Foxfire Light (14 page)

He recoiled in mock offense. “I'm serious. It is a problem.” But she could see the laughing twinkle in his eye.

“Let me know when you come up with a solution.” She walked to the porch where he was standing. Linc's angle intercepted her path as she reached her destination.

“Grab a step and sit yourself down.” Jessie waved a hand to the porch steps. He claimed the top one while Joanna and Linc sat down on the second. “Going ridin', eh?”

“Yes, it should be a pleasant evening for it,” Linc replied, tipping his hat to the back of his head.

“If'n I was you, I'd make a point of gettin' back afore dark,” he nodded sagely.

“Why?” Joanna shifted her position to sit sideways on the step so she could see the slightly eccentric character.

“It's a night for 'haints.' “

“Haints? What is that?” She'd never heard the word.

“Haunts. Ghosts,” Linc translated.

Her leg was being pulled again, she realized. “You aren't trying to tell me that you believe in ghosts?” she laughed uncertainly.

“Ain't sayin' I do, an' I ain't sayin' I don't,” Jessie hedged. “But thare's folks that claim to have seen some things that would stand your hair on end.”

Joanna couldn't help being skeptical. “Such as?”

“Have ya' ever heard tell of Breadtray Mountain?” he challenged.

“No.” She shook her head and glanced at Linc. He was lighting a cigarette, his hand cupping the flame. She couldn't see his face. “What about it?”

“It's a mountain over in Stone County. There's been a lot of stories told about that place but one thing is a fact—hill-folks don't go around there after dark.”

“Why not?”

“It's haunted, that's why not.” He gave her a look that questioned her intelligence for asking such a thing.

“How do you know it's haunted?” Joanna persisted.

“I never said I knew it. I'm just tellin' you what I've heard,” he explained patiently, neither claiming to believe it or disbelieve it. “The stories say that Spaniards buried a bunch of gold there years ago. Right after that, they was attacked by Indians and all of 'em were killed. If you go to Breadtray Mountain at night, you can
hear the sobs and screams of those dying men.” His voice became low and theatrical as he bent closer to Joanna, his eyes widening.

Despite her common sense, she felt a little shiver run down her spine. “Why would they want to haunt the mountain?”

“Some say them ghosts will stay 'til somebody finds that gold they buried. Those Spanish soldiers can't rest 'til it's dug up and recovered.”

“And nobody's found it?” She already guessed the answer.

“Nope.” He shook his head sadly. “Tho' plenty a'people has looked.”

“There probably isn't any gold or any ghosts,” Joanna doubted.

“I s'pose you don't believe in ghosts just' cause you've never seen one,” Jessie challenged. All the while, Linc sat quietly smoking his cigarette and watching the two of them with indulgent interest. “Just 'cause you ain't seen one, don't mean there ain't none.”

“I know it doesn't, but—”

“Ghosts are spirits. Most of the time, they're invisible. But there is a way you can see 'em,” he declared.

“How?”

“A rider can see a ghost—even if it's invisible—by looking at it from behind his horse's ears,” Jessie stated with complete certainty. “Jest sight down that horse's nose like it was a rifle.”

“What!” Joanna exclaimed in disbelief at the wild claim.

“Why's that so hard to believe?” Jessie protested.
“Animals—horses and dogs—can see things we can't. If there's a ghost around, your horse will be pointing his head at it. Why do you think folks say that a horse 'spooks' when he shies from somethin' that his rider can't see. You try it sometime. Just look between his ears when you're sittin' a'straddle him.”

“I'll do it,” she stated to put an end to all this superstitious nonsense.

“You wouldn't happen to have a pitcher ofthat cold spring water in the house, Jessie? I'm a little thirsty,” Linc said. “How about you, Joanna?”

“If you have some, yes,” she nodded, remembering that he didn't have running water in the old cabin.

“It'll just take me a minute to fetch it.” He rose with a turn and walked into the house.

Joanna looked at Linc and lowered her voice. “Does he really believe all that nonsense about the ghosts?”

