First Chapter Saturday -- The Brotherhood of Mages

This is the second in the trilogy published by DiskUs Publishing and was a finalist in the Dream Realm awards.

The Brotherhood of Mages
(Book 2 of the Jewels of Earda)
© 2005 By
Janet Lane Walters



One


The Way of the Healers
Much is demanded of a Healer and inner peace is her only reward. She must seek neither power nor wealth. To walk in the Way is difficult and not all succeed.
When a Healer names a man as Chosen, she must leave the House for she must think only of her craft and those who need her care. If she elects to depart, her knowledge of the healing arts will be stripped from her mind. She will be left with only those skills known to commoners who do not follow the Way.


Jindera left the herb storage hut and strode toward the cottage. Clouds dimmed the morning sun, then slid away. The leaves of the oka trees rustled in the summer breeze and the mingled scents of herbals and seasonings swirled around her. The coming of clouds meant a storm approached, but she felt certain no rain would fall this day.

Would the medicinals she would brew from the herbals she'd selected be of any help? She could only hope. All night, she'd fought the fever raging through her mother's body and had seen no change.

Mama, why did you leave the Healers' House? Her mother could have remained and raised her children with the sons and daughters of the other Healers. On his tenth birthday, Jindera's twin would have been sent to his father. But Jindera's mother had chosen to leave. Love for a man had been her reason.

Tears blurred Jindera's sight. She had loved her father dearly. His death seven lunars before had brought sadness to a home where love had ruled.
Rays of sunlight glinted on the golden stones of the cottage and brightened the dull yellow of the thatch. Jindera hurried along the garden paths that meandered among the beds of herbals and seasonings.

The plants flourished. Lajin's touch, she thought. Her brother had only to tend any ailing plant and it thrived. She paused at the cottage door and peered along the road from the village. Her twin should return soon with the staples he'd gone to fetch.

The stench of illness pervaded the room where her mother lay on a narrow cot. Jindera's breath caught. For a moment, she thought her mother had left this plane without the blessing to release her.

Holding back a sob, Jindera fled to the kitchen to blend a fever potion. She carried the mug of steaming liquid to the sick room and spooned the medicinal into her mother's mouth. A drop or two fell on the linen sheet and spread like the tears Jindera held inside. She inhaled deeply. She had to hold grief and fear at bay. When the mug was empty, she rested her head on the edge of the mattress and prayed the remedy would work.

She jerked awake. How long had she slept? The light in the room told her 'twas near midday.

The rasp of labored breathing filled her ears. She felt her own breaths fall into the same pattern. She raised her head and turned toward the door. Where was Lajin? She tried to reach him on the inner path where they could speak in secret. Flight. Fear. What had happened to him? Her hands and body shook. His fear or hers?

Jindera rose and looked outside. The fragrant scents of the garden brought a welcome calmness to her troubled spirit. 'Twas a false hope. If Mama dies, what will Lajin and I do? Having but sixteen years, they weren't old enough to hold the land.

She heard a rasping cough and turned back to the cot. Her mother's eyes were open. A wave of hope spread through Jindera. "Mama."

"Leave. You. Lajin. Soon. Danger comes."

"We can't leave you without saying the blessing."

"Must." Racking spasms shook her mother's body.

"Mama, don't talk."

"Must. Once. Three sisters."

Jindera listened to her mother's halting words. A grandsire who was a Master Mage. Mama born on the desert and leaving with her older sister for a Healers' House. How her two sisters wanted power and schemed to obtain control of others. One who had talent. One who had none. Mama who had talent and wanted love.

"Ralor. Comes. Hurt. You. Lajin. No Healers' House. Not good."

"Mama, be still." Jindera pressed her hands against her mother's shoulders.

"Starflowers. For Ralor. Make tea. He sleep. Then flee. Remember, danger from Healers."

Jindera chewed on her lower lip to keep from crying. The door opened and for an instant, she feared her father's brother had arrived. The garden, the guardianship, the cottage would pass to him and to the one the Healers sent to tend the garden. The door opened. She turned.

Lajin stood in the doorway. His flushed face and panting breaths told her he'd been running. "What's wrong?" she asked.

"Black robes in the village. Taking boys. What will I do if they come here?"

Jindera shivered. The mages would learn about Lajin's talent for nurturing plants. They would take him. "You must flee to the forest and hide. Go now."

He knelt on the other side of the cot. "Not until we say the blessing."

"Son. Daughter. Go."

Jindera grasped her mother's hand. Lajin took the other. "Mama."

The heavy breathing slowed, then stopped. Had she willed her death?

Jindera's voice joined Lajin's. "Fare well, Mother. May the sun shine on your days and the moons light your nights. Let your shade depart and do not hover between this plane and the next."

Jindera met her brother's gaze. "You must go. I'll follow."

"The grave must be dug."

"Lajin, why must you linger? You heard Mama. You must go."

The door of the cottage slammed against the wall. Jindera saw the man in the doorway and shivered.

Her uncle grasped the frame. "So she's passed. The land and you are mine." His slurred speech spoke of drunkenness. He pointed to Lajin. "Boy, dig the grave. I would see her in the earth before sunset. Should have time before they come."

"Who comes?" Jindera asked.

