JOHN

Day two as mayor sure as hell wasn’t anything like day one, when it was so quiet I got to go home early … and every day after that seemed to be getting more involved and busy. I started leaving the house at six, just to get ahead on the reading and paperwork. Finally Friday, but unlike any civil position I ever had (aside from beat cop) it looks a lot like we were not cutting out early. Not by a long shot.

Last night I sat on the zoning board meeting that was supposed to end at seven but didn’t until ten. Today, it’s already noon and the board members are just about to begin the second half of the issues we need to cover, one in particular that’s very important.

This fucking debate promises to rage on until spring when decisions have to be made. We’ll probably have an official town vote for it too, which is way more paperwork than anyone really wants to deal with.

You see, Stowe is antiquity at its best. There are more houses, buildings and covered bridges designated as Historical Landmarks here than in any town this side of the Mississippi. Stowe residents are damn proud of that. This place is pristine and carefully monitored. Interiors of these Landmark buildings can be as modern as a resident or business owner likes, but the exteriors are carefully scrutinized. Any exterior changes made within the town limits, without prior Landmark Committee approval, can be sited for removal … at the owners expense … and with a daily penalty of three hundred bucks until the façade meets code. That’s how much this town loves their historical dignity.

The Stowe Chamber of Commerce knows the draw our uniqueness has, and does everything within reason to maintain that. Parking lots are hidden behind buildings to keep the streets quaint and inviting, to encourage walking traffic and slow strolls along the businesses. There is a taxi company, but we don’t have public bus transportation like most towns. Smaller, dark green, hybrid vans serve locals and get them to work for a small fee. So, the closest need for public transportation in our town is the commute between the resort hotels on the mountain and Main Street down here. Until now, the current resort shuttle system had been sufficient and not much of an eyesore, even with the hotel logos emblazoned all over them.

The new proposal is about to change everything. The current economic crunch has created a cooperative among all the mountain resorts, hotels and Inns (not including my Inn because we’re just lucky enough to be on this side of the Stowe town line). Those businesses are planning, of all things, an ultra modern train. This monstrosity would circle Mount Mansfield, collect tourists from over thirty convenient locations around the ski area, then whisk them into town … right through town … and into a terminal that looks like it came right out of a science fiction movie. The Stowe zoning committee has begun to call this fiasco The Beam Me Up, Scotty issue.

Of course, there are good, solid reasons for this proposal and it does make sense. The system will eliminate the need for each hotel to own or lease a fleet of shuttle vans. They’ll no longer have to hire, bond and insure drivers. Yeah, it saves money, ay? And we should be grateful they still see the need to get their patrons down into town, rather than just eliminate the service all together. But hey, they can’t be serious about the shiny modern train terminal. They just can’t. But, with their quiet proposal to the State of Vermont, they’ve already secured major funding for the project. Needless to say, our pristine state’s obsession with being “as green as green can be” was playing right into the Resort Consortium’s hands and against our sense of historical control.

The meeting continued during lunch. I bit into my Big Mac, missing home more than ever and wondering why the fuck I wanted to be mayor in the first place. No way Riley would feed me this McDonald’s crap. With today’s fourteen degree snowy weather, it would have been homemade soup and a meatloaf sandwich.

“Like I said, you can’t be serious about that terminal,” I waved my hand toward the large fancy architectural drawing on the easel then wiped ketchup from my chin. “You’re group is clearly aware of the historical image controls down here.”

Maria Flaggler is an attorney turned resort consortium manager, super pretty and damn scary if you ask me. She’s got more brains than I’ve seen in three women (and I’m talking smart women) and her legs are long enough to kick your ass from across the room. But hey, I’m the mayor, God sakes. I can’t be afraid of her.

She opened her mouth to respond, but committee member, Walt Mingis, snapped. “The whole thing is designed to slap this town in the face!”

“Okay, okay,” I groaned and tossed the remainder of my lunch aside. “Let the lady talk.”

And Maria talked. “Gentlemen, as you know, this is all a formality. We have the funding and the state of Vermont needs the income generated by tourism. Lucky for Stowe, and thanks to your admirable promotional efforts, our visitors demand ease of travel down to this sweet little town. The train is coming, gentlemen. This isn’t the old west.” She snorted and instinctively, my eyes shot to Ben who also sits on the zoning board. Oh-oh.

