Quentin Ashland slammed the receiver back down onto its cradle. Damn good thing he hadn’t used his cell phone, or he’d have broken it. Again. He had a lot of anger management issues and they took one hell of a toll on his cell phones. They used to be sturdier in the days before the supermodels of the pocketsize mini computers came into vogue. And you just couldn’t do without one anymore, either.
Little bitch! No, not just a bitch. A witch-bitch. Something about her—that quality of otherworldliness she wore so naturally she didn’t even know she had it. That cloud of dark hair that floated around the slender shoulders, those dark eyes that lured a man into their depths, whispering of hidden passions, hidden secrets. He’d waited six months. Figured he’d let her get the independence out of her system. She’d be back. No way she’d want to give up everything they’d had together. Lifestyle, travel, parties, not to mention damn good sex. Then he’d turned on the news and there she was, his woman. And all he could see was Parker Drayton’s smarmy looking face as the announcer babbled on about the impending nuptials.
No damn way that bitch was going to shake him off like so much dirt and move on up to royalty. He’d gone completely nuts. Then he’d calmed down. If she thought he believed that bullshit about not meeting Drayton till she left Tallahassee—what kind of fool did she take him for? Of course she left him because she smelled more money. Well, he wasn’t from the Drayton definition of money, but he was an Ashland of Savannah, by God. Southern gentility. The type of background money couldn’t buy, especially not lucky oil strikes back in the booming days of the Texas oil fields. Hell, they’d probably been sharecroppers. Probably why they’d struck out for Texas in the first place.
She wasn’t going to get away with this. No way, no how. He wasn’t just an Ashland. And he wasn’t just any attorney. He laughed and reached for the phone. No, he wasn’t just any attorney. He was an attorney who knew where bodies were buried. Lots of them. Time to remind some folks of that.
He punched in a number and waited for voice mail to wind down.
“We need to talk. Sandler’s Oyster Bar. Tonight. Nine o’clock.”
* * *
Katherine bit her lip. Moment of truth. Time to stop stalling. Of course it had just been coincidence that the picture talked to her—scratch that. She’d thought the picture talked to her at the precise time she’d seen Quentin for who and what he really was. And it was just coincidence she’d had that damn dream again the night before Quentin’s surprise call out of the blue. Because that hadn’t been a real surprise; she’d always known deep down he’d call. He couldn’t just let go. It wasn’t in him. Still and all, her Quentin epiphany came right after the portrait’s ventriloquist act. The lady in the tower said the portrait had more to tell her. She had to give it a try.
She jerked the tarp off the portrait. And waited. Nothing. Of course nothing. She picked up a brush and loaded the bristles with cobalt blue.
With the first stroke, roaring filled the studio. Katherine dropped her paintbrush, slapped both hands to her ears. Well, she’d asked for it. And she’d gotten it.
“And about time it is, my girl. ‘Tis stubborn you are.” The same old crone she remembered stood in front of Katherine’s easel.
“Why are you here? Why did I see you before? And why am I seeing you now?”
“You know why, child. In your heart, you know.”
“What did you do to me last time? To make me cringe when Quentin touched me?”
“‘Twas nothing I did. You did it yourself. You opened yourself to what you already knew was true. ‘Tis in your blood, ye canna escape it. I just helped a wee bit with the seeing of it.”
“That had nothing to do with blood. I just finally started putting things together about Quentin.”
Mother Shipton shook her head. “Stubborn. But then all young folk be stubborn, can’t complain, I was meself. And that stubbornness almost cost this family its very existence. Still might, do ye not listen to me with your head and your heart.”
“Well, I’m not you. I’m me. And all I want to do is paint my pictures and marry the man I love.”
“That might be all you want, m’ dear, but ‘tis not likely to happen unless ye listen to your dreams.”
“My dreams haven’t been exactly instruction manuals. I have no idea what they’re telling me!”
“No, ‘tis not that ye don’t know what they’re telling ye, it’s that ye don’t want to listen. Ye know full well there’s something ye have to do, and now I’ll tell ye more. If ye fail to answer the call or fulfill the task then ye will neither marry the man ye love nor paint yer paintings. ‘Tis doubtful ye’ll live a’tall. There’s things need doin’ in the past, or ye’ll ne’er be born. Dreamed of a lady in a tower asking for help, did ye? And if ye pay no heed, the lives of all between me and thee will be forfeit.”
“I don’t understand.”
“The lady in the tower. What’s her name?”
“I don’t know. I only heard her called Milady.”
“True enough. Well, I’ll give a bit of help with that. She was born Ursula Sontheil. And what’s your name, child?”
“Katherine Shipton.”
“Your whole name.”
“Ursula Katherine Shipton.”
“And why be that, do ye ken?’
“Because both those names have been in the family since the beginning of time and the back of beyond and—oh, shit!”
