Haunting Ellie (19 page)

“It’s beautiful,” Elizabeth said, watching Jon as he knelt down to touch animal prints in the new-fallen snow. “I think I could take up permanent residence here.”

“It’s a little primitive,” he said, looking at her over his shoulder.

“Try bedding down in mud with a three-thousand square foot house collapsed on top of you.” She laughed. “After living in not much more than a coffin with only spiders and dirt to keep me company for three days, nothing bothers me.”

Jon stood slowly and moved toward her, stroking away a wisp of hair the light breeze has blown across her cheek. “Feel like talking about it now?”

“I never feel good talking about it. I talked about it with a psychiatrist till I was blue in the face.”

“I know all about psychiatrists,” Jon said, surprising her. But he didn’t elaborate. Instead, he swung a leg over the log, clasped her shoulders gently to turn her around, and pulled her comfortably into the warmth of his chest. He wrapped her in his embrace and rested his cheek against her cheek. “Psychiatrists give you
a box of Kleenex and ask you questions. Rarely do they give you any answers.”

Jon’s words brought back memories of a cold, unsympathetic voice that didn’t believe. “
They tell you your imagination’s run wild,” Elizabeth said.

Jon laughed. “Mine said the same thing.” He pulled off his gloves and dropped them into her lap. Slowly he released the top few buttons on her coat and pulled it down around her arms. She didn’t even feel the cool air through the light sweater she wore underneath her jacket; all she felt were his hands, his fingers, as they brushed her hair to one side and gently, warmly kneaded the muscles of her neck, her shoulders, and her spine. “You’re tense as hell, Ellie,” he said, continuing the gentle rhythm. “Close your eyes and relax.”

It was easy to follow his directions. It was easy to give her body over to the tenderness of his touch. And he called her “Ellie.” He’d called her that once before and she’d lashed out at him, but this time she didn’t mind. She’d always been “Elizabeth” or “Liz.” Never “Ellie.” She liked it, though. It sounded more like an endearment than a name.

“What did they tell you was in your imagination?” he asked, his voice little more than a whisper in her ear.

No one had believed her before, but for some reason she felt Jon would believe. He might even understand. “They said I was only hearing voices. They said when you’re in pain or under stress you dream up companions, someone to keep you company. But I wasn’t dreaming.”

In slow, circular motions his fingers caressed the tops of her arms as he drew the coat around her again. But his fingers didn’t leave, moving casually over the curve of her throat, her ears, to her temples, and again he began to massage, very slowly, very gently. “Who did you talk to when you were in pain?” he asked.

She answered without fear of his response. “God. I’d prayed to Him when the roof caved in and while my house and my bed slid down the hill. I prayed to Him when the center beam of the house hit my chest, when the plaster fell on me, and the shingles. I prayed even harder when the rain started falling and the mud slid over me. All day, all night, when I wasn’t screaming for help, I prayed. And then I lost my voice and I couldn’t scream any longer. I thought I heard voices. I thought someone might have come looking for me. But I was all alone, until He came and kept me company. I hadn’t been much of a believer before that, but it didn’t seem to matter. I made so many promises before they found me, so many promises while I prayed. And then He told me I’d be safe, and not to worry, and He stayed with me for three days and three nights, until the rescuers came.”

The gentle massaging over her temples ceased, and for one moment Elizabeth was afraid he might not have believed her, until she leaned forward and tilted her head to look into smiling eyes. He pulled her back, wrapping her once more in his embrace. “I’m glad He was there with you,” he said. “I’m glad you weren’t alone, or afraid.”

She put her hands over his and watched the eagle
swoop down once more from its perch, then soar high above in the sky.

“I always imagined if God wanted to visit you, He’d do it in a place like this,” Elizabeth said. “Do you think heaven looks this way?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised.”

He pulled on his gloves and rose from the log, standing just a short way from her, looking down at the stream, at the blue sky overhead. Elizabeth watched his profile as he talked about the mountains, the valleys, and the animals he studied. Slowly he turned, looking into her face with those sapphire eyes that rivaled the most beautiful gems. “I’ve always liked coming out here alone,” he said. “Never found anyone I wanted to share it with—” The gems caught fire, blazing in the intensity of his stare. “Until you.”

Elizabeth could barely breathe. “Me?”

“Yes. You.” He didn’t walk toward her. He didn’t try to kiss her, but Elizabeth felt something powerful building up behind his strong countenance, and she knew when that kiss finally came, it would curl her toes and
maybe her hair.

He reached for her then, and she took his hand. “Come on. I want to show you something.” They hiked at least another five minutes through knee-deep snow. Trees grew dense, their heavy, snow-laden boughs blocking most of the sun. Finally Jon stopped, leaned against a tree, and pulled Elizabeth’s back against his chest. He wrapped his arms around her, and even through the heavy lamb’s wool of his coat she could feel the rapid beat of his heart.

“Look up there, just under the ridge,” he said,
pointing to an outcropping of rock. “The den I was watching is behind all that snow. I used to watch the cubs play around that log where we were sitting and catch fish in the stream.”

Elizabeth could see it vividly—the mother, her babies—and now only one remained. “What about the second cub?” she asked. “Can she live on her own?”

She felt the shrug of Jon’s shoulders. “I don’t know. It’s been nearly three weeks and there hasn’t been any trace of her. It’s possible the poacher butchered her, too, maybe dumped the remains somewhere else.”

“Does it happen often?”

“Too often.”

“Matt says you’re a little fanatical when it comes to the animals around here.”

