Whispers (Argent Springs) (3 page)

“Wow. How nice would that be?” She didn’t want to
give up her independence, but if she had someone to pay the bills, it would be
much easier to lose herself in her photography.

“Lovely, I’m sure.” Annabelle turned, grasping for
the wall to steady herself, and Erin quickly took her arm.

“Thanks, love.” Once she was stable, she headed
toward the kitchen, and Erin followed.

The older woman opened a pantry door and pulled
out a box of packaged golden cakes stuffed with cream. Beyond the box lay a
handgun, barely visible.

Erin remained silent, wondering how long this
woman would continue to shock her.

“Care for an afternoon snack?” her aunt asked.

“Uh…no.” She wrinkled her nose, but couldn’t help
smiling as the woman tore into the plastic wrap. “Aren’t those really bad for
you?”

“Only if you have them without a shot of whiskey.
Then they’ll clog your arteries for sure.”

“But the whiskey counters that?” She wasn’t sure
she believed it.

“Damn straight.” Annabelle pulled a bottle of Jack
and a glass from the same cupboard. “How about some of this, then?”

Erin glanced at the clock above the table. The
time was barely past three in the afternoon. “I think I’ll pass for now.”

The woman shrugged and carried her snacks to the
table where she took a seat.

“You were telling me about Rosa.” Erin sat across
from her great aunt, running her hand over the massive mahogany table that
gleamed with polish.

“The table was hers,” Annabelle continued after
Erin sent her a puzzled look. “One of the first gifts John Henry gave her.”

“It’s absolutely beautiful.” She pictured Rosa
admiring it just as she was now. Then an almost tangible feeling passed over
her, and she shivered. Could wood hold memories or the essence of previous
owners? It
was
a natural element.

“He gave her many beautiful things. Unfortunately,
power meant more than money to Rosa.”

“Which means…” Erin prompted.

Annabelle’s eyes grew crystal clear, and suddenly
the woman Erin had met at the party reappeared. “Rosa enjoyed the power she had
over men more than the money, more than she loved poor John Henry. She’d
promised she’d give up her occupation and be a good wife to John, but eight
months into their marriage, he returned home from an excursion to find his
lovely, rehabilitated wife screwing another man. He shot her in their bed
before shooting himself in the head.”

“Oh my god.” Erin put a hand to her throat. “What
an awful way to go. And that happened here?” Once again, she judged the house
through new eyes. “The place isn’t haunted, is it?”

Her aunt laughed out loud, making her feel silly.
“Do you believe in ghosts?”

Erin’s cheeks heated. “It’s just that I’ve heard
when a violent death occurs in a place, things can…linger.”

“Well, I guess you never really know, do you? But
I don’t expect you’ll be seeing any ghosts.”

A sigh of surprised relief escaped her. Not that
she did or didn’t believe in spirits, but she preferred to have no actual
knowledge of their existence. However, she did sort of like the idea that she
was staying in a house whose former owner had some power and notoriety. She
could only imagine how the men would have tried to handle a woman like that all
those years ago.

Annabelle stuffed half the snack cake in her mouth.
“We’ll be having some guests stay with us for a couple of days,” she said
around a mouthful.

“Guests?”

She swallowed and lifted a penciled in eyebrow. “Using
the place as a bed and breakfast helps pay the bills. I thought I’d mentioned
that.”

“That’s right. You did.” Her aunt had said so back
in Salt Lake City, but for some reason Erin had supposed she’d have her all to
herself while she visited. “Do you know anything about them?”

“A couple on their honeymoon.” She took another
bite. “Running this place is a great way to get to know all kinds of people.
You’ll see.”

“It sounds like fun. I’m looking forward to it. Is
there anything I can help with?”

“Nope. I have the bedroom ready. Rick is out
chopping wood so that we have plenty for a fire since it’s supposed to get
chilly tonight.” Her aunt narrowed her gaze, peering at Erin through her glasses.
“How are you at cooking?”

So, Rick was his name. “I’m pretty decent. I’d be
happy to help you cook. ”

She downed her shot of whiskey. “That sounds
lovely, and I accept. How about starting with dinner tonight?”

