Mystic Memories (35 page)

In the solitude of the darkened cabin of the ship, he undressed her with a reverence that touched her heart and soul. With soft caresses and whispers of eternal love, he cherished her body with his own. Throughout the night, he loved her thoroughly.

As the morning light filtered into the cabin, Cara awoke to find Blake leaning over her, watching her sleep.

“Marry me,
lauaʻe
.”

She smiled happily. “We’re already married, as I recall.”

“Over a century ago. I want it made legal in this century, with a big celebration. Besides, every bride should be given the opportunity to walk down a church aisle wearing an exquisite gown of satin and lace.”

“I don’t need all that, Blake.”

“But you deserve it. We both deserve it. I want to make everything special for us, including a huge wedding and a
very
long honeymoon.”

“You have already made everything special for me,” she said, another tear slipping out of the corner of her eye. “But I’ll concede to a modest wedding. And a
life
long honeymoon creating all new memories.”

“Mystic memories, my love.”

Epilogue

MAY 2018

LONG BEACH, CALIFORNIA

O
n
the first floor of Bancroft Booksellers, a growing line of people waited for an autograph by the bestselling author Hilary Tucker, a local resident of the beach city. Flanked by her publicist and agent, she signed another copy of her latest book and handed it back across the table.

A woman in a business suit clutched the newly autographed novel to her chest, as well as dog-eared copies of four other previous titles that she’d brought with her for autographs. “I can’t wait to read it, Ms. Tucker. I wish I could have brought in all of your books to get them signed.”

“Maybe next time,” offered Hilary, smiling up at the avid reader. “I’m glad you enjoy my writing. I hope you’ll feel the same about this one.”

“Oh, I know I will.”

As the woman departed, Hilary looked up at the next person in line, a well-dressed gentleman in his thirties with a deep tan and dark-blond hair. He held out a copy of her current release,
Mystic Memories
.

Accepting it from him, she glanced at the book and frowned. “You must’ve accidentally picked up a damaged copy from the shelf. Let me get one in better condition—”

“That’s my personal copy,” he informed her with only the slightest smile.

“But it was just released today.” She glanced at her publicist, then her agent, then the store clerk standing nearby. They all shrugged as if they didn’t know how the man had obtained an early copy. “How did you get this?”

With a noncommittal shrug, he managed a half smile. “You might say I have the tenacity of a bulldog. When I want something enough, I am a difficult one to turn down.”

“I’m flattered you went to that much trouble for
my
book, Mister . . . ?” She had flipped to the title page and poised the pen, waiting to inscribe his name.

“Charles,” answered the gentleman. “Andrew Charles.”

“Ah—that’s what piqued your interest. You share the same name as the boy in my story. No doubt the character of Andrew reminds you of yourself at that age?” His silence prompted her to look up into blue eyes staring intently at her.

“It
is
me. I came here to ask you how I might reach Cara Masters. Or Cara Edwards. I’m not quite sure which name she would be using.”

Hilary glanced over her shoulder and past the publicist to an aisle of the romance section several feet away. Cara smiled sheepishly at her friend’s questioning gaze, then tapped her husband on the shoulder to draw his attention from a book in his hand.

Blake followed her gaze to the man at the autograph table. “Is it him?”

With a nod, she slipped her hand into his and walked with him toward the crowded table. The incredible revelation from Andrew had spread down the line like a gale-force wind, leaving the entire gathering of fans gaping in awe.

As they approached, Cara could still see the young boy in those sky-blue eyes of the mature adult watching them with curiosity. For a moment, she wondered if he would recognize them out of their nineteenth-century clothing and with a few extra character lines on their faces. Blake still cut a handsome figure with his silver hair and broad shoulders. She still could feel her pulse quicken whenever he was near. He felt the same way, frequently reminding her with little tokens of his love.

“You look wonderful, Andrew,” said Cara, her eyes misting. “All grown up and everything.”

In those few brief seconds, he looked ten years old again, blushing and awkward with his emotions. But when she slipped her arms around him for a quick embrace, he relaxed and kissed her cheek. As she stepped out of the way, he greeted Blake with a handshake that led to a brief hug.

“All these years,” Andrew explained in awe, “I never knew what happened to you. I thought I was the only one who came back. After a while I stopped believing that any of it had really happened.”

