Chapter 9

Friday, Luke finished framing the patio bar.

Luke—Done yet?—

Maeve—Almost. Why?—

Luke—Come see ;)—

He laid planks across the bar top, then carted out barstools, a bottle of wine, two of his finest crystal glasses, and a bowl of water for the pup.

With Teddy dogging her heels, she approached a few minutes later.

“Notice anything?”

Taking in the nearly completed bar, she gave a low whistle. “All you need is the granite top, and you’re in business.”

“Still have to finish a few things before we can open the tasting room, but the bulk of it is done.” He set down Teddy’s water bowl, then grinning, gestured to the barstool beside him. “How ’bout a glass of wine?”

“You read my mind.” She climbed on with a sigh.

“Tired?” He poured her a glass.

“Just getting my second wind.” She lifted the etched crystal glass and twirled it in the fading sunlight. “What’s the occasion?”

“I thought we might celebrate.”

“Celebrate what?” Tilting her head, she turned toward him. The sun accented her hair’s red highlights and cheeks’ rosy glow.

“Besides the almost-finished patio tasting room”—he raised his glass—“celebrate our one-week partnership.”

Her green eyes flashing, she laughed as she clinked glasses. “To the weird circumstances that brought us together.”

“May they continue.” Giving himself a quick pep talk to bolster his courage, he caught her gaze. “I know a place with live country music. Want to kick up your heels tonight?”

She swirled the wine before answering. “I don’t know how to two-step.”

“I’d be happy to teach you.”

“I wouldn’t know what to wear.” She shrugged.

“Now you’re just making excuses. Come on. When I first asked, you weren’t sure if you’d still be here.” He chuckled. “You’re here. You might as well go. It’d save you from my cooking tonight.”

“I love your cooking.” Her smile widened.

“Then I’ll cook tomorrow—give you the night off. What do you say?”

****

“The tempo’s quick, quick, slow…slow…Quick, quick, slow…slow…Basically, we just walk in a straight line. I start moving forward on my left foot. You follow by stepping back with your right.” He caught her gaze. “Do you know why?”

She shook her head.

“Because ladies are always right.”

A giggle escaping, she faced him.

“Same with your hands. Put your right hand in mine and your left hand here, on my shirtsleeve’s seam.” He tapped his shoulder. “Got it?”

Cringing, she groaned. “I’ll look like an idiot on the dance floor.”

“No, you won’t because”—he winked as he placed his right hand on her shoulder blade—“I’ve got your back.”

She gave a nervous laugh. “Why’d I let you talk me into this?”

“Relax. Just have fun. You’ll like the two-step once you get the hang of it.” He gave her hand a playful squeeze. “Remember, it’s just like walking. Quick, quick, slow…slow…”

The music started.

“Ready?” Leading, he walked forward as he counted. “One, two, three…four…”

Moving counterclockwise, he kept them near the center of the floor with the slower dancers, leaving the outside for the more experienced couples.

“They’re literally dancing circles around us.” Watching the faster dancers, she winced.

“Gotta’ walk before you can run.” He chuckled. “Quick, quick, slow…slow…Quick, quick, slow…slow…Got it?

****

By the end of the evening, I was doing the sweetheart position, one-and-a-half turns, and free spins as we spun around the dancefloor.

“You’re right.” Breathless after a set, I turned toward him as we took our seats. “The two-step is fun.”

“Glad you’re enjoying yourself.”

Even in the dimly lit bar, his eyes twinkled.

“Just hope your toes aren’t too bruised tomorrow.”

“I’ll survive.” He flashed white teeth as he leaned back his head and laughed.

The alternate band started the next set.

“Come on.” I took a swig of beer, set down the bottle, and grabbed his hand, tugging. “They’re playing our song.”

“I need a breather.” He shook his head. “Besides, we don’t have a song.”

“What’s the name of this one?”

“Bubbles in the Bucket.”

“That’s our song.” Laughing, I yanked with all my might and pulled him to his feet. “Come on!”

