Witness (35 page)

“Mommy said the angel at this church would take away my pain, and she did.”

Closing the door, shutting out the world and all its problems, Sam leaned his shoulders and head back against the stained wood surface and closed his eyes for one brief moment. Then he looked at Jeannie, who was lying slumped in the chair, tears sparkling in her dark eyelashes like diamonds on sable. He walked over, bent down on one knee and pried her clenched fists away from the chair's edge.

“Jeannie?”

She moaned. Her eyelids flickered. Sam brought her hands to his lips, opened her palms and anointed them with kisses. Jeannie moaned again.

“Sam.” His name was a mere whisper on her lips.

“What can I do to help you? Just tell me, and I'll do it.” He had no idea what she needed from him, but he wanted to do something, anything, to help her.

“Hold—hold me.”

He enveloped her in his arms, stroking her tense back, trapping her arms between their bodies. She swayed into him, brushing her face over the side of his face, resting her cheek against his. Feeling the dampness on his cheek, Sam looked down and saw that Jeannie was crying.

“Don't cry. Please, don't cry.” He lifted her into his arms, not sure it was the right thing to do, but unable to stop himself.

Jeannie tried to lift her arm to his neck, but she didn't have the strength. Sam sat down on the small love seat in the far corner, bringing Jeannie down into his lap. He lifted her arm and placed it around his neck. She laid her head on his shoulder.

“How long will this last? Isn't there anything I can do?” Frustration on an incomparable level clawed at his guts.

“Not long. Just a little while.” She opened her eyes, those warm, compassionate brown eyes, and looked at Sam.

The bottom dropped out of his stomach. “Rest, Jeannie. Rest.”

“Take care of me, Sam.” She closed her eyes and went limp in his arms.

“Jeannie? Jeannie?” He shook her gently. She didn't move. He shook her again. “Jeannie!”

He realized then that she was unconscious. Shudders racked his body. He pulled her close, burying his face against her neck.

They sat there for endless minutes, Sam wishing more than ever that he'd asked J.T. to come to Biloxi to guard Jeannie instead of coming himself. He was prepared to act as her bodyguard, but he wasn't suited to playing nursemaid. And he sure as hell hadn't expected to have to watch her perform one of her miracle healings. Seeing her suffer had ripped him apart. He'd known from the beginning that this assignment would be more than a simple business arrangement, but he hadn't counted on just how personal it would become. What man in his right mind
would want to become involved with a woman who possessed Jeannie's miraculous abilities? He sure as hell didn't.

Jeannie awoke, weak and pale. “Sam?”

“Are you all right? You scared the hell out of me when you passed out that way.”

“We've missed most of the church service, I'm afraid.” She touched his face with her fingertips. He flinched. So sensitive—her strong, fearless warrior. “Take me home, Sam. I'll be all right. You musn't worry so. When I was a child, I took all the pain from at least half a dozen people each night.”

“Your childhood was a living hell, wasn't it?” Sam had never thought about what it must have been like for her, going from town to town, from one revival meeting to the next, always expected to perform her miracles.

“I suffered every day of my life. I remember feeling very little except pain.”

“Other people's pain.”

She nodded. “I'm fine, Sam. Really I am.”

“You didn't have to take away Matthew's pain.”

“Yes, I did.” She caressed his cheek. “How could I look at him and not want to help him?” Jeannie sighed. “His mother understood that I couldn't heal him. She knows his pain will return.”

Jeannie tried to stand. Sam picked up her cane and handed it to her. Bracing the tip of the walking stick on the floor, Jeannie lifted herself to her feet. Sam stood up beside her. The moment Jeannie took her first step, her knees gave way. Crying out, she grabbed for Sam. He swooped her up in his arms.

“I can't walk,” she said. “I suppose it's because I felt all Matthew's arthritic pain in my legs, and they're already weak.”

Sam carried Jeannie outside, hoping he could take her away before any reporters or curiosity seekers arrived. Only the minister and three church members remained inside the building, and outside one lone reporter and his photographer waited. Tory
Gaines watched from afar, then started to approach them. Sam glared at the man.

“You come near her, Gaines, and you're a dead man.” Sam didn't pause.