“Of course. I can help anytime you need me. Will
the couple be eating with us?”

“They will, along with Rick. Dinner is always more
fun with lots of people.”

Erin wasn’t sure how she felt about dining with Rick.
He certainly appealed to her visually, and for some reason, his aloofness
intrigued her. But she didn’t necessarily want to sit across from a man who might
cast rude looks all night. Then again, it didn’t seem like she had a choice.
“Sounds like a nice evening.” And hopefully not too awkward.

Her aunt stopped as though suddenly aware of
something and looked around. “Where’s your luggage? I didn’t see any in the
entryway.”

“It’s still in my car. I thought I would come in
and say hello first.”

Annabelle crumpled the cellophane wrapping paper from
her snack and stood, picking up her shot glass at the same time. “I’ll get Rick
to help you.”

“No. I can get them myself.” The last thing she
wanted was to annoy him further before dinner. Walking around to the front of
the house to greet her had obviously been taxing enough.

Annabelle frowned. “In my day, a lady would ask a
gentleman to help her. All this women’s lib has done nothing but hurt women if
you ask me.”

Erin smiled. “But it’s given us our freedom and
power.”

“Are you sure? If you ask me, Rosa had plenty of
her own power, and yet she had men stumbling over her to give her what she
wanted.”

“She also traded sex for power. Are you suggesting
I do that?” Erin asked with a touch of humor in her voice.

Annabelle lowered her brows. “I suppose you have a
point there.”

After Annabelle set her glass in the sink, Erin
gave her a big hug, breathing in the wonderful scent of lavender that seemed to
follow her aunt. “I’m so happy to be here. Thank you for inviting me. If you’ll
tell me which room is mine, I’ll bring in my suitcases.”

“You’ll be in the green room at the top of the
stairs. It’s the best one in the house.”

“You should save that for your guests.” Though she
couldn’t say she minded the preferential treatment.

Her aunt widened her eyes as though she was
surprised. “You
are
my guest. My most important guest, and I’m very
happy to have you here. I’ve been very lonely since Henderson died. Rick
provides some company, but you know how most guys are with small talk.”

Erin recognized the perfect opportunity to inquire
further. “I think I might have met Rick outside when I first arrived.”

“Tall, good-looking hunk of burning love?”
Mischief flashed in Annabelle’s expression as the smile lines around her eyes
deepened.

Heat fanned across Erin’s cheeks at her aunt’s
description. “Umm, I suppose you could say that.”

Annabelle seemed to delight in the discomfort
she’d conjured in Erin. “Of course, I can say that. If I were thirty years
younger, I’d go after him myself.”

Which would still make her far too old for someone
Rick’s age. But in Annabelle’s case, Erin had a feeling that wouldn’t matter.
The woman lived without limits, without regrets. If Erin could learn to emulate
that, she’d certainly be happier.

“Unfortunately, Rick has his heart set on a little
trollop who headed off to get her fashion design degree seven months ago,” her
aunt continued. “I thought once she was gone, he’d realize he was better off.
No such luck. She says she’s coming back, and like an idiot, he promised he’d
wait for her. I admire a man who honors his word, but at some point he has to
see she’s all wrong for him.”

Perhaps Rick really missed his girlfriend, and that
was why he’d seemed so unhappy. Or maybe he was an introvert and had a hard
time in social situations. Either way, he would be much easier to be around knowing
he was taken. For whatever reason, attractive, eligible men always left her
tongue-tied and awkward.

Erin left her aunt inside and walked back into the
Colorado autumn sunshine, pausing on Annabelle’s front porch to fill her lungs
with the closest thing she’d ever found to pure oxygen. The stuff was heady,
addicting, and she knew her two weeks would pass far too fast.

She barely had one suitcase out of her trunk when
she sensed him. She wasn’t quite sure how she knew he was behind her, whether
she’d subconsciously heard him or what, but when she glanced over her shoulder,
Rick was there looking as solemn as when she’d first met him.

“Let me help you,” Rick said as he approached. He
more or less pushed Erin to the side and removed her second suitcase. “You’re
not moving in, are you?”