“Ma’am, you don’t know your own strength.” Chuckling, he put his arm around my back.

I placed my arm on his shoulder, then acting on impulse, lifted my chin and stood on tiptoe to give him a challenging kiss.

He tightened his grip, squeezing me tight while he pressed my body against his muscular frame and drew me into a deeper kiss.

The downy hairs on my neck stood on end, tingling, as goosebumps broke out along my arms and thighs. A bolt of energy shot down my spine, and a swarm of butterflies fluttered in my stomach. What was that? My lips responding, I reached my arms around his neck and returned his kiss.

Then like an air strike, Cody kamikazed through my mind. Shrinking back, I loosened my grasp and pushed away. “Think I’d better sit this one out, after all.”

“Might be wise.” He nodded.

My mouth burned from his whiskers’ rasp, and I still tasted him on my lips, but I had to set the record straight—now. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have started something I had no intention of finishing.”

“We both got caught up in the moment.” He ran his hand over his chin, his five-o’clock shadow grating like sandpaper, even over the band’s blare.

“Maybe this”—shrugging, I gestured toward the band and dancefloor—“wasn’t the best idea.” Really? I snickered at myself. “I mean—”

“I know what you mean—” He nodded. “Probably not the brightest move to ask you here in the first place.”

“Tonight was fun—the dancing, I mean.” Recalling the kiss, I squirmed. “Okay, it was all fun.” Then I gave an uneasy giggle, crossing and waving my forearms, as if canceling my words. “Sorry, seriously, if we’re going to maintain a business relationship, we’ve got to keep this relationship professional.”

“Relationship?” His brows shot up.

“Partnership.” I swallowed hard, helplessly out of my element. “You know what I mean.”

“Do I?”

****

With his kiss still tingling on my lips, the strained silence during the ride home was deafening. I hugged the door as the specter of Cody wedged between us. The less I say or do, the shallower the hole I’ll have to dig out of…

Luke turned on the radio, flipping through stations until he found country western music. A wistful song came on the air about a soldier being lonely and homesick.

Cody…Does he miss me…ever think of me? What am I doing here? Still no direction, a temporary job but no career plans and no place to call home. I’m just drifting. What would Grandma say? I sighed.

“Did you say something?”

“That song just reminds me. I don’t have a home.”

“Yes, you do”—he glanced from the road—“at least, through pruning season.”

My snuffle passed for a laugh.

“Hasn’t this past week worked out all right?”

“Until tonight.” I pursed my lips.

“Hey, we make a good team.” He side-glanced as he turned in the driveway. “You’re a natural at pruning, and with you trimming the vines, I have time to build the patio bar. Our partnership’s working, don’t you think?”

“I had.” Shrugging, I gestured to the cabin. “But don’t forget. This arrangement’s temporary.”

“You’re welcome to stay as long as you like.” He parked and turned off the engine.

“Thanks.” I gave him a wary smile, grateful for his hospitality, yet uncertain of my future.

“Come on.” He opened his door. “I’ll walk you home.”

“All six feet?” Gesturing to the nearby cabin as I stepped from the truck, I snickered.

“I’ll make sure the vents aren’t fanning feathers or rocking chairs.” He gave me a half-smile.

“Suit yourself.” Shrugging, I pressed the keypad and opened the door.

The dog scrambled across the gray-slate floor, chasing the red ball. After retrieving it, he padded back to the rocking chair, dropped it, and woofed, as if urging an unseen person to toss it.

No one near the chair, it rocked back and forth: squeak…squeak…squeak…

“Is it my imagination, or did Teddy just fetch that ball?” Luke’s back stiffened.

“That’s how it looked…” Goosebumps broke out along my arms.

“No matter what’s causing the chair to rock, I have to admit this is weird.” He crossed to the rocker and stopped its movement. “Newton’s first law of motion. An object at rest tends to remain at rest, but…” He glanced at the overhead vent. “How ’bout I take it to my place? Then we’ll know for sure whether the forced air makes it rock.”

Good riddance. I breathed a sigh of relief. “I’ll get the door—got to let the pup out, anyway.”

