Twisted By Love, Reincarnation Tales, Book 1 (22 page)

“You’re going to end up being disappointed.”
If they didn’t find anything today, Bern would ask Gillespie about
the house on Wednesday. The company had been headquartered in Red
Cliff since its inception in the fifties.

Livie shrugged, made a face. “Maybe.” She
pointed a finger at him. “But you’re the one who had me do the
regression, and now I can’t stop thinking about all the
possibilities.”

“Sure, blame me.” He wrapped an arm around
Livie’s shoulders and tugged her close before she was mowed down by
a woman with a stroller and two toddlers harnessed and leashed.
Weren’t leashes for dogs? Then again, it was better than losing the
kids in a crowd.

“Wait a minute. How about there?” Livie
pointed to a realtor sign in a storefront window across the
street.

With her hand in his, they jaywalked after a
car had passed. Pictures of homes for sale were taped to the inside
of the glass. A bell tinkled overhead when they opened the door,
and freshly brewed coffee scented the air. A couch and two chairs
surrounded a low table strewn with open photo albums containing the
stats on properties for sale. Beyond that, the remainder of the
small office space was consumed by three desks and a man who was
almost as wide as he was tall.

“Hi, there, folks. I’m Rowdy Reed, at your
service. Interested in a home in these parts? We’ve got some great
deals. Where’re you from?” He moved with surprising agility
considering his size, and offered Bern a meaty hand.

“We’re not looking to buy,” Livie said before
Rowdy could start flinging property listings at them. “We’re trying
to find a house that my grandmother mentioned. She used to live
around here. It’s the Taylor house. Do you know it?”

“The Taylor house.” Rowdy stroked his sagging
jowls. His thick hair was snowy white, and Bern guessed he was well
past sixty. Old school, which would explain the listings being in
books rather than computerized.

“We don’t have any properties listed for
anyone named Taylor.” He rocked heel to toe and Bern was actually
afraid he might topple.

“This would have been back in the late
thirties,” Livie prompted.

“The thirties, you say? A bit before my
time.”

Not by much.
Bern didn’t say it. “It’s
probably registered as an historical home.”

Rowdy rolled his lips together, then let them
loose with a fleshy pop. “No. I know the historical homes in this
area. We don’t have many, and that’s not one of them.”

“How about the Taylor girls?” Livie wasn’t
about to give up. “Myra and Betty.”

Rowdy tipped his head back and forth as if
that would help jog something. “You mean the batty old Taylor
sisters?”

Bern felt someone walk over his grave, just
like the old saying.

“Yes,” Livie said enthusiastically, as if
that’s exactly who she meant.

“They lived in the rock house, but it isn’t
any historical landmark. In fact, it should have fallen down long
ago. It’s probably just a pile of rubble now.”

“The rock house,” Bern said. Something
niggled at him, almost a sense of familiarity. A
frightening
sense of familiarity.

“The house is in the middle of a rock field,
and Old Man Taylor built the place from the very stones around him.
In the 1880s, I believe.”

The place sounded interesting. Maybe that was
why it got to him, its unusual nature.

“And the Taylor sisters?” Livie probed. Her
excitement was palpable.

Rowdy Reed rubbed his jowls again. “I don’t
remember much. I was a kid. But while I was growing up, they never
left that house. One of them died, and it was said the other one
just kept the body there and didn’t tell anyone until the mailman
reported an awful smell.”

Livie slipped her hand into Bern’s. “Was it
murder?”

“If it was, they never put the sister in
jail. She was the older one, I think. She died”—the old man
scratched the top of his head—“in the eighties, I believe it
was.”

The eighties wouldn’t work. Livie was
thirty-five and Toni only a couple of years younger.

“Are you sure it wasn’t the seventies?” There
was the slightest hint of desperation in Livie’s tone. She’d been
thinking the same thing Bern had.

Rowdy waggled his head. “Could have been.” He
tapped his temple. “Noggin’s not what it used to be.”

“Do you remember if one of them had a husband
named George? Before the war?””

His laugh rattled with phlegm, as if he’d
smoked for many years. “I can’t even remember
their
names.
But I don’t recall anything about a husband, just the batty
sisters.”

