Stacey Joy Netzel Boxed Set (4 page)

She stilled, breath caught in her throat.
When had she decided he was innocent?

The answer flashed with utter clarity. When
she’d pushed little Vanessa to safety. She’d felt the pure goodness
in Andrew’s relief. In his heart.

It was the strangest thing she’d ever
thought in her life, crazier even than admitting she’d seen him
yesterday, but her belief in him remained true. It solidified even
more when she considered the man behind the editorials she’d read
last night, printed on the protected yellowed pages of the Lindy
Gazette.

She’d never say it out loud, but she
suspected she may have fallen a little in love. Which was the
craziest thing of all, except it went with everything else in her
life right now. It also put a sorrowful ache in her heart. Because
Andrew Lindeman was a man she wished she could’ve gotten to know
well beyond his written words.

Wait a second.
Wished
? Didn’t she
have that chance now?

She flung the covers back and rushed through
her shower and a breakfast of tea and toast. After changing three
times before settling on a slim-fitting pair of jean Capri’s and a
dark green v-neck T-shirt that deepened the green of her eyes, she
slipped on a pair of sandals and hurried along the path by the
river.

It’d started to sprinkle. Gray clouds had
moved in to block out the morning sun, and there was a chill in the
air she hadn’t expected this summer morning. Belatedly she
remembered the weather man’s warning last night of a seventy
percent chance of storms in the morning. But after that dream, you
couldn’t pay her to turn back.

Excitement fluttered in her stomach as she
passed through the cemetery gates and approached the massive red
oak tree.

“Andrew?”

No response. She spun around in a circle,
rubbing her arms, searching for anything out of the ordinary. The
air remained still. The muted ping of raindrops striking the leaves
above her was the only noise to reach her ears.

She touched the tombstone.
Cool
. Did
that mean anything? She knelt and held her palm over his name, but
nothing happened.

Feelings of foolishness began to replace her
initial disappointment. She pulled her hand away with an irritated
sigh and rose to her feet. An earthy, musky scent teased her
senses, making her pause. The air shifted and suddenly Andrew
materialized to the left of the granite tombstone.

“Good morning,” he said with a slight nod of
his head.

She took a deep breath and managed a nervous
smile. “Hi.”

“I was not sure of your return.”

“Yes, well, I wasn’t entirely sure I wasn’t
going crazy yesterday.”

“And today you have determined you are
not?”

“I haven’t determined anything of the sort,
but...” She trailed off, not sure what reason to give as to why
she’d come back today. After another breath, she plunged in. “I
went to the museum yesterday. I saw your picture.”

His form shifted and a smile graced his
lips. “Ah, I understand. You now have physical evidence to back up
your...
hallucination
. Is that not what you called me?”

“Give me a break, I’ve never experienced
something like this before,” she defended.

“Neither have I.” He paused, then his smile
widened. “May I have the pleasure of your name, Miss...?”

“Sparks. Melanie Sparks.” She extended her
hand to him.

His gaze flicked down, then back up as his
dark brows lifted sardonically while his hand remained at his side.
Instead, he executed a brief bow. “Pleased to meet you, Miss
Sparks.”

Of course he couldn’t shake her hand.
Melanie lowered her arm as heat flooded her cheeks. The thought of
returning a curtsey almost made her laugh, but she managed to keep
it in and reply, “Call me Melanie, please.”

His head dipped slightly in acknowledgement.
Their gazes held for a long moment. His eyes...she could become
lost in them and feel as if she’d never left home. A thousand
questions begged to be voiced, yet she had no idea what to say.

Finally, she asked, “Can you leave? The
cemetery, I mean?”

He nodded. “I am able to move freely within
the public areas of town.”

Thank goodness! She couldn’t just stand here
staring at him. Well, she
could
, but…

“Would you mind if we walked?”

“As you wish.” He extended his arm in a
polite gesture for her to proceed first.

She gave him a quizzical look as she passed.
“You speak so formally…not at all what I’d expect from a gold
mining town in the 1850s.”