Cara glanced at the bewildered Hilary. “It was a bit devious of me to suggest our story as the plot of a fictional novel but”—she turned back to Andrew—“I knew it was the only way to open a door for you to contact us.”

“Until this week I might have left that door closed.”

“I know,” she said.

Blake slipped his arm around her waist. “Cara hasn’t been able to get you off her mind for quite some time. She had a gut feeling that you were headed into troubled waters.”

“I need your help.” Visibly shaken, Andrew paused to gain his composure. After taking a deep breath, he sighed heavily. “My boy is missing.”

Author’s Note

Dear Readers,

Mystic Memories
had a strange and unusual beginning long before I thought of writing this story . . .

In January 1987, I was the scout leader for a troop of third-grade girls, who participated in an overnight adventure aboard the brig
Pilgrim II
, a replica of the original ship that Richard Henry Dana Jr. had sailed around the Horn to California in 1834. The following morning, I recalled a vivid dream in which I had gone back in time. Nearly ten years passed before I took the thread of a dream and wove it into the story you see today.

Another event occurred during the early stages of this book—a tall ship sailing off the coast of California lost a sailor overboard in rough seas. Despite attempts to save her, the woman vanished without a trace. Believe me, it was an odd feeling to be writing about a fictional character disappearing from a ship, only to have a similar incident happen in real life.

Several months later, synchronicity offered another opportunity to witness a historical reenactment—a mock sea battle between four ships under full sail, including realistic cannon fire! As luck would have it, I ended up on the
Hawaiian Chieftain
, a small coastal vessel that could have been the model for the fictitious
Mystic
. To my amazement, Captain Ian McIntyre was strikingly similar to my fictional hero, Blake Masters—right down to the black hair and blue eyes!

The
Hawaiian Chieftain
also had the only ship’s dog—an unflappable black Labrador with the rather common name of “Bud,” which was also the name of the most recent canine addition to our family. When I asked Captain Ian if dogs were common aboard early-nineteenth-century ships, he said the Hawaiians usually kept them for food! Having Keoni as the cook presented a perfect opportunity to bring Bud on board as a fictional character. Even though research revealed that Labradors were not officially introduced to the Americas until the middle of the century, I chose to believe that a ship’s captain might have acquired the breed during his voyages. With Bud now firmly ensconced in the story, I made an interesting discovery at the Mission San Juan Capistrano. In the soldiers’ quarters stands a full-size painting of two Spanish conquistadors of the 1700’s with a black Labrador retriever lying at their feet. Coincidence, maybe. Still, it goes to show that truth is sometimes stranger than fiction.

Today, the Hawaiian Chieftain is owned and operated by Grays Harbor Historical Seaport Authority in Aberdeen, Washington. You can learn more the ship at:
http://historicalseaport.org/about-us/our-vessels/hawaiian-chieftain/

Sincerely,

Gillian

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

GILLIAN DOYLE
spent much of her childhood in the shadow of the mystical Mt. Shasta in the Southern Cascade Mountains of California. Moving to Los Angeles, she majored in Journalism and enjoyed a stint as a DJ at her college radio station before marrying her husband, Don. With her daughter and son in school, she became a motivational therapist and exercise instructor for the Richard Simmons' Anatomy Asylum. While helping others achieve their dreams, she decided to return to college to pursue her own dream of becoming a writer. A simple class assignment grew into her first novel, published two years later. Always fascinated with parapsychology, Gillian has been a student of metaphysics for over thirty years.

As a member of the Author's Guild, Mystery Writers of America and Romance Writers of America, she has written historical, time-travel and contemporary romances with paranormal elements under various pseudonyms. Her current project is a nonfiction collaboration with a highly-acclaimed female private investigator who just happens to be telepathic and clairvoyant.  Look for the
Intuitive Investigator
series beginning in Spring 2014.

Gillian loves to hear from readers so connect with her online at:

Website: 
www.GillianDoyle.com

E-mail:
[email protected]

Facebook:
http://www.facebook.com/gilliandoyleauthor

Twitter:
@GillianDoyle

Also by Gillian Doyle:

THIS TIME TOGETHER (Time-travel Romantic Suspense)

DARK COVENANT (Historical Romantic Suspense)

THAT WILDER MAN (Contemporary Romance)

LOSING LISA: Intuitive Investigator Series, Book 1

with Deanne Acuña

(T
rue Crime/Narrative Nonfiction