To the Cliffside
A Morganna Cork Novel
Copyright 2011 by B. Jane Lawson
Smashwords Edition
To the Cliffside is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
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To Briana, in honor of our shared, shameless love of books.
Chapter One
I was on fire. I sluggishly attempted to pat down the flames on my arms but each time I lifted my hand another flare sprung up – like a game of whack-a-mole. I tried to speak but my words were muffled, slurred. When I looked up a pair of molten eyes were staring back at me, the pupils reflecting the flicker of blue fire. Him. I tried to go to him, but no matter how far I traveled he was just one step away. Help me! I wanted to shout. Instead, I thrashed. I was fighting against an invisible net – the harder I struggled the more entrenched I became.
Just when I would have given up hope, a shrill, beeping jarred me awake. The alarm on my phone. I panted heavily, my shirt drenched in sweat. It was only a dream. But what was I even dreaming about?
I eased out of my ambient state, blinking twice to ensure that I was not mistaken, and that I was, in fact, here. Here being my new bedroom in my new home, the massive Cliffside Inn. When I came in last night I had that all-consuming exhaustion which borders on intoxication and is just as dangerous. I had little else left in me than to plop into this magnificent bed and shut my eyes.
I now took in my sumptuous surroundings; I was nestled cozily in the center of a California King-sized bed fitted with soft cotton sheets the color of lush grass. A deep purple comforter covered and captured the heat of my body. I couldn’t even count the number of pillows. This was certainly the most luxurious bed I had ever seen, much less slept in.
The rest of the room was no less impressive. Across from me was a vanity that had to have been over 100 years-old, made of dark mahogany with a mirror as wide as I was tall. The over-stuffed seat on the vanity chair was a deep burgundy that matched the plush throw beneath the bed and thick drapes drawn across the window. Window may have been an understatement – glass stretched from floor to ceiling and the entire width of the room. What I could glimpse between the peek of those drapes, was an unadulterated view of the ocean, which, today, had a slight fog rolling over it.
Made of the same dark wood as the vanity, opposite the window, was a bookshelf which ran the entire length of the wall except for the entrance into the room. It was filled with volumes of books whose genres ranged from classics to contemporary romance to science fiction.
At the foot of the bed, where my television had always been, was a beige chaise lounge, suede maybe, situated at a perfect angle to sit, read a book and take in the view. I was more than impressed with my accommodations for the coming year.
I played the events of yesterday over in my head. I had completed the eleven-hour drive north from Los Angeles to Puesta del Sol in one day. Lack of funds prevented me from stopping overmuch along the way. By the time I arrived I was torn between my road-weariness and aching hunger. However, exhaustion won out and I could do little else but collapse into my bed and sleep.
“We have to do what’s best for you,” my mother said.
“What’s best for me? You mean what’s best for you!” I had retorted. I was shaken to the core that my family no longer wanted me around – that in their minds I had done something so terrible that it warranted excommunication.
“Honey, that’s not what I meant and you know it. You have been out of control and need to get your act together – and Los Angeles clearly isn’t the place to be doing it. You’ve been out until god knows when doing god knows what and I’m just supposed to sit idly by? You’re a grown woman now; you have to take responsibility for your actions. That’s why I’ve arranged for you to work at your cousin’s Inn up North for the time being. I think it will give you time to get your priorities straight.” My mom always talks like that. Like she’s the lead of one of the daytime soaps she’s always watching. Glass swishing in her hand as she elongates syllables and shouts rhetoric. Responses not welcome or required.
I had sat blank faced the entire time. Refusing to cry. Priorities straight? She clearly had no clue just how in line my priorities were. I loved my mother, but she had some major control issues. “Mom I don’t want to go.”
“I’m not giving you a choice. I’m not supporting you anymore. This is really your best option.” Irony of ironies – can you support another human being when you yourself haven’t worked a day in your life? My mom is an example of a woman who has deluded herself and bolstered that delusion through immersion in a self-same social setting.
I had fumed the entire car ride up – at times accelerating to well over a hundred miles per hour in the Jeep Wrangler I had scrimped and saved to buy. The ability to travel where I pleased was one of my few freedoms. My refusal to “fall in line” with my mother’s expectations had driven a wedge between us that had grown to a chasm which I was unsure could ever be bridged. And she was nuts if she thought I would ever become Mrs. Nigel Cornwall, but I suppose that’s neither here nor there.
Also plaguing our relationship was her inability to cope with or recognize my “otherness.” The first time she noticed anything was wrong I had fallen from the monkey bars and scraped my knee pretty terribly. When I grabbed it to stop the stinging pain, heat had seared through my body and then there was a fast image of green light, as quick as the flash on a camera. When I lifted my hand the gash was gone, replaced by the skin that usually marks an injury that was already weeks old.
My mother had stood nearby with a horrified look on her face, refusing to accept what she had just witnessed. For the next fifteen years we did our best to avoid the subject altogether. Needless to say I was not permitted any sort of medical care moving forward. Mrs. Cork would die of mortification if any of the women in her elite circle of housewives were to ever discover her daughter was a ‘sorceress.’
This is likely why medical school was off the table. I should make mention here that I wasn’t interested in attending Harvard or anything like that. I wanted to attend a school of alternative, natural medicine in Vancouver. My dad just about blew a gasket when he heard that one.