"Mages," Ralor said.

"Why?" Lajin asked.

Ralor laughed. "For you. Do you think I want to live with one who in time will challenge me for the land? The Healers usually send their elderly to spend their last years in a garden. Such a one would be no threat. Girl, to the kitchen. I would eat."

Jindera sought her twin on the inner path. Go to the forest. I'll fetch the packs. When he's at his meal, I'll follow.

Lajin shook his head. I'll see Mama in the earth before I leave.

Why must you be so stubborn? Your pack will be at the kitchen door. Take it and flee before 'tis too late.

She hurried to the kitchen and pulled the soup kettle from the warming shelf. She hung it over the fire. In the pantry, she grabbed the packs she and Lajin had prepared and tossed them into the yard. On a cutting board, she put roast antel, cheese, bread and the last of the appa pie.

"Uncle, the food is ready." She dished the soup and filled a mug with kaf. After she finished serving Ralor, she slipped out the back door and lugged the packs to where Lajin dug the grave. "Go now."

He lifted a shovel of dirt. "Not 'til Mama lies beside Papa. We'll go tonight when Uncle's sleeping."

"How can you be so sure he won't hear us creep from the loft? What if the mages come? Mama is beyond our care. She bade us leave." Jindera's hands clenched. Why didn't he feel afraid?

"If they come, I'll hide." Lajin continued to dig. "Mayhap Uncle lies and 'tis tragon speaking."

Jindera frowned. Ralor had been drunk. "Then I must go into the forest."

"Why?"

"To gather starflowers to make sure he sleeps." She grabbed her brother's shoulders. "I wish you'd leave now. I have the feeling trouble comes." She groaned. He had that stubborn look she hated.

"We go together." He jammed the shovel into the earth.

She saw the tear-tracks on his face. He grieved, too, but his eyes showed a determination to have his way. "Come with me."

He shook his head. "When I'm finished and Uncle sleeps."

She wanted to thump him on the head, though what good would a blow do? When he had these stubborn notions, there was no way to move him. "Take care. I won't be long. Mama told me things you should know.'

She ran toward the line of dark trees. Something puzzled her. Where had Ralor gotten the coins to buy tragon? Since her father's death, her uncle had lived at the cottage and earned enough from the sale of milk and eggs to buy brew. Had he some scheme involving the garden? Once he was named land holder, one third of the herbals and seasonings would be his. She and Lajin would be little more than servants. But her uncle had said the mages were coming. Didn't Ralor know her twin was the one with Mama's touch with plants?

Jindera sighed. She wished she'd been blessed with the talent. Her abilities lay in the blending of herbals into medicinals and knowing what an ailing person needed. Mama had called her a Healer born. Yet she knew without training, she couldn't practice except in the village. Her parents had refused to send her to a Healers' House and her mother's learning had been blocked when she'd left the Way.

As the dim light of the forest surrounded her, Jindera set aside her grief and scented the air for the dulcet yet spicy aroma of starflowers. She needed enough blossoms to brew a sleeping tea so she and Lajin could escape.

In a small clearing where sunlight dappled the surface of a pond, she found clusters of the pale flowers. With care not to pull the roots from the ground, she collected a bunch. The aroma soothed her grief.

For a moment, she leaned against an oka and breathed the scent. Where would she and Lajin find a refuge? Though Mama had cautioned against the Healers was there another choice? Any Healers' House would take her, but her twin was too old. Since the Houses were located in towns, she wondered if he could find work nearby. His ability to coax plants to provide rich harvests should excite any farmer.

Jindera straightened and started back to the garden. As she neared the forest's edge, she heard shouts.

Jindera, help me. They want to take me. Lajin's plea on the inner path startled her. She stumbled and nearly fell.

Who?

Black robes.

In order to see what occurred, she dropped the starflowers and climbed an oka. She saw Lajin struggling with several black-robed men. Don't fight. I'll follow and help you escape.

Now. Help me before they make me one of them.

Stay calm. I'm coming.

No. Flee. 'Tis you --"

Lajin's voice ceased abruptly. With a suddenness that made her gasp, pain shot through her head. Feeling dizzy, Jindera clung to the rough bole of the tree. Where was her twin? She couldn't see or hear him. He couldn't be dead.

The mages mounted their horned horses. As they rode away, she climbed to the ground. Not caring that she trampled the plants, she ran across the herb beds. She stumbled over her uncle's body and nearly toppled into the grave. Tendrils of smoke rose from the house. She grabbed the packs.

"Girl, help me. They lied."

"Who, Uncle?" She dropped the packs and knelt beside him.

"Black robes. Bought me tragon. Asked about you and your brother. Took him. Wanted you. Told them no. One stabbed me." He groaned.

She examined the gaping abdominal wound and noted the pool of blood around him. She had neither the knowledge nor the skill to mend the torn flesh. "I can't do anything. I'll run to the village for help." She swallowed several times to keep from losing her morning meal.

"Too late." His moan rose to a scream, then died in a whimper.

With a whoosh, the thatch of the cottage blossomed with flames. Long fingers of fire thrust into the air. Showers of sparks took flight.

Jindera tried to drag her uncle away. She fell into the grave. When she crawled out, he was dead. Bits of burning thatch fell on the paving stones. Would the garden take fire?

