TERRY

I left the bloody ghost mid-sentence, calmly nodded to the pretty bartender and went up to my room. There, I dragged the big wing-backed chair to the window and sat, watching the moon work it's way west over the mountain and I wondered.

Brian Mueller was from my other life . . . that other world.

Crossing worlds has always been a dilemma for me, a curiosity that made me worry about what was real and what wasn't. When we crossed, we had no clue it was coming. We all dealt with it our own way. I remembered seeing Biebe not long after I arrived. I thought I was handling things well but when I met him, I realized that none of us were equipped for this sort of thing. It was the complete and devastating separation from our past that ate at us those first few years. The loss that never seemed to be repaired by what we'd gained by being here.

For John, it was tougher than most. He had his kids close to him, hanging from his knees day in and day out. They were his focus even though he knew his marriage was probably in the shitter. I suppose I was lucky enough to have already lost those tight bonds before I crossed. Made it a bit easier. It wasn't till he got together with Riley that John seemed to acclimate into comfort. And now, marrying her, having a new little one on the way, I could see that he was on the road to full recovery from that desolation none of us talk about. And, I admit, I was a bit jealous.

Was that why Brian Mueller showed up? Is my fuckin' ego that fragile that I needed to invent a connection to match Biebe's? Or am I that fuckin' emotionally needy?

Seeing Brian in that place that looked so much like 'Old Dog's' brought back everything I remembered about the bloke. Well, there wasn't much to draw from before he died. But after . . .

So long ago. It was a standard Thursday jump, only that day; Brian sat beside me on the bench. Actually attempted small talk and that was irritating the bloody hell outa me. I preferred concentration before such activity, and he was pulling my attention to his shaking hands, the deep hidden tremble in his voice. There was no reason for that shit, Brian was a prolific jumper and excelled at most anything he did. In retrospect, I recon he knew what was comin'.

He babbled about his wife and the baby on the way. After ignoring him for a few minutes, I decided to let the bloke have a little comfort and I admitted I had a nipper on the way too. The difference was, Brian was far more thrilled about it than I. Maybe it was because his father-in-law wasn't his CO, didn't hate his fuckin' guts but instead was proud to have his daughter married to him. A blast of curiosity shook me; all that rubbish shouldn't have mattered so much to me. I did love my wife; I just wasn't planning to have a wife, much less a child so soon in my career. It was something out of my control and I fucking hated that. I've always been that way I suppose, still am. Swallowing back embarrassment that I would be so selfish as to let my obsessive control issues effect what Brian clearly saw as a blessing made me feel a little sick. The twinkle in his eyes brought me down several notches and I thought long and hard about how to feel the way he did.

As we moved toward the door, readying for the jump, I turned to Brian.

"See ya on the ground, mate. We'll have a pint at Old Dog's," I said, took my cleansing breath, released and leapt.

When my parachute opened perfectly at the exact moment it should, the soaring rock of a loose man flew past me. He was spread eagle, the rip cord detached and flying free in his hand. He slowly rolled, looked up at me as I scrambled, attempting to reach out and grab him. His eyes . . . mates . . . those eyes. They were ready for death.

My first leave after the accident, I didn't go home to see my own pregnant wife, I went to see Brian's. Christ, it was bloody pitiful. She was this waif of a woman, pale from the shock and tryin' to be brave. Her belly was smaller than Riles' is right now; my guess was, going into her sixth month. A small mound; proof that Brian lived.

It was several days after the funeral, that time when everyone backs away, grateful that it wasn't them who'd personally lost a spouse and makin' the excuse that the grieving widow needed time alone. She was devastated. Saundra was her name.

I spent the entire two weeks with Saundra, sleeping in her guest room in that funny old Virginia farm house, doin' what I could to take care of things Brian would have taken care of, watching her, and trying my bloody best to comfort her from the appropriate distance.

But I was failing miserably, probably making things worse was what I was doin'. The day before I left, while I was tinkering with her old car, attempting to change the oil and test the battery, the mechanics of my activities help me understand exactly why I was so ineffective with Saundra. I had to face the facts. I remember wiping off my greasy hands and walking up to sit on the porch with her.

