Mist on the Meadow (36 page)

Derek, the Christmas sailor, crossed the
parking lot, one arm behind his back. “You’ve got your own
boyfriend,” Marissa said. She opened the door to let him in. “Looks
as if Wolf wasn’t the only one with this idea.”

Derek nodded to Angela. “Hey, Angela.”

“Derek.” She wiped her hands on her apron and
smiled.

Derek brought his arm from behind his back
and held out his bouquet of wildflowers. “I bought you something
for Valentine’s Day. I hope it’s okay.”

Angela flew at him and wrapped her arms
around him.

“You got a minute?” Wolf asked Marissa
quietly.

“Yeah, what’s up?”

He guided her back to the booth. “Elliot got
wind that the senator’s being indicted. He’s pushing for a reduced
sentence in exchange for information on the senator’s black market
operations.”

Wolf couldn’t want to let Elliot walk away
from all the things he’d done. “Are you okay with that?” Marissa
asked.

“Elliot will do time, one way or the other,
whether it’s for the accident, trying to blow up the café, or
stealing parts from Harper Electronics. Recent events make me
believe justice will prevail.” Wolf leaned across the table. “I
don’t know what happened the night the senator came to the Manor,”
he glanced over his shoulder, “but that’s not something I’d like to
go through ever again. It hurts just thinking about it.”

Marissa nodded. “That’s so we don’t
want
to do it again.”

Wolf narrowed his eyes. “So you did do . . .
that
?”

“No.
We
did it.” She took a deep
breath.

“Kinda scary, knowing we have that kind of
power,” he whispered.

“But look what it cost us.” Marissa dropped a
hand to her midsection.

“If you’d have only stayed with your parents
. . .”

“Then you’d be dead.” Tears welled in her
eyes.

“But the baby wouldn’t be,” he whispered.

“Who’s to say?”

He kissed her fingers. “We’ll try again.
Promise me?” Wolf stared into her eyes. His life-force flowed into
her as easily as hers flowed into him.

Marissa closed her eyes, and let her head
rock back. The way their minds fit together was every bit as
sensual as the way their bodies did.

Angela walked by the booth and cleared her
throat. “I’d tell you guys to get a room, but we have a café to
run. So if you’re done making googly eyes at each other, can we get
back to work?”

Wolf leaned over the table and kissed
Marissa. “I think you need to bake something for your cranky friend
over there, something that will make her feel better.”

Marissa grinned at Angela. “One of those
magic tarts for her Christmas sailor.”

Angela rolled her eyes. “Yeah. Whatever.”

Derek nudged Angela. “Isn’t there something
you wanted to tell him?”

Angela shot Derek a dark look. “I’m not sure
this is the right time.”

“What’s up?” Marissa asked.

Angela heaved a dramatic sigh. “Go figure.
Before Christmas, I didn’t know Wolf Harper any better than you
did.”

“And?” Marissa raised her eyebrows, inviting
Angela to continue.

She rolled her eyes. “I didn’t know who was
in either one of the cars. And I wasn’t supposed to be at the mall
that day.”

Wolf rose from the table. “That was you?”

Angela held up her hands. “I figured the
police had it all taken care of, but I’ve been reading about how
they’re looking for a witness to the accident.” She shrugged. “I
guess I’m that witness. It wasn’t Rudy’s fault. Not really. The guy
in the passenger seat. He leaned across and grabbed the wheel.
That’s what caused the accident.”

Wolf hugged Angela. “And you’ll tell the
police?”

She nodded and smiled at Marissa. “Gotta look
out for my girl. I would have said something sooner if I’d have
known about all the fuss.”

“Is that why you’ve been so standoffish
around Wolf since the engagement?” Marissa asked.

Angela shrugged. “I guess I feel bad that I
didn’t say something sooner. It’s a long time to go wondering what
happened to your parents. I’m sorry, Wolf.”

He returned the smile. “It was a long time
ago. I’m just glad we can finally close the book on it.”