His brows rose again as he fell into step
beside her. “We weren’t all uneducated mountain men, Melanie.”

His low voice caressed her name and she had
to focus on the conversation instead of asking him to repeat it.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it that way. It’s just that even in
history books there are distinct differences in speech from one
area of the country to the other. Your accent sounds like someone
raised in high society back East.”

“Is this a bad thing?”

“No, of course not. It just makes me wonder
where you’re from.”

“I hail from Boston.”

“Boston?” She cast him a sideways glance and
wanted to keep staring. “So how’d you end up out here?”

“While visiting friends in Missouri in the
spring of 1858, I took part in a lively game of cards where I met a
man named Captain Doke. After I relieved him of a large sum of
money, he invited me to join his party on their trip west in search
of gold in the Rocky Mountains. I suspect the invitation was more
for a chance to win back his losses and the funding I could
contribute to his expedition than anything else, but I was bored
with the endless parties and frivolity of society, so I
accepted.”

She tried to picture him all dressed up in
formal attire like men in historical pictures from the mid-1800’s.
Thousand bucks said he’d have worn the clothes like a real man, not
some over-dressed dandy.

“I started a journal as we crossed the
endless plains,” Andrew told her as they followed the winding path
along the river. “Not only did I discover I had a flair for the
written word, but I loved creating stories and reporting what was
going on within our wagon train to share around the campfire. Once
we reached River City—as it was called back then—and I recouped my
initial investment with Captain Doke by acquiring a modest sum of
gold from the riverbeds, I decided to settle here in the mountains
and start my own newspaper.”

“The Lindy Gazette.”

“Yes.”

“History says you struck it rich, but then
lost it all.”

“Much was exaggerated during those times.
Outright lies were spoken to fit specific agendas and from there,
most people assumed what suited them to justify their own
actions.”

Was he talking about Jacob Van Buren or the
townspeople? Much as she wanted to ask the question out loud, she
hesitated continuing with such a dark subject and ruining the
comfortable companionship warming her like a cloak.

They continued along the path, the silence
broken only by the rush of water over the rocks in the riverbed and
the now steady drip of raindrops through the leaves overhead. Her
hair and clothes grew damp, but she barely noticed as she snuck
glances at Andrew from the corner of her eye. She admired the way
his still-dry black shirt fit his wide shoulders and chest, the
cuffs rolled several times to reveal tanned forearms. Black
suspenders held up his black pants—honest to God trousers—though
the way the soft looking fabric molded his muscled thighs, she saw
no need for the support.

“Is there something wrong with my
attire?”

She jerked her gaze back to his face,
embarrassed he’d caught her staring. “No. I…ah…I was just…”

He was a ghost, for heaven’s sake. What did
it really matter if she told him what she thought?

“You look good in black.”

“As good as anyone who is dead can look in
the color?” he asked dryly.

Melanie laughed. “Exactly.”

He smiled in return, but it faded fast and
his expression darkened. “Lorena used to say I looked dangerous
when I wore black.”

He did. But more in a
God-I-wish-this-man-were-real-so-I-could—

Melanie refocused her attention straight
ahead, shaken by the incredible attraction she felt for a man she
couldn’t even touch. Up ahead, she saw the restored covered walking
bridge that connected the park to the town square and was surprised
they’d already come this far.

A tingle started in her fingertips. She
lifted her hands with a frown.

“They planned even that little detail.”

Andrew’s quiet words distracted her.

“They wanted me to appear the villain.”

“Who?” she asked. “Planned what?”

“The robbery. I was getting ready to print
the latest edition of the Lindy before Lorena and I married. She
did not care for the color, but I always wore black when setting
type because of the ink. How very convenient I made it for all of
them.”

Melanie’s tingle became a full-body tremble.
They’d crossed the bridge and now stood on the opposite bank.
Andrew stared at the river as the water tumbled and frothed amidst
the rocks. She stepped closer as realization dawned.

“This is where it happened, isn’t it? Where
you were shot and the little girl fell into the water.”
Vanessa
.

