BEN

I hate it here in this place and time. Hate almost everything about it all. Not like I need to rob that bank, not like I need money … but there’s a big difference between needin’ and wantin’. I got a hunger to take something. But I also got this pain … something was taken from me.

Goddamn Tracy Pinkerton. When did she get so important to me? Under my skin? Such a fucking itch I can’t scratch anymore? I tried to reach her, went and told Marla a nice smooth lie. Told her something happened to my cell phone and all the programmed numbers were gone. Programmed? Like I could program a number in the damn thing. I can barely push the right eleven buttons to reach the ‘correct party’. Eleven? This century is too goddamn complicated. No matter, Marla believed me and gave me Tracy’s number. I wrote it down and went to my room and I tried and tried and tried to get through. Each time, the same message. Not a person, mind you, a damn message. The number you have reached is no longer in service. Now, what the hell did that mean?

No. I don’t need to rob that bank. Don’t need the money. I just wanna take it.

CORY WENDELL WHITE

I got lucky. My rental was ready in Burlington and my luggage arrived with me. Not normal for all the travel I do. I drove like the wind, reminding myself that it was winter in Vermont and any minute a snowstorm could creep up around the bend and pounce like Godzilla. I was fucking excited to get to the Inn … and I was damn scared to death.

Shit’s been rough over the past few months. Oh, my career was kicking ass. It was my parents. See, they died. Yeah, both of them in less than a few months. I was a ‘change of life’ baby and they weren’t all that young, but they weren’t that old either. I learned a lot about life with those deaths. See, the people you love, they are every-fucking-thing. Period. End of story. Everything. I know this because dad died of a heart attack on a Thursday in November. My mom, a woman in perfect health mind you, just managed to die in her sleep on a Thursday in December. I’m an orphan in three short months and all over a broken heart. She couldn’t see going on without him and she’d told me that more than once. I miss them both. But now, I’ve got a chance to make a connection I was holding off just to keep from upsetting my folks. I get to connect with granddad, Bud the Bad Ass White.

I called ahead to let Gemma know I was on the way, and I told her I’d made a request to Mrs. Biebe (man, that name gave me a chill) to see the left tower. Gemma wasn’t all that happy about me taking the upper hand in the location investigation, but this was more than an episode of The Ghost is Inn. This is about my family. Mine.

As I drove closer into Stowe I grinned at the quaint little town. How cute. Oh, check out the pubs, lots to choose from. Good for me. I found the road up the mountain and my cell rang. Probably Gemma still pissed off.

“Yeah?” I grunted, slowing to watch a family of deer stroll across the road. I really am in the backwoods of America.

“Cory? How is it?”

Damn, couldn’t help but smile. It was my girl, Daisy. She always makes me feel good. Hard ass chick, a biker with crazy wild blonde hair and shiny blue eyes. Great fucking body, looking at the big three ‘O’ this year but man, she’s the girl of my dreams … even though she’s got six years on me. We suit each other. Tell each other a lot … but I never told her or anyone why I had to do this show in Vermont. Some things need to be fleshed out before confessed … I always say.

“Great. Mama and papa deer are leading the brood across Mansfield Road as we speak. All this flora and fauna is kinda cool. Miss me, baby?”

“Yeah, I do. Fuck it, I’m coming to Vermont.”

“Uh … maybe that’s not such a good idea, Daisy. I’ll be working all the time.”

“So what, I got a yen to reconnect with Mother Nature. Can’t make it for a few days though, bartending for Phyllis while she has her … ah-hem … surgery.”

“She’s preggers again? Shit, that woman gets pregnant if she just sits in a chair some potent dude sat in. Isn’t there a limit to how many abortions a woman can get?”

“Law says, as many as she wants. I think the woman needs to practice some safe sex. Next time, might be fucking AIDS or something.”

A chill shook me. We lost a friend to AIDS last year. Not pretty, not pretty at all. Suddenly I was washed over with the need to have Daisy right where I could see her. Like maybe she’d be safer or something. I pulled into the big gates and parked the car in the lot, looked up at that mysterious left tower of the 1876 Manor at Mount Mansfield.

“You know what? Tell Phyllis to get someone else. Get out here now; catch a flight tonight if you can. This place is fucking beautiful.”

“Now you’re talking. I’ll call with my plans. Later, babe.”

“Daisy,” I said quickly before she hung up.

“You ain’t going all lovey dovey on me, are you?”

