A Gift from the Past (6 page)

As Daniel gazed at Sarah, Claire felt his love filling her up and the sweetest emotion rushed through her. I'll love you forever. Although she couldn't hear the words from Daniel, she felt them in her heart, in her soul.

“Claire!” A warm, strong hand grabbed her forearm.

She blinked, and the vision before her vanished. Joshua stood before her, a worry line creasing his forehead. “Are you all right?” he asked, his hand still warm on her arm.

“I'm fine,” she replied, her voice sounding faint and faraway to her own ears.

“Are you sure? You looked as if you were in a trance or something.” He removed his hand from her, his gaze still worried.

“I'm okay,” she said, although she didn't feel okay. She felt rather lightheaded and wondered what on earth had caused her to see what wasn't there, why she was seeing visions of Sarah and Daniel's life. “Really…I'm fine.” She forced a reassuring smile to her lips.

He eyed her for another long minute, then gestured toward the flagpole base, where it was obvious he'd been digging for some time, making her wonder how long she'd been lost in the vision. “I dug all around the base, but there's nothing there.”

She nodded and looked at him once again, not
ing that his T-shirt was damp with sweat from his exertions. “You look hot. Let's get back and I'll make a big pitcher of iced tea.”

“When we get back to the house, I'm cranking up the air conditioner.” He held up the trowel to still her automatic protest. “I'll pay the utility bill and you aren't going to argue with me about it. I hate this heat and it can't be good for Sarge, either.”

She wanted to protest, but he'd used ammunition she couldn't deny. He was right, the heat couldn't be good for Sarge, and for Sarge she would accept his offer. “Thank you,” she replied stiffly. “But when I find the treasure money, I'll pay you back.”

“You don't have to repay me. Don't worry, Claire, I understand you don't want to accept anything from me, but I'll do whatever it takes to make Sarge comfortable, pay whatever it takes to get him back on his feet.”

With each word he spoke his eyes grew darker and Claire felt smaller. “I'm sorry,” she said. “I didn't mean to make you angry.”

He swiped a hand through his hair and drew a deep breath. “I've just always found your self-sufficiency rather irritating.”

“Let's not start on what we found irritating about each other,” she replied with a smile, hoping to break the tension that had sprung up between them. She didn't want to fight with him. In fact, she wasn't sure exactly what she wanted from him.

Nothing, she told herself as they left Hazel's and started walking back to the house. She didn't want anything from Joshua McCane. And yet, even while she told herself that, she couldn't deny that for a moment, as he'd held her in his arms, she hadn't wanted him to stop.

The self-sufficiency he'd said irritated him was the coping mechanism that had gotten her through her early life. As they headed back to the house in silence, her thoughts drifted back to when she'd been eight years old and her parents had been killed in a car accident.

At that early age, she'd learned never to depend on anyone, never to need anyone. She loved Sarge and she had once loved Joshua, but she'd made a vow to herself long ago that she would never, ever need anyone.

“I thought maybe I'd spend a little time at City Hall this afternoon if you don't mind staying with Sarge for a while.” More than anything she felt the desire to get some sort of information about Sarah and Daniel Walker. She wanted to know what it was about them that had her dreaming about them, seeing visions about them. She wanted to know why they looked like her and Joshua, why they seemed to be haunting her.

Besides, once she got that information, perhaps Joshua would leave, go back to California. She didn't even care any longer if he helped her find the treasure.

“That's fine,” he agreed.

She cast him a sideways glance, a slight breathlessness sweeping over her as she took in his utter attractiveness. She'd felt that same crazy breathlessness the very first time she'd seen him. And when the corners of his lips had curled up in a smile directed at her, she'd thought she might die.

“Surely you have to get back to California soon,” she said. “I mean, how can you run a successful business based there from here?”

He flashed his green gaze in her direction, a small smile of amusement dancing on his lips. “There's no hurry. Not only do I have terrific people working for me, but with modern technology and my laptop, I'm in touch with people at DreamQuest every day.”

“But communicating through e-mail and actually being there are two different things,” she replied.

“Actually, I've been thinking about opening a branch office of the business here in Mayfield.”

She stumbled in her tracks and looked at him in surprise. “You're kidding?” Did that mean he would remain full-time in Mayfield? It had been difficult enough seeing him and spending time with him over the past week. How would she ever survive seeing him every day for the rest of her life?

“I haven't made up my mind yet, but it's something I'm kicking around in my head. Mayfield
could certainly use the revenue that a new business would bring in.”