He nodded, his jaw clenched tight, his eyes
narrowed. “I couldn’t let her die because of their greed.”

Forgetting for a moment, Melanie stretched
her hand to touch him, to lend whatever consolation possible. “The
water was so cold—it’s amazing how strong you were.”

Her hand passed through his forearm.
Something like an electric shock shot up her arm at the same time
he flinched. She pulled back with a startled gasp.

Andrew frowned at her. “How do you know
that? About the water?”

Melanie noticed he rubbed his arm, then his
intense scrutiny locked her gaze with his. Before she could tell
him she’d dreamt his ordeal, a deafening clap of thunder erupted
overhead. She leaned closer to explain how she’d felt his
desperation to save the little girl, how she’d fought the
excruciating pain in her dream just like he had so long ago, but
the sky overhead opened wide. Lightning flashed and thunder rumbled
as the clouds let loose a deluge she could barely see through.

Her clothes were soaked in an instant.

She squinted at Andrew, then stared in
wide-eyed wonder at the sight of his hair dripping water into his
eyes, his wet shirt plastered to his chest.

He lifted his hands, palms up to the sky as
he threw his head back. Rain beat upon his upturned face and ran in
rivulets down his corded neck. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from
the sight of him as he turned in a slow circle. When he faced her
again, spiked lashes framed gray eyes full of wonder. A wide smile
spread across his face.

Her heart leapt at the light shining in his
eyes. She would’ve given anything to throw her arms around him and
share in his joy.

“Miss Sparks! Melanie!”

Melanie spun around to see John jogging
toward her through the downpour with a red umbrella. When she
glanced back to Andrew, he disappeared; faded away like early
morning fog with the sunrise. She stared at the empty space,
feeling bereft. Without him, the chill of the rain settled into her
bones.

John held the umbrella over her head and
pulled her shivering form toward the town square. “Are you okay?
You shouldn’t be out in this storm.”

“I’m fine,” she assured him, pushing her
dripping hair back from her face. “But look at you, you’ve gone and
gotten yourself all wet.”

Under the awning of a coffee shop, he shook
the excess moisture from his umbrella before closing it with a
click. “A little water won’t hurt me, but you’re soaked to the
skin. A couple more minutes and you’d have been swimming out there.
What were you doing?”

Falling for a ghost
.

Boy, did she know how to pick ‘em. She
fought a smile and shrugged. “Just out for a walk.”

“Well, seeing as you can’t really go back
out in this, let me buy you a coffee. Or one of those fancy latte
drinks you young people seem to enjoy so much.”

After a final glance toward where she’d last
seen Andrew, Melanie hesitated when John opened the door to the
shop. “That’s not necessary. I should probably get home.”

“Nonsense. The storm will pass shortly.
Please don’t deny me the chance to talk about history with a fellow
devotee. I have many stories to tell.”

Melanie grinned at his shameless tactic and
stepped inside. “You don’t play fair.”

“At my age, I can’t afford to.”

She laughed and requested a mocha
cappuccino. While he went to the counter to put their order in, she
sat at a corner table, staring out at the storm and wondering what
had happened to Andrew. The rain seemed to surprise him as much as
it had her. It had been raining the entire time they’d walked
together, yet he hadn’t been wet before the deluge. Something told
her it wasn’t the sudden downpour that made the difference.

“Here you go.”

John set a tall, oversized mug in front of
her and then handed over a large, fluffy blue bath towel. She
accepted it with a puzzled smile.

“My daughter and her husband own the shop,”
he explained, taking his seat opposite. “They live in the
back.”

“Well, thank you—and them.”

She dried off the best she could, enjoying
the warmth of the shop while John took a sip from his steaming
mug.

He glanced outside, then said, “What you
said the other day got me to thinking.”

“About...?”

“Jacob Van Bueren. You thought he might have
been in on the plan.”

Because of Andrew’s
‘he was in on it’
statement. She lifted her shoulders and eyebrows. “Anything’s
possible, right?”