He hoisted the rocker and, as he passed, leaned toward me in a goodnight kiss.

I tucked in my chin. “Let’s not start that again…”

“Right.” He swallowed a sigh. “Night.”

“See you in the morning.” I lingered on the porch, musing as the dog finished his business. Is that rocker haunted? I recalled Luke’s idea of restless spirits attaching themselves to objects.

After bolting the door, I searched online. What makes inanimate objects move? One article suggested telekinesis. I shook my head, dismissing that idea. I don’t have any psychic abilities. Another article proposed poltergeists. Farfetched, but now that the rocker’s gone, will the incidents stop?

“Hope so.” I pet the puppy and set its ball on the chest, out of reach. “Time for you to sleep.” Then I turned on the shower and undressed while the bathroom steamed.

Just as I was about to step in, a THUMP…Thump…thump sounded as the ball bounced into the room, followed by the puppy.

“You little stinker, how’d you reach this?” I put the dog in the main room, shut the bathroom door, and set the ball on the shelf.

Five minutes later, I stepped from the shower and yelped.

The puppy lay on the bathroom rug, asleep next to the ball.

That’s weird. Maybe Teddy nosed the door open. I checked the door’s latch. Maybe I didn’t close it completely. But what about the ball? Maybe it rolled off the shelf…I took a deep breath to steady my nerves. That’s what I’ll tell myself, anyway.

“Come on, puppy. You can sleep with me tonight.” I carried him to bed and turned off the lights. Then just as I began drifting off, a blast of frigid air coursed over my body.

The bathroom door slammed shut like a gun shot.

My pulse racing, I turned on the lights and bolted upright. “Who’s there?”

****

The next morning, Luke opened his door before I knocked. “Saw you coming.” He glanced at my face and took a deep breath. “Okay, what now?”

I recounted the gust of air, bathroom door, and rubber ball. “I’m beginning to think it wasn’t the chair, but the cabin that’s haunted.”

“Listen to yourself.” He cocked his head. “Blasts of air, doors shutting, and a ball rolling off…you’re describing changes in air pressure. I bet you a dollar it’s the air vents again.”

“No, it’s more unsettling than atmospheric pressure.” I shook my head as I helped myself to coffee. “Why would the temperature be freezing with the furnace set to heat? If warm air blew out of the air ducts, you might convince me, but this draft was frigid.”

“I’ll check the heating system’s vents today.” He shrugged. “Maybe it’s as simple a fix as changing a setting.”

“Would you mind checking now?” I gestured toward the cabin with my chin. “Sorry, I don’t mean to nag, but with all these unexplained incidents, it’s getting so I dread going in there.”

“It bothers you that much?” A deep V showed between his brows.

Bunching my lips, I nodded.

“All right. Let’s find the problem.”

I punched in the cabin’s key code, and as I entered, an icy chill made me shudder. “See what I mean?”

“Yeah.” The corners of his mouth turned down. “Let me check the furnace. It’s an old forced-air system. Sometimes the pilot light goes out.” He ducked into the utility room off the bathroom and returned a minute later. “Got any matches?”

“Not unless you left some. Let me check the kitchenette’s drawers.”

“The first one on the right is the junk drawer. If matches are anywhere, they’d be there.”

“Bingo.” Grinning, I handed him the pack. “So, you’re saying the icy gusts in here weren’t ghosts, but—”

“A pilot light went out. That’s all. The fan stayed on, even though the furnace turned off—nothing paranormal or even abnormal.” He stifled a chuckle. “This cabin’s old. Everything in it is old, and I keep meaning to research just how old. One of these days I’ll get to the library.”

“Maybe Rosie could tell you its history.”

“Maybe.” He shrugged. “She’s the family historian, but I don’t think she’s as knowledgeable about the town’s past.”

“Didn’t you tell me the hotel’s clerk was the unofficial town historian?”

“That’s right. Mamie would be the best resource. When she doesn’t work at the hotel, she volunteers at the library.”