I did my best to learn anything I could about medicine independently, despite their objections. Those “late nights” where she presumed I was out on a drinking binge or whatever horrors her mind created were spent at the UCLA medical library or at various greenhouses and farms. I was determined to learn everything I could about healing, and her belief that I was out partying was the lesser of two evils.
I was sucked back into reality, when, somewhere during the time that I was vacillating between anger and dread, I had approached the vicinity of the Inn. Puesta del Sol, Population: 250, the sign read. Exactly what I wasn’t used to – a small town community in a remote coastal area. I feared that I would die of boredom and mental depravity long before my stay here was over. Man, was I going to be wrong about that.
One of the benefits of growing up in coastal California was the ability to watch the sun set over the ocean daily. The ritual was taking place now, just over the horizon, providing for some spectacular scenery. This should have been something that I was used to, but I never stopped being awed at the shocks of pink and purple dancing across the sky as the day departed and the night arrived. I’ve always marveled at how the sun appeared to move so slowly throughout the day, but, as it approached the horizon, it dipped so swiftly that if you looked away you could miss it.
I also believed that was when those of us who had “otherness” inside of us felt an imperceptible shift in the atmosphere. As though Selene’s chariot ride signaled a changing of guard, and the buzz of energy that hummed quietly throughout the day became ostensible even to someone unacquainted with the supernatural world.
As I drove through the main thoroughfare, I could see this was a tidy town, with a touch of the Victorian style seen all over Northern California, but with a darker, gothic twist. I passed a place with the name Bar None etched into a wooden sign; I could see a fireplace with a warm, inviting fire crackling in the hearth, causing steam to collect on the window panes. The interior was decently packed for a weeknight in a small town. I could see a buxom blond holding court over three admiring males as well as a dark haired woman sitting in a corner booth by herself. She was hiding her hopes that someone would come over and talk to her, while trying to appear confident sitting alone in a place where everyone seemed to know each other.
I kept driving and made note of a grocery store and clothing store with similar aesthetic treatments before turning off the main thoroughfare to Seacliff Road, which I was supposed to take for ten miles before I reached my destination. In total, “town” consisted of about twenty buildings grouped together on Main Street. Of course I thought, and rolled my eyes. Absent were the commercial chains – no Starbucks or McDonald’s here. Gulp.
Seacliff Road was a well-kept two lane high way twisting through the hillside that occupies much of Northern California. The night was pitch without a trace of the moon in the sky. It was a marked difference to be surrounded by complete darkness, the road illuminated solely by the high-power beams of my Jeep.
I travelled forward carefully, unfamiliar with the terrain. I couldn’t shake the cold wave of unease that washed over me as I was driving. A combination of childhood fears and too many slasher films had me glancing into my rearview mirror to check my back seat.
Grow up Morganna, you are WAY too old to be afraid of the dark.
Then, just as quickly as it descended upon me, the feeling was gone. I had definitely been driving for far too long. The night was cool, but I had the windows down so I could enjoy the smells undulating along the night. The scent of salt and sea was in my nose as I approached a house on the left. This certainly couldn’t be the Inn, could it? I should really work on paying attention to directions in unfamiliar areas. My aimless wandering had gotten me into trouble on more than one occasion.
I pulled into a slate driveway without gates, a definite departure from Los Angeles. As the headlights splashed on the house, I heard the blast of a symphony, which if I wasn’t already creeped out, the dark, escalating melody sealed the deal. This was definitely not the Inn I had seen in pictures.
This was a Victorian, as well, but while the Inn was a deep cream, this was a slate gray. Two matching turrets flanked either side of the main house, one of them showcasing what looked to be a 360-view of the surrounding area. I could see a faint light coming from that room. Given the darkness it was difficult to make out the remainder of the house, but it was decidedly not the Cliffside Inn. I needed to get out of here before whoever owned this home came out and noticed me idling in his or her driveway.
Too late. One minute I was shifting gears the next I was bolting out of my seat to the sound of a sharp wrap on my window. I turned and looked at the man to my left. My traitorous jaw inexorably unhinged itself. Sheeeez-us.
Hunched down in order to make eye contact with me, in an SUV no less, was one of the most roguishly sexy men I had ever seen – celebrity or otherwise. I think I was holding my breath because I started to feel the black tentacles creep in around my eyes and inhaled in order to keep from fainting. The last thing I needed to do was faint in front of this MAN. I rolled down the window, going against everything my mother ever taught me about approaching strangers. I should have kicked my car in gear and floored it out of there, but something in his expression told me that would be very unwise.
I stared into his eyes, which were a dark gold, and took in the thick curly hair, which appeared to be a jet black in the night sky. I couldn’t quite place his unmatched features – a strong nose, chiseled jaw and cheekbones and a full bottom lip. I’m not even sure I could call him handsome, but there was such an overt sexuality to his features that I felt hot all over. And that was just his face. He wasn't wearing what I'd call ample clothing for a night in the 40s. From his threadbare t-shirt I could make out a body honed to perfection. Not a bodybuilder, though. More like ex-military; one of those special forces operatives who exudes power and stealth, and could run ten miles just as easily as he could bench press a few hundred pounds.