Tory Gaines stopped where he stood, not moving a muscle as he watched Sam carry Jeannie to her Lexus.

Traffic wasn't terribly heavy, so Sam drove them home in record time, while Jeannie closed her eyes and rested. Neither of them said a word. He carried her into the house and up the stairs to her bedroom, not once inquiring what she wanted. Easing her down onto her bed, he removed her beige heels, then sat beside her.

“Don't look so worried,” she said. “I told you I'm fine.”

“You may be, but I'm not.” Leaning over her, he positioned his hands at either side of her shoulders. “Guarding you has turned out to be a lot more than I bargained for. How could I protect you from what happened today? I had to stand there and watch you suffer and know there wasn't a damned thing I could do about it! How do you think that made me feel?”

“Helpless?” She twined her arms around his neck.

“I don't ever want to see you suffer like that again. Not for anyone, but especially never again for me. Do you understand what I'm saying?”

“Yes, Sam, I understand.”

She understood only too well, but she doubted he did. For the first time, Sam truly accepted the fact that she had taken away his pain the day she saved his life. He hadn't wanted to believe she was a true empath, that her psychic talents were strong enough not only to probe inside his mind, but to actually experience his emotions and share his feelings. Friday night's events, coupled with those at the church today, had forced him to admit the truth. This was a beginning, Jeannie realized, but only a beginning. Sam was not the kind of man who would ever surrender easily. He knew she wanted to help him, but he wasn't ready to accept her help. If she pushed him too hard and
too fast, he would balk. As it was, he would fight her every inch of the way. If she was ever to reach his soul and save him, she would have to start by using whatever means were available.

Jeannie smiled. She accepted the inevitable. She was falling in love with Sam Dundee, but she knew he might never love her, might never willingly take what she had to offer him. Was she brave enough to accept him on his terms, share a purely physical relationship, when she so desperately needed more?

Pulling him down to her, she lifted her lips to meet his. She nibbled at his bottom lip, and sighed when he groaned.

“I've never wanted anyone else. You're the first and only man I've ever desired,” she told him.

“Don't say things like that to me. I'm having a hard enough time as it is, keeping my hands off you.”

“I make you feel helpless. I make you feel afraid. And those aren't emotions you're familiar with, are they, Sam Dundee?” She gave him a quick kiss. He groaned again. “I can get inside you, feel what you feel, experience your pleasure, as well as my own.” She licked a circle over his lips. “Maybe you
are
a witch,” he said. “God knows you've bewitched me.”

He took her lips completely, with a tender savagery that sent pinpricks of pleasure through her body. He wanted her with a quiet desperation, knowing she wasn't ready to make love, realizing that he needed to progress slowly, allowing both of them to become accustomed to their unique ability to unite on an emotional level.

Deepening the kiss, exploring her mouth with his tongue, encouraging her to reciprocate, Sam unbuttoned her dress. Slipping his hands inside, he caressed her shoulders, easing her dress apart. He ran a loving hand over her collarbone. Clutching his shoulders, she thrust her hips off the bed and rubbed herself against him. He nuzzled her neck, then kissed the swell of each breast rising over the lace cups of her bra. His big hands spanned her waist.

“Sam, I—I'm aching. I need… You need… We want…”

He unsnapped the front closure of her bra, peeled it off her high, round breasts and lowered his mouth to cover one beaded nipple. Jeannie cried out from the pleasure, the sheer sensual delight.

The ache grew more and more intense. The throbbing sensation pulsing through her robbed her of her breath. She gasped for air. Trembling, his own breathing ragged, Sam kissed her on the forehead and sat up, making sure he didn't touch her again.

She caught her breath. “Sam?”

“It was almost too much, wasn't it?” He stood up beside the bed. “You're going to be the death of me, Jeannie Alverson.” Sam smiled. “I'm not used to waiting for what I want, but in your case, I have no choice.”

“Do you think the wait will be worth it?”

Sam walked over to the door, opened it and paused. “Get some rest. I'll check on you later, and carry you down for lunch whenever you're hungry.”

“Thank you for taking care of me.”

“That's what I'm here for,” he said, and closed the door behind him as he walked out into the hall.

