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Pictures of a burned-out vineyard flashed on the TV as a reporter read something off her paper about a freak lightning storm hitting the area.
My cup crashed to the floor, spilling my morning tea. “No, no, no. This cannot be happening.” Desperate to learn more, I searched for the remote. But by the time I raised the volume, the story had passed. “Dammit!” I tossed the thing back onto the couch, slamming the cushions beside me.
I’d had prophetic dreams in the past, dreaming of something that came true the next day. But not like this. It couldn’t be. The night Roarke and I just shared in Italy couldn’t possibly have anything to do with this. Could it?
I yanked on my boots, pulling them snug beneath my plain housedress, then grabbed a sweater from the hook by the door. I needed to see if Keelyn had found any other books that mentioned the Weaver and get back to my research as initially planned.
I started down the path that would lead me to town, noting the various animals scurrying throughout the woods. Squirrels rushed to add to their winter stockpiles, while bright-red cardinals flitted among the trees. My forest was alive no matter what time of year it was.
“Milly, if you’re ever unsure, you can always look to the trees. Animals know when there is danger about, so all you need to do is open your eyes and watch for their signs.”
Mama’s words floated through my mind like a wisp of wind, bringing me back to balance with a single gust. While my imagination might be on high alert, there was no danger here.
Slowing to a comfortable pace, I meandered down the path, reaching the library a little after nine.
“Hi, Milly. It’s good to see you again so soon. I didn’t expect you until later in the week.”
I was surprised by Keelyn’s words. “You were expecting me?”
Her kind smile made her ice-blue eyes sparkle as if they were hiding a secret. “Yes, well, since you asked me to do a little more digging on any books containing the word weaver, I figured you’d be back to check on my progress.”
Great! We were on the same page. “Did you find anything?” My words came out too loud, a man in the corner shushing me.
Keelyn laughed under her breath. “Not yet, but I haven’t stopped looking. Why don’t you come by the house on Thursday for book club? I’ll hopefully have something for you by then.”
I looked around the library, nervous at the idea of being around so many people. Thankfully, Keelyn knew me all too well.
“Don’t worry. There won’t be a lot of people there this week. We’ve just finished a book not many of us liked, so I don’t expect too many readers to stop by.”
My heart returned to a normal pace, and I nodded my agreement.
“Fantastic! I’ll be sure to prepare some of my yogurt cakes using the remaining currants I have from last year.”
“Sounds good. I’ll see you then.” I gave Keelyn a small wave goodbye, proud of myself for accepting her invitation, then left the library with food on my mind. I still had to plan for the dinner I was supposed to cook Roarke tonight but had no idea how to begin.
Would the ingredients I wanted to use just appear at his cabin, or would he provide the items he wanted me to cook?
“Dammit, I should have asked more questions,” I reprimanded myself.
“What’s that now? For once, Keelyn didn’t have the answers you seek?” A deep voice sounded from over my shoulder, and I spun around.
Peter O’Toolle was strolling down the sidewalk, his light-brown hair almost as disheveled as I’d left it in the barn all those years ago.
“Hello, Peter. How are you?” I asked plainly.
“I’m good, Milly. How are you?” His eyes dipped to the concrete, staring at his feet as they always did.
I studied him, realizing that seeing him now didn’t have the same effect on me as it usually did. Being with Roarke had changed me already. I felt like a woman. Almost a queen.
I lifted my head and met his stare, emboldened by a confidence I rarely felt around others. “Did you need something?” I asked, not intending to be rude but honestly wondering what he was doing here in the middle of the day.
“No. I’m just waiting for Jess.” He tipped his chin toward the library’s front door.
Jessica Craven was the second girl Peter slept with when we were younger and had gone on to become his wife.
“We’re having a baby.” He shuffled his feet. “She’s looking for some pregnancy books inside.”
The words were like a blow to my chest, a hard thud cracking a rib. I wasn’t jealous, but one thought blasted through my head: Being the Weaver’s queen, will I ever have the chance to have kids?
