Mimosa Grove (7 page)

But it was her face and the color of her hair that were startling to Laurel. Like Laurel’s, her hair was a dark, fiery red, and they shared large, expressive blue eyes and wide mouths. Chantelle’s nose was slightly smaller than Laurel’s, but it still had the same shape—slim and straight, without a hint of foolish tilt.

Laurel took a slow breath and started to trace the shape of the name with the tips of her fingers when she heard the sound of a car engine pulling up at the front of the house. She hurried toward a window to look out, but it was so dirty and the view so blurred that all she could see was the shadowy figure of a man getting out of a truck.

“Rats,” she muttered, then gave the portraits a last, lingering look and hurried back down the stairs.

The knocking was constant and measured. “I’m coming, I’m coming!” Laurel cried as she started down the last flight.

Seconds later, she was at the door.

The distinct crack of a gunshot brought Justin upright in his bed. He hit the floor running, pulling on his jeans as he went. As he ran, the loud thump of his heartbeat against his eardrums irritated the dull ache at the back of his neck, and he was vaguely aware of a pain in his knee, compliments of his search for Rachelle. He yanked the front door open and ran out onto the porch, only to find his neighbor, Claude Shiffler, with a dead snake dangling over the barrel of a shotgun.

“What in—”

Claude grinned as he raised the gun barrel.

“Big sucker, ain’t he, Justin?”

Justin shoved a shaky hand through his hair as he groaned with relief.

“Damn it, Claude. Next time, try knocking. It would be a hell of a lot easier on my heart.”

Claude’s grin widened. “Didn’t mean to startle you none. But this big cottonmouth was between me and the house, and I didn’t figure the fine state of Louisiana was going to mind the existence of one less snake.”

Justin eyed the large water moccasin, or at least what was left of it, then sighed. From the angle of the sun in the sky, it must be close to noon.

“Looks like you nailed him right in the head…and parts south.”

Claude tossed the snake into the back of his pickup truck, then stowed his shotgun behind the seat.

“I’ll toss him out down the road,” he said, and started toward the porch. It wasn’t until he was coming up the steps that he realized Justin had been asleep. “Dang it, Justin. I forgot you might still be in bed after last night’s search and all. Real sorry I woke you.”

Justin shrugged. “No matter, Claude. Come on in. I’ll make us some coffee.”

“No need,” Claude said as he took a long envelope out of his back pocket, then handed it to Justin. “I was just stoppin’ by to drop this off.”

“What is it?” Justin asked as he took the envelope.

“Two thousand dollars. Wanted you to invest it for me.”

Justin frowned. He knew Claude’s situation. Two thousand dollars to the Shiffler family was a whole lot of money.

“Now, Claude, you understand that it might take a while for any investment to pay off.”

Claude nodded. “Don’t matter. My twins are only five. I just want to be able to give them a good education when they’re ready to go to college. Don’t want them havin’ to live like me, trying to raise a family on a roofer’s pay.”

“I understand. Do you have any particular stocks in mind?”

Claude grinned. “Hell no. I don’t know nothin’ about that stuff. Your judgment will be good enough for me.”

“Thanks,” Justin said, and shook Claude’s hand. “I’ll try to take good care of you. When I get your portfolio set up, I’ll send you the information.”

“Whatever,” Claude said. “Once again, I’m real sorry about waking you up, but it’s sure good to know your sister’s baby is safe. I heard you was the one who found her. Is that so?”

Goose bumps broke out on Justin’s skin as he relived last night’s terror.

“Yes, I did.”

“Man, you sure were lucky,” Claude said.

“It wasn’t luck. It was divine providence, my friend. Did you know Miz Marcella’s granddaughter is living at Mimosa Grove?”

Claude’s eyes rounded with surprise.

“For sure?”

Justin nodded.

“Does she have the sight?”

“If it hadn’t been for her, we would have lost Rachelle for certain. Which reminds me…it’s a good thing you came by, because I intend to go thank her in person.”

Claude nodded. “Isn’t that somethin’? Reckon she’s Phoebe’s girl, right?”

“Yes.”