Bern figured they’d learned all they were
going to. “Can you tell us how to get this rock house?” Bern
asked.

“It’s down the highway a piece.” He launched
into a series of instructions and landmarks. Bern nodded,
cataloguing it all.

Livie eyed him. “Does it have an
address?”

“Not anymore.” The old man grunted. “The
road’s not maintained. It’s probably just an old track by now. I’m
not sure you’ll be able to drive up it, or if the house is still
standing.”

“If it’s there, we’ll find it,” Bern said,
taking Livie’s arm. “We appreciate your help.”

“Well, well, it’s a lovely area. Are you sure
I can’t show you some listings? Great values up here. With the
Shasta Cascades as a backdrop, you can’t find a prettier place on
earth.”

“Thanks, but no thanks.”

It took another five minutes to extricate
themselves. Once back in the car, Bern brought up a map on his GPS.
He pointed at the screen. “It’s out there somewhere.”

“We’ll never find it.”

“If not, we’ll come back and ask around some
more.”

Livie gave him a look. “Just like a man,
never asking for directions.”

“Men have GPS. We don’t need to ask.” Then he
smiled and leaned over to kiss her.

Her face still close to his, she whispered,
“Do you think I’m crazy?”

“No more than I am.” Which probably meant
they both were. And yet... “It can’t be coincidence that we found a
man who remembered the house and the sisters.”

“You mean like some sort of supernatural
intervention directing us?”

He chuckled at that. “Maybe. Like we’re
supposed to find this place. We’re supposed to discover”—he
shrugged—“something.”

She nodded solemnly. “Yes, we are.”

“Then let’s find this place and see what we
find.”

Chapter Twenty-one

Rowdy Reed—what a name—had been correct; the
road was barely discernable from the highway and the farther they
traveled along it, the more potholes Bern’s wheels fell into.

The town had been pretty and quaint, and the
scenery was stupendous as they drove northwest along the highway,
the Shasta Cascades in the distance, thick stands of trees, the
grass green enough to suggest recent rains in the area. Once they
found the dirt road heading off to the left—far more easily than
Livie had anticipated—the rolling hills gave way to scrubby
grassland sparsely dotted with skinny trees. Then even that
greenery fell away as the road climbed into a barren landscape of
boulders, rocks, and parched brush.

They saw no sign of a house. “This has got to
be wrong.”

Bern shook his head. “It feels right. Taylor
would have built the house with these rocks.”

He had a point. There was certainly a hell of
a lot of rock. But why would you build a house here when there were
much prettier sites with trees and babbling brooks?

The road—if the pitted dirt track could
actually be called that—curved round a big boulder, and Bern
slammed on the breaks. Rain water had forged a gully that bisected
the road. Bern’s car wouldn’t make it through.

“Look,” he said softly, peering through the
windshield. The muscles of his face seemed tense, and his shoulders
rippled, almost as if he’d shuddered.

Then Livie saw it, too, the house perched on
the hill, overlooking the valley beyond. It looked as if it had
grown right out of stone and earth. A rock house. A chill washed
over her. Déjà vu. As if she’d seen this very sight so many
times.

Bern seemed to shrug away the tension. “We’ll
have to walk.” He looked down into the footwell of the passenger
side. “Good thing you wore tennis shoes.”

Her wardrobe choice hadn’t been intentional,
just jeans, tennis shoes, and a sweatshirt to ward off the autumn
chill in the air. “How far do you think it is?”

Bern cocked his head, gazing along the line
of the road ahead, which was straight for a while as the terrain
rose, then curved sharply to the right and led up to the house.
“Half a mile maybe. A bit more.”

Livie glanced at her watch. She walked far
more than that at lunch, and they had plenty of time before they
were in danger of being late for dinner. “Let’s do it.”

After closing the car door, she leapt over
the gully. Bern beeped his remote, locking up, just like a city
boy.

He made the leap, too, then grabbed her hand.
“Come on.”

His touch was cold. She waited for his skin
to warm, but it didn’t. Despite her daily walk, with his quick pace
and wide stride, she was breathing faster in no time. He spoke
little, his gaze intent on the house as time-worn pebbles crunched
beneath their feet.