“Fuck yeah. I love you, baby. Be careful.”

KIM

Don’t get me wrong; I know I can behave like an unfeeling bastard.

I never intended to abandon Emily like I did. But bloody hell, how was I supposed to know that she was my online friend and soul mate, Prima Vera? Talk about being ambushed by fate! She could have been anyone; young, old, chubby, thin, gorgeous, plain, blond, brunette … okay, not old or chubby, and plain is negotiable, as long as she had nice teeth and…shit, look at what this whole miserable experience has me doing!

Monna knew something was bothering me when I ran into her and Andy in the kitchen this morning. Andy was still oblivious, waiting for his first cuppa coffee, unshaven and yawning as he poured a bowl of granola, hair sticking up in all directions with the tell tale sign of a fresh hickey along his collarbone. Nice to know all is well between my best mate and his wife, but it just sort of set me on edge for some reason.

“And good morning to you, sunshine.” Monna gave me a wry smile, noting that I was checking out her husband’s newest bit of body art. “You’re up early. Big day at the office?”

I mumbled an answer, trying not to meet her eyes, but as usual, she sussed me out. She always does. “Whatever it is, just be sure to smile. If you go around greeting folks with that scowl, you’ll send them all to the competition.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m bloody Prince Charming.”

Andy snorted and Monna gave him a playful nudge. Ignoring them both, I grabbed my coffee and as I headed out the front door I heard Monna call out for me to have a good day. And damned if I didn’t hear Andy giggle. For a moment I panicked, thinking that perhaps they somehow knew what had happened last night, but of course they didn’t … how could they? They were probably still feeling the afterglow from their earlier encounter and I just got caught in the crossfire. At least, that’s what I had convinced myself of when I arrived into work a little while later.

I like having the office to myself in the morning before Emily arrives. I can review my calendar for the week, check on the previous day’s requisitions before giving them the final okay and submitting them to the contractors, and sometimes I’ll even stop by the kitchen to have a brief chat with Chef Chris to see if everything’s running smoothly. With a big holiday just around the corner, I want to make sure that he has everything he needs in time for the advertised Easter celebration here at the Inn. We’re trying to beat the competition being drummed up by the Trapp Family Lodge, and it’s getting rather heated. I love this kinda challenge and am determined to see our numbers exceed those of our stiffest competitor. Problem was, even the thrill of the kill wasn’t enough to take my mind off of last night and Emily. 

I started up the coffee maker and pulled up last night’s culinary order on the computer. There seemed to be an issue with the quantity of a particular specialty item, and as I was trying to figure out why the accounting program kept rejecting the keyed in information, I noticed someone small hovering near the doorway. Looking up, I saw the flash of a pink tennis shoe as she darted out of view and I knew I was being scoped out by Pullo’s daughter, Valerie.

I tried to ignore her, but she kept peeking around the door to stare at me.

“Valerie, aren’t you supposed to be getting ready for school?” I tried not to snap at the poor kid, but I found her presence annoying.

“I wanted to say good morning to Emily.” She stepped into the doorway and stood there, still staring.

“Emily’s not here yet, so why don’t you check back for her a little later?”

She just shook her head, giving me the big sad eyed look and after a few minutes, I realized that she wasn’t gonna go away. If she was a little bit older, I would have sent her scampering, but I get a bad enough rep as an unfeeling bastard as it is, and Emily would have my head if I hurt this little girl’s feelings. Not that I really wanted to, I’m not an ogre, but I just wasn’t in the mood for entertaining a child who was someone else’s responsibility.

“Valerie, why don’t you come in and watch Emily’s desk while I go and get some breakfast? Can I trust you not to touch anything?”

Her expression stayed as solemn as ever, but she nodded her head as she stepped inside, going straight for the chair directly in front of Emily’s desk.

“Don’t answer or play with the phone, don’t even think about touching the computer, stay away from the coffee because it’ll stunt your growth and please don’t get sticky fingerprints onto anything. Think you can handle that?”

No change of expression as she again nodded her head and stared me down. This kid would be a natural at poker. Or maybe I’m losing my touch with much younger women as well.

“I won’t break anything. I promise, Mr. Barrett.”

I almost choked when she said my name; she used the very same inflection that Emily always used whenever she was irritated with me. That cinches it; the young ones are out to get me as well, it seems.

I nodded back, as it seemed that we had reached an understanding. As I stepped into the hallway I added a parting shot. “If Emily shows up while I’m out, tell her that she’s late.”
I was halfway down the hall when I heard Valerie answer, “Okay, Mr. Barrett.”

