SEDUCTIVE SUPERNATURALS: 12 Tales of Shapeshifters, Vampires & Sexy Spirits (204 page)

Knowing she would be unable to sleep, she felt suddenly restless and walked to the window overlooking the garden. The moon glow was bright, and she was drawn to go outside for the peace and quiet and to think about what she knew and didn’t know. Grabbing an extra blanket from a shelf, she tiptoed down the back stairs, through the kitchen, and out the back door.

The grass was as soft as carpet on her bare feet, and the air was warm and still in the protected garden. The scent of flowers was thick and almost intoxicating. She spread the blanket out next to the rose bushes and sat down. The stars overhead seemed larger than life, sparkling like diamond chips against a black satin sky. No smog to blur their light, she realized. Stretching out onto her back now, she clasped her hands behind her head and felt her entire body relax.

* * *

Jackson ducked into Ida’s carrying the same feeling that someone was watching him. Just nervous, he decided. Though he had seen no one, he had walked four blocks out of the way and doubled back, just as a precaution. Walking into the parlor, he greeted Ida. Two of her girls were sitting on a plush sofa and they instantly focused their attention on him with friendly smiles.

“Ah, my friend Jackson has returned,” Ida exclaimed. “Are you here to accept my offer, then?”

Jackson threw up his hands, palms out, which drew giggles from Ida and the girls on the sofa.

“Just here for a room, Ida. The large one on the end—is it available?” He took a few steps backward, hoping Ida would leave well enough alone for the night, not in the mood for her teasing.

“Oh, come on, Jackson. When are you going to relax and have some fun? You’re too serious for your own good,” Ida said. One of the girls rose from the sofa, smiling warmly at him. Her long honey-blonde hair draped across her shoulders and onto breasts that were barely covered by a lacy pink camisole and shawl.

“Just a room tonight, Ida.” He watched the lips of the blonde beauty pucker into a provocative pout as she sank back down to the sofa.

“Come on then, I’ll show you to your room.” She motioned for Jackson to follow her up the stairs.

After a moment, Jackson gently touched her arm and asked the question on his mind, “Ida, who’s Rose?”

Ida stopped on the stairs and glanced back at him, her eyes twinkling. “Oh, that one. She’s just a temporary, you could say. Do you like her?”

“Just curious, that’s all.”

They continued down the hallway, neither breaking the silence.

Ida turned toward Jackson as she stood in front of the door with the key. “I’d venture to say you look more than curious to me.” She handed the key to him with a smile.

Jackson stretched his neck and looked up at the ceiling, now sorry he had brought it up at all.

“She’s very special, Jackson,” Ida said softly. “Just remember that. And she makes her own decisions at my house. She’s independent, if you know what I mean.”

Jackson returned Ida’s gaze, drawing his eyebrows together as he considered her explanation. “Independent?”

“Self-governing. Free to do as she pleases,” Ida replied, then chuckled. “Sleep well, then, Jackson. And you’re welcome to help yourself to breakfast before you go back to work. Goodnight.” Ida retrieved her pocket watch and then firmly knocked on selected doors. “Time,” she called out as she made her way down the hallway.

Jackson unlocked the door. He loved this particular room, and managed to spend a couple of nights each week there when tips ran high enough to indulge in the pleasure. The room was luxurious in contrast to his meager accommodations at the saloon, and sinfully lavish compared to any room he’d ever slept in. The shining brass bed was the ultimate in comfort, with crisp, clean sheets and a patchwork quilt. At the head of the bed, six pillows were heaped—each filled with the softest down.

The room had its own bathtub, which was its greatest extravagance. A small wood stove was ready to heat water, and every flat surface in the room held a vase filled with roses from Ida’s garden. At the window, Jackson pulled back the lace curtains to allow the night breeze into the room. Closing his eyes, he breathed in the heavy aroma of summer flowers. Opening his eyes, he gazed out at the lawn and garden, soon spotting a lone figure in a crimson red robe. Immediately he flashed back to the vision he’d had in his bath. The woman in the red robe
. Red as a Rose.

He narrowed his eyes, focusing on the figure in the dreamy moonlight.
So, perhaps we shall meet again.