“Do you feel it?” she asked.

He swallowed. “I don’t know.”

Livie didn’t believe him. Or maybe she was
just talking herself into this odd sense of déjà vu. Maybe she
wanted it so badly she was creating it.

She tugged on his hand, pulling him off the
road. “This way will be faster. There’s a path.” It cut across the
rocky landscape, but the climb would be tougher.

“There’s no path,” he said.

“Yes, there is.” She could...feel it. Her
feet knew the way just as her fingers knew the letters on a
keyboard.

She walked in front, leading. In no time at
all, she was warm with exertion, her steps sure. The house loomed
larger now. She could make out the stones of its rocky face. The
wide porch was held up by massive columns fashioned of jutting
rock.

Livie could feel those stones beneath her
fingertips, as if she’d run her fingers over them time and
again.

They stopped in the shade of a monstrous
outcropping of boulders, the view of the house hidden.

“Drink?” Bern handed her the bottle of water
he’d carried from the car.

Livie took a grateful slug, handed it back,
then watched the movement of his throat as he drank. His skin was
smooth, slightly tanned, the shadow of beard down his neck, and an
intriguing hint of perspiration.

Livie’s mouth watered. Stepping back, she put
a hand on the rock, craggy and cool out of the sun on this side. As
he lowered the bottle and capped it, his gaze on her was almost
physical. She turned, splayed her fingers, and through a gap
between the boulders, she saw the house on the hill, like a
sentinel, watching.

Behind her, he shifted, screwing the bottle
into a wedge of rock. Then he was at her back, pressing close,
rigid against the base of her spine, ready. Running his hands up
beneath her sweatshirt, he palmed her breasts. Her nipples grew
tight against her bra.

“I want you,” he murmured, his breath on her
nape, then his hot, sweet tongue. He pulled her head back by her
hair and grabbed her chin, devouring her mouth with a hungry
kiss.

She wanted him, too, here, like this, with
the house above them. She closed her eyes and felt as if they’d
done this a thousand times. She knew the pads of his fingers as
they trailed down her abdomen to the waist of her jeans. He popped
the button, delved into her panties.

Livie spread her legs, letting him take her
with his fingers. “Oh God,” she whispered. Like this, so many
times, in this place, other places, any time they could find a
moment alone.

He circled and teased, drove her mad with
need.

“Please,” she whispered. “Take me. I need
you.”

He fumbled her jeans down over her hips.
Livie toed off a shoe so she could remove one pant leg. It was all
they needed. He eased back, unzipped, kicked her legs apart, then
hooked an arm beneath her belly, positioning her.

When she felt him nudge her core, Livie
opened her eyes. As he pushed deep, she groaned, bit down on her
lip. “You’re mine,” she said, her voice hoarse with desire.

“I’m yours,” he echoed, stroking deep inside
her.

Her body was wet and hungry for him. As if he
hadn’t touched her last night, as if weeks had gone by. She braced
herself on the rocks, pushing back on him, forcing him deeper. “You
feel so good inside me.”

His body was hard, his muscles rigid. She
loved the feel of him. She
knew
it, this place, the house
above them, the feel of him inside. Here, like this.

“Christ.” He bit her neck like a lion taking
his mate.

She relished the pain. He was hers. She
deserved him. He should always have been hers, never anyone else’s.
One day he would be hers. She’d do anything to make that true.
“Yes, yes, yes,” she chanted on a breath.

He touched her then, put his finger to her
heat, and she felt him everywhere. He pounded her, the taking
violent and powerful, turning her inside out. Her fingers and nails
scraped at the rock, and even that pain was good, pain and pleasure
burning away everything but this moment, this man, hard and
relentless inside her, the scent of him filling her head. Then she
tumbled into ecstasy as he panted words against her ear. “Mine,
mine, mine.”

He pulsed and throbbed deep within her, his
legs trembling, his breath harsh against her nape. Then he shouted
her name in his release, held her tight and still as he filled her
with his essence, their bodies one, their climax simultaneous. “I’m
yours, all yours, never hers, only yours. Forever. I’ll never leave
you. Ever.”