Lightning Only Strikes Twice Page 2
Luke fell into step next to her.
They waded through the dormant grass, avoiding areas still spongy from the recent snowmelt. She paused when they reached the edge of the aspen grove. The realization of this last visit settled over her like the lid closing on her grandfather’s casket.
Her knees locked and she swayed with the same sense of loss.
Luke touched her arm. “Are you all right?”
At his touch, electricity pricked over her skin as though he’d captured the essence of the approaching storm and sent it zinging through her body.
Dazed, she looked at his face. A twitch at the corner of his mouth drew her attention. He had a nice mouth. She wondered fleetingly how those firm lips would feel against hers. She halted the errant thought and gazed on a less attractive feature—his crooked nose. “I’m fine.”
His eyes sparked with an answering intensity as though he’d read her mind. “Tell me about this tree.”
Her past was a subject she rarely shared, but what did it matter now? There was no one left in her life to reminisce with.
“When I was little, my grandfather and I picnicked here. We’d sit under a special tree in this grove. It was old and broken then, so I’m sure age has taken its toll.”
“Why was it special?”
“My grandfather used to tell me stories about it.” She negotiated around a willow bush and together they entered the aspen grove. “I can’t believe you’re interested in an old man’s stories.”
Luke stopped short. “What makes you say that?”
The business section in the paper called him Mr. Progress. His success couldn’t have come without some challenges, but she doubted he’d ever worried over stretching his last twenty dollars before payday. However, his interested expression encouraged her to offer the one thing she refused to put a price on—honesty.
“From my perspective,” she said. “I see you as a man who looks only to the future for solutions.”
“And that’s a bad thing?” He seemed genuinely perplexed.
“It’s not bad, necessarily. It’s lopsided.”
She gestured toward the old mill behind them. From this angle, it looked like the decrepit relic it truly was, instead of the proud icon of a long forgotten industry. “History has lessons to offer too.”
How could she explain things that were in her DNA? Her grandfather had told stories about his father, and his father’s father. How they lived, what they endured, and the sacrifices they made for a better life.
“Your view is just as lopsided, Miss Crawford.”
Annie dragged her gaze away from the mill. The fading light shadowed Luke’s face. What did he care about her life? She was a legal responsibility until she left the property. Then she’d be less than a liability—only a fleeting memory.
“I believe I can live in the present and still appreciate the legacy left by our forefathers.” She refused to apologize for sharing a little of what lived in her heart.
“I’m appreciative of our forefathers,” Luke said. “However, I’m not deluded with the romanticism of the past.” He stepped closer and the shadows fell away from his face. “Life was difficult in places like White Rock. The people who lived here had short life spans. Sometimes they died horrible, unnecessary deaths.” He delivered the bleak facts with a hard expression.
“Life was simpler,” she countered. “Obviously, there weren’t the luxuries we have today, but people took care of one another. Neighbors came to each other’s aid. Every individual had purpose—they weren’t simply cogs in some corporate machine.”
Lightning knifed across the western sky, followed seconds later by rumbling thunder. A chill shimmied down her spine as the echo faded against the ridgeline.
Luke scanned the treetops and then glanced at his watch. “It’s getting late. We need to go.”
“You can leave. I’m not done yet.”
He frowned and reached for her arm. “I can’t let you stay here alone. It’s not safe. Come on.”
She backed away to avoid the confusion his touch generated.
Another rush of wind stirred the trees. The musty odor of woodland decay followed. The scent conjured memories and nostalgia beckoned for her to finish her task. “You go ahead. I’m going to find the tree.”
Luke raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. “Lead on.”
She would have preferred these moments to herself, but held her tongue. They were almost at the center of the grove anyway.
Ignoring Luke’s resolute presence, she continued a few more yards until she spotted the tree.
A solitary lodgepole pine hunkered beneath the canopy of aspen, its branches broken and knotted with re-growth. The trunk was split through the middle to a quarter of the way down. Six inches from where the split started, four pairs of initials were carved in the trunk.
Age had gnarled the trunk and sap filled deep creases along the surface. Yet the initials, distorted by time and scarring, seemed to glimmer in the dim light of the grove.
“Whose initials are they?” Luke asked. He stood so close his breath ruffled her hair.
“My great-great-grandfather’s family.” A peculiar warmth curled inside her and warred with tears that burned her eyes.
She laid her hand on the jagged bark. As a child, listening to her grandfather’s stories, she used to pretend ghosts from the past would claim her as kin. Even now, she yearned for a link to family that mere words couldn’t convey.
After today, every connection would be gone.
****
Luke watched Annie Crawford caress the bark as though communing with the dead. The unconscious display of emotion made him uncomfortable. He cleared his throat. “The stories your grandfather told, were they about your family?”
“Yes.”
A flash of lightning caught his eye. Rain wasn’t far off. Thunderstorms usually didn’t bother him, but the one approaching over the mountains was shaping up to pack a wallop. He checked his watch again. If they dallied much longer, he’d miss his dinner appointment.
He’d delayed the conversation he needed to have with Emmaline for too long. On their last date, when she’d hinted they should move in together, he realized their relationship had taken a direction he wasn’t ready for.
