SEDUCTIVE SUPERNATURALS: 12 Tales of Shapeshifters, Vampires & Sexy Spirits (216 page)

Again, he fought for words. Only silence. He stared as her eyes filled with tears, then she took a step backward. The candlelight dimmed and her image faded into nothingness, the red robe rumpled on the floor where she had once stood…

Finally able to speak, Jackson called to her, “No! Wait! I need you!”

The frantic sound of his own voice forced Jackson to open his eyes. He was sitting upright on his cot in the backroom at Wyatt Earp’s gambling house, his arms still extended. The dream had been the same for the past four nights, yet each time he woke, he found he could barely hold onto reality, at least for a few moments unable to separate the dream from what was real.

And all he knew was that he wanted with all his soul to be back in that dream.

Slowly he dropped his arms and lay back on the cot. He kicked off the light blanket and clasped his hands behind his head. He was angry at his body’s betrayal, that he ached for her every night. The dreams aroused him to a hardness that remained even after he woke, and he was amazed at the effect the dream image had on him.

Was she dangerous? And why couldn’t he get her out of his mind?

Jackson stared at the ceiling for a long time before he finally rolled over, trying to get comfortable on the board-thin mattress of the tiny cot. He missed his twice weekly break at Sherman House, and especially the luxurious mattress of his favorite room. But he knew he couldn’t take the chance of seeing Rose again. Not now.

The dawn’s first light was shining through the dirty window when he at last dozed.

* * *

Taylor sighed. “I’ve never had insomnia, Ida. What’s wrong with me?”

Ida finished pouring tea in two of her best china cups and carried them to the table. At first, both women silently sipped their tea. Both completely lost in their own thoughts.

Taylor sighed again, this time more heavily, and rubbed at her temples. Her massaging fingers stopped at the pressure points that she often used to provide headache relief. She had spent the last four days literally retracing her steps, looking for clues—she figured she was there to stop the assassination but still didn’t understand exactly what ‘truth’ she was supposed to find. And she needed to, before time ran out.

Should she just tell Josie? Go to Wyatt and warn him? Thing was, when she’d asked those questions in her mind, her father’s voice had simply repeated she needed to find the truth, that it was the only way. It seemed that without this so-called truth, she was powerless to prevent the murder.

The train station held no obvious clues. When she’d gone there and asked about Henry, the drunk she’d met that first night, no one knew where he might be. People told her that he often disappeared for weeks at a time.
Great. What if he was the clue she was supposed to find?

Each day she’d visited the City of Paris store, wondering if there was some kind of mysterious information there that she’d missed. The fourth time she’d stopped in, Charlie had stared suspiciously at her, finally asking if there was something in particular she
couldn’t
find. She had winced at the double meaning of his words as she’d assured him that she was simply browsing.

One clearly missing link was the family she’d met at the café. When she’d spoken with Mrs. Reed, she’d learned that the family had taken a few days off to take the children to the back country. Mr. Johnson had heard of a doctor there who offered treatments for asthmatics, an affliction his youngest son suffered from. Mrs. Reed had told her they’d be back by noon the next day.

“How’s your tea, dear?”

“Your chamomile tea is always perfect, Ida. Thanks for your company. I just can’t seem to quiet my brain long enough to get to sleep. It’s so frustrating. Everything’s so frustrating…”

“Rose, I haven’t pried into your affairs since you’ve been here,” Ida began, “and you can believe it’s been a struggle for me to keep my questions to myself.”

Taylor looked up from her tea into Ida’s concerned eyes. “You’ve been so kind to me, Ida. I can’t thank you enough, but—”

“Now, I’m not asking you to tell me everything that’s going on, child. I just want to make sure that you can handle everything that’s piled on your plate. Sometimes I get the feeling that things are a bit foreign to you, and I just want you to know that you should ask for help if you need it. That’s all.”

“It’s just too complicated, Ida. I have to find out something, and I don’t exactly know what it is that I have to find, and time is running out, and I’m afraid I’m not going about it the right way, and—”

“Whoa, girl, slow down a bit. You’re not making any sense. And what’s this about running out of time, anyway? I told you, you’re welcome here as long as you like. Are you telling me you’re getting ready to leave us? Where will you go? Does this have to do with Jackson?”