He couldn't stay there, looking at her, wanting her, needing her, when she wasn't physically or emotionally strong enough to make love. She was worried that once they'd made love, he'd think the experience hadn't been worth the wait. Didn't she know, couldn't she sense, that just kissing her turned him inside out?

Oh, she knew, all right. She felt his fear, sensed his helplessness. And she'd said she understood. Did she? Did she really know that the thought of making love to her scared the hell out of him?

J
EANNIE WALKED SLOWLY
over to where Sam stood looking through the long, narrow windows in the kitchen. Outside, the morning sunshine brightened the small garden and patio, which were surrounded by a privacy fence. She laid her hand on his back; he tensed immediately at her touch and stepped away from her.

Although he guarded her day and night, Sam had kept his distance—an emotional distance. Something had happened to him Sunday, something he didn't like in the least. Jeannie had indeed gotten inside him, had become a part of him. And he hated it!

Seeing her suffer Matthew's pain had hurt him deeply, reaching inside to touch a part of him that he hadn't even known existed. A part of him he didn't want to exist. Then, after they returned home and he kissed her again and caressed her intimately, he'd been forced to admit the truth to himself, the truth Jeannie already knew. She did make him feel helpless and afraid. Not only was Sam unaccustomed to those emotions, he hated them. Except for a few regrettable lapses, Sam was always in control, of himself and those around him. And although he had experienced fear on a few rare occasions, no woman had ever evoked that emotion within him. But then, he'd never known a woman like Jeannie Alverson.

“I feel I must do everything possible to defuse this situation before it gets any worse.” Jeannie stood behind Sam, staring at his broad shoulders, her hand itching to touch his back again.

“You've already talked to him once, and all it did was incite
him to condemn you as a witch.” Sam opened the back door. “Do you honestly think talking to him again will change his mind?”

“It might,” Jeannie said. “Besides, I can't see where it can do any harm.”

Cursing under his breath, Sam stepped out onto the back porch, leaving Jeannie standing in the open doorway. She had asked Reverend Religious-Fanatic Reeves for a little private tête-à-tête today, in the hope she could convince him she wasn't evil. A lot of damned good it would do! From the preliminary reports Sam had received on Reeves, the man didn't know the meaning of the word
compromise.
He was completely unwavering in his narrow-minded beliefs, which were his own warped interpretation of the Bible.

Jeannie followed Sam outside onto the patio. “I've already issued the invitation. He'll be here soon.”

“He's already here,” Sam said. “In spirit, if not in the flesh. Just listen, and you'll hear Reeves's own brand of evil at work.”

Listening, she heard a soft breeze waltzing through the huge live oaks that spanned the width of the Howell property in the backyard. She heard the chirping of birds, the hum of traffic, the muted song of the Gulf waters. And she heard the sound of marching feet on the pavement out front, and the combined voices of the Righteous Light brethren in a familiar chant. “Witch, witch… Witch, witch…”

Pinpricks of dread chilled her. For the past three days, ever since the newspapers had printed the story about her “Sunday miracle” in the Monday morning newspaper, Reeves's followers had picketed her house. Twice the police had been called to disperse the crowd, but each time the reverend's disciples had returned in larger numbers.

From her bedroom window this morning, Jeannie had counted over twenty men and women, of various ages and races, carrying signs and spouting condemnation of her as they
trooped up and down the sidewalk in front of her home. It had been at that precise moment that she decided to offer an olive branch to Maynard Reeves. He had accepted her invitation quite readily, almost as if he'd been expecting her to telephone him.

Sam opposed the meeting, and she understood his reservations, especially since the police lab's report plainly stated the blood on Jeannie's gift Bible and bookmark had been human. Reeves posed a real threat to her. She hoped that by meeting with him she could change his mind about her, remove the threat or, at the very least, lessen the man's hatred of her.

“I don't want you to be upset with me.” Jeannie wished Sam would look at her, but he kept his back to her. “I know I should have discussed my decision with you before I called Reverend Reeves and invited him over here this morning.”

“Yeah, you should have discussed it with me. I would have told you the idea was insane, just like so many of your other ideas have been.”