Admittedly, he’d been driven to show his father he was ready to take over as CEO of Maxwell Development, but he should have paid closer attention. Cementing his relationship with Emmaline wasn’t in his plans and it wasn’t fair to her to keep her waiting and wondering.
Thunder rolled once more in the distance.
His confrontation with Emmaline would have to wait until Annie finished her quest.
He hadn’t been invited to use her first name, yet that was how he saw this unpretentious woman whose refreshingly open opinions conflicted with his. Even though she wasn’t the type he was usually attracted to, had the circumstances been different, he might have considered getting to know her better.
Her honest gray eyes, smooth skin, and trim figure offered an enticing diversion.
Just because he was ready to end his relationship with Emmaline, didn’t mean he was ready to move into another. Besides, Annie obviously didn’t care much for him or his profession.
Another slash of lightning ripped the sky. Thunder crashed seconds later. The wind grew stronger. Tree branches swirled in a rhythmic motion making them appear to lift from their roots and take off in dance. He dismissed the whimsical thought. Annie’s stories were starting to get to him.
Time to get out of these mountains.
“Miss Crawford!”
His shout broke her trancelike. Raw emotion in her gray eyes matched the leaden skies above.
“What?” she asked.
He pointed up as sporadic raindrops splattered the higher leaves. “It’s time to go.”
“I told you to go ahead.”
Tears clung to her lashes. Damn, did the woman have to cry now? She blinked and the tears were gone. He wasn’t sure he’d seen th
em. “I’m not leaving until I see you safely to your car.”
“Do I have a choice?”
“No.” He took her arm.
With her elbow in his palm, he began to lead her out of the forest.
She resisted, looking longingly back at the tree.
Something foreign tugged at him. On impulse, he made up his mind. “I can’t prevent the grove from being cut down, but since that tree is so important, I’ll have my crew preserve the section with the initials. It’ll be yours.”
Annie stared at him for a moment as though she didn’t understand his offer. Then, for the first time today, a genuine smile curved her rosy lips offering a glimpse of tiny dimples at the corners of her mouth. Wind fluttered her chestnut hair, exposing her slender neck. She seemed transformed into some woodland nymph and he couldn’t look away.
“Oh, Luke! I…Thank you.”
The warmth in her voice chased away the chill in the spring air.
“Do you have a knife?” She slipped out of his grasp and returned to the tree.
He followed. “What for?” Did she want to start chopping it down now?
“When I was younger, I tried to carve my initials next to the others, but Grandpa wouldn’t let me.”
Luke pulled a folding knife off his belt and opened the blade. “Why now?”
Taking the knife, she faced the tree. “It didn’t matter before, but if the trunk will be preserved, then my initials will be permanent alongside my family’s.”
The delight in her voice made him glad he’d made the offer. She may not like what he was doing to the property, but he’d at least shown her he wasn’t completely insensitive.
“Hurry.”
Annie placed the blade against the bark and pressed. Sap bled from the cut.
Another bolt of lightning streaked through the sky, followed immediately by a boom that shook the ground under their feet. She gave a startled cry and flinched. The knife dropped to the soft earth below the tree.
“Sorry.” She picked up the knife.
More lightning lit up the grove and glinted off an object on the handle.
“What’s this?” Brushing away the dirt, she revealed small golden medallion set in the bone hilt.
Luke looked over her shoulder at the knife. “My father had this knife made for my twenty-first birthday. I think it’s some old coin he used to carry.”
Annie held it up in the waning light. “That can’t be…” Slipping a hand under the collar of her blouse, she tugged on a chain. Dangling on the end was a small gold medallion. “Look.”
The medallion was about the size of a quarter, but much thinner. He touched it and a wash of familiarity settled over him. “May I?” he asked.
Annie nodded.
He slid his hand along her neck to unlatch the chain. Her skin felt like warm silk and she trembled under his touch. The urge to draw her close and quell her shivers was as unexpected as it was strong. Clamping down the impulse, he unclasped the chain and the necklace slid into his palm.
Closer inspection showed a woman’s face etched on one side. The obverse matched the man’s face etched on the medallion embedded in his knife.
“Where did you get this?” he asked.
“Grandpa gave it to me. I’ve always thought it was my grandmother’s.”
He removed the knife from Annie’s hand and compared the two medallions. Despite the gloom of overcast skies, both objects radiated with a strange glow.
“They’re identical,” he whispered.
She leaned closer to look. “How could we both have the same thing?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “Maybe when your grandfather tried to sell the property to my dad ten years ago, they found these medallions in one of the houses.”
“But Grandpa didn’t sell. I didn’t even know he wanted to until I found those papers after he died,” she said with a catch in her voice.
Their gazes met and held. The air grew strangely calm.
The improbable scent of lavender teased Luke’s nose. An invisible force tugged at him and made it difficult to think with her so close.
The sky flashed with the brilliance of the noonday sun, then went dark. The thunder that followed was right on top of them.
Annie jumped and glanced at the tree. “I’d better finish so we can leave.” Her hands shook as she took the knife from him.