“Ah, so finally ye see a hint of sun over the horizon, do ye?”
“That’s the reason? The connection? She’s an ancestor?”
“Can’t be telling ye that. Ye must see it for yourself. Time for a journey, child. A journey t’will help you understand. “
“I can’t go anywhere. I have commitments, deadlines.”
Mother Shipton cackled. “This journey—t’won’t be like any ye’ve taken before. None will miss ye nor know you’re gone.”
“I’m having a mental breakdown. That’s it, isn’t it? I’m going crazy and you’re a figment of my imagination.”
“Kitty-Kat, please. Trust me, child. If I don’t exist, I can’t be after hurting ye, now can I?”
“Why’d you call me that? Nobody calls me that but Mimi!”
“Now what else would I be calling a girl named Katherine?” Mother Shipton moved to the sofa on the far wall. “Lie down, sweet girl. Let me soothe that wrinkled brow. And show ye—wonders. Wonders of the past.”
Katherine backed up to the couch and sat down slowly, eyes fixed on the solid apparition.
Mother Shipton cackled again. “Well, ‘tis a start. Ye don’t trust easily and I can’t be after expecting miracles. And a wee bit of caution and common sense bred into the bones over the years, that’s a good thing. Ye think for yourself, don’t take well to being told what to do. That lady in the tower, she could have done with a bit of it herself much sooner in her life, long afore she learned that lesson.”
Mother Shipton laid her wrinkled hand on Katherine’s forehead and rubbed lightly. “Close your eyes, girl. Lean back. And go visiting. To another time. Another place. Long ago. Very long ago. Float, Katherine. Float. None will see ye. None will know ye’re there.”
* * *
Katherine opened her eyes in an old barn, ripe with the good smell of animals. A girl, the mirror image of herself, lay sobbing into a pile of hay.
“How can I bear it?” the girl wailed. “How can I bear it?”
“Milady? What’s wrong?” A young man stepped into view.
“Oh Toby, Toby.” The girl flung herself off the hay and into the man’s arms.
“What is it, Lady Ursula, what is it?” An unruly lock of straw-colored hair flopped into his eyes.
“King Henry! He’s wedding me to Prince Frederick of Russia. I’m ordered to court. And I’m to wed the prince as soon as he returns!”
She gripped the man’s neck and wept harder. “I must leave Gresham Manor in a fortnight and live at court.”
Frozen into silence, Toby stroked her hair.
Long moments later, she moved from his arms and straightened her skirts. “I’m sorry. ‘Tis wrong of me to burden you with my troubles.”
“Milady, I’d give my life to see you happy. And I’ve no right to be saying what I’m about to say, but I know you! You’ll wither and die at court. My family has a farm just across the border into Scotland. ‘Tis not what you’re used to but—”
She laid a finger across his lips. “Oh, Toby. Never could I do that. ‘T’would disgrace Papa and break his heart. I’ve no right to speak this way, but I want you to now that I will always keep you in my heart and I’ll never forget you.”
* * *
Katherine jerked upright on the sofa and glared at the canvas lying face up on the floor.
No way that just happened! Schizophrenia? Multiple personality? Just crazy as bat-shit?
She picked up the portrait and placed it back on the easel. What time was it? She pulled out her phone and checked the time. Parker’d be calling from the airport when he landed in Texas. No missed call, though. And she’d only lost a few minutes in that psychotic break she’d just had.
At that moment Tibbins twined around her ankles, mewing. Katherine snatched the big white cat into her arms, hugging him so hard he growled. She laughed and loosened her grip. “Sorry, kitty. Getting hungry? Let’s head to the kitchen.” Tibbins didn’t need another invitation. He bounded down the stairs toward the kitchen.
Katherine picked up his bowl and opened a can of tuna. “How about it, Tibbs, do you ever feel like you’re going crazy?”
The cat kept his yellow gaze glued to the can in her hand. A cat on a mission.
“Guess not,” Katherine said. “When would you have time to go crazy, between eating six meals a day and sleeping the rest of the time? Lucky you. Sleep.” She paused with the spoon lodged in the can of tuna. Tibbs mewed impatiently. “Sleep, Tibbs. Is that it? I was asleep, you think. Narcolepsy? Could that be it?”
She emptied the can into Tibbins’s bowl and set it down. Then she sprinted into the living room and switched on her computer for a quick Google search.
The most prevalent symptom of narcolepsy is suddenly and unexpectedly falling asleep during the day. In fact, narcoleptic attacks often occur at inappropriate times with significant consequences for those who experience them. For example, patients with narcolepsy may fall asleep while driving, during a meeting, and even during sex.
Well, she hadn’t done that so far, but maybe it was a progressive disease.
Her cell phone vibrated in her pocket. Parker.
“Hello?”
“Hi! Is everything okay?”