While that was certainly true, Claire didn't even want to contemplate Joshua living here full-time. While she was certain the two of them could have no future together, she couldn't imagine being a witness to him dating, falling in love, marrying and beginning a family with another woman. And there was no doubt in her mind that eventually that would happen.

From the moment she and Joshua had begun to date, she had known how important family was to him, since he had grown up with none of his own. When he'd started seeing Claire he'd quickly adopted Sarge, then planned a life with at least four children with her. In fact, they had been planning for their second child when Sammy had passed away.

“I would think that Mayfield was a little too small-town for you after your years on the West Coast,” she said as they turned onto the walk that led up to their house.

“I've always been a small-town boy at heart, and so many of the happiest memories of my life are here.” They stopped on the porch and for a moment she thought he was going to reach for her again, pull her against his big, strong chest.

“You can't live with just your memories,” she said softly, appalled to realize she half wished he
would
reach out for her. “Memories are nothing
more than ashes of the past, and the past is dead and gone forever.”

“You can't really believe that,” he replied softly. He reached out and stroked his fingers through the strands of her hair, his hand coming precariously close to her breast. “What about the idea of reincarnation, or the fact that the past can sometimes be a pathway to the future?”

His eyes radiated a softness that frightened her because for just a moment she wanted to fall into that softness, fall into the sweet memories that resided there.

I'll love you forever.
The words ached in her heart, but she knew they weren't Joshua's words to her. They were Daniel's words for Sarah, words from a vision that had nothing to do with her and Joshua.

She stepped away from him, her pulse racing from his touch. “That sounds like a bunch of crazy New Age nonsense to me,” she replied, then frowned thoughtfully.

“On second thought, maybe you're right. But if the past is a pathway to the future, then it would be wise to understand the mistakes you made in the past and never repeat them again.” A hard knot formed in her chest as she continued. “We were a mistake, Joshua. You were a mistake I have no intention of repeating.”

She opened the front door and went inside, leaving him standing on the front porch alone.

J
oshua wondered what in the heck he was doing as he hung the new porch swing he'd ordered and had delivered from the lumberyard.

Claire was at City Hall researching Sarah and Daniel Walker and Sarge was in his bedroom napping. The first thing Joshua'd done when they'd gotten back from Hazel's place was crank up the air conditioner in the house, and the rooms were now comfortably cool.

So, what was he doing out in the midday heat hanging a swing she probably wouldn't want? Why was he even contemplating remaining when she'd made it crystal-clear she didn't want him here?

The answer that sprang into his mind, that he
was still in love with her, perhaps would always be in love with her, certainly didn't make him happy.

He finished hanging the swing, then sat down, trying to figure out exactly why he was still here in Mayfield, here with Claire.

The answer came like a thunderclap in his head. He hadn't come back to Mayfield to tell her he wanted a divorce. He'd come back for a reconciliation. He'd come back because he loved her and he wanted to build a life with her once again.

In the years that he'd been away, not a day had passed that she hadn't been in his thoughts. For months after he'd walked away from her, he'd imagined the scent of her on his skin. For months after he'd left, he'd wake up in the morning and reach for her, only to be met with the cold reality of empty arms in an empty bed.

In the week that he'd been here she'd told him in a thousand different ways that she didn't want him back, and yet here he remained.

It had been the kiss. Perhaps he might have already packed his bags and returned to California if they hadn't kissed. She might be telling him she couldn't wait for him to leave, but when her lips had been against his, she'd spoken something far different.

And that's why he was still here, because he wasn't sure she was ready to tell him goodbye forever, either. But he wasn't a foolish man. He knew
he couldn't make things work between them if she didn't want them to work. No matter how much he wanted her, he couldn't force her to want him back. That painful realization was what had finally made him leave almost three months after Sammy's death.

A noise behind him snagged his attention and he turned in the swing to see Wilma Iverson approaching, a pie tin in her hands.

He stood and smiled a greeting. “Ah, it looks like you come bearing gifts,” he said.

“For Sarge. I know he's partial to apple pie.” She climbed the porch stairs and eyed the new swing with approval. “There's nothing better than sitting on a porch swing on a starry night, is there?”

“As far as I'm concerned, it's the next best thing to heaven,” he replied, then gestured to the pie she held. “Is Sarge allowed to eat that?”

She sniffed indignantly. “I wouldn't bring over something he wasn't allowed to eat. It's sugarless and he can eat it in moderation.” She headed for the door. “Is he awake?”

Joshua shook his head. “He's napping.”