The energy he emanated abraded my nerves, making me feel like a riotous mass of electrical wires. It was not on the same frequency as any human I've ever met. I had limited interaction with people who emitted energy like mine so I was both fascinated and afraid. I wasn’t naïve enough to believe that all power was good power, but was interested enough to stick around and find out.
He seemed content to let the silence drag on between us, the intensity of his gaze causing me to fidget in my seat. Before I could stop my mouth I was talking.
“Hi,” I tried in my friendliest tone of voice. After he continued to stare I added, “I’m Morganna, I’m looking for the Cliffside Inn – I don’t suppose that’s you? I’m new to the area and not familiar with this road, I apologize for pulling into your driveway.” Oh my gosh, I was rambling. And I wouldn’t risk checking my mirror, but I could guarantee my pale face was a deep hue of red that matched my hair and eyebrows.
Still nothing from him, and my initial admiration was slowly giving way to annoyance, so I decided it was best I be on my way. “Well then, I guess I will be going, sorry to be a bother.”
I was putting the car into gear when he finally spoke. His expression belied his amusement. This was definitely a man used to people being cowed at him. Under normal circumstances I would have been, but more often than not my pride wins the battle and I’ve said something long before I’ve thought about the repercussions. The deep sound of his voice was rich and smoky at the same time, and stalled any movements I had been making.
“Make a left out of the driveway and head another two miles or so up and the Inn will be on your right. Be careful on the way – all manner of creatures moving through the forest at night.” He patted the side of the door, stood up to his full height, which had to be four or five inches over six feet, and purposefully headed back to the house without sparing me a glance.
After I was sure he was inside, I let out a whoosh of breath. I pulled back onto Seacliff, heading north to the Inn. By then, I was deliriously tired and kept the windows down hoping that the breeze would wake me up. Already skittish from the encounter with the stranger whose name I failed to gather, I just barely noticed a blur of movement out of the corner of my eye and slammed on my brakes as it approached the road. I skidded along the slick pavement and came to a halt with a crack of green light just in time to avoid whatever had been coming my way.
Standing in the path of my headlights was an overly large badger. The badger looked back at me as though he was contemplating letting me pass. Badger? Here? Weren’t they found in Wisconsin or something like that? I shook my head, positive my eyes were playing tricks on me. I looked back onto the road and there the creature remained. His striped face peered back at me and he gave me a regal, approving nod before scuttling away.
The strange man’s words echoed inside of my head, all manner of creatures moving through the forest at night. Well I was in some dense forestland near an ocean; surely he meant to warn me about animals crossing. In fact, I’m not even sure I actually saw that or if I fell asleep at the wheel. As for the green crack, I had experienced that before, as well. Once when I slipped on a shoe my parents’ dog had chewed and left at the top of the stairs and another time when I had been snowboarding. Both had been pretty close calls, so I’m fairly certain that I was in serious danger of losing control of the car when my I came to my supernatural senses.
I was absolutely certain I needed to get to the Inn and fast.
I sped away and was relieved when I spotted the Inn up ahead. Finally. Then, just as suddenly, an eerie shock of electricity surged through my body. My hair stood on end and I imagined that this is what dogs must feel when they try to breach an electric fence. Then, as the intensity reached an unbearable level, it flickered out like a light on a switch. This night was turning out to be seriously weird and I hadn’t even met the woman who I was going to be spending the next year with – my cousin Maeve.
A wood sign heralded my destination, and I pulled into the carport on the right, next to a mint-condition Wagoneer.
The Cliffside Inn was a behemoth against the backdrop of the night sky. A large Victorian, it was built by Conlan Cork, who settled in Puesta del Sol just after California became a state in 1849. Nearly forty years ago it had undergone a renovation, including advancements in plumbing and electrical, and was converted into a bed and breakfast by Maeve’s father Brendan. My mother told me that when he passed five years ago, Maeve inherited the Cliffside and the surrounding five acres of property. She, too, had done some remodeling in the past year, and with a bit of marketing the Cliffside had seen a spike in business.
Maeve called and asked if I would be interested in helping out as she was short staffed. The only problem was that she hadn’t called to ask me. She called my mother and the two of them decided without my input.
Forcing a wave of frustration down, I grabbed my suitcase from the trunk and headed towards the front door. The creamy siding and windows were offset by the blue of the roof. Although it was close to midnight, the lights that burned in every window lured me forward with a silent promise of warmth. The front entrance to the Inn faced the road and the rest wrapped around the property as easily as if it had been forged into the terrain. Above the front door loomed a single turret, the pinnacle of the Inn. Like the previous house I had visited, the turret windows linked to form an unbroken ring that provided views in every direction. To the right of the turret was a chimney that puffed a steady stream of smoke into the darkness.
I reached forward to ring the bell, but, before I could depress the button, the click of a lock sounded. I took a deep breath as the door swung slowly back with only the slightest of creaks.
Maeve was five years my senior but she could have passed for my younger sister; where my hair was a deep red hers was a raven-black. We both had bright eyes, an identical shade of green ringed by a slightly darker blue around the iris. She was an inch or two over my five foot seven, and where I was exceptionally curvy, she was moderately so. Maeve embodied classical beauty; my features were too harsh, ‘had too much character’ as I’d heard them described to be considered beautiful.
