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“Bea’s because she’s linked through my grandfather.” I smacked my head with my palm. “Oh my gosh…”
“What?”
“If Bea and I share the same grandfather, we’re cousins.” I smacked my head. “Which is why Aunt Rosie includes Bea at family suppers.”
“And you thought you didn’t have any family.”
“What a tangled web our ancestors wove.” As the family connections became clear, I grabbed his arm. “Luke.”
“What?”
“You’re descended from Marianna, right?”
“We knew that.” He gave me a puzzled smile. “So…?”
“So, I’m descended from Mateo.” I waited for the connection to click.
“What’s your point?”
“Four generations later, Marianna and Mateo are together…again…” I gazed into his eyes, not seeing the man before me, but what he represented—the love of Marianna’s life. Wow. “Do you think…” I broke off, too embarrassed by my thoughts to continue.
“What?” The corners of his eyes creased in a suspicious smile. “After learning all we did today, you might as well drop another bombshell on me.”
“No.” Shaking my head, I glanced away. “The idea’s too far-fetched.”
“Try me.” He gently turned me toward him.
“Do you think there’s any connection between the dime, the ball, the slamming doors”—as I spoke, more incidents came to mind—“the dreams, the face in the mirror, and the feathers…?” I peeked through my lashes, watching his response.
“Obviously, you do.” His slow smile lit up his face, and a curl dangled onto his forehead.
As if a cue, an overpowering urge seized me. I stared at the ringlet, wanting to brush it back before running my fingers through his hair, slipping my arms around his neck, pulling him close, and kissing his full lips.
Then, Cody’s face flashed before me, counteracting the heat flushing through my body. I straightened my spine. “I…uhm…I can’t help but believe Marianna is somehow linked to these events.”
“Why?” He blinked.
“Why would she be linked, or why would I think she is?” How long are his eyelashes?
“Why would you think so?”
“What if she wants to recreate her love with Mateo…through us?” Inexplicably drawn to his expressive eyes, I leaned toward him. His lips so close, I felt his breath. A chill passed through me, and I shuddered as a fluttering tickled the pit of my stomach. What is wrong with me?
With a dismissive laugh, I squared my shoulders and tilted away. “I told you the idea was ridiculous.” Why this attraction? My mind moved in one direction, while my body moved in the other. Gripped by an overwhelming desire to feel those persuasive lips on mine, I drifted toward him, aching for his touch. With a rush of adrenaline, my pulse spiked, and my breathing became jagged. I discreetly dried my moist palms on my thighs as I imagined his arms embracing me.
My mind in a fog, a dim thought took shape. Is this love or lust? Or is this urge something less corporeal? “I…uhm…I’d better take the puppy out.” Swallowing hard, I jumped off the stool and gave a sharp whistle. “Come on, Teddy.”
Luke’s jaw hung loose, as if my hasty exit surprised him. “What about dinner?”
****
Alone in my cabin, I reran the recent events while I organized the journals chronologically.
Why am I so physically attracted to Luke? Recalling the butterflies and heart palpitations, I snickered. The sensations are real, but the urges are so sporadic and impulsive, it’s as if they’re external. Am I somehow being manipulated? And if so, by whom?
The more I sorted through my thoughts, the more questions surfaced. We’re moving so quickly…too quickly. We met just weeks ago, yet we spend every waking moment together. I took a deep breath. Maybe that’s the problem. Maybe it’s time to get a car and move to El Paso…put enough distance between us to know what’s real and what isn’t.
As I reordered the journals, a yellowed envelope fell out, and I caught my breath. Grandma’s handwriting. Addressed to Mr. Matthew Taylor, it was unopened and marked Return to Sender. I traced the 1966 postmark with my finger, then carefully opened the envelope.
