

Off to the right, just inside the headlights’ beam, she caught sight of a stone sundial. It seemed to be a more expansive version of the charm she wore around her neck. For a brief moment a sense of deja’vu washed over her, a feeling of recognition, but she dismissed it as weariness. The nearer she drew to the house, the more apprehensive she became. She wished for more light to explore the grounds.

Maggie edged the Jeep as close to the front porch as possible. Why didn’t someone leave a few lights on in the house? Flinging the gearshift into park, she whispered to Moosie, “We’re here.” With trembling fingers she momentarily caressed the sundial necklace, then reached with both hands to drag the frightened cat from his hiding place.

Moosie squirmed in her lap.

Maggie adjusted the reluctant feline in her arms, collected her purse and car keys, and made a mad dash for the porch steps. Rain slashed and beat against her face, and she hugged Moosie tighter. Her right foot slid in a puddle, sending her sprawling and the cat flying for cover. Flailing arms grabbed at the steps’ railing. It broke loose from its support, and Maggie lunged forward, falling spread-eagle across rough wooden floor planks.

She took a deep breath and wiggled to an upright position. Wet, shivering from cold, her purse strap wrapped around her ankles, her whole body tightened. She swore under her breath and rubbed her leg.

Lightning snapped across the night sky and did nothing to calm her nerves. She turned her attention to the house. From this vantage point, it looked as dangerous as it had proved to be.

“Jeez! Mr. Billings’ letter said I’d inherited a grand plantation.” Her birth father’s attorney had obviously stretched the truth. “This certainly isn’t my idea of grand,” Maggie mumbled, as she struggled to her feet. A wet mop of fur wrapped itself around her ankles.

She dug in the bowels of her oversize bag for the antique house key Mr. Billings had sent in his letter. When she tried it in the lock, nothing happened. The door refused to open. Maggie jiggled the key up and down in the cavity. Nothing. She beat on the lock with her fist. Still, the key would not turn. Finally, she closed her eyes and said a silent prayer. She jammed the key into the lock and turned with all her might. Success. In desperation she pushed at the heavy oak door. Slowly, it swung open on squeaky hinges.

A blur of orange fur sprinted past her legs.

Maggie stuck her head inside the house, then shrank back. The stark darkness sent a tingle through her body. She couldn’t see beyond a few inches. Oh, God. I left Dad’s flashlight in the truck.

Braving the weather again, she ran to the truck, retrieved the flashlight, then sprinted back to the house, slowing only long enough to navigate the crumbling steps. Unsettling thoughts ran through her mind. The flashlight had belonged to her dad... her real dad as far as she was concerned, even if he was her adoptive parent. Warm thoughts of him mixed with painful thoughts of her estranged biological father. Why had he abandoned her at birth, then left her this plantation and a fortune in money?

She stepped into the foyer, moving slowly, feeling her way rather than seeing. Steeled to investigate the gloomy interior, she crept forward with baby steps. Maggie clutched the familiar flashlight with both hands; its beam glowing in a zigzagging pattern ahead of her. Sticky cobwebs and clutter in every nook and cranny brought an old horror movie to mind. Her attorney warned her the house had stood empty for nearly twenty-five years, and there hadn’t been time to put the place completely in order. He’d hired a cleaning lady and a reconstruction architect on her behalf, still he had cautioned her to expect a little dust. “If this is a little dust, then I’d have hated to see Oklahoma in the thirties.”

The room flared with dazzling light; the brilliant display of lightning caught her off guard. Her surroundings gleamed in a hundred colors, bathed in the shower of a mystic rainbow. She searched the walls for a light switch, found one, and flipped the button with a forefinger. Nothing. Rats, I thought they’d have the electricity turned on.

She sneezed. "Great, that mildew smell is already playing havoc with my sinuses.”

She tried unsuccessfully to find Moosie.

With trembling, cold fingers, she shoved sopping hair from her eyes and tugged at her sodden clothing. Water squished in her muddy shoes and dripped onto the slate floor. Maggie turned and fought the wind to close the heavy front door; rain sharp as tailors’ tacks bit into her face and hands. An uncontrollable shiver ran up her spine. Not willing to fight the weather again to retrieve her luggage, she opted to grab a dust cover from a nearby chair, wrapped it around her shoulders, and continued exploring.

Wrinkling her nose, she pushed a palm to her face to ward off the fit of sneezing sure to follow the dust stirred up.

Directing the flashlight’s beam in front of her, she located and climbed the great winding staircase. The soft light paired with bright, rapid flashes of lightning and flickered across a row of pictures along the wall.