While our genes may have given us similar material to work with, our style choices resulted in dissimilar effects. Where I chose funky and cutting-edge (so there was a touch of me that was a bit “LA”) she was all classic and chic. Her hair was pulled back in a low chignon and her face was adorned with neutral tones on her cheeks and lips. She donned a dark red cashmere sweater and Japanese boot cut denim.
Her clothing was reserved, but the smile with which she greeted me was anything but. She crossed the threshold and threw her arms around me in a ferocious hug. The fear that had surfaced upon taking in her attire was quickly washed away. This woman is nothing like my mother.
“Well come on in darling,” she cooed like a dove, “I’m so excited you’re finally here.”
“Thanks, err, me too,” I added.
She took my suitcase and placed it next to the door. “I’ll have that sent up for you in the morning. You look absolutely beat. Do you want something to eat or straight to bed with you?”
“Bed, please,” I managed to murmur.
She chuckled softly as she took my hand and I followed in a trance-like state. We cut through a sitting room with an enormous fireplace on the left and a collection of overstuffed, elegantly shaped sofas that framed its heat. At the end of the room we reached a wooden staircase that cut to the left for seven steps then up to the right for another twenty.
As we climbed up, Maeve rattled off, “the second floor houses the guest rooms, of which we have four.”
She then took a right and headed down a long corridor, which led to the next set of stairs. “The third floor houses two wings – my rooms occupy the entire south wing and your room and a room reserved for friends and family occupy the north side. The layout of the house allows for both wings to have ocean views. Guests are not allowed on this floor, and it is one of the few rules I will ask that you adhere to at all times.”
We hooked a right to reach my room. Maeve reached forward and opened the door. “We can talk in the morning, but I am so glad to have you here.” She pulled me in for another embrace before she left.
I slipped out of my seersucker dress and sandals and pulled on a sleeping shirt I found folded on the comforter. What a weird journey it had been.
Chapter Two
I climbed out of bed and pulled back the drapes. The window displayed a panoramic view of unadorned shoreline. Hope surged in my veins like a drug. The quiet solitude offered by the beach evoked a sense of comfort. I felt more peace in that moment than I could ever remember feeling. Nary a vessel dotted the horizon and I looked forward to jogging along the tide later.
I desperately needed a shower and tried the door to my left. I pushed it open and stopped in my tracks. Jackpot. I stepped onto the cold, creamy marble floors of the bathroom. On the right was a Jacuzzi tub with a similar view as the bedroom. Next to that there was a separate shower with multiple heads. On the left was a counter that ran nearly wall-to-wall and had not one, but two sinks. The tub and counter were a deep green and fashioned from marble. Directly across from me a shelving unit was stocked with plush purple towels and every bath amenity known to man. Had I accidentally stumbled into a guest suite?
I expected an antiquated Inn, so I was overjoyed that for the next year this luxurious, modern bathroom would be mine. I turned the tub on and let it fill with hot water, the steam overtaking the draft in the room. I noticed a second switch next to the light and flipped it. At first, I thought the electricity must be faulty, because there was no immediate change. Then, I felt a hum of warmth beneath my feet and realized that the floors were heated. My whole body gave out a subtle sigh. I poured some of the lavender oils I found on the shelf into the bath and for the first time in a long while, enjoyed some tranquility.
Lying with my head on the edge of the tub, a hot rag over my face, I heard a soft knock at the door.
“Who is it?” I called.
“Maeve, may I come in?”
At my acquiescence, she did just that, dressed in a pair of comfy jeans, house shoes and a butter-colored cotton sweater that was offset by pair of ruby stud earrings and necklace. Maeve’s countenance practically screamed Type-A. The sun was still rising, but, she was perfectly put together and already running her errands.
Maeve sat on the toilet opposite the tub, “How’d you sleep?” She had an elementary teacher’s voice, each word clearly enunciated, and a friendly coax layered in, to boot.
“Very well... Maeve,” I began, “I have to thank you.” I gestured around the bathroom. “All of this is so much more than I expected. What someone would pay to stay in this room per night far exceeds what I would be able to make here.”
“Nonsense,” she replied. “You’re here because I asked you to be, and if I wanted to rent this room out I could. But the fact is I keep this floor for friends and family only.”
We sat for a moment, simply contemplating each other when she finally spoke. Her tone, tentative, “your mother told me that you can do wonders in a kitchen and I’d like you to manage food and beverage for the Inn. Does that sound like something you would be interested in?”
I fought not to let the excitement show too much on my face, but my heart lept at the prospect. I couldn’t recall a time that anyone asked me to do something I both enjoyed and excelled at. I broke out in a slow, painful grin, “you have no idea how appealing that sounds to me.”
“Well since I have the black hand in the kitchen, you have no idea how appealing that sounds to me,” she countered. “So it’s settled then. Thank goodness.”
We both burst into a giggle that was so frighteningly similar that it propelled us into another fit. After a few minutes, Maeve added, “food and beverage for the Inn entails that you are responsible for room service orders and the menus for lunch and dinner. For breakfast we offer coffee, tea and pastries so all you have to do there is select what you want to serve and I can handle the rest. I would like to give you the day to explore the area and town, the only thing I need from you is to create a menu for this month.”