Forever Rose: Chapter Nine

Taylor reached up to shoo away what must have felt like an insect on her nose, then opened her eyes to discover a blade of grass was gently tickling her, held by Jackson Hoyt.

Crouched on the grass next to her, he grinned. “Sorry, I couldn’t resist. You just looked far too comfortable.” He stared into her sea green eyes, noticing a faint glint of humor.

Taylor sat up, holding her robe together at her neck. At the same time her other hand found its way to the back of her head where he was amazed to notice that her long hair was no longer there.

His gaze followed her movements, pausing deliciously at her creamy white neck. With surprise, he noticed her hair was actually cropped short like a man’s. “What happened to your hair?”

“This is the way I normally I wear my hair.” she explained. “I borrowed a fall from Ida earlier.” Her fingers fluffed her locks. “It’s easier this way.”

He reached out, gently rearranging an errant wave back behind her ear. “It’s nice. It’s just different than most women.”
Ida was right, you
are
independent
. Most women would rather lose a limb than cut their hair. He cocked his head and looked at her tousled dark hair, and how her wispy locks fell across her forehead. Different, but nice, he decided. Somehow it suited her.

As though uncomfortable with his scrutiny, he watched as Rose lowered her gaze.

* * *

What was he doing here? Should she leave? Probably. But, she had to admit, a very real part of her didn’t want to. Maybe this was just the opportunity she needed.

“I have some brandy from my room. Would you like some?” he asked.

She watched as Jackson reached for the bottle on the grass next to him and half-filled the two small snifters he must have brought down with him. He handed one to her, and gently touched his own glass to hers. “What shall we toast to?”

As she swirled her glass, she inhaled the mellow aroma of the brandy. Remembering her father’s reference to finding the truth, she replied, “To fulfillment.”

“To fulfillment, then,” he echoed, taking a sip. “May I sit with you?”

“Certainly,” she said, moving over to make room on the blanket. She took a generous swallow of brandy, hoping it would help her relax and provide some courage. Already she felt a tumble of confused thoughts and emotions, instinct urging her to take advantage of the situation—ask him some questions, look for the truth her father had encouraged her to do. Her heart began to pound because she also felt a tingle of excitement inside her. Maybe he wasn’t who he seemed to be. This Jackson definitely didn’t seem like, what, an assassin in training? Not at all. This Jackson seemed more like the kind of guy should could be interested in. Did she dare? Taylor swallowed tightly as he settled himself next to her on the blanket.

“It’s a beautiful night.” Jackson sighed, looking up at the stars.

She noticed his faint smile seemed to hold a touch of sadness. “What are you thinking?”

For an instant a wistful look stole into his expression. “I think I’m missing home,” he said. “I guess I just feel unsettled right now.”

“Where’s home?” Taylor repositioned herself to see Jackson more directly, kneeling next to him. His expressive face changed and became almost somber.

“I grew up in Kansas. It seems like a long time ago...are you sure you want to hear my life story after only one brandy?” His mouth quirked with amusement.

“Never,” she began, “never reveal your life story until the second brandy.” She tipped her glass at her lips, drinking the last swallow. There was an immediate rush of warmth from her throat to the pit of her stomach.

He stared at her and then burst out laughing. “Agreed.” He finished his brandy with a quick jerk of his wrist, and then poured two fresh glasses.

“All right,” she said, “now you may begin.” She watched the play of emotions on his face.
Talk to me. Tell me about what’s really happening here. Help me find the truth.

Jackson repositioned himself, now stretched out on his side, elbow bent to support his head to continue looking at her. “Well, let’s see. I had a regular childhood, I guess.”

“Brothers and sisters?”

“Just me. My mother and I lived a ways outside of town. She took in wash and mending and, when I could, I worked on a neighbor’s farm. She died of consumption when I was sixteen.”

Taylor knew Tuberculosis would not have been an easy way to go. It would have been awful for him to see. “Were you there when she died?”

His eyes glistened with tears. “I cared for her until the end. Consumption is an ugly, painful way to die.”

“Tell me about her. What was she like?”