“Reckon she’ll stay?” Claude asked.

“If we’re lucky,” Justin added.

“Well, I’ll be seein’ you,” Claude said, and headed back to his truck as Justin retreated into the house.

He put the envelope with Claude’s money in the desk drawer of his office, then started toward the kitchen. The coffee would be brewed and ready to drink by the time he got out of the shower. After that, it was off to Mimosa Grove.

Thirty minutes later, he had showered and shaved, downed two cups of coffee and pocketed Claude’s money to be deposited in the bank in Bayou Jean.

He drove out of the drive, heading down the road that led to the blacktop that would take him to Mimosa Grove, but his thoughts were as scattered as his neighbor’s guinea hens that were pecking in the road. He honked as he slowed down, giving them time to get out of his way without thought for why the Gunthers let them roam. Out here, people and animals pretty much did as they pleased.

As he moved past the hens, his thoughts returned to last night and the rescue—and the disjointed sound of a voice coming to him from miles away, guiding him to his niece just in the nick of time. He thought of Marcella and tried to picture what her granddaughter might be like, then thrust the thought away and concentrated on his driving. His body still ached from the rigors of last night’s search, and his mind continued to wander. He was well aware that he could have spent the day sleeping, and when he took a curve too fast and came close to running off into the ditch, he wondered if he should have stayed in bed.

Finally he neared his destination. When he came to the Mimosa Grove mailbox, he tapped the brakes and took the turn off the highway. Even though he’d driven this way many times before, as soon as he drove onto the grounds of the old estate, he always felt as if he’d taken a step back in time.

Justin pulled up in front of the old three-story mansion and killed the engine. Rarely did any sounds of civilization ever reach this far back off the road. As the silence and the heat of the day quickly seeped into his consciousness, he knew that unless he moved, and moved quickly, he was likely to fall asleep where he sat. With a weary sigh, he opened the door and got out.

His steps were measured as he walked up the steps of Mimosa Grove and then under the shade of the veranda. Even as he was walking toward the door, it seemed impossible to believe that Marcella would not be here. He’d been at her funeral, but this was the first time he’d come to her home since she’d passed. The woman had been larger than life. Thinking of this place without her seemed strange.

A large peacock hovered at the end of the porch, as if trying to decide whether to attack or retreat. Not sure of the bird’s attitude, he began knocking on the door, hoping to be inside before the peacock made up its mind. When it started toward him, he knocked a little harder and tried a friendly hello, hoping the familiarity of his voice would deter what was coming.

“Hey, Elvis. How you doin’, big boy?” Justin murmured.

He winced as the bird fanned its tail, then uttered an ear-piercing shriek. At the same moment, the door swung inward. He was still smiling when he turned with Marie’s name on his lips.

But it wasn’t Marie who met him at the door.

He stared at the woman in the doorway, then wiped a hand across his face, certain that when he looked again, she would be gone. But she was still there, and he would have sworn he heard her breathing.

“Sweet Mother of God,” he whispered, convinced he was losing his mind.

It was then the thought hit him that he might never have left home, or that he hadn’t talked to Claude, or seen a dead snake. He hadn’t showered and shaved, or driven the fifteen miles between his place and this one. He was still in his bed, sleeping. He knew, because this was the woman from his dreams.

Accepting the explanation, he moved forward.

“I’ve been missing you,” he said softly, and took her in his arms.

Laurel’s shock at seeing this man on her doorstep quickly turned into acceptance, then joy. The fates had been kind to her after all. But before she could speak, he took her in his arms and then kicked the door shut behind him. She heard him sigh, then felt the warmth of his breath against her neck. It was straight out of her dreams. But was she dreaming? Hadn’t she been upstairs only moments before? Surely she hadn’t imagined the chill, or felt the temporary disapproval of the specter on the staircase?

Then Justin’s mouth centered on her lips, and questions disappeared. All she could remember was how he made her come apart in his arms, how lonely she’d been without him. Whether he was real or not, she didn’t want this to end. She slid her arms around his neck and gave him back kiss for lonely kiss.

All the aches and pains, all the weariness that had been dogging Justin’s footsteps that morning, were gone in a heartbeat.