“Maybe we could stop by—”

THUMP…Thump…thump. The ball rolled into the room.

“Okay, this is creepy.” A cold shiver shot down my spine. “I put that ball on the shelf last night.”

“Maybe I disturbed it when I turned on the pilot light. Come on…” He gave me a cajoling smile. “A bouncing ball is nothing to fret about.”

“It is when it happens for the umpteenth time.” And I’m not six years old. I growled in my throat. “Don’t condescend! I’m telling you, something strange is going on here. These peculiarities all seem to have reasonable explanations, but they keep happening. Frankly, they’re getting on my nerves. I…” At a loss for words, I stared.

“What?”

“There.” I pointed at the chest. “The brooch…”

“What about it?”

I swallowed. “I know I left it inside the velveteen pouch inside the chest—not on top.” I about faced. “Explain that, why don’t you?”

“No clue.” Shrugging, he lifted his palms.

“Now, do you believe me?”

****

“Got to agree, neither the air vents nor pilot light can explain that. Are you sure you—”

Her frown stopped him from finishing.

“Maybe the supernatural is at work.” He took a deep breath, accepting the possibility, no matter how remote. “And these events started after Aunt Rosie gave you the brooch?”

“Yes, it’s the only common denominator.”

“If that brooch is the link, who or what is trying to communicate?”

“And why?”

“All good questions.” He picked up the cameo. Then turning it in his hand, he clicked the lever and stared at the delicate weave of hair. “Whose was this?”

“Rosie mentioned Marianna had a baby that didn’t survive…”

“Are you thinking what I am?” He lightly ran his fingers over the baby-fine plait. “Could this hair belong to that child?”

“Maybe…Marianna cuddled it until the end, which reminds me. Did the chair rock on its own in your apartment?”

“Can’t say I noticed, but if it’s the brooch that’s…what? Enchanted? Possessed? Haunted…” He rubbed his eyelid. “It sounds crazy, but maybe whatever’s haunting it rocked the chair.”

“It is crazy, but I’m starting to think it’s true.” She met his gaze, then glanced at the chest. “I still haven’t organized Marianna’s journals. I just stacked them in the chest—”

“Her hope chest.” He narrowed his eyes, reflecting. “How strange that Marianna’s belongings are together once again.”

“I wonder if she used to keep her diaries in that chest.”

“Possibly.” He shook his head, rousing himself. “But you were saying…”

“Tonight, I’ll arrange the journals according to dates, and we can read them in chronological order. Maybe Marianna mentioned whose hair is in the brooch.”

“Good idea—maybe after dinner?” He glanced at the time. “Let’s grab a bite before the morning’s gone. I plan to finish the patio bar if you want to prune vines.”

“Sure.” She opened the door, and a clap of thunder sounded. “Then again…”

Drops of rain splattered the ground.

“Better make a run for it. I’ll take Teddy. Here, boy.” He picked up the puppy and held him close as he dashed toward his quarters.

“I’m right behind you.”

Once inside, he set down the dog and took two bowls from the cupboard. “I made oatmeal.”

“Hits the spot on a rainy morning.” She glanced out the window. “How long is it supposed to rain?”

He pulled up the app on his phone. “Looks like all day. The patio’s covered, so I can work, but you won’t get much pruning done. The fields will be too muddy.”

“Why don’t I run into town to do some research at the library?” She caught his gaze. “Okay to borrow your truck?”

****

“Luke said you might be here.” I recognized Mamie behind the library’s information desk.

“Yes, I volunteer Tuesdays and Saturdays. What brings you in?”

“Research. Could you help me find information about the previous owners of Luke’s property.”

“Sure, let’s start with the Appraisal District’s online search. This way.” Mamie led me to a computer and found the link. “Type in the address, then click the search button.”

Three previous owners appeared, two in the nineteen-seventies and another in the fifties.

“We’d hoped to find more historical information, going back to the eighteen-hundreds.” This search might not be so easy…

“Got it. “ Mamie nodded. “You want the original land surveys and homestead records, right?”