“Sit down. I'll just set it on the table in the kitchen.” She disappeared inside, then returned a moment later and to his surprise, eased down next to him on the swing.

She smelled like cinnamon and vanilla, a pleas
ant combination that instantly made his mouth water for a piece of her freshly baked pie.

“Where's Claire? I saw her take off from here earlier.”

“She's down at City Hall, going through some of the old records they have in the basement. We found an old photo of a couple and she's trying to learn what she can about them.”

“She always did like history stuff.” Wilma shook her head and shoved her feet against the porch to set the swing swaying with an energetic rhythm that nearly set him flying off. “It's not right,” she exclaimed.

“What's not right?” Joshua asked as he grabbed the chain to balance himself on the swiftly swinging seat.

“It's not right that a young woman like Claire is cooped up inside all the time with her ailing grandfather. But you can't tell her anything. Like peas in a pod, her and Sarge are both pigheaded and independent to a fault.”

“Amen,” Joshua replied.

She halted the swing by planting her feet firmly on the porch. Had they been in a car they would have skidded to a halt and Joshua would have shot through the front windshield. As it was, he nearly left the swing, not of his own volition.

“So, what are you going to do about it?” Her sharp blue eyes gazed at him expectantly.

He sat back, for a moment speechless. “I'm not
sure what I
can
do about it,” he finally replied. “As you said, they are both stubborn and independent.”

“You need to get her out of the house more. You need to make her laugh again. She's only twenty-five years old, but she's been living like an eighty-year-old woman.” Wilma stood and headed for the stairs.

She paused and turned back to him. “What she really needs is a man who can remind her that she's a healthy, desirable woman. My goodness, boy, you're still married to her. I've never seen a young woman who needs to be loved more than she does and you should be making love to her every night.” With these astonishing words, she turned and headed back home.

Joshua watched her until she disappeared back into her house, stunned by the entire conversation. He was still seated on the swing twenty minutes later when he spied Claire coming down the sidewalk toward home.

All thoughts fled from his mind as he lost himself in the simple enjoyment of watching her. There was a spring to her steps that set her hips swaying, and she was clutching a piece of paper to her chest. Her hair shone like spun silk, glistening as the afternoon sun danced among the strands.

She looked like a fairy princess from one of his games. With sudden clarity he realized she
was
the princess in all of his games. Every princess, queen
or good fairy in every game he'd created had been patterned after Claire.

The moment the fairy princess saw him seated on the swing, she transformed into a wicked witch. He saw the frown that took possession of her features, saw the rigid set of her shoulders as she turned onto the property.

“I see you've been busy while I've been gone,” she said as she climbed the stairs to the porch.

“Lighten up, Cookie, it's just a porch swing,” he replied, then patted the space next to him. “Looks like you found something. Why don't you have a seat and tell me what you've found.”

He saw a battle take place inside her, knew that for some reason the porch swing had not made her happy, and she didn't seem to want to share the space with him. But on the other hand, she appeared to be excited and eager to share whatever it was she'd found in the dusty basement of City Hall.

Her excitement over what she'd found apparently won and she sat next to him, their thighs touching in the small confines.

“Wilma brought over a sugarless apple pie for Sarge,” he said.

“That was nice of her.”

“Yeah. She's worried about you.”

She eyed him in surprise. “Worried about me? Why?”

“She thinks you don't get out enough, that you
spend too much time cooped up inside with Sarge. She thinks you've forgotten that you're a beautiful, desirable young woman.”

Her cheeks pinked and she averted her gaze from his. “She didn't say that.”

“Okay, maybe I embellished a little,” he said teasingly. “But she is worried about you.”

“Whatever.” She looked at him once again. “Want to know what I learned today about our mystery couple?”

“Sure.”

For a moment she said nothing. She stared straight ahead, as if lost in thought. “I'm going to tell you something that will probably make you think I've lost my mind,” she finally began.

“I'm not sure that's possible,” he replied. “You've always been one of the most grounded people I know.”

Again her gaze sought his and she smiled. “You may change your mind once I tell you this.”

He stopped the movement of the swing, intrigued by her words. “What?”

“Ever since we found that photo of Daniel and Sarah, I've felt a strange connection to her. It's more than just the fact that she looks like me, it's something deeper…more profound. When I dream about her, it's like I feel her inside of me.” She flipped a long strand of her hair behind her shoulder and looked at him, her eyes the gray of troubled skies. “It's bad enough that they invade my
dreams, but this morning when we were in Hazel's backyard I was wide awake when I had a vision.”