“You should be here when he really gets wound up. Of course, it's best when it's dark and you're sitting around the flickering light of a campfire. He can scare you silly with some of his tales.” Linc paused. “Storytelling is almost a lost art. Radio, television, movies, they have taken it over.”

“I guess that's true,” Joanna agreed.

When Jessie returned, he was carrying two mismatched glasses of water. It was cool and sweet. She drank every drop of hers. Jessie nodded his approval.

“Best water around,” he stated with pride.

“Mmm, delicious.” She wiped a droplet of water from her chin and handed him back the glass. “Thanks.”

“Ready to start out?” Linc asked and pushed to his feet.

“Sure.” She stood to walk with him to the horses.

“Keep an eye out for them haints,” Jessie advised.

T
he boat was a simple runabout, powered by an outboard motor. A pair of flotation cushions offered some relief from the hardness of the board seats. Any change of position in the small boat almost required logistic planning even though there were only two people. With all their fishing paraphernalia—tacklebox, bait, nets, and rods—there wasn't much room for their feet.

In a quiet cove, the boat drifted on the still waters of the lake. The skeletons of trees poked their white limbs above the surface close to shore, long ago drowned by the damming of White River that had formed the lake.

The striated layers of a limestone bluff were drenched by the rays of the setting sun. Hugging
the shoreline, a mallard hen kept counting heads and quacking to make sure her brood of ducklings stayed together. High overhead, a hawk soared in a lazy circle, gliding effortlessly on the air currents.

The boat rocked gently as Rachel shifted her position slightly and cast her Line into the deep water. Her first few attempts had been uncoordinated and inaccurate, but she had since regained the knack of casting so the line sailed out smoothly and on target.

“Very good,” Reece nodded in smiling approval.

His dark eyes noticed the way she beamed proudly at his compliment. They noticed a lot of things about her, from her appearance to the unmasking of her personality. A cloth hat covered her light brown hair, its shapeless brim protecting her pale complexion from the burning rays of the sun.

Over a modest tanktop of yellow knit she was wearing an old blue blouse with long sleeves as a light jacket. At Reece's insistence, there was a life belt around her trim waist. Splotches of white paint on her faded jeans indicated they had long ago been relegated to less than everyday clothes. The worn material softly hugged her hips and legs in a way that was decidedly attractive.

Dressed as she was, there was a gamin charm about her. A complete abandonment of pretence that she was any more than what he saw. Proud, spirited . . . vulnerable, she was naturally woman.
Her eyes no longer tried to keep him from seeing inside.

Rachel was all the things he had thought her to be and more, much more. A heady excitement swelled inside him until he wanted to shout his happiness to the world.

“What are you smiling about?” Rachel studied him with a look that was wary yet openly warm.

“You.” His smile deepened with incredible inner pleasure.

“I must look a mess,” she admitted without embarrassment.

“A beautiful mess,” Reece corrected in a vibrant tone of undisguised adoration.

Her attention shifted to her fishing rod as she tested the tautness of the line. “One of the first signs of age is failing eyesight. I think you need yours tested.” She was deliberately provocative.

With a small, negative movement of his head, Reece dismissed her reasoning. “I have contracted a malady that attacks all ages,” he explained. “It is a widely known fact that love is blind.”

Rachel faltered, unable to look at him, afraid to breathe, afraid to hope that it wasn't an empty phrase. Her fingers closed tightly around the handle of the fishing rod. For several seconds, there was only the quiet lapping of the water against the sides of the boat.

“I promised myself I wouldn't rush you.” His sigh was heavy with irritation. “That I would wait until—” He stopped in midsentence then abruptly refused to retract his admission. “Love
is a beautiful word. It is what I feel, and I don't regret saying it.”

When she finally looked at him, she was fighting the happiness that misted his image. “Do you know what I feel like right now, Reece?” Her voice was husky with emotion. “I can't seem to act my age. My legs are like rubber and, I swear, I'd swoon if you touched me.”