“Of course. Why do you ask?”
“You sounded strange when you answered. Scared even. Must be the connection. Just wanted to check in and say I love you.”
“I love you, too. And Parker?”
“Yes?”
“Oh, nothing. It’ll wait till you get home. Be careful and think about me.”
“How could I not? Bye.”
Katherine leaned back in the chair and bit at her nail, wondering how to tell him she was either bat-shit crazy or likely to start falling asleep while having sex.
Tibbins marched past her and sat down at the front door.
“I suppose you want to go out there and chase birds,” Katherine grumbled. “Let me get my shoes on, then. I definitely need a run this morning.”
* * *
The run helped. Not enough to send her back to the studio and the portrait, but it helped. Besides, she had six weeks’ worth of waiting correspondence and email. And wedding invitations. They’d arrived from the printer last week and nagged at her from the corner of her desk ever since.
Formal weddings were such a pain. And she’d had to fall in love with probably the only man she’d ever known who didn’t think an elopement was a Godsend. He was right, though. A formal wedding was a great public relations opportunity for the Drayton Oil conglomerate.
Katherine sighed and shrugged. Might as well get to it.
She’d barely gotten settled when her cell phone rang. She’d have been grateful for any excuse not to address wedding invitations, but this call was welcome for other reasons. Katherine’s relationship with her grandparents was two-fold, they were both her grandparents and to all intents and purposes, her parents. Bill and Mina Shipton had married young and gotten an early start on raising a large family. Katherine’s father Ed had been the oldest of the Shipton kids, and Katherine had been three months old when he and her mother had been killed in an auto accident. Bill and Mina’s little girl, Irene had been three. Since it would have been impossible to explain to a toddler why they weren’t her Mommy and Daddy, but the baby’s Grandma and Grandpa, they’d reinvented themselves and become Mimi and Poppy to both little girls, who were basically sisters rather than aunt and niece. The four of them were a very specially blended family within the framework of a larger family. Irene’s ringtone delighted Katherine’s ears. Exactly the person she needed to talk to now, even though she hadn’t known it until right that second.
“Irene! I’m so glad—”
“Are you alright?”
“Well, hello to you, too!”
“Don’t get smart with me, little girl! I had the weirdest dream last night, you were all curled up in a ball and tarot cards—tarot cards, of all things—were just raining down all over you!”
Katherine winced, the memory of a dream six months in the past washing over her again. Sure, the Shiptons joked about reading each other’s minds, and Mimi always laughed and said Mother was at work, but this? Tarot cards? It had to be coincidence. She forced herself to laugh. “You and your dreams! They’re just dreams, you know. Of course I’m fine, why wouldn’t I be?”
“Then why’d you hesitate before you answered?”
Damn it! “Because it was just such an off-the-wall dream! Even for you! Shouldn’t you be dreaming of wedding cakes and wedding gowns and bride’s maid dresses? I’m not the only one getting married this year, now am I?” Irene’s wedding was set for the month after her own.
“My wedding’s under control, you’re the procrastinator.”
“So true, I’m staring at a big pile of wedding invitations right now.”
“Stop staring and start doing. I’ve got to run or I’ll be late for work.”
“You’re still home? But it’s 11:00—oh. I always forget the time difference.”
“Well, don’t forget those invitations! Start addressing!” Katherine’s cell clicked, indicating Irene had ended the call.
Katherine looked over at Tibbins. “Well, that was a nice reprieve while it lasted. But I guess I don’t have any excuses left—” The doorbell chimed. “Wow! Saved by another bell, and aren’t we the popular pair this morning? But I’m not expecting anybody, are you?” The cat yawned.
“I’ll take that as a no, then.” She pushed back the chair and peered through the peephole at her best friend and New York roommate during the starving artist years.
“Oh, my God! Carrie!” She threw the door open and flung her arms around the elegant blonde on the doorstep.
“Hey! Watch the hair! We international models have an image to maintain! Now let’s get inside and you can tell me all about it.”
“About what?”
“About whatever the hell’s going on with you. ‘Cause something damn sure is.”
* * *
Parker Drayton frowned as he pocketed his phone. Something was up with Katherine. He didn’t know what but whatever it was, she was on edge. Unnerved. One thing was certain, though. No way she’d tell him about it till she was ready.
“Parker!”
He turned his head to the left and smiled. It never failed. His father had radar where his children were concerned. He’d never yet not spotted one of them in a crowd in under ten seconds flat, not even in a crowd as big as the one at Houston’s George Bush Intercontinental Airport.
“Dad! Hi!”
His father threw his arm around Parker’s shoulders and hugged him. Justin Drayton was big enough to fit Texas. Tall, big boned, unabashedly unashamed to show affection in public.
“Glad you’re here, son. Opportunity’s waiting. Have I got a deal to tell you about!”