She grabbed the packs and ran. At the edge of the garden, she turned. The flames had died. A pillar of black smoke stained the sky. Jindera collapsed on the ground. Everyone and everything that had been hers was gone. She rested her head against her bent knees. Exhaustion swamped her.

Come.

A voice on the inner path. Lajin?

Come.

Not her twin. The voice repeated the command. Where? The order was the only answer. Who wanted her? She couldn't abandon her twin. She rose, wavered and nearly fell. She had to find a place to sleep. Then she would decide where to go.

She looked around. The clouds seemed heavier. Would the storm begin this night?
The fire hadn't spread beyond the stones separating the herb and seasoning beds from the cottage. The herb hut on the far side of the garden had been spared. So had the meadow where the antels grazed. With leaden steps, she made her way to the one room building.

Jindera burrowed beneath a pile of sacks. Lajin! Still no response. He lived. She would know if he'd left this plane. When she woke, she would search out the mages and steal her brother from them. Soft tears began and continued until she slept.

A Second Seduction - First Chapter Saturday

A Second Seduction
Janet Lane Walters
New Concepts Publishing
Chapter 1

Christa Sommers counted the receipts for the restaurant and the bar of Green Mountain Inn. She rubbed her forehead and stared at the totals. As she matched the bills to the cash and credit card slips she clenched her teeth. Someone had dipped into the cash and she knew the identity of the culprits. One hundred dollars short. Last week the shortage had been three hundred.

She reached for the stack of just paid vendor bills. For the fourth month she had to use money from the room rentals to cover the bar and restaurant expenses. Her stomach roiled. The time had come to confront the thieves and face the guilt trip they would attempt to use again. This time she wouldn’t cave. She might even call the police, but they were family.

“Mom, when are we leaving?”

Christa smiled at her son. “Give me ten minutes.” She tousled Davy’s blond hair and felt a pang of regret. He looked so much like the father he didn’t know.
Do not walk that road, she warned herself. She had no time for regrets. She wrote the last check and sealed the envelope. After putting the money and credit card slip in a deposit bag she reached for her jacket.

Before she and Davy reached the office door her half sisters barged into the room. She looked at her son. He didn’t need to hear another quarrel with the pair. “Wait for me outside.”

He glared at the two young women. “Okay.”

Christa cleared her throat. “What now?” She waited for one of them to speak.

“Look at this brochure.” Peggy waved a paper. “Just what Stel and I need to survive boredom. The guests here are so old.”

“We need some fun,” Stella added.

“No cruise.” Christa looked at the price. “This is out of the question.” Though the guests who came to view the fall foliage were older they were little problem. “I’m not paying for your fun and games any longer.”

“Why not?” Stella asked. “You owe us. Remember where you were when Mom and Dad died. We were left alone and ended up in that place for six weeks.”
Christa swallowed. She wouldn’t bite this time. “I said no. You need to find jobs.”

“We have them here,” Peggy said.

Stella sneered. “Right. Showing old people to tables and running the cash register. Getting paid pennies. All we need is a few thou.”

Christa shook her head. “Not possible. We need to discuss the money that’s missing from the restaurant and bar registers.”

Peggy rested a hand on one hip. “If people didn’t use credit cards we could have everything we need.”

Stella nodded. “She’s right. We just need to get away. A singles’ cruise is the perfect escape.”

Christa remembered the bills from the vacation the pair had taken in June to celebrate Peggy’s college graduation. And the problem presented by the two men who had followed them to the inn in hopes of sharing the bounty. At twenty-one and twenty-three, her half sisters were selfish and self-centered. When would they stop blaming her for the accident that hadn’t been her fault, and that she’d been out of touch when they’d needed her? That time was ten years in the past and the time had come for them to take some responsibility for their own lives.

Peggy planted her hands on the desk. “Why do we always have to fight for our share of the inn’s profits?”

Christa drew a deep breath. “You have no share.”

“So you say.” Stella glared. “On Monday we’ll call a lawyer.”

“Go ahead. Instead of taking that course you need to find jobs.” There, she’d said what she’d avoided saying since Peggy graduated in June.

“What are you talking about?” Stella’s voice rose to a strident pitch. “We own more of this dump than you do. Mom said no matter what happened we were set for life.”

“She lied.” Christa knew the tale her father had told about the inn. Until his death, he’d been her guardian with no more than life tenancy. After his death she’d learned her mother had left the inn to her. “You also need to know the inn is for sale.”

“You can’t do that,” Peggy said.

“We won’t sign,” Stella added.

“You don’t need to.” Before Christa could tell them about the inn’s ownership the pair stormed from the room.

Christa slumped on a chair. Their anger and their thefts weren’t her fault, except she had allowed them to continue all summer. She had intended to tell them once Peggy had graduated from college. As usual she had put off the confrontation. No longer.

“Mom, when are we going?”

“Now.” She picked up the stack of envelopes and the deposit bag. She followed her son to the Jeep. She had finally grown a spine. The trick was finding a way to keep it stiff.
* * * *
Mark Blakefield sat behind the desk in his office. He listened to the head writer’s description of his New England trip. “Found the Green Mountain Inn on our last day. Place is perfect for a feature in Good Travelin’. Owned by a single mom with one child. Inn’s been in her family for generations. An inn for all seasons. Fabulous food. Scenic vistas. Skiing, leaf peeping, lake with boats, fishing, walking and riding trails. Look at the photos and let me know. Be glad to return.” He grinned. “Owner’s easy on the eyes.”