“Ah,
chère
…where have you been? I’ve missed you.”

The softly whispered words sent chills down Laurel’s spine. He’d missed her? But how? He’d been in her dream, not she in his.

Then he put his hands on her breasts, cupping the fullness as if measuring them for fit. At that point she sighed, giving herself up to the inevitable as an intense longing surged through her. She wanted this—even needed it. He’d become an addiction she didn’t want to kick. If this was a dream, she didn’t want to wake up.

“I’ve missed you, too,” she said softly, then kissed him again.

Justin lifted his head long enough to look around.

“Are you alone?”

She put a hand to his cheek. He felt the warmth of her skin against his face.

“Not anymore,” she said, and took him by the hand.

They went up the stairs hand in hand, as if they’d done it a hundred times before—looking into each other’s eyes, recognizing the need, remembering the power of their lovemaking.

Justin couldn’t take his gaze from her face. Never had the dream been so lifelike—so intense. He had not remembered how soft her skin was to the touch, or how her eyes crinkled at the corners when she smiled. But he knew what it felt like to come inside her, and he wanted that bad—and he wanted it now.

Laurel led him to her room, and the moment the door closed behind them, they began taking off their clothes. The bedclothes were still in a tangle from last night’s troubled sleep. Justin swept them aside, tossing them to the foot of the bed as he pushed her backward onto the sheet.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him down with her as she fell. When the weight of his body pressed her deeply into the softness of the mattress, she moaned, wanting him inside her just as deep.

“Hurry,” she whispered.

A muscle jerked at the corner of Justin’s mouth. He was rock hard and hurting and knew just how she felt. Without foreplay, without so much as a kiss, he parted her legs with his knee and slid inside. She was hot and wet, and he was in danger of losing control. She moaned once—a low, guttural sound that raised the hair on the back of his neck. He was inside her—hard, pulsing, but motionless.

“Look at me.”

It took everything she had to focus on his demand, but she did it and lost herself in the black depths of his gaze. Only then did he begin to move, rocking against the cradle of her pelvis in hard, hungry strokes, with each thrust shoving her farther toward the headboard until she was pinned. Laurel reached above her head, her fingers curling around the spindles as she held on, while riding the intensity of their lovemaking. The heat between them was rising just as she’d known it would, churning and curling into a tight, hungry knot in the pit of her stomach. Then, suddenly, it began to crash.

“Oh…oh…”

She didn’t see his jaw clench as he struggled to maintain his control. At that moment, there was nothing that mattered except the rhythm of their bodies and the shattering climax that came upon her.

She screamed.

The sound tore through Justin’s head like a bullet, scattering his concentration. He shuddered, then groaned, his body arching as he came. Wave after wave of unbearable ecstasy rolled through him, leaving him weak and shaking. Without waiting for it to ebb, he took her in his arms and rode the climax all the way down.

They both lay without moving, unable to think past the need to draw another breath. And even as the lust was passing, Justin was already aware that this joining was different. He kept waiting for the dream to move forward—for the moment when he would wake with a start, then sit up in bed. Slowly, he raised himself up on both elbows, easing the weight of his body from her, and as he did, he felt the heat of her breath against his face. At that moment a bead of sweat rolled out of his hairline and into his eyes. The saltiness of the moisture immediately burned his eyes, and as it did, he flinched.

“What the hell?”

Laurel’s smile turned to a frown.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

Justin didn’t answer. In fact, he couldn’t answer. Instead, he rolled off her, then to a sitting position at the side of the bed.

“Justin?”

His heart skipped a beat. How did she know his name? In fact, why was he even hearing her voice? The dream had never been like this before. Gently, he lifted a damp curl from her forehead, and as he did, he felt the silkiness of the dark, fiery strand against his finger. He knew he was staring, but he couldn’t stop. He reached toward her, running the back of a finger down the side of her face.

“Am I still dreaming?” he asked.

Laurel’s heart dropped.

“Have I been in your dreams?” she asked.

He nodded.

She sighed. “I suppose that’s fair, since you’ve also been in mine.”