Jon laughed cynically. “He does, does he?”

Elizabeth nodded. “He says the people in town get tired of your environmentalist stance.”

“I don’t consider myself a fanatic. Matt might; there might be a few others in town who feel that way, too; but most of the population sides with me. Hunting’s one thing, poaching’s another. Get a permit, hunt your limit, dress down the animal, and haul your meat away. That’s fine with me. Senseless butchering doesn’t fit into that picture.”

Elizabeth turned around in the warmth of his arms and looked into his eyes. “Have you always felt this way?”

“My grandfather and I used to hike all over these hills together. He’d tell me Indian legends and tales about the mountain men. He was a walking book
of knowledge and a big-time environmentalist. I thought he walked on water and would have believed anything he put into my head.”

“Must have been nice to have someone care for you that way.”

“Oh, we had our problems. I rebelled a time or two, and I’m sure I wasn’t an easy kid to raise. Matt’s not the only one I punched. In fact, one time I even smacked his dad.”

Elizabeth laughed. “You’re joking, of course?”

“No. My uncle and Matt dragged me along on a hunting trip once, stuck a rifle in my hands, and made me get a deer in my sight. I was eight years old and scared to death, but Matt’s dad wrapped his arms around me, held my finger to that trigger, and made me pull. He stood over me while I skinned it, carved out the meat, then took my picture holding the antlers. It was a five-pointer. I had tears in my eyes, and when he laughed at me, I took a swing. After that, I never went hunting again.”

Jon sighed deeply, and Elizabeth could feel the heavy rise and fall of his chest even through his coat and hers. “I thought
Matt’s dad was totally responsible for the poaching that had been going on around here, but it continued even after he left. I figured Matt had known about it, but I didn’t think he’d get caught up in anything illegal on his own. I’ve changed my mind over the years, although I can’t prove a thing.”

Jon released his hold on her, knelt down, and dug his fingers into the snow. “Y’know, I didn’t bring you out here to talk about Matt or poaching.”

“Did you have something else in mind?”

That lopsided grin spread across his face as he gathered snow in his hands. A ball formed in his palm, and it was growing bigger and bigger with each speck of snow he added, “Ever had a snow fight, Ellie?”

She shook her head slowly, not quite certain she liked the turn of the conversation.

“Well, there’s always a first time.”

He didn’t move quickly; he waited and waited as his grin spread wider across his face. She watched his hands, his eyes, and suddenly she ducked, and the snowball narrowly missed as it flew by her and hit a tree.

She scraped snow into the palm of her glove and threw it back, hitting her target smack in the chest. It was his face she’d been aiming for, wanting to wipe away that grin she was growing to love.

He grabbed another handful at the same time Elizabeth scooped hers, but he was moving back, further, further, winding up for the pitch, and he threw, smacking her in the shoulder, as Elizabeth’s miserable excuse for a snowball disintegrated in midair.

And then he charged. He grabbed hold of her shoulders, twisted, and pulled her down with him in the snow, rolling over slowly until he pinned her to the ground.

She inhaled deep and hard, trying to catch her breath, knowing the difficulty she was having wasn’t from exertion but from having his body so close against hers, so intimate, even through layer upon layer of fabric.

“God, you’re pretty,” he said.

The laughter had left his eyes, replaced with
warmth and longing. He gently caressed her lips with gloved fingers, drawing them slowly across her cheek and jaw. He lowered his head.

And a pinecone fell from the tree.

Elizabeth sat in front of the mirror and traced th
e invisible trail Jon had left on her cheek and over her lips when he caressed her skin. Of course, that pinecone had interrupted everything when it had dropped on his head. They’d been so close, so very, very close.

Finally.

He’d cussed. Boy, had he cussed, using many of the words Elizabeth had used herself before that fateful day last year. Giving up swearing was a promise she’d made to the Man Upstairs, if he'd bring help her way, and so far, so good. But not Jon. He lay on his back in the snow and stared at the bright blue sky, asking what he’d done to deserve such a steady stream of bad luck.

He was angry, and the kiss had been forgotten, until he dropped her off at her door. He put his hands on her cheeks, looked into her eyes with those bright blue sapphires of his, and asked her to dinner. And he’d promised her something special, something to remember.

What she wanted to remember was a kiss, not a near-missed one. And she had the feeling it was all going to happen.

Soon.

After dabbing perfume behind her ears and on her wrists, Elizabeth threw caution to the wind and swiped a trace behind each knee and self consciously looked around the room before applying a tad in the very center of her belly button. It was one of the most sinful things she’d ever done, and she loved the feeling.

Until she heard the faint snicker.

Her head snapped around in time to see a wavering shadow, like a mirage on the pavement on a hot summer day. Her lips quivered. She clutched the edges of her robe and pulled them tightly together across her chest, her fingers wringing the silky cloth.

He’s here, she thought. The ghost. The one who calls for Amanda.

She turned away from the nearly transparent vision. It’s nothing to be afraid of, she told herself again and again, yet she kept her eyes trained to the mirror, searching the room. She applied a light touch of black mascara to her lashes and a faint trace of blush across her cheeks, but behind the makeup she looked deathly pale. The flush of color she’d experienced while thinking of Jon had disappeared, replaced by fear of the unknown.

She brushed her hair. The long bristles smoothed through the tresses that hung unfettered over one shoulder and curled below her waist. No braid tonight. Jon would like it this way—maybe he’d like it any way she wore it. And then she remembered. The invisible being now in her room had touched her hair, too.