Mark accepted the stack of photos. Why Jonas insisted on using a camera when digital ones were so available Mark would never know. “What did your wife say?”
The older man winked. “She laughed and liked the idea.”

Mark rolled his eyes. “The pair of you matchmaking again?”

Jonas shrugged. “She thought you’d like the lady.”

“I’ll let you know if the inn will work.”

“See you.” Jonas turned and strode away.

Mark looked at each snapshot. The leaves on a hillside had just begun to change color. Another showed a lake shimmering in the sunlight. He put down several of the large inn. Others showed a garden near a two-story house and several cottages. A boy about nine or ten mugged for the camera. He stared at the next one where a woman stood with the blond boy. His jaw clenched.

“Damn her.” What was Christa Parsons doing at this inn? Mark opened his laptop and started a search for directions to this inn. Was the woman Christa? Could he be mistaken? Had he forgotten what she looked like? Not possible. He printed the directions. With the photo of the boy and the printout in one hand and his laptop in the other he strode to the door. He stopped at his secretary’s desk. “I’ll be out of town for several days, maybe a week.”

“Where should I say you are?”

“Just a phone or an email away.”

He didn’t wait for the elevator but took the stairs to the basement parking garage. Traffic was a nightmare with honking horns, squealing brakes and raised fists. When he reached his condo he felt as though he’d won a war. He dashed inside and packed. He zapped a frozen burger and stopped in the living room to remove a picture from the photo album on the coffee table.

He stared at the two pictures. Had to be. Why hadn’t she told him? He intended
to learn the answer to that and a dozen other questions. He tucked the picture in his shirt pocket, grabbed his jacket, a six pack and a tin of cookies. Outside he loaded everything in the trunk of his silver sports car. He slid behind the wheel. Christa Parsons had some explaining to do.

Though eight PM was a bit late to start the trip, a touch of anger and impatience to know why spurred him on. The need for action was too strong to allow him to sit and brood.

Why hadn’t she called him? Why had she vanished without a word? For ten years her disappearance had puzzled him. Had the fault been his?
His thoughts turned to those days of falling in love. Hadn’t taken long and that was a Blakefield tradition. Love came fast and hard. The long weekend of mind-blowing sex remained vivid. There had been more than the physical attraction. They had so many likes and dislikes in common. The ending had been done with a clever, abrupt and brutal.

She’d run to her dorm for an hour. As he was leaving to pick her up for dinner, Tony had returned from the beach and Matt had called with news. Mark had shouted he was in love. He’d handed Tony the phone and dashed to her almost-deserted dorm. She hadn’t been there and the two people he’d encountered had never heard of Christa Parsons.

He revved the engine and backed into the street. Jonas had discovered the where but the why remained unexplained. He frowned. When had Christa Parsons become Christa Sommers? Had she married? Jonas had called her a single mother. Was there an ex lingering about? Mark couldn’t imagine any man letting Christa go.
At midnight he found a motel, slept until six, ate breakfast and was on the road by eight. After grabbing a burger and fries at a fast food place, he pulled into the parking lot of the rustic Green Mountain Inn. The two-story building had a large screened porch. Two wings spread from the central portion. The number of cars in the parking lot brought a moment of concern. Were there any rooms available?

He shrugged. Didn’t matter. If not here, he would find somewhere and haunt the inn until he knew all. As he left the car he paused and surveyed the scene. The hills blazed with colors. Scarlet, orange and yellow were framed against a background of dark green.

Though he wasn’t amused Mark grinned. Christa Parsons, here I come with questions. I hope you have good reasons for your actions.

Along with his anger he felt a pulsing need. Those four days had been filled with fabulous sex, laughter and a sharing of dreams. Before he left the inn he would know what went wrong and why she had hidden his son from him.

He dropped the keys in the pocket of his black leather jacket and strode toward the entrance. A door opened. Two young women stepped onto the porch. Tight jeans and skinny tops and boots. Both carried jackets. As they approached he noticed a resemblance to Christa. Their hair was a darker brown and lacked the strands of gold he remembered. Their features weren’t as refined. Sisters or cousins? He paused at the foot of the steps and waited for them to pass. Their voices reached him.

“I don’t understand why Christa said no.”

“If we keep on her she’ll change her mind.” The taller of the two halted. “Always works.”

“It has to. I’ll go buggy if I have to hang here much longer.” The second young woman’s shrill voice made Mark wince. “How can she say we have no share in the inn? Daddy was the owner. Mom said so. That makes us owners as much as she is.”

“She has to give us the money. I’m tired of being an underpaid servant.”

Mark stepped aside to let them past. So, all wasn’t well in Christa’s world.

The taller young woman nodded. “I’m not waiting ‘til ski season for some action.”

The second groaned. “At least the place jumps then.”

“Not if she sells.”

“We won’t let her.” She reached the bottom step, saw Mark and smiled. “Well, hello.”