“Woman,” he growled. “Trains commin’ to town in the old west made money for the town. This does nothing but disturb how Stowe runs. That station is ugly as a mule’s ass and you ain’t runnin’ tracks down Main Street. Period.” He emphasized the ‘period’ with a thudding poke of his finger onto the conference table.

I let out a breath of relief. That could’ve gone real bad. So far he’d kept his mouth shut, but Ben made a damn good point. I pushed back my hair. “Tell me, Ms. Flaggler. Having received the funding … now that cash isn’t based on the design or route of the railway, right?”

She blinked. “Well, it is based on accomplishing the specific goal: a green way of getting thousands of tourists annually from the resorts to Stowe and back.”

“I need a break,” announced the old mayor himself, a committee member for going on thirty years. “Continue without me or wait. I don’t care.” The old fart had some idea that his vote would decide everything; he had that much clout on the committee. He could be right. Everyone agreed a break was warranted. Many had businesses to call and check up on, a few wanted to stretch their legs to take a piss or cigarette break. I rolled my shoulders and rubbed my temples.

“You know, Mayor Biebe,” said the dragon lady; it shocked me since I thought she’d gone off to powder her nose. Instead she was standing right behind me looking out the window.

“What?”

“You’re a very smart man … a powerful man,” her eyes slanted to take me in. “And, a handsome one too.”

I chuckled, figuring she was making a joke but then she stepped closer and leaned down to whisper in my ear.

“You and I are the only ones making sense here.” Her voice was a soft hiss and her breath tickled my neck. “We both have lots to do too. Why don’t you call this meeting for the day, reschedule for oh … say next Tuesday?”

“Why Tuesday?” I gulped. This sure as hell couldn’t be happening, God sakes.

“That will give us a little time to hash this out … together … smart man to smart woman,” and she added with a wink, “alone.”

“Uh, don’t think so.”

“Mayor Biebe, I know how to drag this on forever. And we all know, simply ending the mountain-to-Stowe shuttles would accomplish the same savings for the resorts, right? Neither of us want to see that. But then again,” her fingertip dragged along my shoulder as she walked back to her chair. “Not building the train at all will definitely save the state a mess of money. It’s all in your hands … Mayor Biebe.”

Well, fuck me. How was I gonna handle this? “Uh … uh … okay. Meet me tomorrow afternoon at the 1876 Manor at Mount Mansfield.”

Her nose curled. “I don’t think so, Mayor. I think we need to be alone to talk freely. At your Inn? I could imagine there’d be a lot of distractions and objections to my project there.”

Yeah, not to mention my wife. I squared my shoulders and shot her a glare. “Then here, in my office. Tomorrow at … one.”

“Fine.” She smiled wide.

Oh-oh. What hadn’t I thought about? She sure agreed way faster than expected. The committee was returning, chatting and settling in their seats. I needed to handle this carefully.

“All right, all right, all right. We’ve all been jabbing at this issue for hours and we’re tired. During the break, Ms. Flaggler and I have come up with a possible way to move this along a little more efficiently. She and I will be meeting here, tomorrow, at one. I’ll pick her brain and she can pick mine. With a little luck, when we sit down together again, we’ll be closer to the same page. How’s that sound to everyone?”

Each face brightened and nodded. A few even gathered coat and briefcase and got to their feet. Yup, everyone looked pleased with that … except Ms. Maria Flaggler. What the fuck did she think? That I’d meet her in an empty office on Saturday without telling the committee (or my wife)?

Score. That’s one for my side. Now, I wondered if she’ll even show up. Only Ben Wade seemed to catch on to what was happening.

“You be careful around that. She’s a damn rattler if I ever seen one,” he said as he walked out last.

BEN

It was supposed to be my day off, not like I got anything real important to do or nothing. Tracy is busy as hell at her hair salon and I ain’t one to sit around at home and watch television … interesting as it is. So, I guess the committee meeting was a good way to spend my time. That Flaggler woman is a real piece of work though, Biebe sure got his hands full. I chuckled.