"Darlin', I gotta apologize. I was hoping I could help ya out here."

"You are Terry. There's just too much broken in me for anyone to fix right now." Fuck, she was crying again; that silent tearful cry and it broke my heart.

"Yeah," I nodded. "Ya know, I wish I was a good mate to Brian, wish I knew him better."

"He knew you. He wrote all the time about you, how much he admired you, how highly he thought of you as a soldier."

"But as a man?" I turned away, my head shaking sadly. "We didn't know each other as men, just fuckin' soldiers. Life is fragile, Saundra. I should've known better."

"Now I understand why you came here, Terry."

I looked into her pretty dark eyes. Soulful, sad eyes that tore at my guts.

"You came here for comfort too."

She was right. Fuck, God knows what we did next was probably as wrong as wrong could be, but holding her broken soul in my arms, making love to her, well that helped heal the pain inside us both. At least for one night.

One night. Maybe that's why I was imagining Brian. Maybe I never got over the guilt of that. It wasn't like I felt bad about cheating on my own wife. I'd been feeling bad, taking what belonged to him.

"You have nothing to feel bad about, Terry."

I didn't turn to the voice, so the fuckin' ghost walked around the chair to face me, blocking my comforting view of a perfect autumn Vermont night.

"Fact is, Aussie. I'm grateful. Saundra had to start realizing that it was time to move on with her life. She didn't cheat on me."

His grin was maddening and I huffed in the chair, shuffling to cross my legs with a scowl.

"I was dead. I think maybe you both came to grips with it that night."

"Fine, now get the fuck outa here."

He turned to gaze out of the window. "Can't," he said. "I was brought here. See the bar and several of the booths in the pub downstairs came from my dad's old place in Boston. Guess I was more attached to them then I thought, huh?"

I grunted, comprehending again how little I knew about Brian. I never once recognized that Boston accent. Some observant soldier I was, then?

"Besides, seems I've got things to do here. Tell me something," his eyes turned to me.

"What?"

"You're staying a few days, right?"

I nodded.

"Can you make it a few more? I think your brother is going to need you, Terry."

My fuckin' heart went into double time and I sat up straight. "Why?"

It didn't matter what I asked, Brian was gone. I stared at the mountain and sat in that chair till I fell asleep.

JOHN

"Riles, hey baby. Wake up. I want you to eat before the doctor gets here."

She stirred but mumbled and snuggled deeper into the blankets. Into her third trimester and Riley was absolutely normal. Finally, sleeping and resting. Her body was doing what it was supposed to be doing. Growing our baby. I let her rest and went to the living room; I plopped on the sofa and opened the newspaper, sipped coffee and reveled in having my day off.

Man, a full day to sit and talk with Riles. I had tons of things to talk about today, having finally made the decision to let her in on all the goings on at the Inn. She was going to love the story about old Peabody and how Sophie had nipped him right in the nose for his advances. Good girl, Soph. Hold out for younger and better looking. I chuckled.

And I was sure Riley would be thrilled to give me all the advice I needed to do my job. Truth was, the Inn was her first baby, and nobody knew it like she did.

An hour later, Terry knocked on the door, lugging all those bags of baby stuff he'd hidden in his trunk.

"Thought she'd have some fun lookin' through all this stuff," he grinned. When he noticed the bedroom door was closed, his smile dropped like a rock. Brows curled. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah, yeah. Doctor's in there with her. Coffee?"

He shook his head and went out onto the deck. I shrugged. Obviously he wasn't interested in talking with me. Ten minutes later, he was standing at the opened French door.

"What?"

He blinked. "Uh, it's a nice day. Last time I was here in the fall, all the leaves were gone. It's . . . pretty."

"Yeah." Christ, he looked distressed, like he needed a piss. I was about to tell him that there's a powder room off the kitchen when Doc Conklin walked out.

"Well, how we doing?" I asked and Conklin smiled.

"Great. Everything is looking fine John, but," he turned to Terry then to me.

"Oh, uh. This is my brother Terry. Doctor Conklin."