Not only was she asking me to cook in the kitchen, she was going to put me in charge of the menus, as well. This was more responsibility than any one person had entrusted me with willingly in my entire life. Historically, I have had to fight tooth and nail to be given an opportunity to show people what I can do. Everyone thinks they are bestowing a privilege on me by not allowing me to do anything for myself. And she had waltzed in here while I was taking a bubble bath and put me in charge of the entire dining service for a five-star Inn. She was either completely nuts or very intuitive. My intuition told me that it was probably a little bit of both.
“I’ll be sure to have that to you by the end of the day.” It was all I could manage as my brain processed a deluge of emotions.
“I’m really glad you’re here Morganna,” she began.
Immediately, my guard went up. Usually conversations that began this way ended very painfully or with me being railroaded into something I didn’t want to do – like move eleven hours away from where I’d spent my entire life.
“I don’t know what your mother has shared with you about the Inn, but I’ve been here pretty much by myself for the last five years since my father passed and it feels good to have family with me. I know it wasn’t your first choice to come here, but I hope that you can see past that and give me and the Inn a chance.”
Direct and honest: two communication methods that I was powerless to combat. I felt thrown off by her earnest expression and didn’t know what to say. Maeve’s attitudes were refreshing and I realized that I wanted to give her a chance. She was practically thrumming with happiness.
“I thought this would be a lot more terrible than it is. I don’t know what this coming year will bring, but I can’t help but feeling that you’ve given me a real chance here, and I would be glad to do the same.”
She gave me a big smile as she stood up to plop a kiss on my forehead. “You’re starting to prune, so I’m going to get out of here and let you get on with your day. If you’re interested in heading down to the beach there’s a path that picks up at the back of the house and takes you directly down to the shore. Let me know if you need anything.”
With that, she was gone and I was left with the sinking suspicion that she was much more cunning than I had realized. She had a certain way about her that put me right at ease. I had gladly agreed to have a good attitude and be her chef, all without having discovered a single fact about her.
I pulled one of the thick, oversized towels off the shelf and wrapped it around me. When I went back into the room, I found my bed made and my suitcase placed to the right of the door. I popped it open and grabbed a pair of dark skinny jeans and a deep green sweater.
I slipped on a pair of my brown riding boots and glanced back at the mirror before heading out of the room. Jogging was an integral part to my butt-sculpting regimen, which a great pair of jeans only accentuates. I gave myself an approving nod before exiting.
It would be good to note here that I may also have a bit of a penchant for fashion. Some would call it an obsession. What can I say, though? I’d rather own two well-made garments than fifty pieces made of poor materials and even worse design. Fabrics excite me – silks, high-grade cottons, cashmere – and the cut of those fabrics is what allows a designer to transcend from clothier to artist.
I headed back down the hallway to the stairs but was surprised to see a fourth door on my right, I must have overlooked it last night in my zombie-like state. When I tried the handle, it was locked. Interesting.
Most of what I had seen of the house was old-world style coupled with modern comfort. With the exception of a large, industrial refrigerator and freezer, the kitchen looked as though it had been transplanted from an 11th century Irish castle. There was a real red brick fireplace nearly as large as the one in the sitting room and it was bifurcated by a steel grill; cooking in here would add the rich flavor of fire and smoke to the dishes I had in mind. In the middle of the kitchen was an island roughly eight feet square topped with a gray slab of granite. Above the counter were rows of hanging copper pans. The cabinets that wrapped around the kitchen housed a myriad selection of glassware, china and serving dishes. I saw two enormous basin-like sinks, but no dishwasher. Decent, but not as good as I had hoped.
I heard the door swing open behind me and saw Maeve pop her head in. “Two quick things before I have to go: one, we are still in the process of renovating and I thought you’d have some good ideas on the kitchen so please let me know as I will have the contractor by later this week; and two, if you want to check out your meat and produce selection head to Maude’s Market on Main, you can’t miss it.”
Maude’s would be my first stop in town. My drive down Seacliff proved much less eventful than the previous night and aside from the wandering glance I cast towards the neighbor’s house I had all but forgotten about my late night encounter. Or so I convinced myself. I pulled into the parking lot between Maude’s and a clothing store whose signage read Gael’s. There were three other cars in the lot.
One thing I didn’t miss about Los Angeles was the hellish traffic. The ten mile drive from town to the Cliffside could have easily been over an hour’s journey if traveling anytime from eight in the morning to eight at night had I been home. There were no stoplights and it took me all of twelve minutes to pull into the grocery store. Bonus points for the absence of a single woman in an oversized Mercedes attempting to run me off the road because I wasn’t accelerating fast enough.
I skipped the cart, figuring I would make a list of what needed to be purchased and have it delivered. The produce section was impressive – everything I saw was organic or locally grown. The tomatoes were a sinful deep red and when I reached out to touch one it was as firm as it looked. I was so intent upon perusing the section that I didn’t hear someone approach me from behind and tap me on my shoulder.
I gasped and bungled my loot while a friendly smile lit up a strangely familiar face. Hands held up he said, “Sorry to startle you.”
“You didn’t,” I stuttered, “I mean you did, but it’s okay.”
He held his hand out, a mischievous grin still on his face, “I’m Ralph Stone.”