I didn’t eat lunch at the meeting. Never could get into those meals wrapped in paper and tasting like shit. So I went over to Kennedy’s Corner Pub for a few beers and somethin’ to eat. Gerry’s got a good little cook there and she does a fine roast beef.

While I ate at the bar, I notice Gerry bein’ a little more strange than usual. The man ain’t never adjusted to being here so good, but he did seem to be fitting in better lately. Today, he looked shaky, suspicious and down right guilty of somethin’.

“What’s going on?” I asked when he slid another cold beer to me.

“Nothin’.” And he walked away. I followed a few minutes later, all the way to his little office. Didn’t knock, just walked in. There on his desk was a mess of cash, all stacked in nice neat packets beside an opened duffle bag. He looked stunned. I closed the door and sat across from him.

“First off,” I said, “you know better than to count money with the door unlocked.”

“Yeah, yeah right.” He hurriedly swept the cash into the bag and dropped it onto the floor at his feet. “You need something, Ben?”

“Why’s that money in a duffle?” I asked real cool. Something was up and I was gonna find out what.

“Uh … the bank. Gotta take it to the bank.”

“Well now, son,” I slouched in the chair and watched him carefully. “I know a lot about our local bank and they give you official bank bags for making deposits, right?”

“Sure, sure. Uh … they’re too small.” He shrugged and pretended to examine his ledger book.

“Right, right. But Kennedy … that seems like an awful lot of cash to be depositing all at once. You have yourself a big night last night?”

“Yes. In fact I did. It was crazy, isn’t ski season the greatest? Gonna make everyone here rich.”

“How much is in that bag?” I narrowed my eyes. “Couple thousand? Maybe ten, fifteen thousand?”

No response. He didn’t even look at me. I could see sweat growin’ on his face. Yeah, Gerry was guilty of something but I was feeling somethin’ else. Was he … maybe … the victim?

“Tell me, you ever made that much in one night before?”

“Well … yeah … no …” he huffed a nervous chuckle. “That’s for a couple of nights. Didn’t get to the bank yesterday.” He shrugged.

“Ah, well, you want me to go with you? Escort you? Just for safety’s sake?”

“No, no! No, ah … no need. I’ll be fine. Shit, who’s gonna know there’s that much money in a stupid duffle? I’ll be fine. I got too much to do to go now anyway. Was your pot roast okay?”

Yup. A victim. And hiding it real bad. “What’s goin’ on?”

“Nothin. Seriously. I have a ton of work. Don’t you have sheriff stuff to do? Listen, go out and have another beer … on the house. Okay Ben?”

Fuck. Now how was I gonna help him if he won’t let me.

I returned to the bar and sipped beer for an hour. He never came back out from the office and my mind was working hard. There was only one answer. Gerry Kennedy was being blackmailed. Finding out how, why and by who was gonna be the problem and I couldn’t be sitting in a pub day in and day out. I needed another solution to get to the bottom of all this.

I had to put someone undercover to keep an eye out. A coupl’a someones. The first name to come to mind was a perfect candidate. Samantha DeLaCroix. I know her surveillance abilities are top notch, and the whole town knows she’s left active duty. I even bet she’ll jump at the chance. Only temporary, of course. But damn, a perfect solution. Now, all I had to do was figure out a few more undercover options and the answers could come real fast and easy.

Gerry Kennedy was gettin’ help, whether he wanted it or not.

SAMANTHA

Another day, another dollar. Until I took this desk job, I never understood that phrase. It means – you work for a paycheck. Period. I used to love my work, love everything about being a cop, then the world changed. I met an amazing man with an amazing little boy and bammm, the risks were no longer worth it. And now?

I sighed and glanced up at the wall calendar. My last period is forty days ago. That makes me officially twelve days late. Twelve. At seven days late, I told Egan, breaking it to him very carefully and honestly wondering if I might lose him. He already has a son. We’re not even married.

At first it was exactly like I expected. He went white as a ghost, all the blood draining from his face and his mouth a big “O”.

Okay, I thought. Now what was I going to do? An abortion was out of the question, leaving me one and only one option: raising the baby alone. That rolled into a thousand other concerns. I’d still need to work to support me and mini-me. I’d need a place to live, since I’d rented out my house. Holy cow, in the span of one split second, I had myself homeless and destitute and looking like someone out of a Dickens novel!

