contrary, the family never gave up hope that Victoria Danforth would someday return home. Given those heartbreaking circumstances, Heather didn’t know how Toby’s parents were able to let him out of their sight.
Thousands of miles out of sight.
A bump in the road and a flash of black alpaca tore Heather from her present-day contemplations to the sight of a woman keening beneath the big oak tree. Heather’s heartbeat slammed into a wall as their gazes collided. Time and distance dissolved as those black eyes bore into her. There was no mistaking the same specter that accosted her in the dark hallways of Twin Oaks. Nor could Heather ever forget the chilling edict she issued from the grave.
“You found your way back,” she mused, recalling her conversation with Michael Whittaker.
“I like to think that I always will,” Toby rejoined.
Heather didn’t bother explaining that her comment hadn’t been intended for him. She pointed out the window and, with an urgency that caught him off guard, said, “Tell me what you see over there.”
He sighed before responding.
“My past.”
The mysterious figure was gone.
With Dylan peacefully dozing, it seemed as good a time as any to ask Toby what he knew about the family ghost. He looked surprised when she broached the subject but did not disregard her inquiry out of hand.
“Stories have circulated for years about the spirit of a young woman hired as a governess to Hiram Danforth’s children shortly after he built his mansion in the 1890s. All that’s really known about her is that her name was Miss Carlisle and she was tragically killed on her way to Crofthaven when the carriage overturned in the dark just before she arrived.”
Toby paused to gauge Heather’s reaction before continuing. He reached out to take both her hands in his and found them to be the temperature of ice.
“She’s supposedly buried beneath that big oak tree over there.”
The blood drained from Heather’s face. She didn’t need to check any archives to know he was telling her the truth. It settled in her bones with a chill. She felt a connection between herself and the governess. Miss Carlisle had deliberately sought her out to offer advice as one caregiver to another. Whether one called herself a governess or a nanny made no difference.
“She spoke to me,” Heather said in a small voice.
Toby offered her the warmth of his embrace, and she accepted it as eagerly as one shivering from the cold would wrap herself in a blanket. She was only vaguely aware of the fact that they had left the grounds of the Crofthaven estate.
“Do you think she might be trying to take possession of my body?”
Feeling her tremble, Toby gave her a comforting smile. His siblings and cousins used to scare the willies out of him with tales of the mysterious Miss Carlisle, and he didn’t want to make light of the question. Nor did he want her to worry needlessly.
“From everything I’ve ever heard or read, she’s a benevolent spirit who never travels too far from Crofthaven.”
“Thank you for not thinking I’m crazy,” Heather whispered in his ear before settling her head against his broad shoulder.
The rest of the trip to the airfield was uneventful. Savannah invited one to settle back and enjoy the verdant views. Heather couldn’t help but contrast the lush vegetation to the drought conditions the West was experiencing. Here seeds needed only to be deposited by a gentle wind to take root and thrive in fertile soil. Back home, farmers had to work hard to scratch out a living from earth alternately baked, then frozen by elements that drove off all but the hardiest—and most persistent—individualists. Heather’s father looked down his nose at those earning a living by the sweat of their brow, claiming that farming in the state of Wyoming was fundamentally a ceremonial occupation.
Toby reached across the seat to take Heather’s hand into his own, sending an all-too-familiar frisson vibrating through her body. The goose bumps Miss Carlisle raised along her arms a moment ago disappeared as warmth washed over her in an equally disconcerting fashion. Heather took a moment to study the hand that enveloped hers. Strong yet gentle and marked by manual labor, Toby’s hands did not look like those of a gentleman rancher whom her father might possibly approve. James Burroughs could probably forgive her daughter’s employer his rough hands and individualistic mind- set in exchange for a taste of Danforth name recognition and social prominence.
As much as Heather wanted children someday, she was grateful that Josef had not left her with a baby to raise alone—like Abraham Danforth apparently had done to some poor woman half a world away. Heather would have had little choice but to remain dependent upon her parents’ charity to make ends meet. And such charity on their behalf would undoubtedly come with shackles, rather than strings attached.
She looked up into a pair of eyes as blue as the sky that was to carry them home. Unspoken promise glittered in the depth of those eyes. Her breath caught in her throat. Was it possible that not all men were like Josef or her father?
“We should talk,” Toby said.
Heather wondered how he had read her mind. His voice was a caress. It may as well have been her heart and not her hand that Toby squeezed so reassuringly. The very tenderness of his demeanor was her undoing. She hadn’t slept the night of the fund- raiser, wondering if he would ask her to resign her position. Now, remembering how she had responded so wantonly to his advances, she wondered if he might propose a more carnal relationship that had nothing to do with her job at all.
Heather reminded herself to proceed with caution. Experience taught her that one’s personal dignity is a precious commodity. As such, it shouldn’t be gambled away recklessly. The repercussions were often more insidious than one might first imagine.
She was curious to see how Toby’s uncle Abraham was going to handle the scandal to which she was privy. As with the question of where her relationship with Toby was headed, she knew it was only a matter of time before things came to a head.
“Talk?” she repeated dully. “About what?” Her voice sounded scratchy. Raw.
“About us.”
As much as Heather appreciated Toby’s candor, she was surprisingly grateful to see the airfield come into view. It was an unusual way to cure her fear of flying.
“Couldn’t it wait until we’re on board and Dylan’s asleep?”
“I suppose that would be wise,” Toby conceded with a sigh.
Heather couldn’t know that he was thinking back to all the discussions that Sheila postponed, always promising that things would get better without ever really hashing through the tough issues. She heard only the resignation in Toby’s voice and assumed that the conversation he wanted to broach was not going to be pleasant. If it would make things easier on him, she could always quit.
Even if it meant giving up a job and a family she was coming to love.
Farewells in Heather’s family were brief and dispassionate. The contrast between what she was used to and the tearful goodbyes Toby’s relatives exchanged before they were allowed to board Abraham Danforth’s private jet were startling. Ever vigilant about not intruding upon Toby and Dylan’s private lives, Heather hastened