# # #

Read on for an excerpt from

Gathering Mist

Even though she knew better, it was easier
for Giselle Draxler to accept her pragmatic husband’s explanation
of her ability to read other people’s thoughts as intuition. But
when a dark stranger appears at her husband’s funeral in search of
a
Kundigerin
and the rest of her family is mysteriously
killed, Giselle is forced to look for answers about her heritage
alone. Her quest brings her face-to-face with the one love she
never got over, a man who was afraid of her uncanny ability to see
into his thoughts.

Rock musician, Scott Michaels, walked away
from the love of his life to pursue his career. Fifteen years
later, Giselle's influence over him is more powerful than
ever. Drawn into the danger that threatens her, he must choose
between his fear of what she is, or standing with her against
encroaching evil.

For fourteen years Giselle Draxler’s husband
had laughed off the way she knew things as female intuition, or as
a knack for being a really good guesser. She preferred his
assessment.

But Nick Erwin had died. The church had been
full, but only a handful of mourners made the trip across to
Martha’s Vineyard for the burial.

The things Giselle knew weren’t lucky guesses
or logical assumptions. Without Nick’s pragmatism to explain her
gift away, she couldn’t stop from peeking into everyone’s
thoughts.

Nick would have laughed if she told him his
sister was thinking about how much money he’d left her, or that
Emery Davis, his second in command at TechcomCorporation, was
already trying to reconfigure the corporate organizational
chart.

Aunt Charmaine had told Giselle her uncanny
ability to know things she shouldn’t was a family secret. Family
fairy tales, according to Nick’s matter-of-fact approach. Those
fairy tales suddenly didn’t seem so far-fetched. Aunt Charmaine had
chosen a monastic life, leaving Giselle to carry on the family
legacy with her cousin Ray as her wingman.

Giselle didn’t want to be identified as a
Kundigerin
, in case the stories were true, and her red hair
was a dead giveaway. From the moment she’d come into her legacy on
her twenty-fifth birthday, she’d dyed her hair.

Before she saw him, Giselle felt the scrutiny
of a swarthy man several feet away, standing beneath a beech tree.
His gaze was intent on Giselle, and Ray beside her, sending a chill
through her in spite of the late August heat.

“Ray.” Giselle leaned toward her cousin,
keeping her voice low. “Are my roots showing?”

Ray turned toward her, his eyebrows raised.
“You’re asking me how you look? Now? Didn’t you just get your hair
done?”

“This is important. Can you see any red?”

He scanned the crown of her head. “Bottle
brown. All of it. Why?”

“Do you know that guy under the tree over
there?”

“You mean Pancho Villa?”

“Yeah.”

Animosity rolled off the dark stranger in
waves, so much so that Giselle was light-headed. Without thinking,
she closed her eyes and probed the energy. Reading peoples’ minds
was only a parlor trick after all. Right? Whatever she guessed at
wasn’t necessarily true, was it?

And yet it was always true.

The sensation was so strong Giselle teetered
on her feet, a message more than a thought.
I will find you,
Kundigerin
.

Her knees buckled and the mourners gasped.
Ray reached for her. On her other side, Emery Davis, patted her on
the back.

“Between the heat and the grief, I’m
surprised you held up this long,” Emery whispered. “Promise you’ll
call me if there’s anything I can do for you?”

Giselle nodded. She gave him a reassuring
smile and straightened. Emery returned the nod and straightened
beside his wife.

The man beneath the trees narrowed his eyes.
Her hair was the wrong color, thanks to Giselle’s hair stylist. Her
red-headed cousin, on the other hand, stood out prominently.

Ray whispered in her ear. “There’s something
weird about that guy. It’s like he has a force field, and it’s
pulsing.”

“He’s looking for a
Kundigerin
,” she
whispered back.

“Why doesn’t that seem like a good thing?”
Ray asked. “You’re not staying on the island, are you?”

“I turned in my flight attendant uniform.”
Giselle drew a deep breath. “I’ve got nowhere to go. Nowhere to
be.”

