Hope Everlastin' Book 4 (15 page)

To Lachlan's horror, Beth,
clad in a bathrobe and slippers, came to stand next to him, her
fiery glare fixed on the stranger. Her hair was in wild disarray,
lending her ill mood a more sinister edge.

"Beth," Lachlan said
between clenched teeth, "get inside."

The stranger's expression
lost its humorous glow, paling and becoming taut with disbelief.
She backed into the house, her gaze riveted on Beth, labored
breaths channeling through her nostrils.

"Screw it," Beth said
heatedly, passing Lachlan a look that could quiet gale-force winds.
To the woman, she said, "Would you care to explain why you were
lip-locked with him?"

"My, God...it's true," the
stranger murmured sickly, her gaze pinging between Beth and
Lachlan. "I didn't know." Parting her lips, she sucked in a ragged
breath. "You
both
returned."

She blinked as if struck by
a thought then looked horrified at Lachlan and swiped the back of a
hand across her mouth. "I kissed a
dead
man! I'm gonna puke!" She clamped
a hand over her mouth and gagged, but the hand fell away when
another voice, deep and cutting, intruded on the scene.

"Still up to yer old
theatrics."

Lachlan and Beth's heads
shot around to see Roan ambling toward them. Barefoot, dressed in
jeans and a blue shirt left unbuttoned down the front, he wore an
expression of thinly veiled anger. Lachlan gave a start and looked
into the woman's eyes. Finally, the reason for their familiarity
hit home.

"Roan. Nice to see you,"
she said flippantly.

"I can’t say the same."
Roan stopped next to Beth and folded his arms against his chest.
"Wha' do you want here, Taryn?"

"You know her?" Beth
asked.

Roan nodded grimly. "She's
ma kid sister. And by the looks o' her, the parents spared her the
rod."

"Still as charming as
ever," Taryn Ingliss said to her brother. "I didn't expect you to
welcome me with open arms, but siccing your resident spooks on me
is low, even for you."

Roan exchanged a smug grin
with Lachlan and Beth before responding to her comment. "Haven't
you heard, little sister, there are no mair ghosts at Baird House?
Lannie and Beth are as alive as you, only they have hearts, no' the
stone you have wedged behind yer breast."

"Yer sister," Lachlan
murmured, grimacing.

"Aye." Roan frowned at her.
"I don’t remember okayin’ yer visit."

"I didn't think I needed
your permission," she said airily. "I arrived last night, but ended
up in the middle of a media feeding. I stayed at a B&B in town,
but I was anxious to see you."

"Why?"

"Why?" A sour laugh ejected
from her throat. "You're my brother, that's why! I haven't seen you
for damn near twenty years!"

"It's been twenty-one
years, but who's countin’."

Exasperated, she looked at
each of the angry faces in front of her. "Fine! I should have
waited for a goddamn invite! But I'm here. Are you going to invite
me inside, or chuck my ass off the property?"

"Chuck—"

Lachlan cut Roan off.
"Fegs, mon, she's yer kin."

"Damn me if she is," Roan
said with a scowl. "She was born a brat, and has obviously grown
into a shrew. Trust me, Lannie, you don’t want her around. She's
trouble."

"Thanks," Taryn said dryly,
but a slight tremor was in her tone. "I'll just get my bags and get
the hell out of here."

"No," said Beth, peeved.
She was torn between going for the woman's throat and chalking up
the whole incident to bad taste and worse timing. "She's here. I
suggest we all calm down and get a grip. The boys don't need to see
us acting like a pack of adolescents."

Roan glared at his sister.
"I know her. She wants somethin’. She didn’t come all the way from
Rhode Island because she needed a sibling fix."

Three pair of eyes fixed on
Taryn. After a moment of trying to ward off her deepening sense of
futility, she sighed and gestured placatingly. "Even before the
story of Lachlan's return hit the newswire in the States, I had
planned to visit. I uncovered some information, Roan. Information
that warranted more than a letter."

"Information abou' wha'?"
Roan asked coldly.

