A Passing Fancy

A Passing Fancy

Every time Jenny entered the bar, her eyes sought Devin’s. He was so different from Wade and his dark looks were so compelling.

It wasn’t until a few weeks later when she slipped off a stool in the kitchen and he managed to catch her, that his hands touched her for the first time. They encircled her waist and lifted her up, keeping her from turning her ankle. His hands, siding up her torso nearly under her breasts, caused her to catch her breath. The touch, intense and meaningful, shattered her denial.

Their faces were mere inches apart.

He was dark and dangerous. Wade had been full of light and shadows. Here, there was only smoldering heat. His eyes turned to liquid ink as he steadied her.

She pulled back, but he didn’t let her go. She wanted him to kiss her. This admission, racing through her, startled and shocked her.

As if he knew her thoughts, he grabbed her and pushed her back against the cutting table, and his lips took hers so powerfully, so sensually, she was unable to resist.

She didn’t want to resist. His lips were warm, soft, demanding and then hard with passion. She surrendered to it. She had no choice. She wanted this just as badly. For weeks, she’d wondered and now she knew.

His hands gripped her in places that craved his touch. He seem to know exactly what she needed and he gave it to her. He pushed his long lean legs between her own and her belly flipped and pooled deep within her. His tongue danced inside her mouth and suddenly she knew. She knew this man was so much more than a bartender. This man was somebody. This man could command a fleet, take down a country, take her down right now.

Wings

A Passing Fancy

by

Michelle Joy Stewart

A Wings ePress, Inc.

Paranormal Romance

Wings ePress, Inc.

Edited by: Joan Afman

Copy Edited by: Leslie Hodges

Senior Editor: Elizabeth Struble

Managing Editor: Leslie Hodges

Executive Editor: Marilyn Kapp

Cover Artist: Belinda Stewart

All rights reserved

Names, characters and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher.

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

Wings ePress Books

http://www.wings-press.com

Copyright © 2009 by Michelle Joy Stewart

ISBN 978-1-59705-496-6-:

Published by Wings ePress, Inc. at Smashwords

Published In the United States Of America

December 2009

Wings ePress Inc.

403 Wallace Court

Richmond, KY 40475

Dedication

To my family, including my son, Kyle and especially my mother, Rae Phillips, a fellow writer who helped edit and polish this story. To my sister, Belinda who did the artwork for this novel. To my friend, author Terri Valentine for her edits and support

One

Atlanta, Georgia

Spring

Jenny Williams spotted the Tarot Readings sign displayed in the corner window of the New Age bookstore. "Now? she whispered, glancing at the sign above the shop. Why would anyone name a store Now?" Her footsteps faltered. She’d never had her cards read. The idea of it gave her the heebie-jeebies. Besides, having to deal with her own psychic abilities was hard enough. But the frustration of not finding a place to open her restaurant weighed heavily on her mind. Dare she go inside?

Hesitant, yet unable to help herself, she pushed open the door. A musical, whimsical bell signaled her arrival. The musty incense and aromatic candles, hit her senses and the soft sounds of a mediation CD put her at ease. But who was she kidding? She wasn’t standing in the center of this quirky bookstore to buy. Then why was she peering at the masses of enlightenment paperbacks on a side table, as if she wanted a book?

So, here you are, a woman said, advancing toward her. The woman wore a long flowing flowered skirt. Her hair in a thick braid, hung long down her graceful back.

Excuse me?

I’ve been waiting for you.

Ah, I don’t think so. Jenny frowned.

My name’s Sonya. And you are?

Jenny, but I’m not anyone you’re supposed to be meeting. I’m just looking around, is all.

Is that right? Ummm, the tea leaves said differently this morning.

I was looking for a book. For a friend.

Sonya smiled.

Really. Jenny looked away, feeling embarrassment heighten the color in her cheeks. Okay, I’m not really looking for a book. I’m sorry, but I don’t...

You want a reading, perhaps?

Was she that transparent?

Come. Let’s sit and I’ll make another pot of tea.

In no time, they were sipping from warm mugs in the back room. Jenny relaxed into a deep-cushioned couch, across from a woman who for some reason put her immediately at ease, even as she shuffled a deck of very old tarot cards.

"Why is your shop named Now?" she asked more than curious.

"Because now is all we have, is it not? The past is gone, the future is a mystery, but the now is a gift. I read it in a Deepak Chopra book."

Never heard of him.

Ummm, well, you need to read more, my dear. So, you want an answer to a question?