Terry took his hand. "She's good then?"

"Yes, doing very well, but John."

Again his attention was on me and I fucking hated when he did that so intensely. I ran a hand through my hair and held my breath.

"I think we need to consider planning the delivery for six weeks from now. She will never make it full term."

I cleared my throat. "C-section?"

Doc nodded.

"Sure, sure. Whatever is safest."

"And John," this time he cleared his throat. "It's time. She's officially off limits, buddy."

"Yeah," I groaned. That, I was expecting anyway.

"Sorry, mate," Terry smacked my shoulder.

Was that a gleam I saw in his eyes? The fucker was enjoying this. He went straight into the bedroom.

RILEY

I didn't say anything to the doctor, but every single muscle of my body was aching. I think it was lying there, day after day. I felt like I was getting fat and flabby, becoming a human slug!

When Terry walked in, I was so excited. I begged him to take me out to the balcony for some fresh air.

"Your husband would have my fuckin' bullocks, Riles!"

"Oh, come on. Don't be a wuss. Just carry me out through the nursery room doors, he'll never even know."

"It's chilly out there," he hedged.

"No it's not! Am I so fat you're afraid you can't carry me?"

Ha! That did it. He lifted me with a teasing loud grunt, took me out and settled me on the comfy cushioned chair draping me with way too many blankets. I leaned my head way back, loving the sunshine on my face and the crisp breeze. "Oh man, this is heaven!"

"So," he dragged a chair close and held my hand. "You feeling okay?"

"I am feeling wonderful! I love when Doctor Conklin has to tell me I'm just perfect."

"You are perfect, ya know."

I gave him a snort.

"Oh, got some stuff for the baby." He went inside and came back with three shopping bags loaded to the top with toys and infant clothes, pacifiers and bottles. Holding one, he grinned. "Good to have, unless ya plan to nurse that little one."

"I may."

"John will get a kick outa that. Did Donna nurse?"

"No," I smiled a little wickedly.

"So, it'll be his first taste of mother's milk. He'll either love it or hate it," and he laughed. But it wasn't a real laugh. Terry was really pushing it and I wondered what was up, but it never did much good to push him. Terry never says something he doesn't want to say.

I looked out over the golden leaves and sighed, shifted on the lounge chair and groaned a bit.

"You sure you're feeling okay?"

"Yes, I'm feeling fine. Why do you keep asking me that?"

He shrugged. "It's just kinda strange, seeing you still for so long."

"Tell me about it. And I have another six weeks of this. I may drive poor John right up the wall!"

"Baby, he's already hangin' from the bloody ceiling."

"Hey!" John came out onto the balcony from the living room. "What're you doing out here?" But he was smiling, carrying his coffee and dragging another chair closer to join us. Terry stood and gave him the seat closest to me and I grasped John's hand tight.

"Isn't it a gorgeous day?" I was grinning ear to ear, feeling so good to be out of the bed.

John leaned in for a wonderful kiss, so delicious I forgot Terry was there.

"Cool your heels, Casanova. You heard the doctor," Terry chuckled.

John turned a glare at him and I leaned in for a whisper. "John," I said quietly in his ear. "My mouth isn't off limits. And you know how much I love --"

Terry's chuckle grew into a full out laugh. "Oh, mate. You'll get sick of that too."

"How did you know what I was saying?" I squealed.

"Instinct," he grinned. "So, you're fine, right? Doctor didn't tell you anything he didn't tell us, did he?"

I turned to John. "Terry's taking over your position as the official worry wart."

"Not really, Gamer. Just making sure. I was thinking about hittin' the road today."

My heart sunk.

"You don't have to leave. You're booked till tomorrow," John said.

"Yeah, yeah. I know. But I should get back to Dallas."

The phone rang and John left. Terry stood at the railing, his back to me. The tightness of his shoulders, the strain of his body language alerted me that something just wasn't right.

"Terry, what's this all about? You don't need to get back yet. Something's bothering you."

I heard his sigh but he didn't answer.