“Do we know you?” the taller one asked. “You look sort of familiar. Are you staying?”

“Depends.” He brushed past them. He knew the type and he didn’t want what they offered.

Just inside the door he stopped short. Though her back was to him he had found Christa. A battle raged in his thoughts between anger and desire. His heart raced. His hands clenched. Memories of love-making arose and were countered by his knowledge of the sun she’d hidden from him. His gaze roamed from her neck down her back.

She turned. Her breasts seemed fuller than he remembered. He recalled how they’d responded to his touch. He fought an urge to lunge across the counter and kiss her until she cried for him to come in her.

Mark stepped to the counter. “Hello Christa Parsons.”

“It’s Sommers.” She grasped the edge. “What do you want?” Her voice trembled.

He caught a hint of fear in her blue eyes. “You have something of mine.”

“What are you talking about?”

He smiled. She knows. The tension in her voice and the whiteness of her knuckles showed her awareness of his reason for his presence. “A boy. A bit older than nine. Blond hair, green eyes.” He pulled the photos from his pocket and slapped them on the counter. “Our son. Yours truly at that age. They could be twins.”

“Mark, go away.”

He shook his head. “I can’t.”

“How did you learn?”

Though her face had blanched she didn’t back away. “A colleague and his wife stayed here. He liked the inn, the food and the view. He took pictures. One happened to be of you and the other of my son.”

“What do you plan?”

The tears forming in her eyes almost made him walk away. He couldn’t. He had a son. “For starters, get acquainted. I’m not sure what else.” He opened his wallet and slid a credit card from a slot. “I want a room. Not sure how long I’ll stay. Start with a week. I’ll get my bags.” He turned to leave and nearly collided with the young women he’d seen outside. He arched a brow. “Ladies, curiosity could get you in trouble.”
* * * *
Christa slumped against the counter. What she needed was a pair of iron rods to act as a spinal brace. She had wanted thestrength to deal with her half sisters. Now Mark Blakefield’s arrival had added to the problems she faced. She wanted to collapse or hide until all the irritants vanished. That wasn’t going to happen.
Her decision to tell Peggy and Stella their free-loading days were over had promised a storm. Mark’s presence meant a hurricane. She willed her knees to stiffen. Fainting was not the answer. Mark was here and he knew about Davy. Thank heavens her son was in school. She had to find a way to send Mark away before the school bus arrived at three.

She gulped a deep breath. She should have told Mark about the pregnancy. Ten years ago her life had been chaotic and loaded with guilty feelings. The deaths of her father and step-mother had catapulted her into a life she hadn’t wanted. The inn was hers. There were many debts. Her half sisters were angry, frightened and spoiled. Three months had passed before she’d had time to think of her own needs.
The day she’d realized she was pregnant she had tried to let Mark know. He had graduated and gone to work for one of the magazines his family owned. A secretary reported he was in Europe and they weren’t sure when he would return. She hadn’t left a message. Several more times she had called only to learn he was unavailable.
There had been nothing for her to do but make order out of her hectic life.

Keeping her half sisters out of trouble had been a full-time job. So had been restoring the inn and caring for Davy. Telling Mark had been pushed aside, and
while not forgotten hadn’t been a priority. Now he was here and he was angry.

“Interesting situation,” Peggy drawled. “The man seems determined. You need to think about what he can do for you and Davy. The car he drives screams money. Not to mention, he’s hot.”

Stella laughed. “He’s beyond hot. Incandescent. Shoulders like a football hero. Dynamite smile. Killer green eyes. If you don’t want him I’d like a taste.”

“Stand in line.” Peggy grinned. “How about a double or triple?” She winked. “If I were you I’d hit him for child support. With a wad of cash you could give Stel and me the money for a cruise.” She sighed. “We’re ready for balmy nights and single men.”

Christa pressed her hands against the counter. The desire to slap them grew stronger. “Listen to me. I am selling the inn. You need to find jobs. I’ll give you enough to rent an apartment and to live on for three months while you find work and put your college educations to use.”

Stella shook her head. “No deal. You’ll have to buy us out. We’ll take our share in cash. Dad had three kids so we’re entitled to a third each.”

“You’re entitled to nothing.” Christa stared at the door. Though he presented a different problem, what was taking Mark so long?

“We’ll take you to court,” Peggy said.

“You don’t get the picture. The inn was left to me by my mother. When she died, Dad was my guardian and had life tenancy. I was twenty-one when he died and the inn became mine.”

“I don’t believe you,” Peggy said. “I know what Mom said.”

Christa drew a deep breath. No matter what their mother had said, Stella and Peggy had no share of the inn. Christa had paid for their college education, fed and clothed them. Over the years she had given in to their demands to avoid their tantrums and her guilt over the days following the accident when no one had known where she could be found.

She wanted to scream. She had avoided this confrontation. No longer. The pair had pushed her beyond her tolerance level.

The door opened. Mark wheeled stacked suitcases to the desk. Christa groaned. He had come to stay. He placed a laptop on the counter. Her heart raced. Anticipation pulsed through her. Why did he affect her this way? Her thoughts flooded with memories of his kisses and his touches.

“Room key,” he said.