Then Egan spoke and shocked the hell out of me.

“Bloody hell! This is great, Sam! Just great! That room I was gonna use for a home office will have to change, be a nursery, and we probably need to rethink some other things around here. Darlin’ this is wonderful! How are you feeling? I mean, how far are you? When does a woman start getting that morning sickness? Does every woman get that? I hope not. Hope you don’t.” And he babbled on and on and on, holding me close while I let all my own worries slip right out of my head.

Here’s the thing. Even at twelve days late, I’m actually not sure. I haven’t made a doctor’s appointment or even taken a drugstore pregnancy test. I understand that it’s important for the health of mother and baby to get care quickly, but I have this really strong, really irrational fear and here it is. See, I feel so wonderful, so happy and so loved right this moment, I’m terrified that doing a test might ruin it all. What if I’m really not pregnant? Of course, eventually it would become obvious, but isn’t it okay to just feel wonderful for a little while longer?

The phone rang. Wrong number. Dispatch had been very quiet all day and the office was as dead as any Friday afternoon. The big zoning powwow ended early and I was pretty much the only one here. The place was spotless and I felt good … then Sheriff Wade walked in. What the hell is he doing here? He’s not even supposed to be in today.

“DeLaCroix. My office,” he said like he used to and I have to confess, it kind of felt good.

I stood, tucked my shirt in tighter and walked in, stood at attention and waited. “Yes, sir.”

“Sit down, I’m off duty. Listen I got a special project and you’re the perfect man … ah … officer … for the job.”

I sat, my heart thumping. “Okay. What is it?”

He told me his suspicions about Gerry Kennedy and what he saw. “Maybe he’s stealing?” I suggested.

“From himself? Sam, don’t be stupid. He’s scared. Something’s up and I need someone to do a little undercover work to check it out.”

“Me?” Yay … no … oh fucking no. “What kinda undercover work?”

“Easy stuff. Just go to his pub, different times of the day, have lunch, dinner, drinks, enjoy the music, whatever. Just observe and tell me what you learn, that’s all.”

“Drinks?” How the hell was I going to have drinks? I might be pregnant! And Egan and I decided not to tell anyone yet! This is a real dilemma.

“Yeah, a few drinks. Don’t get rip-roarin’ drunk or nothin’. Don’t interact. It should be perfect. Everyone in town knows you’re not a cop no more, so it should … uh … now don’t be getting’ mad at me. It’s true, ain’t it?”

I thought the top of my head would blow off. “I am still an officer. Doing dispatch, but an officer. A decorated officer!”

“Yes, yes, but people think you quit being a cop. Nobody’s gonna suspect you’re watching. Can’t you see? It’s perfect.” He grinned.

I didn’t.

“What do I get out of this?” Damn, I just can’t get past my irritation at this guy. Yes, he’s a nice guy, caring and everything but really, as a Sheriff, he acts like it’s still 1866, for Christ’s sake.

He leaned back. “I’ll take you off of dispatch the hours you’re doing the undercover for me. That work?”

I glared.

“And … a twenty percent bonus … thirty if your information catches the blackmailer. We on?”

I swallowed hard. All I kept thinking was, I can’t say no, but I might be pregnant, but I can’t let Wade think I’m scared, but I might be pregnant, but it would be so exciting to get out of the office, but I might be pregnant. “Give me twenty-four hours to think about it, sir.”

“Twenty-four hours.”

“And, I get to leave now for the weekend.”

“Done. Perkins can cover dispatch. You call me in twenty-four hours.”

I nodded, got my purse and left to purchase a pregnancy test. Of course I drove twenty miles to the next town to do it.

GERRY KENNEDY

Every time I think life might go nice and pleasant some bloody shit happens to fuck it all up. You know, I never asked to be here. I mean, yeah, I died and all so I should be grateful, but why can’t a guy just be dead after he dies? What the hell makes me the one to end up here with all the Crowe clones? The other odd misfits seem to manage just fine. Dr. Maturin came with Jack, and Dino arrived with Terry, so they had a touchstone to help them adjust. But Pullo? Antony? They’re just like me, have no reason on earth to be here, but they are. Worse yet, they’re just fine and dandy with it.