After taking a swallow of brandy, he continued. “She was beautiful and—kind, mostly. And she always wanted to come out west. I think she would have liked it here. I get my restlessness from her, I think.” He paused for a moment. “She was fair and strict with me. Her expectations were high. We had a good life until she got sick.”

“How did you cope?”

“What?”

“How did you deal with her death? You were young to have to go through that,” she said softly.

He closed his eyes for a moment. “The end was the worst. She just couldn’t breathe. And she was too weak to eat, so she just got weaker and weaker until she couldn’t go on. I stayed with her as much as I could.”

“Why were you alone? Where was your father?” Taylor saw the pinch of anger on his face, and when he opened his eyes to almost glare at her, she wondered if he would explain. Was this the truth she was supposed to find?

“Truth is, he courted her and left, promising to send for her later. He never knew about me.”

His gaze held hers for a long moment and she wondered if he was searching her eyes for signs of shock or, perhaps, rejection. “Did you ever wonder where he was?”

“The day my mother died, she told me the truth—how she and my father had never married. She also heard that my father was living in Dodge City, but he’d been killed the year before.”

“Killed?”

“Well, murdered actually” he added. “Why am I telling you all this?” He turned away from her and gazed into the sky. “Perhaps I’ll blame the brandy—or have you cast a spell on me?” He looked at her again, then reached up and cupped her chin gently in his free hand, stroking her jaw line slowly with his thumb. “I feel bewitched when I look into your eyes.”

Taylor leaned back, away from his reach. “Was the murderer ever found?” Silently, she urged him to be truthful, hoping he would share more. She felt so close, now, to the truth.

“
I
found him. And he’ll pay for his crime.” Jackson drained his glass. “Now it’s your turn. Tell me about you, now.”

Taylor sipped her brandy, stalling.

What was she supposed to say? That she lived over a hundred years in the future and was supposed to be here for some important reason that she hadn’t quite figured out yet?  
And, oh, yes, my dead father shows up every once in a while and tells me what to do. Great. Oh, and by the way, sometimes I dress up like a man and use another name and I’ve seen you in the buff already and—

“What are you thinking? You look like you’re miles away.”

Taylor forced herself to meet his stare, feeling the hot redness spread on her cheeks. “Well, like I said before, I’m just visiting here from up the coast.”

“So you don’t plan to stay in San Diego, then? I was hoping we’d have time to...get to know each other better.”

“I honestly don’t know.” At least her answer was accurate. “And you?  How long will you be looking at property here?”
Okay, Jackson, here’s another chance for you to tell me
the truth
. Would he?

Jackson looked into his glass and shook his head. “I’m not a land speculator, actually—though there’ve been plenty of times I think I’d like to live here. I just don’t think that’s what’s going to happen. It’s complicated.”

Stretching out on the blanket, Jackson gazed to the heavens, then closed his eyes. After a few moments, the frown on his face disappeared and he looked completely at ease.

Taylor examined his face carefully. It was impossible to imagine him in the role of an assassin. Was she here to convince him to rethink his plan?

She shuddered. And how in the world could she feel the way she did about him if he really intended to kill Wyatt Earp? None of it made any sense, especially her undeniable attraction to the man.

She considered what she’d learned. In all honesty, what she had seen in him just now was simply a determined man filled with the pain of his mother’s death, his unknown father’s murder, and an overwhelming sense of obligation to right a wrong. It was noble, in a way. In modern times, he could seek his revenge in the courts. In this place and time, well, it was different.

The lines in his handsome young face betrayed his outward calm and she saw clear signs he was weary with the heavy burden of revenge. In his face, now totally relaxed, she could see the beginning of a smile tip the corners of his mouth.

“And now what are you thinking?” she asked softly.

“I just feel good right now—thinkin’ how beautiful you are. How peaceful it feels here with you. It’s been a while since I’ve felt this comfortable, this safe…”

Once again, Taylor felt the uncontrollable pull of attraction building, and her fingers ached to touch him. A black tendril curled against his forehead and, just as she had the night she’d spent in the backroom of the saloon, she leaned closer and gently brushed it back.

Jackson reached for Taylor’s hand, captured it and brought it to his lips.