Maggie gripped the flashlight solidly in one hand and kept a firm hand on the smooth wood banister with the other. Slowly she climbed. A blur of faces glared eerily at her from old paintings. Now, however, wasn’t the time to stop and study what she assumed were her ancestors.

At the top, she stopped to get her bearings. A shutter banged. Maggie paused to listen, then whirled in a circle. A peculiar prickle crawled up her spine, but she shook it off as nerves.

“Moosie?”

No familiar kitty answer.

Goose flesh crept up her arms and touched the back of her neck where tiny hairs stood out. For a long time she stood motionless in the close, airless hall. The noise of the storm droned on in her ears.

The floor creaked and Maggie drew in a deep breath, gulped down her fear, and continued along the hallway. The faint beam from the flashlight spread over the walls, outlining shapes and shadows.

From deep in the gloom, a fat, dark form pounced at her. Two round, golden eyes gleamed luminously in the light.

Maggie shrieked. For an instant the impulse to fly, to hide, almost overpowered her, until a familiar orange ball of fluff purred and wrapped himself around her legs, then darted off to explore on his own once more.

“Gee whiz, Moose. You’ll be the death of me yet.”

Her unsteady fingers sought the silver chain around her neck. The familiar coolness of the miniature sundial charm boosted her courage. She forced herself to calm down before she resumed her investigation.

Four doors stood open, and Maggie peeked into each room in turn. She saw nothing but shrouded furniture, boxes, and disarray. A closed door at the end of the hall drew her attention. Slowly, she approached it. Floorboards creaked and groaned. Wind rattled through the house like cackling laughter. Maggie reached for the doorknob and turned it with slow, fumbling fingers. Just inside the threshold, she stopped.

Releasing the breath she unknowingly held, Maggie felt an uneasy sensation settle in the pit of her stomach. Brandishing the flashlight’s beam, she glanced around in sheer surprise.

Unlike the rest of the house, this room showed no neglect. It looked as if the occupant had just stepped out and would be right back. Maggie clung to a rose velvet chair for a moment while she gained her bearings. Not only were the furnishings dust free, the drapes and bedding smelled freshly laundered.

A funny feeling crept up her spine, as if she’d seen all this before. Why am I letting this place get to me?

Maggie used the flashlight’s beam to guide her to a grand four-poster bed in the center of the room. She ran her free hand over the antique rose and white flowered quilt; pressed on the thick feather mattress. “Mmm, heaven.”

A display of lightning glimmered across a tall cheval mirror. Maggie caught her reflection; felt a peculiar disembodiment, as if she floated out of time, without beginning or end. Had she only imagined it? No, the atmosphere in the room had changed. She sensed it; swallowed hard. An inner strength and confidence seeped into her soul as she moved about.

She found a large oak armoire, and hoped it held dry clothing. Her eyes adjusted to the lack of light, and Maggie let the flashlight dangle from it’s strap while she tugged on the door with both hands. Every muscle in her arms strained. The heavy door sprung open, and elegant gowns, coats, petticoats, capes, and hats spilled out. Maggie reached to touch the fine silks, satins, velvets, and flowered muslins. These could have belonged to Scarlett O’Hara, she thought with a giggle.

With a gentle grasp she pulled a dress down and traced the delicate embroidery. Never had she seen such needlework, even at her job as curator of the Indianapolis Museum. She held the gown to her body and twirled around the room. She tripped on the dress, collided with an antique dressing table, and sent a silver hairbrush plunging to the floor.

A violent sneeze sent chills quivering down her spine. She tore off her drenched boots, wet jeans, and sweater, swiped at the mud on her face and body with a pair of cotton pantaloons, then drew the soft, blue silk gown over her head. It fell slithering and warm down her bare skin, enfolding her like a friendly human embrace. With cold, wet fingers, she fumbled to close the button opening down the front of the bodice. A perfect fit. She pulled a knitted shawl off a hook and wrapped it around her shoulders.

Warm and dry at last, she settled on the vanity bench. Shaking water from her rain-drenched hair, she leaned over at the waist, and wrestled a silver comb through tangled curls.

A cold wind slashed her face and blew the armoire door shut. Maggie had the sensation she wasn’t alone. She straightened in an instant.

A spectral blue-gray vapor poised beside her. Long, finger-like projections seemed to beckon her, then just as suddenly as it had appeared, it vanished.

Maggie trembled. Terrified, bordering on near hysteria, she remained glued to the seat for ten seconds. “Dear Jesus!” She padded barefoot around the room. “What on earth?”

In her heightened imagination, all the detestable spirits from her English literature books crawled around her. Unearthly shadows danced here and there around the room becoming claws, fangs, and beasts.

Evil screamed down the chimney.

