bad taste aside, the place was completely quiet. The bed and the couch were both quite comfortable. As Cheryl had warned, there was no cell signal here. With more than a touch of relief, Miranda turned off her cell and stored it in a bedroom drawer. She hadn’t realized how much she’d needed to get away until she’d walked into the isolated cabin and felt a rush of something like peace. Her friends had recognized her need for rest before she had, but she could no longer deny it. She probably wouldn’t need to call on a driver at all this week. She was going to sleep late and nap and read and go to bed early. There was no television, so she wouldn’t be inundated with the bad news of the world. No politics, no disasters, no sad stories—as long as she could ignore the bits of news that would be sure to pop up when she checked her e-mail on the laptop. For one week, everything beyond this mountain could wait.
She wasn’t even worried about the psycho up the road. Roger had explained that Brennus Korbinian owned a real estate brokerage and his own construction company. Her brief glimpse of him as he’d driven by in his expensive truck had soothed her somewhat. Korbinian was younger than she’d expected a crotchety loner to be, and though she had not gotten a really good look at his face she’d seen longish black hair and one sharply defined jaw. He was just a rich guy with a weird name who was annoyed that he couldn’t own this entire mountain. He wasn’t a psycho, though he was a spoiled brat, and he wouldn’t ruin her week of rest. She probably wouldn’t see him again, unless she happened to be sitting on the small front porch as he drove by. As there was absolutely no reason for her to sit on the tiny front porch when out back there was a large deck with a fabulous view, she was quite sure she’d had her first and last glimpse of him.
Since ghosts usually remained near the site where they’d died, perhaps she’d even have a quiet week where her ability was concerned. This place was isolated, not all that easy to get to and sparsely inhabited. She needed a rest from the ghosts she spoke to much more than she needed a rest from people. The spirits she spoke to had no sense of time and were likely to pop in at any time, usually at two or three in the morning while she was trying to sleep, if she happened to be within a few miles of the site of their deaths. Their emotions and demands drained her. Maybe here, so far from any highly populated area—
“I thought you would never get here!”
Miranda spun around and found an older woman sitting in the rocking chair near the cold fireplace. Ghosts were not usually so substantial that they looked real; not since Jessica’s appearance after death had Miranda seen a spirit so solid. “Who are you?” Best to find out what the ghost wanted and send her on her way. Otherwise, the plan for a week of rest had just gone out the window. Miranda waited to be assaulted with anger or sadness or confusion, which was normal in these instances. The ghosts who came to her always wanted something from her.
Instead, she was surprised to feel awash in love and peace, in spite of the harsh words. The dark-haired woman sitting in the rocking chair smiled. “He has been waiting for you. He just doesn’t realize it.”
“Who…?” Miranda began, but before she could continue the ghost disappeared. The sensations of love and peace were gone in an instant, just as the ghost was gone.
Miranda swore under her breath. So much for her week of rest! “You’d better let me sleep tonight,” she mumbled, staring at the empty chair.
It was well after dark when Bren climbed onto the deck railing, naked and curious and a little annoyed. Behind him the house was unlit. No lamps shone to illuminate and reveal his secret to any who might be watching. There was only the moon above, and its light was not enough to fight against the complete and deep darkness of his mountain.
Down the hill bright lights burned in the cabin that was a blight on his life. Who was the woman? Why was she here? Was she there alone or had Talbot and his son remained, too? Bren found that even now, hours after he had glimpsed her, he wanted a thorough look at her face. More than that, he’d been thinking of her and wondering why she was here since he’d walked into the house, annoyed after seeing Talbot at the cabin.
Perhaps he would see and know more with the senses of the raven than he did as a man. In the form he hid from the world he would fly around the cabin, peer through the windows with 154 eyes, and maybe he would finally understand why he had not been able to get the blonde out of his mind.
Maybe he’d get a close look at her and realize she was not so pretty and tempting, after all.
Bren dropped from the railing and burst, and as a flock of ravens he swooped toward the cabin. He caught the wind with his wings, he became a part of the night air and he flew. There was no other freedom like this one, no feeling to compare to gliding through the sky.
The lights of the cabin appeared to be brighter than they had through human eyes, and he felt the woman’s presence more strongly than before. Even in this form, he was pulled toward her as if by a powerful magnet. She was alone in the cabin; he knew it long before he swooped down and saw that Talbot’s car was gone from the driveway. He felt the presence of the woman in a way he had never felt another; her heartbeat was in tune with his. He could feel and hear her breath even from here, and if he could he would gladly fly through her window and encompass her, caressing her with the tips of silky black wings and studying her face with many eyes.
The flock swooped down and circled the cabin, and Bren glimpsed the interior through the cabin windows. Some of the curtains were closed, but the large sliding glass door that looked over the mountain was uncovered, for who could possibly see into the cabin from that vantage point?
The blonde sat on the couch with a book in her hand, legs drawn up beneath her, hair falling over half her face, a crocheted afghan across her lap. As he watched she lifted her head, alerted by the sound of wings that caught the air, or else by the same instinct that called him here. She looked into the night, into him, and Bren felt as if he’d been pierced by blue eyes.
The woman dropped her book to the couch and stood, and wrapping the afghan around her shoulders, she walked to the sliding glass door. Bren did not make a hasty escape but remained where he was, circling the cabin, watching her through ravens’ eyes, unable to tear himself away. What was it about her that called to him so strongly? It was more than her beauty, more than his curiosity, more than the fact that he’d been too long without a woman in his bed.
She was curious, too. Hearing him but surely unable to see much in the dark of night, she opened the sliding glass door and stepped outside. The deck was accessible only from the house so she felt safe enough, he imagined. She’d heard something, perhaps felt something, and had come outside to explore.
She stepped to the railing and looked into the night sky, catching sight of the assemblage of birds, which moved in unison, which moved as one. Instead of being alarmed by their number and their closeness, she smiled.
Miranda watched the big black birds fly before the brilliant orb that was the moon. The mountains, the moon, the birds. Before her was a heart-stopping picture unlike any she had ever seen before, beautiful and unexpected. She was a city girl, and sights like this one were unknown to her.
She had no pets at home, and if she ever did decide to get one, she wouldn’t choose anything as exotic as a bird. But she did have a soft spot for ravens, always had. Maybe a story or poem she’d read long ago had stuck with her, maybe some past image had been planted in her brain, because she couldn’t resist the rare knickknack or book where ravens were concerned. Over the years her collection had grown. It was no wonder she was fascinated with the birds. They were dangerous and elegant, impressive and puzzling, intelligent and savage. And beautiful.
Soon she’d make her way to bed, but for now she found herself enjoying the night air and the ravens, the peace and quiet and the absence of ghosts—the