"Does this have anything to do with . . ." I swallowed hard, got up my nerve then finished. "Does this have anything to do with Brian Mueller?"

His stiffness got tighter. When he finally turned to me I knew he'd seen him. I wanted to assure him that it was okay to see ghosts at the Inn. In fact, we have a few repeat guests who feel slighted if they don't get at least one glimpse of our many resident apparitions.

"How did ya know?"

"I met Brian right after we finished the pub. Terry, he's not going to hurt you. He said he knows you. He told me last night that he talked to you and you were fine with him being around."

He cleared his throat. "Riley, there are no ghosts. I had too much of that Vermont pilsner, that's all."

"Okay. Okay. So if it isn't the ghost we both know you talked to, then why are you leaving?"

"I just need to get back."

What choice did I have but to accept?

TERRY

I carried her back inside and kissed her right on the lips. Fuck, she looked so uncomfortable, but I guess that's to be expected. She was going through a real confinement. Trapped and coping with everything that was against her nature. I leaned in, tucking the blankets round her and gave her one more peck. Her eyes were deep in mine and full of concern.

"Riley, I don't believe in ghosts."

"And just because the pragmatic Terry Thorne doesn't believe in them, they don't exist?"

"There are no ghosts. You have been in this bloody bed for too long, woman. Six more weeks. I'll come back after the nipper arrives, okay?"

"Yeah, and I'll ask Brian to leave you alone."

I said my good byes to John and packed my bags. The truth was, I didn't need to be back at the office, I needed to get away from the ghost that didn't exist . . . and his strange warning. Fuck! The doctor said she's fine, she said she was fine, John thought she was fine. So there was no reason for me to stick around a few days longer just because a figment of my guilty imagination told me to.

I went down to the front desk to check out, flirted a bit with Sigrine who took my charge card, then turned to leave. Right at the door he stood. Brian. Shaking his head like I'd let him down or something. Fuck, I needed to get outta Vermont.

RILEY

My days were empty after Terry left. Granted, I had an occasional visitor, LizBeth or Monna when they weren't working. But for the most part, I lay alone in that bed and thought.

John had found his way to making me a part of the Inn's daily activities again, so I filled some of my boring hours jotting advice or plans, trying to read or just plain sighing. Brian popped in often, but I usually ignored him. I had hopes that if ghosts were going to be my primary companions for the next six weeks, that Grandpa Luke would make an appearance. But he was always John's personal Spirit Guide, not mine. So when Brian sat silently for hours that afternoon, fingering all the things Terry had brought for the baby, I finally decided to talk to him.

"Thought you hated me, Riles," he teased after I did an entire litany of how I wanted to get the nursery put together before I went to for the C-section.

"Yeah, well I was kinda mad at you. You scared Terry, Brian. And trust me; it takes a hell of a lot to do that."

"I know. Didn't mean to. How are you feeling today?"

I shot a glare. "You too? Can't everyone just leave me alone with the stupid concern! I'm getting sick and tired of -- " And that's when it started. The oddest sensation I ever had. It was as though my entire body had shifted. Not the way it felt when the baby moved, I swear, it seemed as though my very soul had moved; a silent shifting of everything beneath my flesh. My hand shot to my belly and I held my breath for a moment.

"I'll get John," Brian stood.

"Don't you fucking dare! Hell, if you could scare Terry off, God only knows the effect you'll have on John! And there's nothing wrong. I'm fine. Just tired. Go away Brian, I want to sleep."

And that was the truth. Whatever had taken me over had left me completely exhausted. You'd have thought I'd just finished a fourteen hour shift in the kitchen. My eyes drooped and I fought to open them. I stared at Brian.

"Do not bother anyone till I wake up, you ghost. Do you hear me? And please, stay away from John." And I was out like a light.

I woke late that night as John was silently slipping into bed. His hand moved to rest over the baby and I smiled. Those were the best moments, his warmth and love protecting me and everything I love. I snuggled closer and considered giving him some head, but the effort to move seemed just too great at the moment. Poor John, I could feel his need, radiating from his body. But was that a need for sexual satisfaction? Somehow I didn't think so, and I began to worry that I would never give him enough.