Okay, I’d be fine and dandy with it too if things weren’t so fucked up right now. I’m no fool, alive is better than dead any day of the week. But I don’t recall being such an idiot in my other life … how did I get so stupid in this one?

It’s complex. The only way to explain it is to start at the beginning. Well not at the beginning of me here in Stowe, but the beginning of my pub. See, over the past year I’ve been real lucky in business but not so lucky with love. Maybe it’s because I never really got over Holly. Maybe because I just don’t think I deserve to be happy. Who knows? Either way, it’s been a lonely road in an empty bed.

Well, not all the time. Tourists during the ski season seem to like me. I just never seemed to hit it off with women who live here, only the traveling gals having a fling with the local bartender. Fine. Until I met Rosie.

Rosemarie Martin was passing through on a warm summer afternoon when we met. Damn, she’s gorgeous with a wild river of black curls that reach all the way to her perfect arse. Curves? Hoh man, does she have curves and all in the right places. Tits to get buried in and hips so perfectly rounded I can’t keep my hands off them. Her eyes are black as polished coal and her lips taste like licorice. Yeah, Rosie is special, through and through.

We hit it off, spent the night in my apartment upstairs and, well, she never left. Rosie got a job in the fall when tourism started really kickin’ arse. She worked for Cober’s Cottage, a small restaurant on West Street until she forgot to lock the storeroom one night before closing up. I thought the owners were too rough on her by firing her. People make mistakes, right? But Rosie was so upset she cried for days, mumbling something about being a burden and thinking about leaving town and moving on. I wasn’t having that, no way, so she began waiting tables here. She insisted she didn’t want to work for me, that it felt like taking charity and I remember laughing. “Just wait ‘til you see how hard the job is, baby. Then we’ll talk about charity.”

It is hard. The hours are long, the work grueling and the crowds, always big. My pub has perfect location and from late August ‘til April, it’s nonstop. To my delight, she loves it.

Then the shit hit the fan. Three weeks ago, a man showed up and grabbed her, tried to pull her right out of the pub and lucky for me, a few regulars saw it. It took a long night of talking and crying (me talking, her crying) before I got the whole story.

Now, why can’t my life be simple? Ready? Here goes.

Rosie was involved with this guy, his name’s Andy Gripper. Gripper met my Rosie in Vegas eight months before she came to Stowe. They were lovers and she did whatever he wanted. She confessed that some of it was sexual favors for his gambling friends (to pay off his losses). I went nuts! “He prostituted you?” Rosie cried harder and it took another few hours to hear the rest of the story.

See, Gripper is muscle for hire but he was down on his luck when they met. He took odd jobs until something went wrong. A man he was supposed to rough up and scare into paying off a gambling debt, actually fought back. It got ugly. Gripper had taken Rosie with him to watch (he’s a sick fuck!) and she was holding the gun. When things got ugly, she panicked and shot. The man is dead.

Gripper broke into the bar late last night, found me checking inventory and gave me an ultimatum. Either I give him a hundred thousand dollars … or he turns Rosie in for the murder of that man. “FBI’s looking for her. Her real name’s Rachel Marie Thomas.” He grinned. “Money or I turn her in.”

“Then you get caught too, you bastard!” I don’t remember ever being so mad.

“Yeah, I get turned in and we both fry for murder … or … you give me a hundred grand and nobody suffers.”

“I don’t have that much cash,” I gulped. I don’t! Every penny I got from the family went into the pub and renovations. There’s profit but trust me, I owe a lot of people a lot of money. I’m livin’ day to day. The snow is helping and the crowds are coming, but that much money just isn’t at my fingertips.

“What can you get?” he hissed.

“I dunno, fifteen, maybe twenty thousand.”

“A week?”

I blinked.

“Don’t fuck with me, Kennedy. I know how resort towns work. Long as those fancy hotels and ski lifts up on the mountain are busy, you’re raking it in.”

“Not that much!”

“Well, you better make it that much. I’ll take twenty thousand a week for … six weeks.”

“Six bloody weeks! That’s –”

“The interest. And you miss a week or come in a day late, it goes up. ‘Course, I can make a call to the Feds and end all this. You’re choice.”