VALERIE PULLO

That Mr. Barrett is a cranky guy, but he’s a pretty man. I guess the grown ups would say he’s handsome or a hunk. He’s nice to look at; I just wish he was nicer to Emily.

Emily is my hero. I really like her clothes and her boots are so cool. I like that she’s nice to me and I really want to grow up to be just like her. She lets me do work here with her and that makes me feel special. Sometimes I just do my homework at the corner of her desk, but that’s only when Mr. Barrett isn’t in the office. I wish he liked me like Emily does, but he doesn’t. I can tell by those funny white marks that pop up at the corners of his mouth when I’m around.

I’m not supposed to touch anything, but I’m sure he didn’t mean paper and a pen. I took one of the pens from the cup and carefully tugged a piece of paper from the printer and thought I’d write a note to Emily. Tell her I hope she has a good day. But instead I just drew a cat. I hope Emily likes cats. I carefully set the picture over her keyboard so she wouldn’t miss it and replaced the pen. It was time to go downstairs for the school bus and I had to leave. But looking up at the computer monitor I saw the neatest thing!

It was under a big headline: Easter Menu Purchase Order. Down the list I saw it. Were they really ordering marshmallow peeps for Easter? I love those things! Oh cool!

KELLY

My parents have been married for close to forty years this summer and growing up, I always thought that my own marriage one day would be just like theirs: a true partnership, one built on genuine affection, respect and friendship. Throughout my childhood, many of my friends had come from broken families and I always felt a little sorry for them. I had the security of knowing that both my parents were always there, looking after me. They both saw me off to school every morning, and my father came home each evening to a hot dinner on the table which we all ate together without fail. To this day they still hold hands when they go out walking and I’ve often felt like a failure when comparing my disastrous marriage to theirs.

When I married my ex-husband David, I was young and naïve and believed that I could change him, even though he had already been displaying the warning signs that I failed to heed. He was selfish, arrogant, petty, self-absorbed and intent upon making a name for himself, no matter what the cost; I just chose not to see it. It wasn’t so bad at first; we did have a few good times as husband and wife, but they soon became so far and few between and before too long we were basically living separate lives. I was just a school teacher, where he was the hot shot veterinarian. My parents had tried to warn me but naturally, I wouldn’t listen. Although to be honest, in a way I’m thankful that I have a miserable marriage under my belt, because it made me concentrate on the really important things when faced with a fresh relationship with Jeff.

As unhappy as I had been, it did set me up to identify the things I appreciate in a man, and Jeff is full of virtues. He’s patient, kind, gentle, humble, appreciates the simple things in life, treats me like a friend and most importantly, as a cherished lover. He’s romantic, funny, stubborn and sometimes grumpy, but he’s always doing little things that tell me how much I matter to him. And yeah, I hadn’t really seen his caveman routine until just recently but good Lord, he was a delicious force to be reckoned with; I’m still grinning over what happened on Valentine’s Day. And when he asked me to marry him afterward, I didn’t need to think twice. That old song is true: love is better the second time around.

I wonder how Jeff would feel about a Las Vegas wedding?

JEFF

I hadn’t set out that evening to ask Kelly to marry me but to be honest; I didn’t make the request simply because I was feeling the afterglow of rousing sex with the woman I love. Not that one didn’t have anything to do with the other, but after the uncomfortable little incident with Christy in the bar earlier that evening, I simply realized … what the hell was I waiting for?

Some might find it surprising that although I already have two failed marriages, I’d be willing to see if the third time was indeed the charm. Truth is, my first divorce was rather amicable and my second marriage lasted several years. Even if I had been spared all the negative publicity in the media at the time, I still think that we would have eventually parted ways; we had already been living somewhat separate lives and my wife never forgave me my fall from grace, as it were. As much as I miss my daughters, (and don’t get me wrong, I still do) I had to face the cold hard facts that all of us men have had to deal with since arriving; there was no going back. My life is here, I’ve been highly successful both professionally and personally, and over all, I’m content.

Kelly is such a big part of the equation. She’s sexy, fun to be with, talented, creative, intelligent, beautiful, caring and I love and appreciate her. But what’s even nicer is that she loves and appreciates me right back. Sometimes I find myself wishing that my mother could have met her – she would have loved her just as much as I do. Funny how something like that would still have an impact this far along in my life, but my mother was a class act; a wise, loving woman who endured her know-it-all son with all the patience of a true saint. I have the feeling that she and Kelly would have hit it off famously.