She ignored his implied barb and the way her pulse
spiked. “No, why?”

“It seems like a lot for a short visit.” He
glanced down at her, his dangerously dark eyes daring her to argue.

She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing
he’d affected her. “I’ll be here two weeks.” Besides, she couldn’t be blamed
for the amount of clothing she’d brought with her. When she’d questioned Aunt
Annabelle on what she should bring, her aunt had said to be prepared for any
kind of weather this year. So she’d packed a little bit of everything.

“Like I said, short visit.” He lifted a hand to
shut the trunk.

“Wait.”

He paused, raising questioning brows at her.

“I need my table.”

He glanced back in the trunk. “That thing? What
for?”

She really wanted to tell him to mind his business.
“It’s my massage table.”

A glint struck in his eye, and he looked her over
again as though viewing her differently. “Do you usually take it everywhere you
go?”

She folded her arms in front of her. “Not
everywhere. But Aunt Annabelle had mentioned her back bothered her, and I
thought I might be able to help.”

“I see.” He set the suitcases down and pulled out her
table, then shut the trunk with a loud bang.

She flinched. He had no reason to be annoyed. She
hadn’t asked him to help her. He’d volunteered.

He tucked one suitcase under his arm, grabbed the
other with the same hand, and then picked up her table like it didn’t weigh
thirty pounds.

“I can carry something.”

“I have it.” The muscles in his arms bulged, but
he seemed quite capable of carrying the weight. She fought to keep her gaze
from wandering to the wicked-looking tribal tattoo adorning his bicep.

“I’ll get the door.” She hurried ahead to make
sure she had it open by the time he reached the porch. She held it as he
passed, not failing to notice the mixed scent of spicy cologne and woodchips
that wafted from him as he passed.

She followed him up the narrow stairs, not missing
the opportunity to notice the nice way his jeans fit his muscular thighs and
butt.

He stopped on the landing and glanced back at her.
“Which room?”

“The green one.”

He drew his brows together. “Annabelle put you in
the green room?”

She wasn’t sure why he questioned it, but the fact
that he had, left her slightly uneasy. “That’s what she said.”

He shrugged and moved forward. Erin followed,
nearly colliding with him as he barely stepped foot inside the doorway and
dropped her suitcases and table to the side. “I hope you’ll be comfortable.” His
words seemed to be a generic response to the next in a line of guests.

“Thank you,” she said as he passed by her and
headed down the stairs.

She stared after him for a moment and then turned.
Was he this bad-mannered with all of Annabelle’s guests? Or just her?

And if so, what had she ever done to the man?

*        *        *

Erin hastened down the polished wooden staircase
after she’d finished unpacking. She’d hated wasting her precious vacation on
such a menial task and was eager to spend more time with Aunt Annabelle,
instead.

Late afternoon sun filtered through the stained
glass window above the front door, casting prisms on the opposite wall. She
paused to admire nature’s creation. The rays had been shattered by colored
glass and had come out more beautiful on the other side.

Perhaps with Aunt Annabelle’s sage wisdom and guidance,
Erin could be transformed as well. She’d already decided she’d never be emotionally
abused by another person she loved. Life was too short. She was better off
divorced from her ex-husband
and
her mother.

A breath of lavender-scented air caressed her
cheek, and she knew Aunt Annabelle must be in the vicinity.

She found her in the kitchen with a large pot
simmering on the stove. She’d donned a ruffled red apron that looked like it
belonged in the late 1800s. Erin could easily pretend she’d gone back in time
if not for the modern appliances.

“What are we making?” Erin inhaled, the delicious
smells stirring her hunger.

Annabelle looked up, a dusting of flour on her
cheek. “Chicken and dumplings with a spinach salad and apple crisp for dessert.
Our guests have already arrived and are upstairs in their room. I told them
supper would be ready by five. If you could throw together the apple crisp
topping, that would be a great help. The recipe is right there on the counter.”