This afternoon, Ben walked in while I was putting together the second payment. This can’t continue. As it is, I’ll need to get a loan to meet next week’s installment. But there’s no way I’m letting Rosie carry it all for that murder. She’s terrified and can’t stop crying, even though I haven’t told her about my and Gripper’s agreement.. I can’t let her suffer anymore. She’s the bloody victim.

All I need to do now is keep Ben out of my business. That and hope Gripper falls off a fucking cliff somewhere.

EGAN

Last time I had a child, I didn’t even know it was happening. Jacob’s mother never told me she was pregnant and she was long gone when my son was born. Everything about Samantha and me havin’ a nipper is cool and exciting and downright terrifying. There had to be a million bloody things to think about. Just … what were they?

“You sure yet?” asked Lachlan, a nail in his mouth as he hammered another one into the flooring. We’d been working non-stop at the Dominguez mansion for weeks.

“Uh …”

He looked up. “Have her take one of those home pregnancy test thingies. You get the answer fast and can move ahead. If she is pregnant, there’s lots to do. If she’s not –”

“You can breathe a sigh of relief.” That little gem was from my other brother, Jeff Mitchell and I shot him a glare.

“Or not,” he shrugged. “Hey, maybe you should go talk to Biebe. He had a mess of nippers in his other life and now two with Riles. He’s gotta be a real wealth of information.”

Lachlan shook his head. “Biebe’s busy being mayor. Trust me, all this means nothing without a positive test. Soon.”

“Soon?” I gulped.

“Yeah, soon,” added Kevin, looking real serious. “Stuff can go wrong.”

“Huh?” we all said together.

He sighed, shrugged. “All I’m saying is … my first wife … she thought she was pregnant … she wasn’t … but that’s when they found the cancer.”

“You lost her?” I could hardly talk, my throat was suddenly dry.

He nodded. “Not like that’s gonna happen to you and Sam,” he said real fast. “It’s just best to take care of stuff like this right away. Uh … Lachlan, the inspector’s here for the plumbing. He’s waiting in the basement.”

And that was that. I could hardly think clearly all day and on my way home from work, I bought not one, but three different pregnancy tests. Gertrude at the drugstore counter laughed at me but I sure as hell didn’t think anything was funny.

JESSIE

Lachlan promised to get the new crib put together but he and the guys have been working so hard to finish Mr. Dominguez’ project, he comes home exhausted. For a while I reminded him every evening but lately, he has bags under his eyes from heading for the construction before dawn and getting home after dark. It’s just a crib. How hard can it be, right? So I selected a few tools from his workshop drawers and headed up to the nursery.

The screwdriver served first to help me get into the cardboard box. You’d think the crib was made of gold, the packaging was like Fort Knox, but eventually I had all the parts out, separated and spread over the floor with the instructions open on my belly. (I can’t even see my lap so the belly would serve well as desk.)

Life just can’t be simple. Usually it’s Amanda who wants to be completely clingy, but this afternoon, it’s the cat. My daughter is stretching her ‘toddler independence’ muscles and her feline sibling can’t seem to get out from under my feet. Twice I dropped a piece of crib on the poor animal, but both times he came right back. Glutton for punishment, I guess.

By one, the item was beginning to look like a piece of furniture, but a crib? It’s anyone’s guess. Amanda had managed to pull every stitch of clothing out of her drawers and pretend to refold them, and I was getting a headache. I leaned the assembled pieces against the wall and stood back.

“You are going to be a crib if I someone has to die while I make it happen.”

With that, both cat and kid stared at me, wide eyed and still. I was still laughing when Lach walked in.

“What the bloody hell … Jessie, what’re you doing?” He examined the construction. “Or maybe I should be asking, what are attempting to do?”

My pride bruised, I squared my shoulders and pushed back loose hair. “Building the crib.”

“I told you I’d put the crib together, darlin’.”

“When?” I raised my brows and pointed to my massive belly. Honestly, I was joking. I never expected the reaction I got.

“Jess, I’m so damn sorry.” There were real tears in his eyes. “I should’ve done this weeks ago. I’m not being much of a husband,” his eyes shifted to Amanda, still standing still as stone, her eyes as watery as his, “or father. Bloody hell.”