I wonder if Kelly would like to have the wedding at the Inn? If it were up to me, I’d prefer to go to Vegas but it’s really for her to decide. I could go the traditional route once again but I’m putting my foot down if she tries to make me wear some God-awful burgundy tux, or worse...

JOHN

I went with Antony this morning to help Pullo out a little at the vineyard. Nothing like physical labor to help keep things in perspective, ay? I tore out dead vines, hoed and pulled weeds coming up out of the thin layer of snow. Looked around. This was gonna be a beautiful place … if Pullo can turn it into a real vineyard that is. Rumor has it, nothing worth drinking ever came off the land, but Pullo has a few ideas about that. He chattered on and on about light and soil acids, about irrigation and all the changes he had for the planting plans. Within a week, the big equipment was coming in. All we were doing was checking to see how many vines had survived the past few neglected years. It wasn’t looking good, but there were other grapes he was intending to start with anyway. At most, twenty plants looked viable in my six rows. Hard work, but it felt damn good.

Life had been damn good too. Me and Riley’s bed is happily active. Baby T is sleeping through the night and even the Aubrey twins across the hall were getting quieter … or at least I was getting used to the noise. The weather was holding good and cold with a nice dusting of snow every night to keep the skiers coming and happy. Yeah, life seemed real good.

I stood, ran my coat sleeve over my sweaty brow and rolled my shoulders … and suddenly, something real weird happened. I blinked and blinked again.

I was no longer looking at the view of Mount Mansfield from the west slope of Pullo’s fields. I swear to God I was standing in the center of the frozen pond. Not my frozen pond … the frozen pond. In my hand was a hockey stick and not a hoe and all around me, the sound of scraping skates, shouts and laughter. I glanced up. Those mountains were sure not Vermont mountains! I was in the dead center of a Saturday Game! Those mountains were the ones surrounding Mystery and I was in fucking Alaska!

I rubbed my eyes, held my breath. What the fuck? And behind me I heard it and I swear I thought my heart would burst.

“Score, dad! Score!”

I turned to see Mike. My God, it was Mike, my son! Exactly like he was the last time I saw him! There were boards covered with advertisements all around the ice, cameras, one hell of a crowd. This wasn’t the Saturday Game, this was the game. It was getting dark and the lights switched on, almost blinding me. I scanned the crowds in the bleachers. There were my kids … and God sakes … there … was Donna, waving and smiling and holy fuck! What the hell was happening!

“You done, John?”

I shook my head, squeezed my eyes and turned to Antony. He was reaching for my hoe and grinning ear to ear. “Uh …”

“Are you finished with this slave labor my friend, because I certainly am. It’s time to convince Pullo to take us to the pub in town for a few drinks.”

He turned casual as you please and walked away.

It took me a good five minutes before I could move a muscle. What the fuck just happened? It felt so real I swear to God I could smell the air, feel the different kinda cold you only feel in Alaska, hear the sound of that damn game with the Rangers. Jesus!

I followed Antony. I really needed a drink, God sakes.

EMILY

I hate being late, but the minute the alarm went off (I somehow managed about four hour’s sleep) I turned on the TV to see if there was any report on the local news about last night’s hit and run. Finally, just as I was about to call the TV station in frustration, the broadcaster announced that the victim’s name was Delbert Clayton Ambrose, stating that he the CEO of an up and coming communications firm here in Vermont. He was the heir apparent to a large New York advertising firm, Ambrose & Ambrose. While his condition was guarded, the hospital representative being interviewed stated that he was still in a coma.

This had to be my NYSE! It all fit – he had mentioned how he had just started a new job, but I never dreamed that he was actually the CEO of a company here in town. It was so like him to be so modest and humble, but just the thought of him lying unconscious in a cold hospital room was tearing me apart inside.   

By the time I arrived at work, I was a jumble of nerves. Kim started in on me the minute I walked in the office door, and if it wasn’t for the sweet drawing of a kitty cat left for me by Valerie, my whole morning would have been a complete shambles.

“Nice to see that you decided to show up for work.” Leave it to Mr. Barrett to set the tone for the rest of my day. Figured that he’d be practically standing at the door waiting for me as I came in, just waiting to pounce.