Yes. You see, I can’t find a property to open my restaurant. I’m a chef, and well, everything in Atlanta is too expensive and I just don’t know what to do.

You ask about a building? Sonya’s puzzled eyes bore into her.

Well, yes. It’s my dream.

Nodding, the woman laid the deck on the small wooden table between them. Then, cut the cards.

She reached out and cut the deck. Uneasiness gripped her. What if it wasn’t meant to be?

Sonya drew eight cards and turned them over slowly, studying them as she proceeded.

Jenny suppressed the urge to get up and run out of the room, but a part of her had to know.

You have a great gift. Your psychic ability is rare.

Jenny nodded.

You’re not using it.

She squirmed.

Ahhhh, I see...

What? My building? Where is my building?

I see an Englishman.

Shit, she exclaimed. Her hand flew to her mouth. Sorry.

Sonya laughed. Then she gathered the cards and put them back in the deck.

That’s it?

No. You will have your restaurant. It will be a beautiful place and your success is secure, but what is important is the Englishman.

Where is my restaurant? Where do I find the building? she asked, ignoring the bit about the Englishman.

It will find you.

No wonder, I’ve never had my cards read, she said in disappointment. You can’t even point me in the right direction? You have no idea how frustrated I am.

It’s a peaceful place, Jenny. With big stately trees and Spanish moss hanging low. It’s going to become a very special place for you.

But how do I find it?

As far as the building, like I said, it will find you. And, Jenny, don’t forget about the Englishman.

Nodding, she paid the woman for her reading and bought a few candles before leaving.

Come back and visit me. I believe we are to become lasting friends.

Jenny smiled, actually liking the woman a bit even though she was sort of "out there". But then, who was she to talk?

As she walked back out into the sunshine, something in her lifted. She would have her restaurant and it would be special. Feeling peaceful now, she continued on and did not give another thought to the Englishman.

~ * ~

Baker’s Corner

Georgia

Two weeks later

As Jenny drove along the winding, county road, an abundance of wildflowers and spring buds graced the landscape. On the far right side, a bubbling brook as wide as a highway ran adjacent, twisting and turning as it followed the road. From her lowered car window, the rush of water over the mountain rocks was like a mantra.

This was just what she needed, an escape from the city and all her problems. The road continued into a little town, forgotten in favor of Atlanta or the Blue Ridge Mountain range just to the north.

There was only one intersection, displaying a long ago faded sign, welcoming visitors. The Honeysuckle Real Estate agency, she’d talked with them on the phone, came into view stuck between a beauty shop and a mom and pop hardware store.

Baker’s Corner, she whispered to herself.

There didn’t seem to be anything else to the don’t blink-or-you’ll-miss-it-town. She pulled the car over, stopping beside a picnic table. She’d brought lunch and planned to sit beside the brook and eat before searching out the real estate property the agency in town had told her about. Was she nuts to consider coming out this far?

~ * ~

Just another half mile, along the brook, right before the mountains overtook the road, stood Modine’s Gas and Stop.

As country gas stations went, in its day, it’d been a fancy place. All bright and shiny with advertisements of Ford trucks and GMC tires. Fast forward, twenty years to the present and the place resembled a dump. Peeling paint encrusted the front door, trash littered the ground and there were old tires, piled high outside by the dumpster. The repair shop, still open for business, looked more like a place for antiques rather than capable of repairing a modern car.

As if left behind from another world far removed from today, the station although dismal, still made money. Enough so that Wade Modine just let the days pass as he pumped gas and repaired the occasional tire or the overheated engine coming back from tackling the mountains.

With his handsome looks and brooding ways, he had the local women stopping to get gas even when they didn’t need it. Men liked him because he was just so lazy, that they always felt better about themselves after being around him. He could walk from his house to the gas station in about five minutes. The house sat directly behind the station, set off from the road in a forest of thick live oaks.

He owned it all. The house, the gas station and the forty-two acres left to him through the paternal side of his family. Once a prospering plantation of over a hundred acres, it now looked like a setting for a horror flick. He didn’t care if it all came tumbling down. A strong wind would probably do the job.

He squinted in the morning sun as a new, fire engine red, Dodge Ram pulled in to get gas.

Hey, Rick, he said, going around to pump for his regular customer, still willing to supply the long ago service, especially for friends and the few remaining townspeople.

Hi yah, Rick said, leaning out of the cab. Game’s at your house this Friday. So remember to get some food this time, will you?