He swept her up into his arms then grasped me, holding on like we’d disappear or something. “Lachlan, baby? What’s this all about? Not a crib, I’m sure.”

“Yeah, it’s about a crib. It’s about me not bein’ here or taking care of my family like I should.”

“Honey, you have to work.” I tried to smile.

“Yes, but I have to take care of things here too. I’m sorry, love. Really, sorry.”

“It’s okay, but Lach … sweetheart … what has you so upset?”

The energy in the room calmed. Amanda returned to creating her own brand of chaos and the cat returned to repeatedly twisting himself around my ankles. Lachlan took the screwdriver from my hand and we sat on the floor.

“Jess, I think I forgot to appreciate what I have.”

“What brought this on?” I kissed his cheek.

“Did you know Kevin’s first wife died? Cancer?”

“Yes, Leukemia. A long time ago. Why?”

He shrugged, began working on the crib and suddenly it started to actually look like a crib. “He mentioned it today. I just want to be thankful for what we have, love. Each other, Amanda, this little bundle.” His hand settled on my belly and the baby kicked in response. Then the cat suddenly changed his allegiance and was all over Lachlan.

“Yeah, you too, pest,” he chuckled and pet soft fir.

RILEY

Six years ago I dreamed of having an Inn. This very Inn. I found this exact building, crumbling and unloved and that very day, John Biebe came into my life. The events that followed were remarkable to say the least. Since then and in that other lifestyle, I’d known several of John’s brothers … ah-hem … in the biblical sense. Hey, that’s how we lived.

I had long, loving, physical relationships with Bud and Terry, with Maximus and Lachlan, with Colin and Jeff Wigand. Except for Bud, I see them often. Now we’re all married or involved, happily moving ahead with a different, more normal kind of life. As much as I think I was a tart back then, I must say that every one of those men taught me something about life and love and healing. They will always be deeply special to me, but through it all, John was my number one, the big Kahuna, the complete love of my life and he still is. Always will be.

For some reason this afternoon I started thinking about the brothers who came after the change. Not that this former tart is thinking about backsliding and getting a taste of the forbidden fruit or anything, but those new brothers are all unique and interesting. Skinner, Ben and Richie, the odd brothers like Pullo, Antony and Gerry Kennedy … and especially heavy on my mind lately … Cal McAffrey.

Where the hell is Cal McAffrey? It’s a conundrum that has me super concerned, even sitting up nights worrying. The men most recently arrived through the Portals have a lot to deal with, and some simply don’t think they can handle it. Sometimes, they want to go back to what’s familiar, even though John’s unfortunately been there and has clearly passed on the warnings about it. There is no back. It’s nothing but a repeating loop of their film, the same thing over, and over, and over.

Sometimes the Portals try to grip a new brother back whether they’re thinking of taking the trip or not. Cal was once slipped back and returned immediately. Scary. But, of all the brothers, he seems the most unconcerned about it.

He likes to just leave the Inn and not tell us where he’s going and in truth, I can deal with that better than this. You see, the last contact we had with Cal was a note left for John over a month ago. It said he’d be off exploring for a while. No idea when he’d be back and no promises to call.

Cal McAffrey is a grown man and honestly, if he wants to go off on his own and have nothing to do with the rest of us, it’s fine with everyone. Really. But …

Lately, I’ve been having a really, really bad feeling. The kind that gives me chills and makes me feel like I’m about to lose something valuable. So the minute John got home from the office at three, I saddled him with Nathan and tiny Michael and left our apartment.

It had been a while since I was actually free and moving around. I mean, having a new baby is a lot, but having one with an already rambunctious three year-old around is even more. I’ve been holding Inn meetings in my living room during the kids’ nap time, but I hadn’t actually gotten out of the apartment in almost a week. I felt like a freed cockatoo.

First I checked on everything, department by department, doing my best not to do what I somehow deep in my gut knew I had to do. At three-thirty, I climbed the steps in the left tower and entered the room … THE room … the energy room where the portals make appearances as well as any number of resident ghosts. In fact, one of those apparitions was standing right inside the door as I entered.

I jumped. “Oh, jeese, Brian you almost scared me to death!”