"Shh, baby. Sleep."

The next morning, as John carried me to the bathroom, I felt thick and heavy, like a boulder was sitting inside me. Later that afternoon, I woke to see Brian again. Sweat was covering me and I pushed the blankets away. The ghost sat at his vigil, not even leaving when John came in to check on me, or when my tired husband crawled under the sheets beside me. Inside my head I shouted, "Go Away!"

Brian spoke from his ethereal mind, "No."

The next day I couldn't eat. I was scared. I knew something was wrong, but it wasn't even something I could describe or put into words. What would I say to the doctor? "Hey, I feel weird." I sort of knew his answer would be one of his tolerant smiles and a lecture about pregnancy. So I lay still. Then my heart thumped.

The baby hadn't moved for almost a full day. I pressed tenderly on my belly, in a way that always woke the little thing. Either it was as tired as me, or perhaps preparing for coming? As much as I love John, I knew nothing would match how much I loved our baby, how special it was to me. I wanted to hold it in my arms and watch him nurse, snuggled tight against my swollen breast. And yes, I knew it was a boy, no ultrasound was needed to tell me that. I just knew. I imagined how happy John was going be with a boy, the spark it would bring to his eyes. To our lives.

Hope started to fill my worried mind and I slept again, only to wake in a huge puddle of wet.

Panic. I pushed myself to sit up and tossed aside the blankets. Had my water broken? Jesus! This can't be a good thing. I was barely into my seventh month! It wasn't water.

It was blood. I passed out.

TERRY

Back at work, sitting at my desk and pushing papers. Grumbling. After all, it was pretty much all I do when I'm there. It was Sunday morning and the place was empty. I was so far behind after my little jaunt to Vermont, I figured to do the catching up when things were quiet.

My cell rang and I flipped it opened. "Yeah?" Nothing but static. I tried to see the caller ID but it was all garble. Must be another storm effecting the cell tower again. Not a moment later, the hard line rang. Forgetting it was Sunday and there was no one else to answer, I let it ring a few times.

"Fuck," I reached for the receiver, figuring it was Dino calling to tease me relentlessly about working on a Sunday. More static. "Who the fuck is this?"

The voice was low and growling, the sound of electric static, wild and crackling.

"Hello?" I shouted. Then something told me to listen carefully.

There, beneath all the distortion, the voice was repeating something. "What? I can't hear ya, mate. What are ya sayin'?"

The voice spoke slower, louder. "Call Biebe. Call Biebe now. Call him right now!"

That was a shout, clear as a bell. "Who is this?"

"Call your brother, you Aussie fucker! Now!"

I swallowed hard. Fuckin' Brian. Jesus, was I losing my mind?

"Forget your mind, Terry! Call Biebe now!"

I slammed the receiver, sweat covering my face and my hands shaking. This ghost thing was getting outa hand. But, I thought. What could it hurt to call? I dialed the Inn.

"1876 Manor at Mount Mansfield, how may I help you?"

"G'day, Sigrine. How are ya today, love?" I could almost hear her blush.

"Mr. Thorne! I'm wonderful. You?"

"Great, great. Sigrine, I need to talk to John. Can ya get him for me? It's important."

"Sure thing, I think he's in the kitchen with Mr. Wigand. Hold a minute."

A moment later it was Sigine's voice again. "Oh, I'm sorry, Mr. Thorne. John's gone out onto the grounds somewhere. I can make sure he calls you when he gets in."

"No, no. I'll call his cell." Didn't even say goodbye, just hung up and dialed again. My stomach was fuckin' churning. On one level I knew it was all folly, but what if it wasn't? Jesus fuckin' Christ!

"Biebe," his voice was mid chuckle, like he was talking to someone when he answered the phone.

"John, it's Terry. Go and check on Riles right now, mate."

"What?"

"Right now!" I shouted. "Do it!"

I could hear him start to run, his breath getting heavier, the sound of doors opening and his feet pounding up the stairs. Then I heard him gasp and the phone clattered on the floor.

"I'm on my way, John! On my way."

Fuck!