It took Erin a moment to spot the handwritten
recipe amongst all the ingredients for dinner, but she found it peeking from
beneath the flour canister and pulled it out. The yellowed-paper had been
encased in plastic, but not before receiving a few grease stains first. “Is
this your personal recipe?”

“Rosa’s,” Annabelle said without looking up.

Erin held the paper a little more gingerly as she
studied the flowery handwriting. “As in Rosa’s actual handwritten recipe?”

Her aunt stopped stirring and turned toward Erin,
looking alive with energy. How could Erin have thought her dead earlier when
she’d found her in the atrium?

“Yes, Rosa’s actual recipe.”

“How did you end up with it?”

Annabelle cocked her head, a smile creasing her
wrinkles. “Did I not mention earlier that Rosa was my great-grandmother?”

Interest flared inside her. “No. You’d mentioned
that Henderson owned a house that used to belong to your family, but not that
you were a direct descendant of Rosa.”

That meant Rosa was also related to Erin through
her father’s side of the family. Her mother would have a coronary if
that
skeleton ever popped out of the closet. A prostitute. In the family. She let
that interesting thought sink in and then she frowned. “But I thought Rosa’s
husband killed her after they’d been wed for only eight months. How could she
have had a baby if she died?”

“Secret child she had before meeting John,” her
aunt said with a grin, obviously enjoying this aspect of her family’s history. “Rosa
told Henry that the child belonged to one of the other women.” She shrugged.
“Might as well have been. Rosa and the other two women working with her all
raised the baby.”

“Did she have a boy or girl?” She struggled to
keep all these people—correction, all of her relatives straight in her mind.

“Boy. William. He was a wild one. By the time he
was eighteen, he’d killed a man and sired a child. A girl this time.”

Erin did the calculations in her head. “Your
mother?”

“My mother. Louise Hardwick.”

“And my great-grandmother,” Erin said. “Wow. I
didn’t realize our family was so colorful.”

Annabelle snorted and glanced at the clock. “You
have no idea.” She turned and began dropping dough into the bubbling liquid.

“Of course, your grandmother lived a totally
different life than I did,” she continued. “Here, let me help you with that
topping, or we’ll never get this done in time.”

Erin measured oats and flour and poured them into
a bowl while Annabelle added the cinnamon and butter.

“How was my grandmother’s life different than yours?
Didn’t you both grow up here? Do you have other siblings?”

“So many questions, love. Let’s get this going, and
then we’ll have time to sit and talk.”

But they didn’t.

Before they put the apple crisp in the oven, their
two guests joined them in the kitchen. Though they were newlyweds, they were
older than Erin had expected, maybe somewhere around their early thirties.
Annabelle introduced them as Scott and Mary Fincher.

“I hope it’s okay if we nose around the house a
little bit,” Scott said as they stood inside the doorway. His head missed the
doorframe by a few inches, and his round glasses and unruly chestnut hair gave
him the appearance of a forgetful professor.

His wife raised hopeful eyebrows at her husband’s
comment, and Erin glanced between the two of them, trying to figure out how a petite
blond who seemed very well put together ended up with a guy like him. The
unpredictable characteristic of love, she supposed.

“It’s one of the reasons we chose your place, Miss
Annabelle,” Mary said. “The thought of staying in the red-light district sounded
so fun.”

She grinned at her husband, and he furrowed his
brows for a moment before his lips split in an understanding smile. Erin could
only guess there might be some role-playing later in the bedroom.

Her aunt wiped her hands on her apron. “Of course.
You’re free to wander where you like. You’re our guests here, and we want you
to be comfortable. I was just telling my niece here about Madam Rosa. The
infamous town madam who used to own this house. A hundred and thirty years ago,
the road you drove in on divided the town. The upstanding, God-fearing citizens
lived on the north side, and the rowdy and unruly lived on the south.”

“That’s fascinating,” Mary said. “I’d love to know
more about Rosa.”

“Me, too,” Erin said, eager for more stories.

Annabelle flashed a quick look in her direction and
then focused a smile on the newlyweds. “Tomorrow when you’re in town, make sure
you stop at Coraline’s on the east end. She has a book that gives a great
history of the famous residents of Argent Springs. Rosa is included.”