The grimness was erased from his expression as he leaned forward, absently setting his pole aside. His eyes were dark with longing, possessive in their study of her face. He brought up his hand to caress her cheek. There was a fluttering of her lashes but she didn't swoon.

“It isn't too soon?” He needed to verify that she didn't object to this quantum leap in their relationship.

“It probably is,” she replied. “There hasn't been enough time to be sure. It could all be a mistake.”

“It isn't. Don't ask me how I know but it isn't,” he insisted. “We are not young any more, Rachel, and I'm glad. We have the experience to see and appreciate the worth of what we share, and the wisdom to treasure it.”

The smallest smile touched her mouth. “You sound so wise and experienced. You must be a lot older than I am, because there isn't a single sane or sensible thought in my head,” she declared with the faintest trace of humor.

His soft laugh was barely audible. The warmth of his breath caressed her skin as he
brought his mouth against her lips. They strained toward each other across the distance between their seats, bridging it with their kiss yet unable to close the gap.

The kiss burned with the passion of the young, its fire sealing the promises of their words. There was a certain savoring quality about the embrace, a sense of rapturous wonder that must be tasted slowly to be enjoyed.

When the feast was brought to a reluctant end, Rachel sighed in partial satisfaction. They continued to gaze at one another as if assuring themselves that it all was real, and their contentment was mutual.

A passing speedboat sent its wake into the cove where the runabout bobbed on its rippling waves. Reece let his gaze slide to their surroundings and return to her.

“Here we are in a small boat in the middle of the lake with smelly fish bait at our feet.” There was regret in his bemused expression. “It is hardly a romantic setting. I can't even properly hold you in my arms. Shall we go back to the cabin?”

She straightened to sit erectly, mocking him with a reproving look. “Without catching our supper?” she chided. “I don't know about you, but I'd like something more substantial than scrambled eggs.”

Reece chuckled. “It is amazing how hungry I suddenly feel.”

The reel began to spin on Rachel's rod as a fish
took the baited hook on her line. The sudden sound startled her until she realized what it was.

Then she cried out in triumph, “I've got one!”

Her fingers became all thumbs as she clumsily began to reel it in. Reece laughed heartily at her uncoordinated efforts.

“It's probably a minnow,” he teased.

'That's more than you've caught,” she responded to his challenging remark. Just at that second, the fish broke the surface of the water. Rachel stared at the size of it and forgot to keep reeling in the line. “Did you see that?”

Reece was already whistling in surprise. “It's a big one. Don't lose it.” He reached for her pole. “You'd better let me land it.”

“Oh, no.” She moved the pole out of his reach. “This one's mine. I'm not going to let you take credit for catching it.”

His glance of surprise became one of approval. He liked the spark of competition in her eyes and that assertion of self-reliance. He sat back and let his help take the form of encouragement and advice.

A worn trail wandered away from Jessie's cabin and eventually wound its way to the lake. The way was narrow and they were forced to ride single file with Linc taking the lead astride the dappled buckskin. When they reached the shore, the forest gave way to a natural clearing and Joanna urged her horse to ride up alongside of the buckskin.

“Where do you suppose Reece took Rachel
fishing?” She could see several boats out on the lake but they were all too far away.

“It's hard to tell. It's a big lake,” Linc didn't hazard a guess.

Something rustled in the brush near the edge of the trees. Her horse turned its head toward the area, snorting and pricking its ears. Joanna looked, too, but saw nothing.

“Aren't you going to test out Jessie's theory?” Linc asked with an amused, sideways glance.

She reddened slightly, because it had been on her mind to lean forward in the saddle so she could look between her horse's ears and possibly sight a spectre.

“There are no such things as ghosts,” she stated emphatically and settled deeper in the saddle seat.

“But you were going to look, weren't you?” he guessed.

She started to vigorously deny it but the laughter in his eyes was completely without malice. A slightly sheepish look crossed her face.

“For a split second, I was,” Joanna admitted. “I really don't know why. I don't believe for a minute that I would see anything.”