“Let me help,” he said. Still holding her necklace in his palm, he stepped beside her.
****
Annie quivered at Luke’s nearness. Blood surged through her veins with the wild beat of her heart. Had he wanted to kiss her? If the thunder hadn’t startled her…
She shook off the ridiculous thought. Luke wasn’t a man to be interested in the likes of her. All that mattered now was carving her initials next to those of her long-gone family. Later, she could question why Luke had a medallion identical to her pendant. Later, she’d have more time than she needed—alone.
She raised the knife.
Luke’s fingers wrapped warmly around hers. Together they guided the blade to the bark and shaved away the first leg for the letter A.
The air splintered.
Electrical currents shimmered and danced around them. Light and sparks erupted as lightning struck the ground next to the tree.
Luke’s body tensed.
His face paled. Then his legs buckled.
Annie tried to catch him.
His forehead collided with hers making her stumble and strike her head on the tree.
The forest pulsated with deafening thunder. Rockets burst behind her eyes as she collapsed to the ground beside Luke.
Chapter Two
White Rock, 1891
Annie rolled onto her side and opened her eyes.
Greens, browns, and blues swirled in a kaleidoscope from hell. Her body felt suspended in space, spinning like an out-of-control merry-go-round. Sweat broke on her brow and cooled quickly in the slight breeze. A bitter taste crawled up the back of her throat and her nauseous stomach churned.
Her rapid breath was out of sync with her heartbeat adding to the lightheadedness. She squeezed her eyes shut, swallowed urge to throw up, and curled into a fetal position, afraid to move.
As the vertigo ebbed, she started to relax. Seconds later, it returned more strongly than before. Clammy heat engulfed her middle. Without warning, she heaved the meager contents of her stomach onto the ground.
Feeling slightly better, she tucked her chin to her chest to stop tremors racking her body. Part of her wished for oblivion. If she was going to die, then just get it over. Another part insisted she focus on something other than pain and discomfort. Choosing the latter option, she concentrated on slowing her breathing and cautiously uncurled her body.
Somewhere a dove cooed. Farther away, a squirrel jabbered.
The sounds were out of place, like a dream.
Above her, daylight poked through a canopy of tree branches. Sharp light sliced painfully across her eyes. Was this a fevered hallucination?
Dirt, trees, squirrels. A forest? Why was she in a forest?
Laughter echoed through the trees. The chatter of young voices and footsteps snapping dry twigs followed. As the voices grew louder, the forest creatures quieted.
She rolled toward the sound. The movement brought her face-to-face with the trunk of a tree. She braced a hand against the rough bark and tried to leverage into a sitting position. Her body refused to obey. The effort drained what little strength she had. With a groan, she collapsed onto her back and closed her eyes.
“Hey, look over there!” a voice shouted. The footsteps sounded closer.
“Is she dead?” a voice whispered.
“I dunno.” A softer voice whispered back. “Maybe.”
Annie opened her eyes. The figure of a boy slowly came into focus.
“See, she’s not dead,” said the boy. “Miss? Are you hurt?” His tan pants were fastened with brown suspenders over an off-white shirt. His face filled with kind concern.
Annie tried to sit up, but could only lift her head a little. “I…I’m—” She stopped, horrified her voice sounded foreign to her own ears.
Another boy knelt beside her. Dressed similarly to the first boy, he looked a couple of years younger. He touched the back of her hand, and then cradled it in his own. “It’s okay,” he whispered. “We ain’t gonna hurt you.”
A young girl stepped into view. Her faded blue cotton dress didn’t quite reach the tops of her black button boots. “Is she sick? It sort of smells like throw-up.”
“I think we oughtta git the doc,” the older boy spoke again. “Willie, you stay with her.”
The boy holding her hand looked up. “Me? Whadda I do if she dies?”
The girl leaned over and stared at Annie with solemn eyes. “Don’t die,” she whispered. “Willie’s afraid of dead people.”
The absurdity of the girl’s comment brought a smile to Annie’s lips. Unable to speak, she nodded her head, which seemed to satisfy the girl.
She turned and chased after the older boy.
Annie’s gaze returned to the youngster still holding her hand.
He scowled at the retreating children and then looked at her. “I ain’t afraid.”
She ventured another smile, grateful the vertigo had lessened.
The scowl left the boy’s face. “You’re gonna be all right,” he told her. “I heard Mr. Maxwell fell down out here too, and he seems fine now. Except he’s grumpy most of the time.”
The child’s rambling made little sense, but Maxwell’s name sounded vaguely familiar.
“Can you talk yet?” Willie asked. “How come you can’t talk? What’s your name? Why are you out here in the woods?”
Her head spun, trying to keep up with the questions. “I’m…My name is…Annie.” She searched her mind for her last name. Nothing. What was wrong with her?
“My name’s William,” he said. “Everybody calls me Willie.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Willie.” The boy’s anxiousness to help was welcome in all this strangeness. With the return of her voice, some strength had returned as well. “Do you think you can help me sit up?”
“Sure.” Willie climbed to his feet.
He tugged one of her hands while she pushed off the ground.