Taryn gave an exasperated
roll of her eyes. "Family history stuff."

"I know all I need to abou'
the family."

A pained expression
softened her features. "Do you?" She sighed and gave a shake of her
head. "Then tell me, Roan, how do you feel about Robert
Baird?"

Roan frowned while Lachlan
asked, "Who is Robert Baird?"

The pale amber eyes
searched each of the faces before she replied, "The bastard son of
Guin Baird. You're probably more familiar with his legal name." She
grinned tauntingly. "Robert Ingliss."

An insidious swell rose up
from inside Roan's gut, something not unlike bubbling tar,
immersing his vital organs and brain in its searing thick blanket.
His vision and hearing clicked off. Images sparked his memories of
a time he longed to forget, memories not belonging to the man he
was now, but the man he had been in the nineteenth century. He
slammed each file shut as it opened and reopened. Denial was all
that kept him sane, and he clung to it like a man whose life
depended on clinging to a piece of flotsam out in the middle of a
turbulent sea.

Before Laura and the boys
had entered his life, he would have gladly given in to the cold
embrace of death. Life could be unbearably painful and unforgiving.
The loss of his son had taken away his will to fight for anything.
Originally, he'd even come to Baird House to challenge the then
Ingliss-hating Lachlan Baird—not in hopes of freeing his Aunt Aggie
from the ghost's tyrannical demands, but of provoking the powers of
the unknown to end his misery.

Some people believed
reincarnation allowed troubled souls to return to atone for the
wrongs done in a past existence. How many times would Robert's soul
be cast into another body before his crimes were forgiven? A
conscience swayed by greed was a conscience damned to unrelenting
torment. Whatever the name or physical appearance, the soul shared
by Robert and Roan could not escape the avenging sword of its
guilt.

Five hours later, Roan
remained lost within the thick mire of his shame. Although he had
yet to confront the inner demons his sister's revelation had
loosed, he was little more than a zombie. He remained blind and
deaf to everyone around him. He couldn't remember how he'd gotten
back into the house, or what had gone on since. Deep in his
subconscious he knew he would have to face the others and listen to
what Taryn had to say.

But for as long as
possible, he needed this nothingness, and would remain lost within
its infinite realm until forced to leave.

Now and then, little spurts
of awareness intruded. He knew he was in the bar, elbows braced on
the counter and staring at a shot glass of Scotch. He knew he was
hungry and thirsty. He knew the ache plaguing him was his bladder
seeking relief. He also knew there was a fly in the room because it
kept buzzing in one ear then the other, and occasionally brushing
against his eyelashes, forcing him to blink. To swat the insect
would take more energy than he was willing to expend. Besides,
movement could wrench him from the realm of the lost, which he
wasn't yet ready to leave.

The fly careened off his
right eyeball and he jerked upright. Blinking hard, he tried to
will himself to ignore the trappings of his sense, but the buzzing,
which was now in his left ear and growing louder and more
persistent, was more than he could bear. But before he could raise
a hand to bat at the nuisance, a voice penetrated the thinning
layers of his stupor.

"Don't hurt
her!"

He reacted as if someone
had doused him with ice water. His head shot around and he stared
at Kahl, whose pale, freckled face dominated his vision.
Disoriented, he wondered what the boy was doing in the bar. He
should have locked the door. Of course he hadn't. That would have
been the responsible thing to do, and Roan wasn't always a cautious
man.

Something whizzed past his
line of vision, again startling him. His right hand shot up at the
same moment a tiny figure perched on his nose. He froze in shocked
realization. The fly was Deliah, no more than three-quarters of an
inch tall.

"She's only trying to
help," said Kahl . "Don't hurt her."

His eyes crossed in a vain
attempt to focus clearly on her, Roan laid his palms on the
counter. She cast off his nose, circled three times a short
distance away, then suddenly assumed a human size on the opposite
side of the counter. Standing five-foot-six inches, her
ankle-length hair concealing her nakedness, she scoldingly eyed
Roan.