Maggie froze. Her mind whirled. She realized how alone she was; how very easy it would be for someone ... something ... to sneak up on her.

Her heart leaped in her chest. A different noise filled her ears. The front door opened and closed -- could the wind have blown open that heavy door?

Footsteps. Heavy footsteps clunked on the floor below. Maggie heard a loud thud, followed by a low moan. Someone, something moved about downstairs.

She stood perfectly still, listening. Her shaky hand reached for the sundial necklace nestled between her breasts. I wonder if this old house has ghosts?

The footsteps drew nearer.

Ghosts don’t make footsteps! Do they? That thought didn’t console her. It didn’t really help to know that whoever was downstairs might be a prowler if not a ghost. She tightened her grip on the sundial charm.

She quivered. Her feet refused to follow her brain’s orders to move. There was no escape. The intruder dwelled between her and the exit. Her heart rate tripled.

She heard someone call out her name. “Miss Ross?” A strong male voice, rich with a deep Southern drawl, echoed from below. “Miss Ross? I’m sorry to be so late.”

With super human effort, Maggie gathered her faculties. A prowler wouldn’t know her name, she reasoned. Released from the shock that had frozen her into immobility, she grabbed her flashlight and ran into the hallway. “Who’s there?”

In lunatic flight, she commandeered three stairs with one movement. Partway down, she collided with a chest as firm as a brick wall. Hot prickling darts ran through her body. For a moment, neither she nor the man spoke; each stared at the other.

Strong hands gripped her shoulders. “Sorry. Miss Ross? Are you okay?”

The deep, sensual voice sent a ripple of warmth through her. Maggie swayed in his arms, then leaned against the stair railing. “Who are you?”

A flash of lightning lit up the stairs. The stranger’s gaze fixed upon her with an extraordinary intensity. There was a faraway, speculative look in his eyes, as though he were mentally in another world. The mystery beckoned to her. She could almost see his mind working.

“Garrett O ...,” he began, his voice deep, golden, but at the same time disturbed. He stopped short.

Maggie composed herself long enough to shine the flashlight into his face. An odd look, almost impatience, flooded his eyes, then quickly changed to something just less than anger. Dark magnetic orbs peered at her from under thick lashes. She couldn’t place it, but there was a foretelling in those ebony eyes. What did he hide behind that hard gaze?

Suddenly she shouted, “You!”

She jerked herself free from his hold. “You’re the idiot on the horse.”

“What?”

“A while ago. Near that old wooden bridge.”

His brows shot up in surprise. “Afraid you’re mistaken. I have enough sense not to ride in weather like this.” He held out his hand. “Garrett O’Connor. Your neighbor.” He cocked his head toward the row of portraits along the wall. “Are you aware how much you resemble Margaret Thomas?”

She pushed against his powerful, well-muscled chest; ignored his question. “My neighbor?”

A strong, masculine hand completely encircled hers, sending ten thousand volts of energy rushing up her arm. Her gaze locked on his, and she nearly drowned in liquid black velvet. Her blood soared with unbidden memories. “How did you know I’d be here?”

“Uncle Pete asked me to stop by and check on you.”

“Uncle Pete?”

He nodded, and replied, “Peter Billings, your attorney. He planned to meet you here himself, but is in bed with a bad case of the flu.” He shifted on the stairs. “He’s not really my uncle, but I’ve known him all my life - he was my dad’s fraternity brother in college.”

“I see.” She realized her hand was still wrapped in his and pulled back. He sure looked like the horse’s rider. That stubborn, arrogant face certainly showed a familiarity.

Still, he didn’t seem threatening now. Despite herself, she felt the tug of her body to this man. Her spirit brightened with pleasure; she had to admit, he was easy to look at, and his deep woodsy scent did more than tickle her nose. For once in her life she was at a loss for words, but managed a tiny smile.

Her reaction to the stranger bewildered her. Just because the tantalizing smell of his aftershave and his heavy southern drawl warmed her, how could he stir such a longing deep inside her?

“I wasn’t expecting anyone this evening,” she whispered, fighting the magnetism. A dizzying current raced through her. She watched him run long fingers through his thick, wavy blond hair, and got an overwhelming desire to lace her own fingers there. Again? She wasn’t in the market for a man, but had to confess that if she were, this one would certainly interest her.

Lightning flashed, followed by a long roll of thunder.

Something rattled upstairs. They turned as one and shone their flashlights in that direction.

A bluish-gray mist glowed brightly, then floated to within six feet of Maggie. This time a pale figure of a woman reached out from the cloud. As though it had been an optical illusion, the vapor blew away and the mysterious figure vanished.

“Omigod!” Maggie’s heart fluttered in fear, and she scooted closer to Garrett. “What is that?”