She smiled. “I’m afraid the inn is booked solid through next weekend. I can give you a list of other places that might have vacancies.” She had to explain the past but not yet. “You could leave and return.”

“Not a chance. We need to talk and I’m not leaving until we do.”

Christa stared at the counter. Why had he come? Was he here to take Davy away?

“He could rent one of the cottages,” Stella said.

Christa glared at her half sister. “They’re closed until ski season.”

“Do they have water, electricity and heat?” Mark rested his elbows on the counter.

The look of determination in his eyes reminded her of their first encounter and the way he had pursued her until she had agreed to a date. Three weeks later she’d been in love and had spent a long weekend with him. Those four days had been a whirlwind fantasy of love and laughter. When the web of tragedy had brought a shroud of responsibility, those days had ended. She stared at her hands. To meet his gaze meant revealing how little her feelings had changed.

“Christa, the cottage?”

“They’re meant for groups.”

“I’ll take one.” He slid his credit card closer.

He would persist until she agreed. “Do you really want to pay for a place that accommodates eight to ten just for yourself?" His shrug told her he hadn’t changed. He would pursue what he wanted ruthlessly.

“Why not? I can afford it. There’s never been anyone to help me spend my money.” He brushed a finger over the back of her hand.

Christa felt tendrils of heat spiral along her arms and take root low in her belly. She held her breath but the scent of him seeped through her pores. Would he change his mind when he saw the weekly rate? She ran the card and filled in the amount. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

“Can’t think of anything I’d rather do.” His grin was feral. “Haven’t those words been said before? Didn’t you say that to me the day I asked you to spend a weekend with me.” He signed the slip.

She felt like a mouse being toyed with by a cat. Or a woman pursued by a man whose desire for conquest rode his scent and colored his voice.

He put the pen down. “Send the audience away. Time for our chat.”

Every word jabbed like a needle. How could she fight a man who signed for a thousand dollars without checking the amount? “I can tear this slip up and you can go home. There’s nothing to discuss. I chose my life.”

“But you also chose mine. Just because you didn’t intend to marry me doesn’t mean I would cede all rights to my son.”

She looked away. What did he mean? Years ago she would gladly have married him. “I see.” She spoke with more calmness that she felt.

“Do you?” He reached for her hand. “There’s a second reason for this visit.”

“And that is?”

“A feature spread in Good Travelin’. Would be good for business. My head writer suggested, ‘An Inn For All Seasons.’”

The carrot he dangled tempted her. A feature might bring interest from potential buyers. If the inn sold she and Davy could vanish. Or could they? Mark knew he had a son. Would he fight for custody?

Christa drew a deep breath and donned her innkeeper persona. “Welcome to Green Mountain Inn. The restaurant opens at six for breakfast. Dinner service starts at five. The dining room closes at ten but the bar remains open and has a limited menu. There is a gift shop that carries some snacks and local crafts.” She handed him a key. “Stella and Peggy will take you to the cottage.”

“Why don’t you do the honors?” His deep voice caressed the words.

“I have work to do.” She waved to her sisters. “Show Mr. Blakefield to number five.” The cottage was as far from the house she shared with her family as she could manage.

He pocketed the key and gathered his luggage. “Lead on, ladies. Christa, I’m looking forward to our talk.”

As the door closed behind them Christa sagged. What was she going to do? He was angry and he had a right to be furious. Why hadn’t she found a time during the past ten years to tell Mark about Davy? That was a question she’d never been able to answer. She leaned against the counter. His being here raised another question. How could she resist the temptation to fall in love again?

A Savory Seduction -- First Chapter Saturday

A Savory Seduction
BY
Janet Lane Walters
New Concepts Publishing


Chapter One

When his mother entered the office of Five Cuisines, Greg Ramsey pushed his chair back and smiled in welcome. “Your timing is perfect. Just finished creating the menus for the week.”

Stella Ramsey crossed the room and kissed his cheek. “And how is my handsome son?”
“Pleased with our success.” The restaurant had opened six months before and was on the way to becoming a profitable venture. For the past month, there’d been few empty tables at either seating. Even on Wednesday and Thursday evenings, they’d been nicely booked. The weekend lunches were gaining the attention of the people who came to browse in the antique shops and other unusual stores.

He reached for the letter that had arrived in the morning mail. The offer could make or break his dream. He knew very little about the magazine other than a spread was eagerly sought by restaurants. As a silent partner, his mother had a voice in whether they should chance a bad review.

“What was so important you interrupted my lunch date.” She stared at him. “You’ve found a weekend hostess.”

He shook his head. “That job’s yours until you say you’ve had enough.”

“Then what?” She sat on the captain’s chair beside the desk. “Have you met the woman of your dreams?”

He laughed. “When do I have time?”

“Several of the sous chefs are young attractive women.”

“They’re taken, and I don’t poach anything but eggs.”

“Then what did you want to tell me?”

He handed her the sheet of paper. “This letter came today, and the offer is a very sweet opportunity.” As she read, Greg studied her. The few strands of silver in her jet black hair just added to her attractiveness. She’d been a widow for fifteen years, and he often wondered why she hadn’t remarried. Did she still mourn for his father? Why? He remembered the many nights that he’d awakened late at night to hear their angry voices.

“You will not let them near Five Cuisines,” she said. “I won’t have it.”