My house? Ah man... I hate it when it’s at my house. Can’t we go to yours? Sally always makes those cheese ball thingies I like.

No. We all take turns and it’s yours. Stop at KFC or something. Gotta go, I’m really late. Without further comment, Rick peeled out, headed toward Atlanta and some stuffy office job that afforded him the new Ram.

With no other traffic about, Wade sat in a metal folding chair that leaned up against the side of the office. Without even a thought to doing any work at all, he opened the newspaper. He read everything. Had all day to do it, so he went through newspapers and books like paper towels and even did the crosswords later in the afternoon.

Old Henry from down the road came along around noon for a game of checkers; it bored the hell out of him but the old man couldn’t make sense of chess so Wade just went with it. By two o’clock Henry went home for a nap and then he closed the station for an hour and ate his lunch out back and if no one came around after that, he climbed into the hammock that swung under the huge oak tree and got some shut eye. He didn’t sleep well at night, so if he could steal a nap in the afternoon, he usually needed it. It wasn’t good business to close up for lunch, but he damn well didn’t care.

Later in the day, after seeing Henry off, Wade was just getting really relaxed, the pillow under his head, the hammock swaying, a pleasant breeze moving over him and he reached down to scratch his nuts, when the crunch of footsteps echoed on his gravel walkway.

Hello there. Excuse me?

He groaned. Who would dare disrupt his nap? Now a good friend was another matter, but didn’t this lady know there were plenty of new fancy gas stations just twenty miles in either direction. Couldn’t she go away?

Sighing, he opened his eyes and standing above him was most likely the hottest looking woman he’d ever seen. He tried to get out of the hammock gracefully, but fumbled about nearly flipping the contraption and himself on the ground.

Finally upright, he eyed her again. She really was a knock out. Clearing his throat, he stared into a sensual face with huge, forest green eyes all bright and full of life. Her lips were lush and rose colored, shimmering from some sort of glossy stuff and for the first time since high school, his belly took a dive right there and moved on down to where it counted. His Levi’s grew tight, causing him to adjust his stance. Damn, if he’d act embarrassed. It was her fault she looked that good. Her hair was all thick and wavy and the color of his dark brewed morning coffee. He wanted to grab a hunk of it and feel it slide on his bare stomach.

Jeez, he said finally. She must have every man she knew telling her how beautiful she was.

Excuse me?

Ah, you need some gas? Car trouble?

No. I phoned the realtors in town a few days ago and they said I should look at your place. I really love the setting.

What? Squinting now as the sun was hitting his eyes, he moved and she came into view, shaded by the giant live oak, her dancing eyes and curvy body displayed before him.

Those old hags know I’m not putting my place up for sale. Not now, not ever.

Mrs. Milder said you sold off a chunk of land about three years ago?

Yeah, well, Billy down the road wanted to build his wife a place near the pond. So I sold him five acres. It set back from his land so... I didn’t want the pond anymore.

She turned and looked toward the house, the wind picking up her bangs. She is rather majestic, she whispered, but sad looking.

Wade looked from the woman to his home. He hadn’t really noticed his house in years. She’d been a beauty once, like many old plantations in the area with its wide circular porch and thick white columns. But the azalea bushes were out of control and the trees hadn’t been cut back in so long. Spanish moss hung right down and draped the railings on the far side. Once it had even been graced with a name, but for the life of him he couldn’t even remember what it was. Peeling paint and long ago lost window siding made her look like a Southern belle who was still beautiful but lacking life or color.

The woman beside him was full of life and color and his stomach clenched again.

Can I take a look inside?

At my house?

Please.

What for? He stuffed his hands in his jean pockets. Told you I wasn’t selling.

Yes, I understand, but you see, if I take a look... She turned those dancing eyes on him again, as if to persuade him. Maybe, I won’t like it and that way I won’t keep comparing everything I see to it, wishing... She shrugged. I’ve been looking for months for a place and this, she said, twirling around, taking everything in, including him, it seemed. It feels so right.

He chewed on his bottom lip. What a strange lady. When was the last time he’d seen anyone twirl in his front yard? The pain slammed into him, surprising him it could still cut so deep, even now.

Hey, are you all right?

Just go. He squeezed his eyes shut.

I’m sorry. I guess I overstepped. She reached out and grabbed his arm. Really sorry to have bothered you. She let go of him.

The warmth and sweet contact was gone.

