Goddess, Awakened. Cate Masters
into his coffee. “Boiling Springs would become another tourist trap town.”
Sheree gave a proud smirk. “We like it the way it is.”
Not likely to happen in this sleepy Pennsylvania hamlet. Glancing warily around, Eric paid for the muffin. Why the absurd conspiracy theories? Had mass hysteria taken hold? Nothing ever happened here. Everyone knew it. What the hell had gotten into them?
Making his way to the door was like fighting an upstream current. By the time he stepped outside, the lime green Beetle was gone.
* * * *
Sheree dug her glossy red nails into the countertop. What the frack just happened? Like some teenage boy, Eric stood on the sidewalk, looking down the street. After her car.
Jocelyn Gibson. If that woman thought she was going to steal Eric from her, she had another thing coming. Sheree had waited years for him to get the hint. He’d finally been warming up, smiling when he talked to her. She’d been patient as a saint, and it was wearing her out. The man could only grieve so long. She’d waited five years, for goodness sake.
When he was ready to open his heart again, he would open it to her. Sheree. No one else.
The sign in the window caught her eye. A handyman or two, indeed. The man in black was exactly right. Jocelyn Gibson had to go.
* * * *
Standing in the foyer, Joss surveyed the expansive front parlor. The inn needed renovations. Now. She wasn’t about to let a little thing like demons stop her.
Her mother had always said every house had its own personality, and just needed the right touch to bring it out. This place held such promise. When the realtor had called the rambling Second Empire-style Victorian a gem in the rough, Joss had agreed. She loved its woodwork details, not fussy like the gingerbread of other Victorians. No one else seemed to share her clear vision of the inn standing out on the hill like a shining jewel. Instead of its cracked gray-green paint, Joss pictured a magnificent Painted Lady of violet and lavender hues.
It would take a lot more than visions to make it happen. First things first. After dragging the step stool to the window, Joss unfastened the heavy drapes. Their faded burgundy accented the hues of the worn Chinese carpet, but that musty old thing was going too.
Overcast as the day was, light filled the room as the curtains dropped atop a plastic bag. Stepping back, her excitement grew. The three floor-to-ceiling windows provided a wonderful view of the field leading to the road. “What a huge difference.” The next curtains would be sheer to let in the sunshine.
Behind her, Aunt Lydia said, “Oh, my, yes.”
“Good morning. Did you sleep well?”
“You know me. I never sleep well. Too sensitive to atmospheric disturbances.” Her slippers scuffed across the rug to the tufted sofa where Lydia draped herself. “Except for the stale odor, this is rather comfy.”
“Isn’t it? I’m having it cleaned and reupholstered.” When her grandmother entered, fully dressed, Joss went to her. “Morning. Coffee’s on in the kitchen.”
Gram hugged her. “Jocelyn, you had an eventful evening.”
To say the least. Gathering the votive candles, she spoke as if distracted by her work. “More guests than I expected.”
Standing slowly, Lydia’s blood-red nails clenched the air as if pulling herself up. “I’ve never seen so many fae invade a home at once.”
Neither had Joss. When she was a girl, swarms of glowing beings would flicker in the blades of grass, or leaves of trees. Sometimes flit to her window. But come inside? Only on occasions of rare importance, according to Gram. “Aunt Lydia—”
Her aunt came toward her. “The sign was very clear.”
Evading the interrogation, Joss wrestled a wing-back chair to the center of the carpet. “I can’t let myself believe in bad luck.” Safer to make her own luck through hard work than rely on luck bestowed by mythological creatures.
Gram stepped closer. “They’ve come back, Jocelyn. I’m not surprised you found their favor again, given our family history.”
Lydia added, “You must treat them with respect.”
How could she admit she’d hoped they’d return? That in planting a field of lavender in the spring, she’d hoped to encourage them to stay? Nor could she admit last night’s dream to her aunt. Like the fae lights, it had happened before. She had the same fantasy every night.
Long after saying goodnight to Gram and Lydia, Joss had stood at her bedroom window and had imagined a field of purple waltzing with the breeze beneath the stars. The image stayed with her as she settled into bed, coaxing her to sleep. Rather than fading, the dream had grown more vivid with the lights out.
The evening star shone more brightly than usual and led her to the stone bridge connecting the yard to the field. The silhouette of a man beckoned from beyond it. She crossed the bridge into the lavender, and its blooms caressed her legs as she walked. Instead of its scented oils soothing her skin, it stimulated her. The thought of meeting him excited her too. Dusk deepened quickly, and even though she stood in front of him, she couldn’t see his face. He leaned down to kiss her. Pressing against him, her body fit snugly against his curves. He took her down into the lavender, then filled her, body and soul. The stars glimmered so bright and low, they mingled with the violet blooms. He was so tender, yet strong. His caresses so loving, he brought her to heights she never imagined, and only after she was fulfilled did he allow himself release. Afterward, he rolled onto his back and pulled her close, his skin warm against hers. His voice rumbled through his chest. “Who needs fireworks with so many fireflies?” Her fingers trembled with the reverberations and she closed her eyes to listen to him breathing.
She’d awakened in a luscious afterglow, yet bothered because she had no clue who he was or when she’d find him. Or what he’d meant about fireworks. In the dream, she’d understood his words clearly, but in the light of day, the meaning evaded her.
A knock at the door provided a welcome distraction. Joss crossed the foyer to open it. “Should be Mr. Fulton. I’ve hired him to help with restoration work. You might want to get dressed, Aunt Lydia.” Providing Charlie with a paycheck gave her the warm and fuzzies, but she’d have to be careful with her limited funds.
Lydia finger-combed her hair. “Oh, I don’t know. He might be a fellow in need of some womanly charms.”
Clucking her tongue, Joss couldn’t hold back a smile. She waited for Gram to lead her aunt through the dining room before opening the door. “Good morning.”
Mr. Fulton’s greeting faded away as his gaze followed Lydia, who threw an inviting glance over her shoulder and sashayed into the kitchen. He snapped shut his mouth. “Mrs. Gibson. Hello.”
“Please call me Joss. Ready to get to work?”
Stepping inside, he scanned the foyer. “Call me Charlie. And just tell me where to start.”
“Good question. Probably stripping the wallpaper, don’t you think?”
With a nervous shrug, he chuckled. “Sounds good to me.”
Poor man, so anxious to make an impression. Or maybe he wasn’t used to owners pitching in to help. Time was of the essence. She needed the work done quickly.
Outside, Annie’s car pulled alongside Charlie’s truck.
To Charlie, Joss said, “I’ll whip up the wallpaper removing solution and be back in a second. Would you move the rest of the furniture away from the walls?”
“Sure,” he said. “I brought some tarps along too.”
“Great. Be back in a minute.”
She entered the kitchen as Annie plunked her purse on the counter. “Morning, everyone. I’m not late, am I?”
“Right