Holding Out For A Hero: SEALs, Soldiers, Spies, Cops, FBI Agents and Rangers (97 page)

Evidence of repair and renovation was everywhere, from the stripped wallpaper in the entryway to the new banister leading up the stairs. Deloris followed the outsider down the hall to a living room that had her gasping in horror.

“It’s like something out of a Crayola box,” she exclaimed. The younger woman just rolled her eyes.

Color was everywhere. Rich gold on the walls, deep burgundy on the couch. A whole rainbow of colors glinted from crystals strewn around the room, and a furiously bright paisley easy chair was snugged up in the corner.

Reba gave a gasp of her own, and Deloris glanced over to commiserate. But the other woman was too busy stroking her hand over the velvet paisley to offer any support.

“You have lovely furnishings,” Reba said softly. Then she looked up, caught Deloris’s glare and clamped her lips shut.

“Thank you.” From the look on the interloper’s face and her doubtful tone, she didn’t sound much like she meant it, though. “Why don’t you both get comfortable and you can explain what you need to speak with me about. Mrs. Ross? Have a seat.”

Deloris perched on the edge of the squishy couch, folding her hands over the straw purse in her lap. The irritating young woman had the nerve to meet Deloris’s gaze head on, one snooty brow raised in inquiry.

“So why don’t you tell me why you’re here,” the interloper prodded after a few moments of silence.

“As I said, I’m here representing the Rossdale Historical Society. This house, being seventy years old, qualifies as a historical site per our standards.”

“Okay... So what? I get a plaque or something to put outside?”

“Hardly,” Deloris said with a sniff. She wished her nostrils hadn’t been assaulted with the rich scent of roasting beef as she did, though. Her stomach threatened to growl.

“Your house, being a Rossdale historic site, falls under the jurisdiction of the Historical Society.”

The interloper looked like she was going to roll her eyes again. But she stopped short and just squinted instead. She cast a look between Deloris and Reba, then shook her head.

“What, exactly, does that mean?” Her tone was a dare, like she didn’t believe them. How dare she?

Reba made a sound from the chair she’d been stroking. Afraid she’d open her big mouth and ruin everything, Deloris leaned forward and claimed, “Which means any and all renovations, construction, and changes to this house must be approved by the Historical Society. Nothing can be done unless it’s to code. It must be in keeping with the era of the house.”

“You’re kidding, right?”

The younger woman sounded surprised, and perhaps a little sarcastic. But she didn’t, to Deloris’s frustration, sound worried or anxious.

“I’m quite serious, as is this situation. You’re going against the law by doing repairs without the approval of the Historical Society.”

Miki peered at them with a look of suspicion. “Isn’t Gideon the local building inspector? I could have sworn I read that on his letterhead.” Deloris sputtered, but like any self-absorbed city gal, Miki just kept talking. “I’d think he’d know what was legal around here and what wasn’t. It’s not like I brought in an out-of-town contractor or anything.”

“Are you calling me a liar?” Deloris asked with a gasp.

“Not at all,” the interloper said, obviously not impressed with Deloris’s show of affront. “I’m just saying I’m surprised to hear this is an issue.”

“Obviously Gideon was distracted by something...” Deloris trailed off, leaving her meaning clear. “I’m surprised he agreed to work for you, to be honest. He’s usually much more particular about out-of-town clients.”

“Seeing as I’m living here, I don’t think I qualify as out of town, do you?”

“You’ve only been here a month,” Deloris dismissed.

Used to sizing up her opponent and knowing just where to strike to hurt the most, she pursed her lips and inspected the other woman. Obviously a pushover, it shouldn’t take much to intimidate her. A few well-chosen words to play on the insecurities, the fresh divorce. A comment or two to rip the woman’s claws out of Gideon, and Deloris would consider the day well spent.

“I’m sure you’ll be on your way again soon. After all, there is nothing for you here.” She plastered a fake smile of sympathy on her face and leaned close. “It must be difficult for you, being all alone like you are. Divorce is painful, from what I’ve heard. Especially to the losing partner.”

She waited for that to sink in, but not long enough for indignation to take hold.

“Don’t feel bad. Even my son, poor thing, went through it.” Deloris gave an exaggerated moue of surprise, delicately covering her mouth with her fingertips. “Oops. You probably didn’t realize Gideon had been married, did you?”