Ralph was just past the gangly teenage years, and growing into his six foot three frame quite nicely. The gleam in his eyes spoke of youthful recklessness, but the molten coloring was oddly familiar. As were the facial features that were both patrician and exotic. He had dark brown curly hair and perfectly even, white teeth. His manner of dress was quirky yet impeccable and he was undeniably masculine.
“Morganna Cork.” He gave me a not so subtle once over and I detected the faintest of blushes coloring his cheeks and the tips of his ears.
“You must be Maeve’s cousin. I live up on Seacliff as well, we’re neighbors.” I only passed one other house on the road last night and I bet it was his. Ralph was as amiable as that man was surly, but they had strikingly similar appearances. Regardless, it couldn’t hurt to find out what I could.
I slipped him a flirtatious smile. “Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you neighbor. I saw your place, don’t tell me you live there all by yourself?” I could have gagged on the sugar in my voice.
His tone was boastful, as if he was recounting the capture of a forty pound trout, “nope, I’ve got a roommate – my older brother Callupo.”
Aha! So I had a name to put to the face, albeit, a strange one. Though brothers, Callupo emanated sex and danger from his every pore, and Ralph had a subtle sweetness in his mannerisms that I quite liked.
“I believe I may have met your brother last night – I was a bit lost and accidentally pulled into your driveway.”
Ralph must have forgotten I was standing right there, because he responded absently. “So you’re the idiot yahoo he went out to investigate last night.” His hand clapped over his mouth, and then between fingers he added, “Sorry. Direct quote. I have no idea why he would say that. Or why I would repeat it.”
Feeling his genuine embarrassment, I decided to throw him a bone. “Don’t worry about it, if he asks, tell him that I asked who the jerk creeping around your property was.”
Ralph threw his head back and let out a ferocious howl. “Man,” he said between chuckles, “I can’t wait to see the look on his face when I tell him that one.”
“I think I could.” I responded dryly.
I thought he would offer more, instead, he added, “Anyhow, it is a pleasure to meet you and welcome to Puesta. I work part-time here at Maude’s doing deliveries for her, so you just make a list and I’ll be sure to get you everything you need.”
I took his hand again, and shook it. “It’s a pleasure meeting you too Ralph, and I look forward to seeing you again.” I really meant that, too. Generally, I was weary of men. Ralph was a gentle giant, the teddy bear you bring to bed with you to watch over at night. These emotions were diametrically opposed to those elicited by one Callupo Stone. And what kind of name was that anyhow?
With that he cast another goofy grin and left me to resume my shopping. The selection here was good, and I was confident I could put together a fine menu for the Inn. For dinner, I would offer four entrée selections: a tri-tip roast, chicken piccata, a steamed halibut and vegetarian pasta. I made note of a nice Sauvignon Blanc that I could pair with everything but the roast, so I added a Pinot Noir to the list. I finished my notes, guessing what quantity would be appropriate for the week, and headed towards the front register.
An elderly woman, a bit portly in stature, stood behind the single checkout counter. She had blond hair streaked powdery white and chocolate brown eyes framed by a pair of square, tortoiseshell glasses. An expectant gleam in her eye completed the look.
“Hello,” I greeted her.
“I am Ms. Maude, honey, and you must be Maeve’s baby cousin. You are just a spittin’ image of your mama. What’s your name dear?” She drawled in a Southern accent of questionable authenticity.
And did everyone know I was coming? Or did I resemble her so greatly?
“Morganna,” I answered.
“What a lovely name, and for such a pretty girl.” This woman laid it on thick. The way she said pretty girl I wasn’t sure if it was an accusation or a compliment. “Well I am just pleased to meet you.”
“Likewise.”
Before I could continue, she kept right on, “So, what does bring you here to Puesta del Sol? Get into a spot of trouble down in Los Angeles?”
The familiarity of her tone and the way she leaned in as if a conspirator signaled to me that anything shared with this woman would quickly become town fodder.
Not wanting to alienate the third person I met in town, I simply shrugged my shoulders and said, “Something like that.” Wanting to avert any attempts on her behalf to probe further, I quickly added, “Well Maeve is expecting me back and I don’t want to be late on my first day. I think I have everything I need on the list here, just call me if you have any problems.”
I was headed towards the door in a determined fashion before she had the opportunity to stop me. There was nothing I wished to avoid more than a malicious gossiper. I had experienced enough tabloid talk to last me a lifetime. Just thinking about it heated my blood.
Gossip was the culprit for my mother’s skewed perceptions of me. One false claim by an overly aggressive family friend had led her to believe that I was loose with my affections. In reality, nothing could be further from the truth. The fact that my extra talents made me so sensitive to touch coupled with what good care I took of my body, were reason enough to be picky with who I let close. This had translated into a relatively boring romantic life thus far. Something barred me from letting just anyone into my heart.
I made my way back to the Inn and passed the Stone’s en route. The black pickup truck I saw in Maude’s parking lot was parked out front. My lips quirked but I kept driving. Shortly after, a slight buzz zinged through me at the same spot I was zapped in last night. Maybe a power line was down?
Hours later I looked up from my book to see the sun heading toward the western horizon. I figured that if I was going to get a jog in today then I had better do so now. But first, my grumbling stomach demanded attention in the form of food. I slipped on a pair of black running shorts, a white, long sleeved shirt and trainers before I bounded out of the room with my iPod blasting in my ear.