Jeannie leaned on her cane. Although she had recovered from Sunday, she was still weaker than normal. “I don't think it's insane to want to reach a peaceful settlement with—”

“With a man who isn't going to compromise, a man who truly believes that if you aren't on his side, then you're against him, and if you're against him, you're against God.” Sam turned quickly, his steely blue-gray eyes focusing directly on Jeannie's face. “My gut instincts tell me to keep you as far away from him as possible.”

“If this meeting fails, I promise to stay away from Reeves, to never contact him again.” She took a tentative step in Sam's direction, never breaking eye contact as she held out one hand, using the other to steady her cane. “Tell me you aren't really angry with me, and that we have a deal.”

Sam glared at her. Dammit! A sweet, loving angel shouldn't have such a wide stubborn streak in her. He'd never had half as much trouble controlling wilder, more worldly, self-centered
women. But the only thing other women could give or take away from him had been sex. If sex was all there was between Jeannie and him, he wouldn't feel so uneasy. But things weren't that simple.

He looked at her hand. Don't touch her, he told himself. Every time he touched her, he wanted her, and she knew it. And every time he touched her, it gave her an excuse to try to get inside his head.

Clenching and unclenching his hands repeatedly, Sam grunted. “After today, you stay out of harm's way. No more public appearances, no more invitations to the enemy. Do we have an agreement?”

“If I can't persuade Reverend Reeves to stop his persecution of me, then yes, no more public appearances.” Jeannie sucked in air between her clenched teeth, then bit down on her bottom lip. “Except—”

“No exceptions!”

“Just one,” she said. “I'm already obligated for tomorrow night. It's a private affair. Practically everyone there will be an old family acquaintance, many of them members of Julian's Fleur-de-lis Society.”

“What are you talking about? What private affair? And what on earth is this Fleur-de-lis society?”

“The owner of the
Royale Belle
Casino has offered the riverboat for a charity night this Friday. All the proceeds from the invited guests' gambling losses will go directly to the Howell School.”

While Sam listened to her explanation, Jeannie moved closer to him, taking one cautious step at a time. Her protector could be a bear at times, ferocious and growling. She'd learned to approach him slowly, gentling him gradually.

“There will be a dinner, followed by dancing and gambling.” Jeannie stood beside Sam, only inches separating their bodies. “I'm the cochairman of this function. I have to be there.” She raised her face, looking at him with her most pleading
expression. “The Fleur-de-lis Society consists of descendants of the old French families who settled Biloxi. Julian's grandmothers were from two of the most prestigious families in this area.”

“I see.” A person's lineage had never impressed Sam. What the hell difference did it make who your great-great-grandfather had been? If you weren't in line for the throne of England, he couldn't see how your ancestry had any bearing on your life.

“After tomorrow night, I'll follow your rules and regulations, whether or not I agree with them.” Jeannie lifted her hand, intending to caress Sam's stern face. He grabbed her hand in midair, manacling her wrist.

A current of awareness passed between them. Sam's stomach tightened; Jeannie shivered.

“Can't you control it?” Tugging on her slender wrist, he pulled her close, her breasts grazing his chest. “Can't you turn it off, keep it from happening?”

“It isn't just me, you know,” she said. “It's you, too. It's both of us. That's what makes it so powerful. You're beginning to experience tiny little sparks of what I'm feeling.”

He dropped her wrist, as if touching her flesh had burned him. He backed away from her. “I don't know what you're talking about.”

“Yes, you do.”

Ollie opened the back door, stuck out her head and called Jeannie's name. She turned to face the housekeeper. Sam moved in behind her, his big body forming a shadow of protection.

“That awful Maynard Reeves is at the front door. Says he's been invited.” Ollie twisted her thin lips into a disapproving frown.

“Please show Reverend Reeves into the front parlor and offer him refreshments,” Jeannie said.

“I'd like to offer him a cup of tea laced with arsenic,” Ollie said.

Sam chuckled. Whipping her head around, Jeannie glared at
him. “Nothing can be accomplished unless we treat Reverend Reeves as a welcome guest,” she said.

“I'll go invite the black-hearted devil into the parlor.” Grumbling to herself, Ollie slammed the back door.

Sam gripped Jeannie's shoulder. “I'm going to stay with you every minute that man is in this house.”