That explained why she hadn't answered him when he'd called her several times, and the blank look that had been on her face for a worrisome few minutes when he'd finished digging around the flagpole.

“A vision?” he prompted.

She nodded. “I know it sounds completely crazy, but I saw the woods at the back of Hazel's yard and suddenly the trees were small and sparse, and there was a clearing and people were in the clearing.”

Her words tumbled over themselves, faster and faster as she explained what had happened. “Daniel and Sarah were there along with a lot of other people, and there was a long table with food. Kids were playing tag and everyone was happy and laughing.”

She paused to take a deep breath and closed her eyes. “It was a wonderful day, a gathering of neighbors and friends to celebrate the end of a harsh winter and the welcome advent of spring.”

Her voice had taken on a peculiar singsong rhythm and the hairs on Joshua's arms raised as a strange electricity seemed to snap and crackle in the air.

“Annie Watts has brought cornbread. Daniel loves her cornbread, and Margaret and Robert
Green have brought a basket of apples that are as sweet and juicy as any I've ever tasted.”

Joshua watched her face. Her eyes were still closed and it was obvious she was in another place, another time. He wondered if he should touch her, shake her arm to pull her back to his world, but she seemed to be in no physical distress. Rather, a soft smile curved her lips as she continued.

“We have made a home here, my beloved Daniel and I, among these people in this new land. And now that we have our son, Caleb, I feel as if our life is complete.”

Joshua heard the love in her voice, but knew it was Sarah's love for Daniel that emanated from her. He'd believed she'd once felt that same depth of love for him, but time and distance had made him wonder if it had all only been an illusion, the deep desire of a lonely young man.

Her eyes flew open and she blinked once, twice, then gasped and reached for his hand. “What's happening, Joshua? Why am I seeing visions of their life?”

“I don't know,” he replied softly, enjoying far too much the feel of her dainty hand in his. “Is it possible you're just imagining what their life might have been like?” he asked, seeking a rational explanation. “When I'm working on my games, sometimes it's hard for me to separate fantasy from real life.”

She shook her head vehemently. “This isn't me
imagining their life, it's me somehow experiencing their life. When I saw the vision this morning at Hazel's, I saw Sarah holding a child, a golden-haired little boy and it wasn't me imagining it. It was real! As real as you and I sitting here, and I have proof.”

She pulled her hand from his and handed him one of the papers she'd brought home with her from her search. It appeared to be part of a birth record of sorts, although the lettering was so faded it was just barely legible. There were several lines of names, but half of the document was missing.

“Here…” She pointed to a line of the fine, spidery writing. “Caleb Walker, born to Daniel and Sarah Walker on May 5, 1857. The celebration I saw in the clearing this morning must have taken place in the spring of 1858 because Caleb looked like he was about a year old.”

“What happened to the rest of the document? It looks like some of it is missing.”

“It is. I only found half of it. I'm hoping I'll find the other half eventually. So far, this is the only proof I've found that Sarah and Daniel really lived around here, but I'm sure if I spend enough time with those boxes in the basement of City Hall, I'll find out more about them.”

She took the piece of paper from him and stared at it for a long moment, then returned her gaze to him. “I just don't understand any of this,” she said
softly. “I don't understand why these people feel so important to me.”

“Are you sure they aren't related somehow?” he asked.

“Yes, I'm positive.” She carefully folded the copy of the birth certificate. “It's an odd feeling, isn't it? That a couple who lived over a hundred years ago looked exactly like us.” She eyed him curiously. “Have you had any dreams or visions about them?”

“No, none.” With Wilma's words still ringing in his ears and Claire's nearness filling his senses, he had to force himself to concentrate on their conversation. “Although I did notice one thing,” he added. “When I first picked up the picture from the box where it had been buried, I felt sort of an electric tingle race up my arm.”

She grabbed his hand once again. “I felt it, too. In fact, I feel it every time I touch the picture.” A look of relief swept over her lovely features. “I thought it was just me.” She jumped up from the swing.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“I'm going to check on Sarge, then I'm going to get the photo and see if you still feel that charge when you pick it up.”

She disappeared into the house and Joshua sat back in the swing to wait for her return. Again Wilma's words played in his mind.
You should be making love to her every night.
Yes, that's what
he should be doing…loving her, making love to her and rebuilding the life they'd once had, the dreams they'd once shared.

He knew she had been angry and bitter when he'd left, knew she still retained some of that anger and bitterness. But he'd had to leave. He'd lost his son and he'd effectively lost his wife. He feared if he remained, he would eventually lose his mind, his heart, his soul.