“Not this morning, okay?” I tossed my backpack down next to my desk and went to pour a cup of coffee. “Let me get settled in first and then you can recite your list of my short comings.” 

He seemed a bit surprised by my remark and he even took a step back as I pushed my way past him. Why does he have to hover?

“I didn’t mean it that way. But you could have called. I was starting to worry.”

“Puhleese. I’ve been driving in the Vermont weather far longer than you have, and so far haven’t run into any trees or even off the road.”

He made a face as I added creamer to my cup. “Are we having a bad day?”

He actually sounded concerned and as I glanced up at him I was surprised to see that just maybe he was trying to be conciliatory. Maybe I was projecting? “Hey, I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to snap at you. I just got some particularly upsetting news about a friend last night.”

His eyes took on a strange expression and if I wasn’t deluding myself, he seemed actually interested in what I was telling him.

“Really? What kid of news?”

He was still hovering, but to be honest, I didn’t mind it so much when he was actually being nice. I gave him a slightly abbreviated version of last night’s events, leaving out the part about meeting NYSE online and having never seen him in person; I could only imagine the ration of grief he’d dish out if he got a hold of that information, but to his credit, Kim was acting as if he was somewhat sympathetic.

“He’s in a coma? How well did you know this guy?”

Again, the edited version. “Not very well. It was kind of a first date and all. I thought he stood me up at first, but then when I turned on the news after I got home … well, you can imagine how I feel.”

He became fidgety all of a sudden; running his hand through his hair and clearing his throat as he reached up to loosen his tie. It was a little out of character, but I’ll give him credit for trying to empathize. Perhaps there’s hope for him after all.

I took a sip of my coffee, wondering if it would only upset my stomach even more than it already was. “I need to call the florist. Do you think it’s okay to send red roses, or should I stick with something more along the line of Irises and lilies?”

He turned away from me suddenly and went back over to his desk. He was acting a little funny, but maybe I was just too out of sorts to gauge what might be going through his mind. When he looked up at me, I could see that his face had gone completely white.

“Emily, am I intruding if I ask what your friend’s name is?”

I wasn’t sure why he’d want to know, but I couldn’t come up with a good reason not to tell him. “Delbert Ambrose. Delbert Clayton Ambrose.” 

He cleared his throat again and picked up his phone and started to dial. “You should send him lilies. Lots of them.”

I realized he was probably right. Lilies were far more appropriate.

GEMMA

I stood on the lacy brick-a-brack dripping porch and waited for Cory. I was angry, he had never done this before, never overstepped his bounds. It was his idea, but we had long ago come to the agreement that it was my show. Mine. I crossed my arms as he grinned and bounded up the steps. He pecked me on the cheek then laughed aloud.

“Trust me, you’ll forgive me when you see why I did it.”

“Do you think this is how things will be from here on in, young man?” I spouted.

“Oh hoh, you called me ‘young man’. You really are pissed. Come on, let’s get inside, it’s fucking freezing out here.”

He dragged me into the lobby and immediately stopped his constant motion, that whirling dervish that Cory is. I felt his energy ebb and pulse. Oh yes, something very strong was going on at this Inn. Very strong and very, very strange.

Earlier a man had passed me. He was a large man with bright blond hair tied tight at the base of his neck. His eyes were brilliant blue and his smile was astounding. He spoke briefly to the girl at the front desk, laughed a loud, hardy laugh and grinned as he passed me. It was not his personality that smacked me square in the soul. It was something deeper, something disjointed and misplaced. And I wondered if he’d permit me to do a reading, there may be a spirit trying to reach him right there at the Inn.

Later, another man brushed past me. He was brusque and hard in his energy, almost dangerous, but again, his smile was pleasant, his eyes seemingly kind, although most obviously hiding great unhappiness. He too carried something heavy from his soul out. Something that simply felt like it didn’t belong here. Odd. So very Odd.

As Cory took the steps up to his room to drop off his bags then join me for lunch in the dining room, I felt it once again! The next man was strolling casually, his dark brown eyes alert and watchful. His full lips and perfect brow more than attractive, but something ached in my gut as he passed. Was he once injure or hurt? Had he died in a previous life because of a serious wound to his chest or belly? More sensations of mixed up wiring.

I shook it off, drew in a cleansing breath then heard an infant crying in the parlor where the handsome dark man had gone. I felt compelled to go there.

A pretty woman bounced twin babies on her shoulders, one silent and content, the other howling like a Banshee. The man smiled and reached out for the wailing infant. The moment she settled in his arms, she cuddled and silenced. This was absolutely fascinating.