Mary’s eyes lit up at the suggestion. “Definitely.
I’m a travel agent, and I’m always looking for fun, out-of-the-way places to
recommend to my clients. Stories and people like Rosa intrigue the hell out of
me.”

“That’s wonderful,” her aunt said. “Now that our
little mining town relies mostly on tourist dollars to survive, we appreciate
all the advertising we can get.”

A timer went off and her aunt turned to pull the
apple crisp from the oven before lifting the lid on her pan of chicken and
dumplings.

“Good god, that smells good.” Scott groaned in
anticipation. “Better than restaurant food, that’s for damn sure.”

Mary elbowed him. “Thanks for agreeing to let us
have dinner here. We’ve had a long drive today, and we’re grateful we won’t
need to venture out until tomorrow.”

“I don’t mind a bit,” her aunt replied. “I’d be
cooking anyway. Now, if you’ll give us a couple of minutes, we’ll get
everything on the table.”

Rick picked that moment to walk into the kitchen,
and Erin immediately went on alert.

He introduced himself to the newcomers, sticking
out his hand in greeting, a full smile on his face. “Can I get you a drink?
Beer? Wine? I believe Miss Annabelle has a good Riesling picked out for the
meal.”

“I’d love a glass of wine,” Mary said, glancing at
her husband who agreed with her choice.

Erin couldn’t believe it. She split her focus
between dishing up the roasted carrots with rosemary and watching a charming
version of the man she’d met earlier interact with Annabelle’s guests. Her
earlier thoughts about him being less than social because he was an introvert
flew right out the window. The man wasn’t a backward, unmannered person. He was
funny and social, and already had Scott laughing. So why the hell had he been
such a jerk to her?

Her emotions stewed as she carried several serving
dishes to the table before taking a seat. The couple sat across from her. Rick took
the spot next to her, saving the seat at the head of the table for Annabelle.
Earlier, the table had seemed massive, but with Rick sitting so close, the space
was much too crowded for her comfort. She wished she’d sat across from him so
she could keep an eye on him. Instead, she was forced to glance out the corner
of her eye.

“Would you care for some wine, Erin?” Rick asked
in a pleasant voice. His charm now apparently extended to her. But she wasn’t
buying it.

She turned to him with a raised brow, giving him a
look full of accusation. “That would be lovely.” She held out her glass,
keeping her gaze zeroed on him.

He blinked and focused on her glass as he filled
it, and she recognized the guilty look in his expression.

Good. First chance she got, she intended to call
him on it.

*        *        *

Dinner was excellent despite the fact she had to
sit next to Rick and pretend she didn’t feel the uncomfortable energy running
between them. If he would have been distant but still pleasant from the
beginning, they wouldn’t have a problem.

After dinner, Erin insisted on clearing the table,
allowing Annabelle to sit and enjoy her guests. Rick was gracious enough to
help her, but she wouldn’t thank him. It would take more than a couple of trips
to the sink to get back in her good graces.

The apple crisp was still warm when she served it
with vanilla ice cream on top. The dessert earned a few more groans from their
guests and Rick, too.

“You haven’t told us much about you yet, Scott.”
Annabelle pinned him with a smile that reminded Erin of her first meeting with
her great aunt. The woman could pull out a gold pan full of charm when she
wanted to.

He wiped his mouth with his napkin. “I’m a stock
market analyst, and I consider myself the luckiest man alive to have Mary as my
wife.”

“Ohhh…” Mary smiled into her husband’s eyes,
obviously as in love with him as he was with her. She tugged him to her, giving
him a passionate kiss.

Erin focused on her plate. She’d expected to have
that kind of love with Craig, but it never manifested. Even now, the pain from
his rejection still stung.

Rick choked, and Erin eyed him from the side as he
took a large swallow of wine to clear his throat. “Excuse me. Bad timing on my
part. No disrespect meant. I just had a little…” He cleared his throat.

“It’s so good to see a couple in love,” Annabelle
said, saving them all from embarrassment. “My Henderson was a good man, and I
can tell Scott is, too. You hang on to him with all your might.”