“I think it’s time to pay my mom a visit. Do
you still get corporate jet privileges?” Ray asked.

“We can drive to Pennsylvania.” Giselle cast
one more glance at the man in the distance. “I hope your mom can
tell us why that guy picked today to show up.”

* * *

At the end of the dirt road, nestled into the
backwoods, Scott Michaels sat on his deck, sheltered from the
hustle and bustle of the big cities. He went into town as little as
possible, and the locals who recognized him didn’t treat him like
“the big rock star.” To them, he was Scott Michaels, who lived on
Hidden Spring Road. He wasn’t Patch, lead guitarist for
DragonPurr.

As much as he enjoyed his solitude, he was
ready to rejoin civilization. After ten years of continuous concert
tours, he and his bandmates had wished each other well and
suspended traveling in order to subscribe to a simpler life. They’d
agreed to six cities a year, most of which were booked during the
summer months at outdoor festivals. Tomorrow, the band would
regroup near Chicago to begin rehearsals for a show.

His fingers absently picked out a tune on his
acoustic guitar. The lush, mature trees swayed in time with the
music while crickets sang along. Scott hummed, not the usual
driving, rock and roll beat. When he realized what song he played,
he stopped.

In spite of the heat and humidity, gooseflesh
popped up on his arms. His heart raced and he glanced around the
woods, at the lake beyond the trees, expecting to see her magically
appear. Wavy red hair, mossy green eyes, Giselle still haunted
him.

Together, he and Giselle had learned what
love meant. They’d been inseparable since the night they first met
at the student union. She was his first girlfriend, his first date,
his first lover. She’d become so important to him in such a short
period of time that she’d spooked him. Like she owned his soul.
There was no other way to describe the intensity of the bond they
shared. And yet he’d chosen his music over her.

Scott set his guitar down. He’d written the
song for her. Played it for her. She’d sung it with him, lying
together in bed in the afterglow, before he’d shown her the lyrics.
The way she seemed to know things before they happened, or knew his
thoughts as well as he did, those were the things that made her
scary.

After fifteen years and countless groupies,
he should have gotten Giselle out of his system, and yet here he
sat, on his porch in Door County, playing a song he’d written for
her before the rest of the world had any idea he existed. A song
she’d inspired. A song he wasn’t sure she hadn’t given him in that
unusual, soul-binding way she had.

The fact of the matter was he’d never stopped
loving her. Even after he’d left her behind.

He’d heard she’d gotten married. He hoped she
had a good life somewhere, even as he scanned the woods for her
face, wondering if somehow she could see him, if she could reach
him through that unexplainable connection they had.

None of the groupies, none of the
relationships he’d attempted after, had come close to what he’d
shared with Giselle. And he’d walked away from her. He had no one
to blame but himself.

Scott turned to go into the house, but
hesitated when a cool breeze blew the hair off his neck.
The way
Giselle used to
. He closed his eyes, imagining she stood behind
him. Playful. Sexy as hell.

Maybe she’d gotten fat over the past
years.

Play the song for me.
No more than a
whisper on the breeze, he heard her voice in his ear.

He shook his body like a wet dog. He’d done
what he set out to do, made a career for himself, and paid the
price. The road was a lonely place.

Scott was ready for a little magic, and
somehow he knew the show next month would bring some. Giselle would
be in Chicago. He felt it in his bones.

Dear Reader,

Thanks so much for reading this book. If you
enjoyed the story, I hope you will encourage others by “liking” my
books on Goodreads.com and everywhere the option is offered, and by
posting an honest review to the site where you bought this book
and/or at other book blogs/reading sites so you can help other
readers decide whether it’s worth their time. Authors like and need
to get feedback to make each new book as good as it can be.

—Karla Brandenburg

Connect with Karla Brandenburg Online:

www.karlabrandenburg.com

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http://www.facebook.com/Karla-Brandenburg

Twitter @AuthorKarlaB

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Blog:
http://karlabrandenburg.blogspot.com

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