She lifted the shot glass
and regarded the golden liquid for a moment before it and the glass
vanished into thin air. Her magnificent blue and gold wings
fluttered at her back, the light in the room enhancing their
iridescent webbing. While she and Roan continued their visual
showdown, Kahl retrieved her dress from the floor and held it out
to her. Reluctantly, she tore her gaze from Roan's and looked down
at the boy with a loving smile.

"He be one o' the livin’
now," she told Kahl, her tone light and deceptively calm. "Tell the
ithers we'll be along in a while."

Roan's gaze crept to Kahl.
The resentment in the boy's eyes made him cringe.

"I don't like it when you
make Aunt Laura cry," Kahl said angrily, his small shoulders
trembling.

"Why is she cryin’?" asked
Roan, still a bit dazed.

"Cause you wouldn't talk to
her! If you hate us so much—"

Roan dashed from behind the
counter and swept Kahl up into his arms and hugged him so
forcefully, the boy yelped with surprise. He rolled his misted eyes
to the heavens, relishing the paternal warmth spreading through
him.

"How can you think I could
ever hate you?" he choked and lessened his hold. He smoothed a hand
over the back of Kahl's strawberry-blond head. "Kahl, you lads and
yer aunt are ma life."

A sob escaped Kahl. Roan
eased him back enough to look into his hazel eyes. "I'm sorry I
frightened you. I love you, Kahl. Don’t ever doubt tha'. I don’t
care if you unravel every sweater and tear into strips every piece
o' clothin’ in this house, I'll love you."

Mention of unraveling
sweaters brought a hint of a grin to Kahl's mouth. "You mean
it?"

"Wi' all ma
heart."

"About shredding the
clothes?" the boy asked impishly.

Roan didn't hesitate. "Aye,
lad, although I hope you show us poor adults a wee compassion in
tha' respect. But, if demolishin’ our clothes puts a smile on yer
face, then do it."

"Naw. I was just testing
you. It would be too gross if you all walked around naked." Kahl
looked at Deliah, who had retracted her wings and had just finished
donning the dress, and he blushed. "Except Deliah. I like it when
she lets her wings out."

Roan smiled in gratitude at
her. "Aye, we're fortunate to have our own fairie princess." He
lowered Kahl to the floor, but not before planting a kiss on his
cheek. "Tell the ithers we won’t be long, okay?"

"Okay." Kahl's eyes
searched Roan's a moment then he wiggled an isolated finger in a
gesture for Roan to bend over. When he did, Kahl flung his arms
about his neck and gave him a quick hug. As quickly, Kahl opened
the door and ran from the room.

Roan straightened with a
wondrous look on his face.

"Ye be a lucky mon to have
the love o' those children," Deliah said softly.

Roan nodded and stepped up
to her, his eyes downcast in shame. "I must apologize,
Deliah."

"For makin’ me act the part
o' a pestin’ fly?"

He grinned. "Tha' and
mair." He searched her delicate features. "How are you feelin’ this
morn?"

"Verra good. Winston said
the knowin’ o' ma condition might ease the symptoms and ma fears,
and tha' it has."

Gently, Roan drew her into
his arms. "Ah, lass, I am happy for you. Have you any idea how
precious you are to us all?"

"Ye be ma family," she said
contentedly then tilted back her head and peered into his eyes.
"Tis why I worry so when I know ye be hurtin’ in the heart. Roan,
ye must trust the mon ye are. And ye must trust those who love ye
to stand by ye, no matter wha'."

Stepping away, Roan raked
the fingers of one hand through his hair. He couldn't bring himself
to look at her. His eyes ached to tear, but he held back the need
with all his willpower. To tell her that he feared what Taryn knew
was to admit there was more to Robert than he wanted to remember.
But her next words told him she was already aware of what was
tormenting him from the darkest recesses of his
subconscious.

"I dinna trust yer sister.
She doesna have yer heart, Roan, and she speaks no' wi' a light o'
whole truth in her words."

Roan forced himself to meet
her troubled gaze. "You know wha' happened ou'side?"