Taylor bit her lip, sorry she’d blurted out her words. The last time she’d done just that, she remembered, was with Jackson. Very poor judgment, and not to be repeated here.

“Rose, answer me. Are you leaving soon?”

“I may have to. I’m honestly not sure. Don’t worry, though, and I promise to let you know more as soon as it’s clear to me.” Taylor smiled weakly. She could sense Ida’s worry and she hated to give her friend reason to be concerned.

Ida finished her tea and put her cup gently into the wash basin, being extra careful of her best china.

“I’m off to bed, then,” Ida said, “if you’ll be all right alone.” Ida walked behind Taylor’s chair, and stopped to give her shoulder a comforting squeeze. “You try to get some rest, and come get me if you need me.”

“Thanks, Ida. I’m just going to walk in the garden for a few minutes, then I’ll try to sleep. I feel more relaxed—the tea really helped.”

Ida gave Taylor one last motherly look before she made her way up the back stairs.

The kitchen became still and instantly lacked the warmth of Ida’s presence—so much so that Taylor felt a shiver run down her spine. Eager to leave the room, she walked out the back door, careful to keep it from banging shut. Stars flickered in the moonless night sky, and Taylor gazed to the heavens as she walked to the middle of the yard.

For the first time, Taylor felt truly alone, isolated and ill at ease. She also realized that until that solitary moment, there had not been much reason for her to measure time at all. Now there was the painful reality of an unknown deadline, and the heaviness of it made her feel sluggish and dull.

“Taylor Rose, I’m worried about you, and…”

Where have you been?
An unexpected tear made its way down Taylor’s cheek, its hot trail ending at the corner of her mouth.

“…time is running out.”

That she knew, and the urgency in her father’s voice confirmed her feeling that time was probably shorter than she hoped. She shook her head—she’d retraced most of her steps, but still none of it made any sense to her.

She closed her eyes to listen more carefully, hearing only soft, night sounds. She tried to remember what her father had always told her when she was confused—when he was alive, he’d always counseled her to have a little more faith in her own abilities, and that everything was possible. Anything was possible.

But she’d gone over every step since she’d arrived. Maybe that was it—she hadn’t considered anything from
before
her arrival.

“
Remember the Tarot cards.”

Taylor concentrated, visualizing her encounter with the fortune teller until bits of dialogue began to surface in her memory. First, there was the dangerous journey, and then the false friend. What else?

She tried to picture the cards as the appeared on the table. Then, it was something about love—no,
trusting
the love. The last was still fuzzy.

Her head was beginning to throb. What was it? Look within...look within for strength.

Think
, she commanded herself, rubbing her temples again. Then the last card interpretation came to her, simple and whole—she could almost hear the old woman’s voice.

The last card had been The Stars, and Stars promised hope. All she had to do was believe in her own power to create a positive outcome.

Sounded simple, but somehow she knew that could be deceiving.

“Believe, Taylor.”

Oh, Dad—
She interrupted his voice as a sob caught in her throat.

“Yes, it is that simple.”

Barely audible, a female voice whispered in Taylor’s mind like a delicate summer breeze blows through a field of tall grass, sending a rippling wave of green that seems more mirage than movement.

“I promise—everything will look brighter in the new day’s light...”

Taylor’s eyelids flew open, and her breathing abruptly ceased. She strained to hear, concentrating on the lilting echo of the voice...her mother’s voice.

Willing herself to listen with every cell of her body, Taylor waited for more words, for the slightest sound. After long silent moments, Taylor gasped for air, feeling lightheaded and dizzy.

Surprisingly, after a few minutes she found her heartbeat had slowed down to a normal, steady beat and she felt relieved and calm.

Tomorrow.

Just thinking the word provided the first warmth of renewed trust, and the feeling of confidence she had so painfully lacked since her bitter confrontation with Jackson.

Taylor was sure with all her heart and soul that, somehow, tomorrow would bring the breakthrough she needed. Even if she had to retrace her steps from beginning to end a dozen times, the key had to be there. She would find it.

Somewhere deep in the center of her, the tension that had been building was released and, to her surprise, she felt a yawn building in the back of her throat. Quietly she returned to her room and fell instantly into restful slumber, eager for the better day tomorrow would bring.