He frowned. “Why not? A feature in Good Eatin’ will place us among the top restaurants in the country.”

“I won’t let him use his magazines to destroy you the way he ruined your father’s dreams.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Peter Blakefield, editor in chief of this magazine, deliberately used his wife’s magazines to destroy Le Provencal.”

Greg rose and went to his mother’s side. He’d been sixteen when the tragedy had occurred. His father’s suicide had brought his mother grief and had brought drastic changes in Greg’s life. “Why would this Blakefield do that?”

She stared at his hand. “Your father told me the families had been at odds since they arrived in this country during colonial days. Your father and Peter had become rivals in high school. Then I met Peter at college. We fell in love and were engaged but we had a fight. I broke the engagement. Peter wanted no part of my parents’ restaurant. Victor learned about the rift and comforted me. He went to work for my parents and we were married. Peter was furious. He said he would destroy Victor. He waited for years, but he succeeded.”

“How?”

“He wrote dreadful articles about the food, the service, and other things. The shame caused your father to take his own life. Victor wasn’t the most stable of men and when he was drinking became very depressed.”

“Do you have copies of these articles?”

“Your father wouldn’t let me read them. I watched him burn them. Promise you won’t let those people near Five Cuisines.”

Greg turned away. Her comments were disappointing, but, until he knew more about this feud, he’d hold off on sending a letter of regrets. “Are you sure this is the right decision?”

She looked away. “Yes.”

He nodded. “I’ll take care of this later.” He took the letter. “About this feud. Is there any real reason you and I should be involved in the mess?”

“Greg, drop the idea of being featured in Good Eatin’. Peter Blakefield doesn’t forgive or forget.” She rose and walked to the door.

There had to be more than she’d told him, but he had no idea how to discover just what had happened. Greg slipped the letter in a drawer. He didn’t want to slam the door on an opportunity. Maybe she would change her mind. He would hold off on answering for a time. He shook his head. An ancient feud. How medieval.

* * * *

Allie Blakefield stormed into her father’s office. “What is the meaning of this memo?” She slapped the offensive paper on his desk. “’Good Eatin’ will have no good words for Five Cuisines, a restaurant owned by the Ramseys.”

Peter Blakefield looked up. A few streaks of gray could barely be seen in his blond hair. “The memo is clear and you will honor it. There has been bad blood between the families for generations.”

Allie laughed. “What? Like the Hatfields and McCoys? I thought I was the editor of Good Eatin’ and made the decisions on which restaurants are reviewed.”

“In this case, I’ve over-ruled you.” He smiled. “How was California?”

Allie sighed with frustration. His change of subject rankled, but she knew he’d told her all she would hear from him. “Warm. Some good food and some bad, but the restaurants have been selected and the photo shoots arranged.” She curled in a chair across from his desk. “Why can’t I do Five Cuisines? I’ve heard so many raves about the food and the ambiance. Surely some feud from the old days is a poor reason.”

“Allie, forget it. I made a similar decision fifteen years ago.”

She frowned. Fifteen years ago, her mother had died. Allie had been twelve. Back then, her Dad had edited Good Eatin’. Afterwards, he’d become editor and chief of four magazines and sole parent to four young children. What else had happened then? Her curiosity simmered, but she knew he wouldn’t tell her more. “I still want to consider the place.”

“I said no and I meant what I said.” Her father leaned forward. “Are the galleys for the next issue proofed?”

“Yes.”

“Then I’ll see you for dinner on Sunday.”

Allie paused at the door. “I’m not sure I can make it.” Though Sunday dinners were a family affair, usually one of the other of the four siblings was absent.
Allie hurried to her office. Vowing to learn more about her father’s reasons for meddling in her territory, she closed the door and dialed her aunt’s number. “Aunt
Laura, what can you tell me about the Ramsey/Blakefield feud?”

Her aunt laughed. “Thought that ended when Victor died. His wife took their son and moved to Europe. What made it surface now?”

Allie explained about the restaurant and how her father had reacted to the idea of a feature article. “He forbade me to go near the place.”

Laura chuckled. “So he waved a red flag and bull-like, you will charge.”

“Yes. Would you give me the facts?”

“As much as I can. The feud began over loyalties during the Revolutionary War and some betrayals, had its ups and downs but vanished after the Civil War until your dad and Victor attended the same high school. In college, they fell in love with the same woman. She and your dad were engaged, but Victor married her.”

Allie slumped in a chair. “What about Mom? Didn’t Dad love her? Did he marry her for the magazines?”

Her aunt sighed. “Peter married her on the rebound. They learned to value each other. When she died, he was devastated. I’m sure he loved her.”

“Nothing explains his attitude about an article. What happened in the past can’t be changed.”

Laura laughed. “I know. This might give a clearer picture. Several months after your mom died, Victor Ramsey lost his restaurant. He killed himself and his wife blamed your father.”

That made little sense to Allie. “Thanks for the info.” The situation was still from the dark ages. She couldn’t see why Good Eatin’ couldn’t do a spread on the most unusual restaurant in the area. She nodded. No matter what her father said, she intended to scout the place. She leaned back in the chair and made a decision. Except the thought of driving across the bridge and back five evenings in a row didn’t thrill her.

