Gotcha! (29 page)

Hurrying now, she removed a skillet from the cupboard, turned on the stove, and tossed several strips of bacon in as soon as the skillet was hot. She cracked half-a-dozen eggs into a bowl, added a splash of milk, and then, with a wire whisk, beat the mixture until the yolks were no longer in evidence. She’d seen this technique used on some cooking show, with the chef saying that the eggs would be much fluffier. It worked, so she’d been using it ever since. She heated another skillet, dropping in a tiny bit of butter. She stared as it sizzled and turned a creamy light brown. She poured the egg mixture into the skillet, then remembered the biscuits. “Oh, the hell with it. We can have toast.” She took the can of biscuits and put them back in the fridge.

Chester ran through the doggie door, scaring her. “Darn, boy, you scared the bejesus out of me.” She hadn’t even heard him go out.

“Hey, I thought you’d have the table all set with the fine china and cloth napkins. What’s this?” Chris asked. He came up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist.

“You smell good. And you’re lucky I’m making your breakfast. Don’t get used to it, either, because I promise not to make this a habit. If my memory serves me correctly, you used to exist on mint chocolate-chip ice cream.”

Chris kissed her head, then poured a cup of coffee for himself. “You’re not having your coffee?”

“It smells weird to me. I’m having tea.” She removed her mug from the microwave and dropped the tea bag in the hot water. “Does it taste okay?”

Chris took a sip. “Excellent.”

“You can’t smell that chemical smell? Like iron or something?” Abby asked as she stirred the eggs, then removed the bacon and placed it on a paper towel to drain.

“You’re imagining things, Abs. This is perfectly fine. If it weren’t, I wouldn’t drink it.”

She just nodded and set about finishing breakfast. She took two slices of wheat bread, put them in the toaster, then removed the eggs from the pan. She dabbed at the bacon with another paper towel, put four slices on Chris’s plate, together with most of the eggs, just as the toast popped up. “Good timing, if I say so myself.”

Abby put Chris’s plate in front of him. “Remember, do not get used to this.”

She took her mug of tea to the table and sat across from him. Chris dug into the food like he hadn’t eaten in weeks. She smiled. She loved this man.

“How come you’re not having anything?” he asked between bites. “You think the food smells weird, too?”

“No, I’m not hungry. Must be coming down with the flu or something. I can’t seem to shake this.”

“You need to rest.”

“Yeah, well, tell that to . . .” She wanted to say “that poor girl in my dream,” but she didn’t. Still, she couldn’t shake the dream. There was something about the man in the dream. The girl kept calling him something....
Mr. Clayton!
She’d called him Mr. Clayton in the dream.

“Chris, are you sure this place didn’t go by another name?” she asked again.

“Not that I can remember. When you live in one of these old places as a kid, it’s almost an embarrassment. I remember thinking, when I was a kid, why couldn’t I live in one of those Mc-Mansions that all my friends lived in? Of course, I was too stupid to realize the history, and too young to appreciate it. Why don’t you ask your mother? She lived here, too. She might know.”

Abby brightened. Of course. Why hadn’t she thought of that? “You’re a genius. Thanks.” She took her tea into the living room. Her mother was an early riser. She glanced at the big grandfather clock. It was ten to six. Her mother was up. She grabbed the portable phone and took it back into the kitchen. They were going to get a phone installed in the kitchen, if it was the last thing she did. The house was old, but there had been many updates throughout the years. Unfortunately, a phone jack was not one of them.

She sat back down at the table. Chris took his plate, rinsed it, then put it in the dishwasher. He refilled his cup and came back to the table. “You going to call Tootsie?”

“Yes.” She punched in her mother’s number.

“Abby Simpson-Clay, what are you doing up so early?” her mother asked. No “hello.”

Caller ID is killing the pranksters,
Abby thought.

“Well, I just finished making breakfast for my adoring husband. I couldn’t sleep, so I got up early, and Chris was up, so here we are. Mom, listen, I know this is going to sound odd, but do you recall the Clay Plantation being called something else? I’m talking way back in the day, when those slave quarters were in use.”

“Let me think a minute. Hmm, I don’t really know. I have some of Garland’s papers stored away in a box somewhere. Seems like there were several documents that were connected to the plantation. Why do you want to know? You’re not thinking of changing the name, are you?”

“No, nothing like that.” Abby wasn’t sure if she wanted to tell her mother about the dream just yet. It kept clinging to her; it was as though she were supposed to remember something from the dream for a reason. She just didn’t know what it was.

“I can look for that box, if it will help.”

“Thanks, Mom. Would you mind if Chester and I came over and looked through it with you? He’s needing a doggie love fix anyway. And I’m sure Coco and Frankie could use a Chester fix.”

“Come on over. We’re on our third pot of coffee. I’ll make a fresh pot for you.”

“No, Mom, really, I’m drinking tea today. I think I have a bug, and coffee isn’t agreeing with me right now. I’ll be over in half an hour.”

“Okay, dear.”

“So, what did Tootsie have to say?”

“She didn’t know, but she has a box of your dad’s things at her house. She said she thought there might be some papers in there connected to the plantation. I’m going to take a look and see if there is anything in there. Chester, do you want to take an early-morning walk to see Coco?” Hearing the magic word
Coco,
the shepherd rushed out through the doggie door.