“Actually, yes. Gideon told me about his marriage.” The woman leaned back on her too-soft couch and crossed one denim-clad leg over the other. With an irritatingly amused look on her face, she continued, “And his divorce.”

Oh. Deloris exchanged a glance with Reba, who was looking a little sick, the wimp. Since Gideon didn’t talk about his marriage to anyone, this wasn’t a good sign. Deloris wished she could lean back and think things through for a minute. But the look on the interloper’s face and the indulgent cushions made it clear it wouldn’t be a comfortable choice.

“Then you know how in love he was. And how devoted he is to Rossdale.”

Confusion flashed through the younger woman’s pitch-black eyes. Deloris couldn’t wait to gloat. Instead of asking the questions so clear in those wide eyes, the woman just shrugged.

“I’m really not comfortable discussing Gideon when he’s not here. Anything he wants me to know about his marriage, his ex-wife, or his choices, I’m sure he’ll tell me when he’s ready.”

Thankfully, Reba’s gasp drowned out Deloris’s own.

“What are you saying?” Reba squeaked. “How do you expect to ever learn anything without asking questions? Without taking good information when it’s offered?”

“You mean gossip, right? I’ve been on the wrong side of gossip recently and know how nasty it can be. I don’t want to be a part of that. Not over Gideon.”

As much as she tried, Deloris couldn’t put a bad spin on that. The tone was sad, not snooty. The words resigned, not lecturing.

Then the girl leaned forward with a smile. It was one of those whole-face grins that seemed to light her up from inside with a spark of mischief and fun.

“But if you want to fill me in on this town’s history I’ve heard bits and pieces of, I’d be all for hearing that.”

“History?” Reba asked, with a quick glance at Deloris for permission.

“Yeah. I’ve seen the well in the town square and Gideon’s mentioned a few things. But when I stopped in the library the other day, I couldn’t find any books on the town’s origins. I thought that was odd. Especially since you all seem so proud of your history.”

She gave them a friendly smile and raised her brows. “You know, like with that potato doll display and your Historical Society and all that.”

Deloris’s lips twitched so she pressed them tight. She refused to be amused.

“Rossdale is rich in history,” she said. “But it’s a long story and it’s getting to be my lunchtime.”

The younger woman gave her a long look. “Okay. It’s too bad you didn’t have time to share the story. I just pulled my last batch of cookies from the oven before you got here. They’d be cool now and go perfect with coffee.”

Deloris frowned. She’d been smelling roast and something savory. No hint of a sweet baking. Just then, the scent wafted through the room like a soft breeze. Sweet and sugary. Reba looked like she was going to cry if Deloris said no. Being a good friend, she offered a shrug of her own.

“I suppose we could find time for a cookie and coffee.”

“And filling me in on Rossdale’s history?”

“Very well, Ms. Lansing. It might help you understand what a complex and tightly knit community we have here. And why it’s almost impossible for an outsider to fit in.”

“Call me Miki,” the younger woman said over her shoulder. She didn’t bother to respond to the rest. Just headed down the hall.

“What’re you gonna tell her?” Reba asked in a whisper. “Not the whole story, are you?”

“Of course not.”

Before Deloris could elaborate, Miki returned with a large tray. On it was a coffee carafe, three cups and saucers, and a china plate filled with delicious cookies.

Even Deloris couldn’t fault the woman’s hostessing as she handed around coffee and smaller plates of still-warm treats. She did wonder, however, how the girl had managed to have a fresh pot of coffee made so quickly.

As Miki held out a plate and cup to Deloris, she met her gaze and held it. Deloris felt like she was drowning in the black depths of the younger woman’s eyes.

“I’ve made this just for you, I hope it’s to your taste. In exchange for the whole story of the history of this place,” Miki said in an oddly compelling voice. “Please feel free to turn it away, since once you accept I’ll listen to all you have to say.”

Deloris opened her mouth, but nothing came out. She closed it and shrugged. “I told you I’d be glad to share the story if you fed us.”

“Lovely,” Miki said, releasing her gaze.

Deloris took the plate and coffee, settling her cup on the low table in front of her and taking a bite of a cookie. Flavors exploded in her mouth, sending her salivary glands into overdrive. Rich chocolate and coconut blended in a delicious combination.