She booted her computer and looked among the employees to see who lived on the west side of the Hudson River. She found seven. After checking the master assignment schedule for the four magazines, she tapped an extension number. One of the names belonged to a friend. “Steve, Allie here. When do you leave for Alaska?”

“Tuesday evening. Why?”

“Do you have a guest room?”

“Yes.”

“Could I sack out there for a week while you’re away. I promise not to pry.”

He laughed. “Prying is your sister’s way. You’re too direct. What’s up?”

“I want to check Five Cuisines.”

“Be my guest. You’ll love the restaurant.”

“And the location of your apartment is perfect.”

He chuckled. “While you’re in town, look around. There are some neat shops and several other good restaurants. I’ll drop a key off tomorrow and alert the doorman that you’ll be there. I’ve several new neighbors. One’s a real hunk. Just your type.”

“Interesting. Which apartment?”

“Directly below mine. If you score, I want a finder’s fee.”

She laughed. “You’re outrageous. See you tomorrow.”

* * * *

Allie tied her sneakers and walked to the sliding doors leading to the apartment’s balcony. She’d arrived in the Hudson River village late last evening and settled in. Before Steve left, he’d made reservations at Five Cuisines under the name she’d used when scouting. Five dinners. One in each room of the restaurant for the first seating as six.

She inhaled a deep breath and walked to the railing. A warm summer breeze caressed her skin. A few cloud puffs scudded across the blue sky. Several sailboats glided past. She watched until they reached the Tappan Zee Bridge.

A sound caught her attention and she looked down. Steve had been right, definitely her type. A man wearing black briefs flowed from one Yoga position to another. His tanned, sculptured body was glorious. She felt a stirring in her blood.
She inhaled. A man who looked so fabulous had surely been claimed years ago. She muffled a groan. She was four months past her last relationship with no one on the horizon. Her constant flitting about the country wasn’t conducive to long term relationships. Face it. None of the men she’d dated had made her want to remain earth-bound.

Though she’d planned to walk to town to find coffee, browse through the shops, and check what the local restaurants offered, she couldn’t move. Her gaze focused on her neighbor’s broad shoulders, tight rear, and muscular legs. His dark hair touched his shoulders. Was his face as striking as his body?

He finished the exercises and turned. A long sigh escaped Allie. Definitely easy on the eyes. Too bad she couldn’t see his hands to check for a ring. If he’d been hers, she would have banded him with a broad one.

If you lean over the railing another inch, you’ll fall. Though a novel way to meet a man, there was no guarantee he would catch her.

At that moment, he looked up. Their gazes met, and she felt the impact down to her toes. Yes, yes, rang in her thoughts. Her breath caught in her throat.

“Well, hello. Thought Steve was off on a trip.”

She grasped the cool metal railing. “He is. Steve’s a friend. He loaned me the apartment while I’m in town doing research.” Surely the man’s eyes were as dark as the midnight sky.

“A writer?”

“Yes.”

“Need help with your research?”

She released her grip on the railing. Better move on before she made a fool of herself by propositioning him. “I’ll let you know. Right now, I’m off to explore the town.”

“See you around.”

“I’m sure.” Allie backed into the sliding door. She rubbed her rear. Boy, she was rattled. She laughed and ducked inside. Chances were he was single, but did she want a short-term involvement with a stranger? The way her body pulsed and the trend of her thoughts shouted yes. Slow down.

She slid her small bag over her shoulder, tucked the apartment key inside, and left. On the ground floor, she glanced at his apartment number. Maybe she could learn his name from the mailboxes. As she reached the front door, she made a face. The boxes were in a locked room, and she didn’t have a key. Just my luck.

She waved to the doorman as she passed and strode up the hill to Main Street. As she strolled along, the aroma of coffee drew her to a storefront where several tables stood on the wide sidewalk. She read the name on the door. The Coffee Mug.
When she entered, the scent of freshly baked bread united with the coffee and drew her to the counter. Sweet rolls, a variety of breads, assorted cookies, cakes and pies lined the showcase shelves. She ordered a coffee to go and promised herself she would stop on the way back to the apartment for some rye bread.

As she continued her exploration, she marveled at the variety of small shops selling books, antiques, dollhouses, and jewelry. Restaurants were interspersed with the stores. At each eatery, she paused to read the menus. Some were tempting. Maybe Five Cuisines wasn’t the only game in town.

Then a display window made her grin. The Peekaboo Boutique. She dropped the coffee cup in a trash container and pressed her nose against the display window. Mentally, she flipped a two-headed coin and won. Lingerie was her downfall, and many of the items in the window were sexy and unique. The bras and bikini bottoms appeared to have been hand-painted with flowers and butterflies. She opened the door. A bell tinkled.

A middle-aged woman pushed through a beaded curtain behind the counter. “Hi, I’m Peggy Lou. What would you like to see?”

Allie laughed. “Everything. Let’s start with those lace-up thigh highs and the matching teddy.”

The woman arched a brow. “You’ve great taste and the perfect body to wear them.”

“And I have the right dress.”

Before long, a half dozen sets were added to the stockings and teddy. Allie chuckled. “I’d better stop before I max my card. Don’t worry. I’ll be back.”