“God forbid,” he grinned. Brian is a very old friend of Terry’s whose spirit was carted to the Inn along with the antique pub furnishings John bought from an estate sale in Boston. He’s been valuable for keeping us all safe. Brian got us out of the Inn when we had a fire. He notified John that I was very sick after losing our first baby, and … he’s been the voice of reason more times than I like to say. I like Brian. He’s an asset and really nice guy, for a dead dude.

“What’s new?” I asked and settled on one of the cushioned benches along the wall.

He shrugged.

“Who else is here?” I had to ask, you never know what ghosts are hanging around the Inn.

“Grandpa Luke says hi. Bud’s here, but he’s preoccupied with something Cory told him today.”

“Cory comes up here?” I was shocked. Cory White came to the Inn a few years ago looking for his dead grandfather’s ghost, and ended up staying. I just never realized he was in touch with Bud. I was under the impression he was afraid of the left tower room.

“All the time, but Bud won’t let any of us mess with him. The kid’s a wuss.”

“No, he ain’t!” I heard the gruff Bud voice I remembered and had to blink back tears. “Don’t be blubbering, Riley.”

“Sorry,” I sniffled. “I miss you.”

“I ain’t gone nowhere. Right here. What are you doing up here?”

I couldn’t see Bud, only Brian, but that was fine, at least I could talk with them all. “I’m up here because I’m worried about Cal McAffrey.”

The scent of dried leaves and dirt wafted to me, then I heard the distinct snort of a grizzly and smiled. “Do you know where he is, Grandpa Luke?” There came a full growl that rumbled the windows in the wall of French Doors.

“Don’t be pissing off the bear,” said Bud. “He said he knows. And it ain’t good.”

“Oh no.” I looked to Brian. “Please tell me it’s not the Portal.”

Brian sighed and sat beside me, I actually saw an indention in the cushion where his translucent butt landed. “Not the Portal you think … and he didn’t do this alone. The old bear is saying an immortal helped McAffrey.”

“An … oh shit. A vampire?” I knew it! I just knew it! “So that’s why this isn’t good.”

Another growl and Brian cleared his throat. “Luke says it’s not good for other reasons. Mostly because it might upset you. Oh … well … you can find out for yourself.”

And poof! Like magic, right there in front of me and silhouetted against the setting sun through the French doors stood Cal McAffrey himself! He looked befuddled, surprised and … like he was wearing a …

“Are you wearing a skirt, Cal?” I asked and he blinked.

“Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck! How did I get here?”

“I have powerful friends.” I stood and reached out to touch him. He looked wild, like he’d been living in the woods. It wasn’t a skirt, it was a kilt and there was blood on his forearm. A lot of blood. “Jesus! Did that vampire feed off you?” I started to panic.

“No!” Then his eyes focused as I circled him. He spun and looked at me. “Riles, did you have the baby? How long have I been gone?”

“Weeks and weeks! I’ve been worried sick. Now you’re back and –”

“No! I can’t. I gotta get back. Riley, I can’t explain it, but for the first time in my life … I fucking feel alive.”

“And just what’s that supposed to mean?” I glared up at him, my hands on my hips. It usually worked on John but Cal wasn’t buying what I was trying to sell. He simply grinned then clamped his big hands on my shoulders and looked down at me.

“Listen. Something … amazing is happening and I’m not willing to pass on being a part of it … no matter how it plays out.”

Now my anger had totally vacillated into fear. “Oh God, what does that mean?”

He smiled. “Don’t worry for me. Don’t be angry with Eric Northman. Just … well, let me go back. I need to go back. I may not return, Riles. I think I’ve found my place and it’s not here, so I might not be returning … but I will get word to you so you don’t have to worry. I swear I’ll get a message to you. Now,” he kissed my cheek. “Let me go back.”

I was horrified but somehow calmed by the depth of his commitment … to something … even if I didn’t understand it, there truly was a spark of life in Cal’s eyes I hadn’t once seen since his arrival. I finally nodded and slowly, just like the dimming evening light, he … just … vanished.

I didn’t know whether to cry or scream. And … I didn’t know if I should even tell John what I knew.

Life goes on and my breasts felt the call of my newborn. I sighed and offered a weak wave to the seen and unseen ghosts.