In the Spirit

In the Spirit

Smashwords Edition

© 2016, Linda Rettstatt

3rd Act Books

Cover: Linda Rettstatt; Photo courtesy Pixabay

All rights reserved. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work, in whole or part, by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, is illegal and forbidden.

This is a work of fiction. Characters, settings, names, and occurrences are a product of the author’s imagination and bear no resemblance to any actual person, living or dead, places or settings, and/or occurrences. Any incidences of resemblance are purely coincidental.

DEDICATION

For everyone who believes in love everlasting—love that transcends death.

Chapter One

You have six new messages, the voicemail announced.

Jessica, it’s me. Pamela. Your agent. Remember? William Briggs is on my case about your manuscript. Did you receive my letter? Call me.

Jessica jabbed the button on the phone, erasing the message. Anxiety burned in her stomach and tension coiled the muscles across her shoulders. She tossed her keys onto the table and pulled a bottle of water from the refrigerator. Binky, her slightly neurotic tuxedo cat, wove around her ankles then pressed her face against Jessica’s shoe and made sucking sounds.

I know you want dinner. Give me five minutes.

Next message. Received today at seven-o-five p.m., the monotone recorded voice announced.

Hi, Mom. Did you get my text? You didn’t answer. Grandma wants to know if you’re coming up to the farm this weekend. Would you bring the CDs I left in my room? Thanks. Bye.

Sure, Elliot. I’m only here to serve, she muttered, chugging the water. Shit. She did not have time to drive to her parents’ farm in Vermont. She resisted the urge to toss the phone onto the tile floor and stomp it into oblivion. How many people still kept a landline phone these days? They were nothing but trouble. Especially the voicemail.

She carried a stack of mail to the living room and dropped into the plush leather recliner, kicking off her shoes. The mail held no better news than the phone messages–two bills, four credit card offers, and a written summons from her agent.

The cat leaped up onto the arm of the chair, pressed a paw into Jessica’s left breast, and stroked her cheek with a prickly tongue. She lifted the cat and returned her to the floor. In one minute. Please.

With a heavy sigh, Jessica removed the letter from the envelope and unfolded it as if it contained a bomb.

Dear Jessica,

I know I don’t have to remind you that we have a deadline. Meaning you have a deadline. I need that first draft of Second Love a.s.a.p. Since you’re not returning my calls, I’m giving you this little nudge. Please call me when you get this, or I’ll call you–again. You’re usually very prompt. What is going on?

Regards,

Pamela

Pamela Weston, Literary Agent

Weston-Barclay Literary Agency

I wish I knew. Jessica dropped the letter onto her lap and rolled her neck.

Binky meowed loudly over her empty dish and glared back at her mistress. Jessica got up and popped open a can of cat food, scooping out half. The cat gave her a was-that-so-difficult look and swished her tail.

With Binky now happily devouring her dinner, Jessica flipped through the travel magazine at the bottom of the pile of mail. A photo in a small block advertisement caught her eye: Rustic log cabin for rent – Charming 3 bedroom cabin in the Central Pennsylvania mountains; secluded, quiet retreat. Hiking, fishing, boating, seasonal hunting. Available weekly or monthly. Pets welcome.

Remembering a summer when she was eleven and her parents took her to the Pocono Mountains in Pennsylvania for a week’s vacation, Jessica closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath. She could almost breathe in the calm and the fresh air. Perfect. She picked up her cell phone and punched in the numbers.

You want the cabin for the entire summer? The agent on the other end of the line sounded incredulous.

For at least six weeks, maybe eight. Make it eight. I’ll pay up front and, if I decide to leave sooner, I won’t expect a refund.

The rental agent gave her the details and cost, got her email to send the rental application and took her credit card information. Once I have your completed application, I’ll process the payment and send you a receipt and directions. Thank you, Ms. Windsor.

Oh, is there internet service?

Wi-Fi. The cabin is in a wooded area, but not that far from town.

Great. Thanks so much. As she ended the call, she could almost feel her muscles uncoil in anticipation. But then that little nagging voice in her head had to butt in: This isn’t going to fix anything. Wherever you go, there you are.

She swatted a hand next to ear as if waving away a pesky mosquito. Shut up. The change will do me a world of good. The fresh air will unlock my creativity.

Yeah, keep telling yourself that.

How would she break the news to her son? She needed to go alone, but Elliot was going to put up a fuss. He loved his grandparents, but spending the summer on a dairy farm would not be his idea of a good time.

Her mother answered on the third ring. Hey, sweetie. Everything okay with you?

Mom, I won’t be coming up to the farm this weekend. Actually, I’m wondering if Elliot can stay with you for a while. Maybe the whole summer? She explained about the cabin and her need to finish the damn novel. Well, she left out the damn for her mother’s sake. I think a change of scenery will get my creative juices flowing again. I really need to finish this book.