He stood there watching her walk away. She wore old jeans, not some fancy label, but boy, did they fit her like a glove. He glanced back at the house.

Shit. He didn’t want her to leave and he’d been damn rude. All she wanted was a look inside.

Hey, wait a minute, he called.

She turned around, her smile taking up her whole face.

It’d been a long time since he’d seen a woman smile like that.

You can have a look inside if you want.

She clapped her hands and came running back to him. He wanted her to run till she leaped into his arms and he could twirl her around like he used to do with little Lilly.

Thanks. She came to a halt right before him. My name’s Jenny Williams, she said, stretching out her hand for him to grasp.

Wade Modine. He nodded, taking her hand. It was soft and warm and he didn’t want to let it go.

Once inside, she walked around the living area and sitting room, taking in the high ceilings, hardwood floors and old stately fireplaces in each room. In the back, the windows ran from floor to ceiling on one side and looked out to the back garden, no longer tended.

He followed along. What was she thinking? Something. He could practically see the wheels churning in her head. She crept through every room, looking everything up and down. In the kitchen, his dishes had sort of piled up. But damn if he was going to apologize.

Sorry for the mess. Ah, shit. Want a cup of coffee?

That would be lovely.

He moved slowly, getting the pot filled with water, as she continued to inspect all corners of the kitchen.

It’s too small, but this wall could be knocked down and another room added. And in the back, I could seat thirty tables looking out to the garden. In the summer months, seating could also be outside.

He leaned on the side of the counter, watching her, not remembering the last time he’d been so entertained or enchanted. Even if her clothes didn’t yell fancy, she was a fancy piece. Out of his league. Probably had some doctor boyfriend tucked away who drove one of those foreign cars.

May I take a look upstairs?

He motioned her to do whatever. I’ll wait on the coffee and take it out back.

~ * ~

Jenny went up the stairs and followed the hall to the back room. It was the master suite and had a small circular balcony looking out to the front yard. The trees made it hard to see the gas station or the main road, making her feel secluded and safely tucked in. She instinctively felt warm and at home in this old, majestic house as if it was ready to shelter her from all of life’s stresses and issues.

The hall showed three other doors and she found two of them to be much smaller bedrooms. The new bathroom in the master suite had probably been a bedroom at one time. But it was the last room, at the far end of the narrow hallway that made her pause. Something in the air beckoned her. Slowly, she approached it. Opening the door, she stepped into a bedroom decorated for a young girl, done in pink and pastels. A wooden rocking horse sat in a corner and a dollhouse, old and elaborate, dominated the window. Thick dust covered everything.

Here, something different swirled around her. The atmosphere, thick with wanting and sadness, layered over her. It drew her in. Psychic awareness sharpened. Abilities she’d closed off for a long time, surged through her as if with a life force of their own.

She picked up a faded teddy bear from the bed when the images hit her. She screamed. She’d never screamed before and it shocked her as much as the sensations that came after. She sank to the bed as dizziness engulfed her.

Oh God, oh God, no.

But the images came anyway, fast and furious, just like they always did, once she was sucked in. Sweat broke out on her forehead. Her hands went clammy as the vision of a little girl came to life. The child was all wet from swimming, her hair long and hanging down her back. She sat in the shallow edge of a pond, adorable looking with a golden suntan.

It’s time to go, the woman standing beside her said. So we can go on our adventure.

But we have to stop at home and get Daddy first, the little girl replied.

No, not this trip. This trip it’s just you and me. And Frank might come too. How’s that?

The little girl’s smile faded...until all that was left was the sound of her crying. Pitiful sounds of despair, making Jenny’s stomach clinch in pain. She lowered her head between her legs as more images rushed in. This time, the child was in a room, not this bedroom but another one not nearly as nice. She looked sad and forlorn. Her big eyes swam in fear.

"I just want my daddy," the child whispered softly, tears streaming down her pale cheeks, as she seemed to look at Jenny for the answer.

~ * ~

Wade flew up the stairs, the scream having terrified him. When he discovered Jenny in Lilly’s room, a room he had not ventured in for so long, he froze, staring.

She sat on the bed, her head lowered as if a terrible pain had overcome her.

Are you all right?

She looked up, her cheeks wet with her own tears. Where is she?

Who?

The little girl?

My daughter? Lilly?

Letting go of a breath, she nodded.

He leaned back on the doorframe, staring at her. What had happened to this woman in his daughter’s room?

Seconds ticked by.

He walked from the door, moving slowly around the