Forever Rose: Chapter Twenty-Two

“Mr. Johnson, there’s someone asking for you.” Mrs. Reed called out the back door, where the sounds of children’s laughter all but drowned her words.

Taylor sat at a table near the window, waiting for Mr. Johnson to join her, hoping she would find the right words, hoping she wouldn’t sound like a total lunatic. She took three deep breaths and let them out slowly.

“Well, hello. It’s Miss Martin, isn’t it? What can I do for you?” Mr. Johnson extended a friendly hand to Taylor. “I have five loaves of bread cooling on the sill. If you want to wait a few minutes, I’d be glad to sell you one.”

“That would be wonderful,” she began, “but could you join me for a few minutes while we wait?”

“Why, sure, that’d be fine. I think I’ll pour me a cup of coffee first, if you don’t mind.”

Mr. Johnson went to the kitchen and returned with a steaming cup of coffee. He sat down opposite Taylor, his back to the window.

“Mr. Johnson...” Her sudden dry-mouth choked off the rest of the sentence she had started, now feeling awkward and uncertain of her words. “I’m not exactly sure what I want to say, but I wanted to talk with you about something. I don’t know how to describe it, but it’s like there’s some kind of connection between us.”

Mr. Johnson returned her gaze calmly, as though her words were half-expected. No look of surprise. No expression of astonishment. He simply nodded, and took a sip of coffee.

“I felt it too, when we met at the store, and since then too. Every time you’ve been in the café, I’ve felt it. I thought maybe you reminded me of someone back home or...honestly, I can’t quite put my finger on it.” Mr. Johnson leaned closer to her, resting his elbows on the table, staring at her face as though searching for some kind of clue.

Relieved, Taylor smiled.
Maybe this is it.
If he feels the same connection, maybe he’s the key. At least it was a good sign.

With narrowed eyes and a thoughtful expression, Mr. Johnson put his coffee cup down on the table. “Well, tell me this,” he began, “have you ever been in Kansas? That’s where we’re from. Maybe that’s it.”

“No. It’s more likely to be something that happened to you. Or something you know or did...something like that. I know it sounds strange, but it’s important that we figure it out.”

Rubbing his chin, Mr. Johnson continued, “Well, let’s see. My life story isn’t that interesting. Nothing important ever happened to me, that I can recall.”

“Well, tell me about coming West. What brought you to San Diego? And where exactly in Kansas are you from?”

“Well, we lived in Wichita, mostly. It was pretty wild ‘til they sent for Wyatt Earp back in ‘74. He was the Deputy Marshall, you know. Inside of two years, Wichita was a peaceful town. It was a nice place to raise a family, you know?”

Taylor’s eyes widened.
Wyatt Earp. A connection
. “Go on,” she encouraged.

“Well, we lived in town. My wife did bookkeeping for the dry goods store and for the restaurant where I worked. Then in ‘78 we moved. My wife’s boss was openin’ up another store and he wanted her to manage it and keep the books,” he said proudly.

“Where was this?”

“Dodge City.”

Her heart skipped a beat and her skin prickled and a shiver quivered up her spine. Dodge City was where Jackson met his two ugly conspirators. Another connection.

“And even though we’d heard Dodge was pretty wild, we knew that Wyatt Earp was there, so—”

“Wyatt Earp was there too?” It was definitely beginning to feel right to her—pieces of a puzzle falling into place. “Sorry, go on...”

“Well, we got the business started and had a little place above the store, right on the main street. Let’s see, my daughter Annabelle was four, Frank was two, and little John wasn’t even born yet.”

“Did you live anywhere else?”

“Nope. Stayed in Dodge ‘til we came out here.”

“And what brought you here, exactly?”

“Well, you know it’s kind of a funny thing, actually.” Mr. Johnson wrapped his hands around his mug of steaming coffee.

Taylor waited, wishing desperately that Mr. Johnson’s story contained the final key to the mystery of Jackson’s involvement in the plot to assassinate Earp. She knew the connection had to be specific. In Dodge City there was a definite connection between Jackson and Mr. Johnson. The fact that Wyatt Earp had been in both cities where the Johnsons lived was another connection. But there must be more. There had to be more.