“Exactly.” Relieved to be in good hands, I took a deep breath.

“To give you a little background, Spain gave land grants from the 1700s to 1810, when Mexico declared its independence. Then Mexico offered colonization policies until 1836, when Texas declared independence, and settlers became eligible for first-class headrights.”

“Which were—”

“Land grants given to the heads of families to encourage immigration. Based on the date they arrived, family men got a league and a labor of land, or roughly 4,000 acres, while single men got about 1,500 acres, and second-class headrights received 640 acres.”

“That’s a lot of land.”

“It is today, but back then, land was dirt cheap.” Mamie smiled over her shoulder as she typed in an address and ran a search. “A Peter Pearson sold 640 acres to Isaac Turner, and he sold the land to Mateo Ramirez.”

“Mateo.” Repeating the name under my breath, I recalled Rosie’s story.

“You know the name?”

“I recognize it, but I doubt it’s the same man. What year did Ramirez buy the land?”

“Eighteen-forty-five.”

“No, the Mateo I’m thinking of wouldn’t have been born until the late 1870s.” Grimacing, I shook my head. “It couldn’t be the same person.”

“Possibly, it was the man’s father or grandfather…?”

“Maybe.” I brightened at the idea. “How long did the land stay in the Ramirez family?”

“Apparently it’s still in the family, though they sold off or bequeathed small parcels. Let me check.” Mamie scrolled through the pages. “Here’s another Mateo Ramirez.”

Could this be Marianna’s first love? “What’s the year?”

“Eighteen-ninety-eight.”

“Really? That’s the right timeframe.” I moved closer to read over Mamie’s shoulder. “Does it say anything else about him?”

“Only that he bought the land November first.”

I recalled Rosie’s timeline. “So, Marianna would’ve been married to Ramon.”

“Who’s Marianna?” Mamie half turned in her seat.

“Sorry…I was thinking aloud. She was Luke’s great-great-grandmother.” I glanced at the screen’s charts and tables. “Too bad this site only records statistics.”

“What do you mean?”

“Wish it showed family trees, as well—you know, who married who or when they were born or died.”

“A genealogy.” Mamie nodded as she opened another browser and typed in a link. “This site shows lineage-linked ancestor trees, so maybe you’ll find what you need here.”

A customer waved from the circulation desk.

“I have to check out his books.” Mamie jumped to her feet. “Have a seat and take your time searching.”

I typed in Mateo Ramirez, Marianna Rodriguez, Marianna Garcia, and Ramon Garcia but found no leads. A dead end…Giving up, I decided to search my family tree instead, starting with my grandmother, Milly Taylor.

The name showed up with a link.

Not believing my eyes, I reread it. I was an only child, and so was my mother. I thought we had a family shrub instead of a tree. Intrigued, I clicked the link. Sure enough. There’s my mother’s name listed beneath Milly’s.

Not only did the tree show the next generation and several previous generations that led back to Cadence and Ben, but it linked Milly to a second family tree through her marriage to a man named Matthew Taylor.

I wonder why Grandma never talked about her husband… I followed the tree back a generation to Matthew’s parents, Raymond Taylor and Sofia Ramirez. Ramirez? Could Sofia be related to Mateo? No, Ramirez is a common name, but Sophia’s name is highlighted.

I clicked the link, leading to a third chart of the Perez family. Sofia Ramirez was the daughter of Valentina (Tina) Isabella Perez and Mateo Ramirez.

I caught my breath. No. It can’t be. I retraced the lineages, reread the names, then double-checked the dates. Married 1899. Chills slid down my spine as I sat back, staring at the computer screen without seeing.

“Is anything wrong?” Mamie lightly touched my shoulder.

“No, I…” I took a deep breath, still struggling with the idea, then pointed to the screen. “According to these charts, I’m related to that same Mateo Ramirez we just researched.”

“And you didn’t know?” A smile spread over Mamie’s face.

“I had no idea…” I blinked. “If you hadn’t pointed me toward the right links, I might never have made the connection.” What are the odds?