You know your father and I will love to have Elliot here for the summer.

Thanks. Is he there now?

A moment later, her son came on the line. Hi, Mom.

Hi, honey. How’s it going?

Okay. Are you coming up to the farm this weekend? Did you get my text? I left a phone message, too, because I know you don’t check your texts that often.

I got your message. I can’t make it this weekend. Jessica chewed on her lip. How would you like to spend the summer up there with your grandparents?

Mo-om. All summer? I mean, I love Grandma and Grandpa, but my friends are all there in the city.

She sighed, expecting this reaction. She couldn’t blame Elliot. He was a fifteen-year-old boy used to living in New York, not on a rural Vermont farm. I know, but I’m under a lot of pressure with this deadline. I need to go away for at least six weeks and get this book finished. It’s my work.

Maybe you should find a different job, he muttered.

She winced. Perhaps I should. She had the worst case of writer’s block ever. And it was all Jay’s fault. How was she supposed to write a romance novel when her own romance had just crashed and burned, leaving her heart in pieces. Elliot, I know I’m asking a lot. But I really, really need your cooperation right now. If I get unstuck and the book comes together sooner, I promise I’ll drive straight up to the farm and bring you home.

Where are you going?

I’ve rented a cabin in the mountains in Pennsylvania.

This is so not fair. You get to go to the mountains and I have to milk cows.

Jessica grinned, stifling a laugh. Her father hadn’t manually milked his cows in years. He had all the modern equipment that did that for him. I’m sure your grandfather appreciates your help. I promise you and I will do something really special before school starts.

Skydiving!

Jessica groaned inwardly. For the past year, all Elliot had talked about was how two of his friends had gone skydiving the previous summer with an uncle who owned his own plane. He had collected brochures and sent her email with website links to skydiving adventures. The last thing Jess wanted to do was jump out of an airplane strapped to a complete stranger and trusting in a four hundred square foot piece of sheer fabric to safely deliver her to the ground. Fortunately, Elliot wouldn’t be old enough for another year. You have to be sixteen, even with my permission. But I promise we’ll do something fun before school starts. Please, Elliot, work with me here.

Okay. But I need some things from my room.

Text a list and I’ll ship everything to you overnight. She exhaled with relief. Thank you. You are my favorite son.

Mom, I’m your only child. Here’s Grandma.

Is everything okay? her mother asked.

It is now. Thanks, Mom, for keeping Elliot. I’m going to try to get this first draft done by mid-August and then come up there for a few days before bringing him home. If he gives you any trouble, call me.

Her mother laughed. You forget–your father and I raised you. I think we can handle our grandson. Do you remember our trip to the Poconos? You had so much fun fishing with your dad and swimming in that lake instead of a pool.

I do remember. But right now I need the solitude more than the fish. I have to get this book written.

Let us know when you get settled. We love you.

Love you, too. Tell Daddy. I’ll talk to you soon. She hung up the phone and drew in a deep breath, her shoulders easing as she exhaled. That went well.

Maybe time alone in the woods will spark my muse.

She could swear she heard a verbal response: And maybe Binky will learn to fly.

Three days later, Jessica elicited the help of the building’s doorman, Jasper, to lug her two suitcases, computer bag, and a yowling Binky inside her carrier and load it all into her car parked at the curb.

There you go, Ms. Windsor. You have a nice vacation.

Thanks, Jasper. She didn’t need to explain to the doorman that this trip was a last ditch effort to keep her career alive.

The drive was less than two hours. Binky settled into a nap after twenty minutes of howling her disapproval of the plans. Once out of the city, Jessica popped in a CD and willed herself to relax. This was going to work. Being in new surroundings, away from the city, would help her to refocus and finish the damn book.

~ * ~

Andrew McCabe moved soundlessly around the cedar log cabin, peering out the front window, then the back. It is deadly quiet around here. He chuckled at the unintentional humor of his thought. Tourist season should begin any time now. He both loved and hated that fact. He loved the entertainment factor of having others in house, people with funny quirks and disgusting habits that never ceased to amuse him. He hated having people in the house who could come and go, live and love and laugh together. People who could leave this place, leaving him behind, trapped. He never minded the kids. Some of them at least seemed to have a sense of his presence and, most weren’t frightened by that awareness. Animals, on the other hand, were a real pain. They sensed him and pursued him non-stop, growling, hissing, spitting. There was even that hamster that kept running head-long into the wall after him.

A car sounded in the driveway and he returned to the front window to see a pair of long, shapely legs emerge from a late-model BMW. The woman stood, a brisk breeze whipping mahogany hair around her face. A pair of khaki hiking shorts hugged narrow hips. The red tank top rose as she stretched, showing her abdomen and emphasizing the city pallor of her skin.

She wrestled two pieces of luggage from the trunk and