“Are you this child’s father?”

“Oh, good lord no,” the mother giggled. “Chelsea just has some particular adoration for Antony, that’s all.”

I turned to the man and suddenly felt myself psychically pushed a step back. I closed my eyes and smiled. Spoke without opening them, as I feared I’d loose the connection. While I spoke the room became silent.

“This child is … she is from another time … another soul. She is comforted by you, sir, for one and only one reason. Pure … complete … and eternal … love. The name of the soul within this child … starts with the letter … A … her name is … is … ah, her name is Atia.” I opened my eyes and looked into the man’s startled brown eyes. “Her name is Atia.”

And I walked away. I didn’t even wait for his response nor did I need it. Some communications are so intense no one needs confirm them to me. I was feeling a little weak and happy to see Cory waiting for me at the dining room entrance. I could certainly use a good meal and some good wine. This Inn is something else!

NATALIE

Atia? Atia! Atia … oh my God. Atia. From what I remembered, she was strong-willed, arrogant, spoiled, sometimes even cruel. And she’s now my daughter. What was I gonna do? How am I gonna handle this? She’s already a handful. I was terrified that she’d become more like Atia as she grew older.

I stared at the tiny infant cooing in Antony’s arms, almost afraid to even touch her now. No wonder he’s the only person that could soothe her. The look on his face when Gemma Kane told us this little psychic tidbit was priceless. I’d never seen the blood drain out of anyone’s face quite that quickly before. I was sure he’d hand the baby over to me and make a run for it like he usually does. Not this time. He gazed at Chelsea, caressed her tiny hand and cooed back at her. She snuggled closer and promptly fell asleep. He held her for a few more moments, his eyes closed with a strange ecstasy then he sighed and placed her into my arm.

I was again surprised. Always before, she’d wake up immediately and begin howling when she left Antony’s arms. But this time, her little eyes opened and she snuggled closer to me and fell back asleep. Maybe all she wanted was for Antony to know who she was?

And Antony … my heart went out to him as he handed her over. His sad smile and brimming eyes betrayed a depth of emotion he’d never shown before. I reached up and stroked his cheek. “Antony …”

“Do not trouble yourself,” he said quietly as he took my hand. “The child will be fine now.” He gave my hand a squeeze before he let go and walked away.

BEN

I always get ready for a job the same way. Quiet. Thinking. Inside my head I hear the bible quotes like a song over and over and over again. I take a pencil and I draw. Always.

Today I drew a face. I wasn’t lookin’ at it, I was remembering it. Tracy never struck me as a memorable woman. She seemed like any woman I could’ve come across in any place or time. Guess I was kinda wrong about that, because there wasn’t a line or shape or color on her face I can’t remember perfectly. When I finished the drawing, I looked at it and sighed, set it on the dresser and looked around. The Biebe’s have been good to me. They’d all been good to me. It wasn’t their fault I can’t be content with their kinda life. If I was ever gonna stop doin’ what I do best, it would’ve taken something big. Something stronger than me … it would’ve taken Tracy to change my ways. She’s gone, and so will I be … sooner than you all think.

I drove around the block a couple times, waited patiently and finally found a parking place right in front. I used the fancy dancy key thing to lock the vehicle without turning the engine off. I wanted it warmed and running when I ran out with the take.

I stepped inside, looked around at the space I knew well. Then it suddenly wasn’t the bank I’d been casing for weeks. I wasn’t inside a building at all. In front of me was the shattered strong box and the dead body of Tommy Darden. My hand still tingled from the ‘Hand of God’. Three of my men were packing the railroad payroll into saddlebags. I blinked, almost gasped with surprise. Damn, could I be so lucky? Could I be catapulted back where I belong? I could feel the desert winter chill in the air, the heat of the thrilling take, even McElroy’s eyes on my back.

“Listen up!”

I blinked to the shout. It ricocheted off the walls of the bank and I blinked again, right back where I started. The man who’d shouted was wearing one of those ski masks I seen people wear when they go off to the slopes. He was holding a pistol and aiming at the ceiling. My eyes shot around the space. Two more men with their face covered. Two more pistols. Beside me was the old bank security guard. He stood from his chair, trembling, his fingers shaking so hard he couldn’t release the snap to get at his own weapon, poor old bastard.