“But, Sam, you'll intimidate Reverend Reeves and put him on guard. If the two of us are alone, he might be more at ease and willing to accept—”

“I hope I do intimidate Reeves. I hope I intimidate the hell out of him. I want him to know that the only way he's ever going to be able to hurt you is by going through me.”

Jeannie felt it again, that wild, primeval, possessive need inside Sam, that powerful protective instinct that claimed his soul whenever any thoughts of her came to his mind. And the strange thing was, she realized, Sam had absolutely no control over the way he felt, and that made him hate his feelings and fight against them all the more.

Knowing Sam would never agree to leave her alone with Maynard Reeves, she complied with his demand. “All right, Sam. I understand. You'll stay in the room with us. But, please, let me do all the talking.”

“We'll see,” Sam said.

 

W
HEN
S
AM AND
Jeannie walked into the hallway leading to the front parlor, they saw Ollie, hands on her hips, standing at the open front door, shaking her head. Then they heard Reeves's singsong, pulpitarian voice as he addressed the crowd. The man stood on the front veranda, facing his entranced followers, who stood at rapt attention on the sidewalk. Maynard Reeves had cultivated a pure, clean-cut look with his neat, well-tailored black suit and white shirt, his short sandy hair, and the silver cross he wore around his neck.

“I give you my solemn vow that I will be on guard during my exchange with the devil's daughter,” Reeves shouted, his
voice deep and clear. “And I will report back to you, my faithful brethren, on whether or not I was able to win back her soul from the evil one.”

“Report back to the press, you mean, you scalawag preacher,” Ollie mumbled, loud enough for Sam and Jeannie to hear her.

“You don't need to witness this spectacle.” Sam tugged on Jeannie's arm. “Wait for him in the parlor. I'll personally escort the good reverend to you.”

“Now, Sam, this is supposed to be a friendly meeting.”

“Yeah, sure. You can't get much friendlier than soul-saving, can you?”

“Don't be sacrilegious.”

“I'm not the one making a mockery of everything holy.”

Jeannie nodded in agreement, admitting Sam was right. “I'll wait in the parlor.”

Reeves continued his unholy message of hate. Sam laid his big hand on Reeves's shoulder; the man shuddered, then froze on the spot, halting his speech in midsentence.

“Ms. Alverson is waiting to see you,” Sam said.

“I shall be with you momentarily, sir. I will not be summoned before I'm prepared. I need a moment of prayer before facing the powers of darkness.”

Dropping his hand from Reeves's shoulder, Sam lowered his voice to a deadly whisper. “You're going to need more than a prayer if you keep Ms. Alverson waiting one more minute to continue this sideshow of yours.”

Raising his arms in the air dramatically, Reeves closed his eyes. “Pray for me, brothers and sisters. Pray for me.”

When Reeves turned around, Sam stepped aside to allow him entrance into the foyer. The moment the two men entered the house, Ollie closed and locked the front door behind them.

“She's waiting for us in the front parlor.” Sam nodded the direction. “The doors to the left.”

Reeves hesitated outside the double panel doors, but didn't
turn to face Sam. “Waiting for
us?
” he asked. “She led me to believe this would be a private meeting between the two of us.”

“It will be.” Sam slid open the panel doors. “I'm simply here to guard an angel while she tries to make peace with the devil.”

Reeves gasped. His boyishly handsome face turned crimson beneath its dusting of freckles as he turned toward Sam. “How dare you!”

Sam looked at Jeannie's adversary; the man trembled. “Please, go right on in, Reverend. She's waiting for you.”

Reeves obeyed instantly, entering the front parlor with the same caution he might have used in entering a den of lions. Before approaching Jeannie, who sat in a tapestry-upholstered rosewood chair, Reeves watched Sam Dundee take a protective stance across the room. Sam crossed his arms over his chest. Reeves glanced at Jeannie.

“Won't you please sit down, Reverend Reeves?” Jeannie glided her arm through the air, gesturing for her guest to sit across from her on the red velvet settee.

Reeves sat uneasily, perching on the edge of the Victorian sofa. “Little good will come of this meeting if I feel threatened.” He dared a quick glance in Sam's direction.