“I take it that means yes,” Abby said. “You want to come with us?”

“No, I better pass. I’m expecting an early phone call. You go on, tell everyone ‘hi’ for me. I’ll see you when you return.”

Abby wrapped her arms around him, then stood on her tiptoes in order to reach his mouth. She planted a sloppy kiss on his lips. “I’ve got to dress now, Mr. Clay. I told Mother I’d be there in thirty minutes. She probably started a stopwatch the second I hung up the phone.”

“Go on, woman, I’ll be here waiting with bated breath.”

Abby raced upstairs and grabbed a pair of yoga pants and a T-shirt. She crammed her feet into her sneakers. In the master bath, she washed her face and brushed her teeth. She looked at the mass of curls and balled her hair into a knot, securing it with a couple of bobby pins.

She raced down the stairs and out the back door. Chester was waiting at the gate. If she hurried, her mother’s house was a ten-minute walk. She needed the exercise. Her clothes were starting to feel a bit too tight.
It’s all this Southern cooking,
she thought.

Chester raced ahead, then stopped, waiting for her to catch up with him. “Smartest dog in the world, aren’t you?”

Ten minutes later, she was at her mother’s house. She tapped on the back door so as not to startle her or whoever was in the kitchen at this hour.

“Abby, Chester, I’m glad you came over. I needed a daughter fix.”

Chester saw Coco and Frankie in their corner and took off. “He’s happy, that’s for sure. He needed a Coco fix, too. Did you find the box?”

“Right there.” Toots pointed to a large plastic carton. “Some of those documents are very old. You should probably take them and have them preserved. The historical society will help you with it.”

Abby dragged the box over to the table. Sitting in the chair, she removed the lid on the box. A musty odor assaulted her, and it was all she could do to keep from throwing up. Damn, she really hated feeling bad. She started removing papers, careful not to tear them. The documents were old and yellowed, stiff with age. Abby dug through the box and stopped when she pulled out a thick volume labeled THE CLAYTON PLANTATION.

“Oh, my God, Mom, now I know what’s been bothering me about the dream I had this morning! Yes, that’s what woke me up. There was this girl—she was young, in her early teens. In my dream, she was a slave, and there was something so familiar about the dream. You know, sort of like déjà vu? It’s really been bothering me ever since. It was like there was something I was supposed to know, and now I think I remember. In the dream, there was a small brick house. It’s where the girl lived before she was moved to the big house. It was one of the buildings at the plantation—I know it was. And in the dream, the girl kept saying something about a Mr. Clayton. She was pregnant, and the baby was his. Oh, my God, Mother, the dream was a nightmare.”

Fern Michaels
is the
USA Today
and
New York Times
best-selling author of the Sisterhood and Godmother series,
Tuesday’s Child
,
Southern Comfort
,
Betrayal
,
Return to Sender
, and dozens of other novels and novellas. There are over seventy million copies of her books in print. Fern Michaels has built and funded several large day-care centers in her hometown, and is a passionate animal lover who has outfitted police dogs across the country with special bulletproof vests. She shares her home in South Carolina with her four dogs and a resident ghost named Mary Margaret.

 

Visit her website at fernmichaels.com.

In a richly rewarding novel filled with unforgettable
characters, #1
New York Times
best-selling author
Fern Michaels explores the enduring bonds of family
as one man loses ever ything—only to find the
freedom to create a bold new life . . .

 

Gus Hollister owes all his success to his feisty grandmother, Rose, and he knows it. It was Rose and her sisters, Iris and Violet, who raised Gus, sent him to the best schools, and helped him start his own accounting business. Rose even bought the house Gus lives in with his wife, Elaine.

 

But now, Gus stands to lose everything—his home, his car, and his business. Worse, he’s alienated his beloved grandma, who tried to warn him about Elaine’s greedy, gold-digging ways. Gus, blinded by infatuation, refused to listen, and now Elaine has locked him out of the house he was foolish enough to put in her name.

 

Heartsick and remorseful, Gus returns to Rose’s Virginia farmhouse seeking shelter. But it won’t be easy to make amends. Despite their pretty floral names, there’s nothing delicate about the Blossom sisters. Unbeknownst to Gus, they’ve also been running a very lucrative business from home and don’t want interference. Yet family and forgiveness go hand in hand, and Gus isn’t giving up.

 

With the help of close friends, new associates, and some very sprightly ladies, Gus begins to repair the damage he’s done
and
help the residents of Blossom Farm begin the next phase of their business. He might even be finding the courage to love again. Because no matter how daunting starting over can be, the results can surpass your wildest expectations—especially when the Blossom sisters are in your corner . . .

One of the most acclaimed storytellers of her time, #1
New York Times
best-selling author Fern Michaels weaves unforgettable tales of love, family, friendship, and self-discovery. Together in one volume for the first time, here are two classic stories about following your heart—wherever it leads . . .

 

Rita Bellamy has had enviable success as an author, but it came at the expense of her marriage. Now she’s starting over in a small lakeside cottage, slowly rebuilding the confidence that was shattered. But is the younger man next door a fun, frivolous diversion or something much more?

 

Moving to Washington, D.C., to be with Griff should be the beginning of an exciting new chapter in Dory’s life. Yet there are adjustments too, and sacrifices she never expected. And soon Dory must weigh the price of love against everything she hoped to gain . . .