“Everyone, down on the floor!” Shouted the man near the teller cages and everyone in the place began to drop. I moved behind the old guard while he grunted to his knees. Making like I too was going to the floor, I slid my hand to his hip, released the snap and grabbed the pistol. Back on my feet I shot the first shot at the floor near the door.

Screams and gasps, all three standing, masked men turned to me, but I looked at the head man. That fucker was trying to rob my bank! “Put the gun down,” I said, real calm and easy like.

“On the floor!” He shouted and lowered his pistol toward me. It took less than the blink of an eye. I shot two more times. Took out the boss with a blast to his shoulder and the man at my right in the leg. Then I squared the barrel at the one right in front of me. I tilted a glare, licked my lip and just watched him.

He slowly dropped his gun and fell to his face, his hands covering his head as alarms blared and people cheered. I drew in a deep breath and reached down to the old codger at my feet. Helping him up, the trembling guard almost hugged me. Goddamn, what had I done?

Sheriff Mike was the first one to charge inside and before I could turn and get the hell outta there, tellers and managers, patrons and cops were all surrounding me. Was I done for? Didn’t look like it.

The sheriff pushed close and clapped a hand on my shoulder. “Wade? Damn, you just came to Stowe and already you’re the goddamn town hero!” He laughed as his uniformed men took away the men and medical people handled the one with a bleeding leg. Me? A hero? What the hell?

KIM

Bloody hell. How had this thing gotten so far out of hand?

It was nine PM and I sat in my room just staring at the computer screen. I had pulled up the chat room’s website and I was faced with this huge dilemma; do I come clean to Emily and tell her that I’m really the man she had been waiting to meet, or do I send her a message as NYSE411 and make up some crazy story about being abducted by aliens as the reason why I stood her up last night? I didn’t want to lie to her, but the thought of her thinking that I’m actually someone else, Delbert Clayton Ambrose, of all people, just kills me.

I can see the humor in this whole situation. Just barely. See, I know of Delbert Ambrose. His father and Uncle run one of the biggest advertising firms in Manhattan and he’s a total trust fund prat. He was linked to Paris Hilton for about twenty minutes and he’s made a habit of dating tall leggy blondes with similar trust fund backgrounds. The guy is a complete joke, and here my Emily is under the mistaken delusion that he’s the one she’s been chatting with for the past several weeks.

This calls for evasive action. I’m not sure what I’ll do yet, but I’ll be dammed if this Ambrose jerk is going to come between us.

Oh shit. What am I saying? Me and Emily?

Damn, I’ve been such a bloody fool.

JOHN

Ten PM. I sat alone in the apartment. It was dead quiet; I hadn’t even turned on the hockey game. Riles had gone across the hall to visit with Natalie and Jack. It had been eerily quiet over there all evening and I think she really wanted to check up on the babies. Our little one was sound asleep in bed and my mind was spinning with what happened at the vineyard.

It was too fucking weird. Too real. There wasn’t one of my five senses that wasn’t intensely and completely affected by those few moments back in my other life. What the fuck was up with that? Most of that shit I haven’t even thought about for years. Everything in my life has been taken up with my marriage to Riley, our Inn, our little family. This is my life. Why would something so vivid shoot through my mind like that? I don’t really miss that life or those times. I’ve moved on, hell, what other choice did I have? But this is so good. So solid and secure and fulfilling. I swear to God I almost feel like I’m betraying the things I truly love by even having that … that … whatever it was. God sakes, it gave me the fucking willies.

There was a knock at the door. I didn’t lock it, and even if I did, Riles has a key. It had to be someone else. But at ten o’clock at night, who the fuck would come visiting?

I pulled opened the door and looked straight into the eyes of that fucking producer from that fucking television show. I leaned against the doorjamb and gave the kid one of my best what the fuck do you want looks. He was one interesting looking guy. He was as tall as me, broader in the chest like he worked out a lot. His eyes were blue-green and his hair, well let me tell you about his hair. Talk about punk. It was dark, short on one side and long at the other. It stuck up in the back. He wore a gold earring and one … strangely familiar expression. A kinda smart ass expression I couldn’t quite place.

“Are you John Biebe?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

“My name is Cory – ”

“Yeah I know who you are … that damn TV show producer. What do you want?”

He cleared his throat, looked hard at me and I felt myself straighten, ready for a slug to the gut or something. “Mr. Biebe,” he said quietly. “My name is Cory Wendell White and my grandfather was Bud White. I wonder if we can talk for a bit.”