Miki gave her and Reba a few minutes to glut on cookies and refills of coffee, while nibbling patiently on her single cookie.

“I heard you were a chef,” Reba said around a mouthful of chocolate. “But I had no idea you were this good. We don’t get much fancy cooking here in Rossdale.”

“Actually, I’m just as comfortable with simple fare as I am with fancy. That’s one of the things I loved most about catering, the fact that the meals, the tastes, changed with each job.”

It was Reba’s hum that pulled Deloris out of her chocolate inspired stupor. She remembered the other woman’s wish for a good chef. To keep Reba from opening her big mouth and making unacceptable suggestions, Deloris set her coffee cup down with a clack and cleared her throat.

“Rossdale is a town rich in history. Some would call it myth, even,” she began. “Back in nineteen-oh-eight, Hiram Ross settled the town. It was about five years later he was up in the mountains, working his mine when there was a torrential rain. He was trapped, but safe enough in the mine. Sometime in the night, amidst the thunder and storming rain, he heard a woman crying in pain. Risking his own life, he hurried toward the sound, finding a beautiful young lady in distress, her leg broken in a mountain slide, barely conscious.”

Deloris paused to sip her coffee, appreciating the enraptured look on the other woman’s face.

“Hiram, being a gentleman, carried the poor thing to his mine and tended her the best he could. As soon as the rains let up, he carried her ten miles back to the settlement that was Rossdale. Her pain was so much, she passed out on the trip. When Hiram got her back to the good citizens of Rossdale, they happily tended her needs and cared for her.”

“This is a sweet story,” Miki said when Deloris paused to eat a cookie. “I’m not getting the significance though.”

“That’s because you’re too busy interrupting to listen,” Deloris reprimanded. She took another sip of the coffee, patted her mouth with her napkin, and sighed. “It took three long weeks of nursing and care before the girl regained full consciousness. When she did, she informed them that her name was Rosalee Wenton and she was a witch of great power.”

Deloris gave a gratified smile at the younger woman’s gasp of shock.

“It was clear the poor thing expected to be tossed right out of town, but the people weren’t like that, and welcomed her as one of their own. In thanks, she blessed the town. There’s a plaque in the square that reads: Peace and prosperity I bring to thee, in gratitude for what was given to me. My blessings continue to flow from above, as long as you welcome faith, magic, and love.”

They fell silent. Deloris swallowed, then shook her head like she was coming out of a dream. She hadn’t told that story since Gideon was a little boy.

“What happened?”

“The town was blessed, just like she said. It was like they could do no wrong. A gem vein would go dry, the next day they’d find silver. Everyone prospered, the town grew strong. It also attracted a lot of weirdos, especially in the sixties and seventies. People who were looking for a place that believed in magic. A lot of them people wanted other things too, like free-love and marijuana. Lucas Ross’s mother finally got tired of all the weirdos. She convinced the town council to ignore that silly old superstition and uphold the law. It started as a plan to just run off the ones who were causing problems, but soon anyone claiming to believe the prophecy was shunned. It didn’t take long to shift Rossdale’s focus away from that silly story,” Deloris trailed off. The rest of the town history made her heart ache, so she ignored the compulsion to share and ate another cookie instead.

“Did you believe in the prophecy,” Miki asked softly. “Did you think there had really been witches and that believing blessed your town?”

Deloris started to unequivocally deny it. But her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth and a cramp shot through her belly. What had been in those cookies?

Miki watched, looking for all the world like a languid cat resting outside a mousehole.

Finally, Deloris shrugged. Might as well tell the truth, it wouldn’t hurt anybody at this point.

“I did believe it, but kept my mouth shut. Lucas’s mother was a formidable woman. It didn’t do to speak out against her, and if I wanted to marry my Lucas, I knew I’d do best to just keep my opinion to myself.”

Reba’s gasp drew her attention. Tears filled the other woman’s eyes and Deloris realized this was the most open, the most honest she’d likely been over the subject in almost forty years.

“But Gloria Ross wasn’t one to let things go, so she didn’t stop till she’d convinced the town it was those weirdos behind the trouble. Despite the prophecy, the town had been losing money, the logging company was closing down. This was all the proof she needed to show that magic had no place here. Neither did those lunatics who believed in it.”