I was so engrossed in my music that I failed to hear anyone in the kitchen and this is why I opened the door straight into Ralph who then proceeded to drop a bag of potatoes all over the floor.
“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry.” I must have been shouting because he reached over and pulled the headphone out of my ear.
“I guess we’re even now,” he replied as he absently rubbed the spot on his lower back where the door handle hit him.
I bent over to pick up the scattered potatoes and when I stood back up I was faced with not only Ralph, but Callupo, as well. He was just as breathtaking in the daylight as he was in the darkness. I could see now that he was a good two inches taller than Ralph. His hair, which had appeared jet black in the night was actually mitigated by red and brown tones in the light. He was wearing a plain white t-shirt, which showcased the golden hues of his skin as well as his overly impressive physique.
Hands full of potatoes, I grinned up into his dark gold eyes. “Hello, again!”
I got a stiff, dismissive nod, which totally infuriated me. I dropped the potatoes into the sack that Ralph was holding out, then walked over to Callupo and snatched the bags out of his hands. The dramatic effect of my actions was weakened because I didn’t realize how heavy the bags actually were so they hit the ground with a thud.
The spark of amusement in his eyes was the first bit of emotion I picked up from him, and it pissed me off. But I could be cool and dismissive, too.
“Thanks for stopping by, I guess you should be on your way now.” Too rude, I know, but I couldn’t understand why he had taken it upon himself to dislike me with no preamble.
From the horrified amusement on Ralph’s face I could tell that it was a rare occurrence for anyone to be defiant towards Callupo. To be honest, it was just as unusual for me to snip at someone with such little provocation, as well. I have had my fair share of incidents with bullies, and typically I find it best to completely ignore them, but something about his attitude grated at my self-control. Callupo just stood there, as if memorizing every detail of my appearance. I began to feel self-conscious in my tiny running shorts. Maeve popped through the wooden door, saving me from having to come up with another comment.
“Ralph, so great to see you!” She exclaimed as she threw her arms around him in a friendly hug. The trace of a blush I had seen in the grocery store was in full bloom on his face and I could tell there was a whole lot more than friendly admiration towards her on his end.
“Hi Maeve,” he said, his voice cracking over her name.
“Callupo,” she said with a smile, but instead of the bear hug Ralph got, she greeted him with a handshake. “To what do I owe the pleasure?
He used her hand to pull her into a tight hug. “I thought I’d help Ralph here with his order, and come see if you needed help preparing for the storm tonight – it’s going to be a bad one.” I guess his unfriendliness was reserved only for me. I was no stranger to prejudice, but such overt rejection stung nonetheless. Twelve hours in, one enemy already made.
“Thank you Cal, but I think we’ll be fine. I’ve got the backup generator hooked in and we’ll have candles and the fireplace ready to go should those fail. Everything else has been seen to.”
The latter part of her statement was rife with meaning. Oh well I thought I guess there’s a lot more to running the Inn than I was aware.
“I could come by later if you ladies would like.” Ralph had a mischievous side and I couldn’t blame him for trying.
“I think they’ll do just fine.” Callupo replied on our behalf. “Well, if you’ll excuse me Maeve, I had better be on my way.” He strode out the back door, again without a thought spared for me. Ralph followed, calling out “See you soon Morganna,” as Callupo yanked him through the back door.
I wasn’t sure if I heard clearly, but I was fairly certain I heard Callupo add “not likely” under his breath.
I turned to Maeve, “What’s his deal?”
“Who?” She answered with a sparkle in her eyes.
“Oh come off it, you know who.”
“Ralph works at Maude’s.”
She wasn’t going to make this easy on me. “You know I mean Cal.” I emphasized the way she had shortened his name.
“Oh, Cal? He’s harmless. But if you’re asking what I think you’re asking – he just moved back to town about a month ago and he is a career bachelor.”
She intuited that I found myself intrigued, attracted and annoyed in regard to him all at one time. Not prepared for any probing questions, I popped my headphones back into my ears.
“Well, I guess I better get on with my jog if I want to beat this storm.” I yanked the door open and stepped outside.
I followed the path leading from the back door, which was a narrow dirt trail that zigzagged down the hillside. The dark clouds coming off the ocean were evidence of the coming storm, so I sped my pace. The going was much more difficult than I anticipated, and I breathed deeply, the crisp air feeling like icicles in my chest. I was already winded by the time I reached the beach. The temperature had dropped considerably since the night before so I kept moving to keep my blood warm.
The terrain was even on this stretch because the receding tide had left a bar of densely packed sand. I headed south, following the horizon. With no landmarks to guide me I decided to keep it simple on this first run – twenty minutes away from the house and then I would turn back.
After a steady jog that had been challenging without being grueling, I stopped to catch my breath at the turn around point. Hands on my knees, I bent forward, taking deep breaths. I paced for a few moments, until I felt something hard and round under my foot. Afraid it might be an animal of some sort, I kicked at the sand around it. A shiny stone lay on the ground before me.
There was a definite chill in the air, but when my fingers closed around the stone it was surprisingly warm. It was a yellow stone pendant on a rose gold chain. The necklace was simple, yet beautiful, and as much as I wanted to leave it there in the event that the owner would come back to look for it, I couldn’t seem to put it down. Just holding the stone in my hand comforted me and I sensed the slightest hint of an electric current running through it. A vision of a faceless, red haired woman ripping the chain from her neck and throwing it to the ground played over in my head. Strange I thought, but my imagination had been on overdrive as of late. Maybe I would post something on a bulletin board about a missing necklace and see if I got any calls.
A loud crack of thunder sounded across the sky, tethering me back to reality. I turned towards home and started running, hoping to beat the oncoming rainfall. I reached the path leading up the house just as I felt the first fat raindrop plop on my nose. Although I was wheezing with the effort, I was sprinting up the hill. Halfway up, the rain was beating furiously against my bare legs and my rain-drenched hair and clothing weighed heavily against my body, causing me to slow my pace to a near crawl.
An icy frost descended upon the hillside, making it difficult to breath, much less move. After what felt like a million years, I reached the top, greedily sucking in huge gulps of air. Suddenly, I felt a tremendous wind hit my chest and its force vaulted me back towards the cliffside. It knocked me to the ground, and I found myself grasping at rocks and roots to keep from blowing further towards the edge. My hands dug into the wet dirt, hoping to gain some traction, fingers straining from the effort. I let out an agonized cry. The wind was brutally whipping my face and so I tucked my head into my shoulder for protection.
I felt my grip on the ground slip, and I knew I was perilously close to losing my hold completely. Instead of the punctuated breezes that blow throughout a storm, this was a constant gust towards the ocean, like an industrial fan directed straight at my face.
My whole body was shaking with the effort it took to keep from sliding off of the edge. I realized that I was not going to be able to hold on for much longer. Panic set in and I thrust forward with all that I had inside of me. Miraculously, I was hurtling forward at eye-blurring speed. I landed just steps away from the back door flat on my back. Before I opened my eyes I realized that there was something on top of me because I couldn't inhale fully enough to catch my breath. The heat coming off of this boulder of an animal was causing my rain-soaked clothing to sizzle.
Out of the frying pan and into the fire. I survive this freak windstorm only to be mauled by a wild animal. Hot pants of breath warmed my face, alerting me to the proximity of our faces. I gulped; preparing myself to confront whatever was poised for attack and opened my eyes.
Not an animal. Staring back into my eyes, raindrops falling from his thick, dark hair was Callupo Stone. I smiled with relief. He scowled.
“Having…trouble…breathing…” I managed to squeak out. Instead of getting off of me, he shifted his weight to his forearms and from the waist down he was still plastered to me. He scanned the area, though I’m not sure for what. When he looked back down I saw a mixture of anger, relief and confusion flicker through his blazing amber eyes. I fought back the urge to swoon or pull him closer.
After a few lifetimes (the equivalent to three seconds when Callupo Stone is on top of you), he stood up, pulling me with him, his body still closely molded to mine. He led me towards the Inn, his arm never straying from its possessive perch on my shoulder.
I felt something hot digging into the palm of my hand. When I glanced down, I realized that during my fight with the wind I had somehow wrapped the chain of the necklace through my fingers, causing the topaz to rest inside of my palm. I didn’t know much about this stone, but perhaps it could conduct heat like a metal, because it was a ball of fire inside my hand.
Callupo brought his gaze down to see what I was palming. His eyes widened with shock when he saw the precious gem. Just my luck, I thought, He probably knows the owner of the necklace and thinks I’m a thief or something.
“I just found this on the beach today during my run,” I offered, adding to assuage him, “I was going to ask Maeve if she knew who the owner might be.”
He turned the knob on the back door instead of saying anything and ushered me across the threshold. Maeve was sitting at the island in the kitchen sipping a cup of tea and reading a book. The click of the door announced our presence. Her eyes widened as she took in the sight of my bedraggled appearance.
“Goddess above, what happened to you Morganna? You look a mess!” She gushed as she moved to a drawer in the kitchen and pulled out a first aid kit.
I was definitely worse for the wear. My hands and knees were scraped and bloody and I had more than one or two bruises forming on the side of my face. And to top it all off, I was shaking like a wet dog.
Callupo pushed me into a kitchen chair and stalked off into the other room. Maeve began swabbing at the cuts on my knees, “How did this happen?” The concern in her voice and the tender way in which she was cleaning my wounds had me blinking back tears. Since the discovery of my abilities, my mother had avoided my injuries, leaving me to mend the damage myself. On many occasions, I had sat in my room, alternating between sleep and healing, as I attempted to repair some of my more serious injuries like a cracked rib or sprained ankle.
Shortly after my monkey bar incident, I had taken an interest in daredevil antics. I’d had little support from my parents and even less from my peer group. My loner status had made me an ideal target for bullies and creeps. I acted out by doing mischievous things to test my magic like: jump off the roof.
I told her everything that happened, starting from how the storm had hit to how I had rushed back to the house. When I got to the part where the gust of wind knocked me over, Callupo came back into the room.
I felt the blush rushing up my neck and face, coloring my cheeks. He had removed his shirt and all of my guesses about his physique were exactly correct. His torso was long and lean, and the muscles in his abdomen looked laser cut. He was tan all over with a sprinkling of dark hair on his chest. Maeve glanced up to see what caused my silence and then followed my gaze over her shoulder to look at Callupo. She couldn’t hide her smile before she went back to work on my legs.