And the smell of wood smoke and meat cooking, the hint of cinnamon and apple, the muffled crackle of the fire behind the door of the stove. Such things made home home, after all….
She froze, her eyes still closed, her body as tense as a stretched wire. Nothing was cooking, so why could she smell it? There was no fire, so why could she hear it?
Slowly she opened her eyes. For a moment, the room seemed to waver and her vision dimmed. A cast-iron stove, a fire in the raised hearth. Pies cooling on the wide windowsill, and the sun streaming in.
A blink, and it was gone. Tile and wood, the hum of the refrigerator.
Yet the scents remained, clear, strong. Like an echo deep in her mind, she thought she heard a baby’s fretful crying.
“All right, Rebecca,” she said shakily. “You wanted it. Looks like you’ve got it.”
Rising quickly, she darted into the living room. Amid the cozy chairs, the rocker, the books stacked haphazardly on shelves, was equipment. There’d been no temperature drop registered, but energy was crackling. She didn’t need a gauge to tell her, she could feel it. Electricity singing along her skin, bringing the hair on the nape of her neck stiffly up.
She wasn’t alone.
The baby was crying. With a hand pressed to her mouth, she stared at her recorder. Would she hear that piping wail on tape when she played it back? Upstairs, one of the bedroom doors closed quietly. She could hear the squeak and roll of a rocker over wood, and the crying died.
The baby’s being rocked, she thought, almost giddy with delight. Soothed, loved. That was what she felt through all the energy, all the excitement. Love, deep, abiding and rich. The house was alive with it.
Tears trailed down her cheeks as the warmth of it enfolded her.
When it was quiet again, when she was alone again, she picked up the recorder and reported. Back at her laptop, she detailed every instant of the event and copied it to disk.
Then she got a bottle of wine from the refrigerator and celebrated her success.
It was nearly midnight when Shane got back, and she was right where he’d left her. He’d vented most of his temper. No one had been much interested in a fight, but Devin had managed to joke him out of his foul mood.
He was afraid it might come back now that he was faced with her, sitting there smiling, her hair tousled from her hands, her glasses slipping down her nose.
“Don’t you ever quit?”
“I’m obsessive-compulsive,” she said, very carefully. “Hi.”
“Hi.” His brows drew together as he noted the flushed cheeks and sloppy grin. “What are you doing?”
“Nothing. I’ve been playing with the ghosts. They’re very friendly ghosts, much nicer than the Barlows.”
He came closer. There was a bottle of wine next to her computer, all but empty. And a glass half-full. He took another, closer look at her face and snorted out a laugh.
“You’re plowed, Dr. Knight.”
“Does that mean drunk? If so, I’m forced to agree with your diagnosis. I’m very, very, very drunk.” She lifted the glass, managed to sip without pouring it down the front of her shirt. “I don’t know how it happened. Prob’ly ’cause I kept drinking.”
Lord, she was cute, sprawled in the chair, her eyes all bright and glowing. Her smile was…well, he thought, stupid. It was satisfying to realize that she could be stupid about something.
“That’ll do it.” Gently he braced a finger under her chin to keep her head from wobbling. “Did you eat anything?”
“Nope. Can’t cook.” That was so funny she sputtered with laughter. “Hi.”
“Yeah, hi.” It was impossible to be angry with her now. She looked so sweet, and so incredibly drunk. He slipped the glasses the rest of the way off her nose and set them aside. “Let’s get you upstairs, baby.”
“Aren’t you going to kiss me?” With that, she slid gracefully from chair to floor.
With a good-natured oath, he reached down to pick her up. She might be drunk, but she had damn good aim. Her mouth fastened on his in a long, sucking, eye-popping kiss.
“Mmm…You’re so…tasty.” Riding on that taste, and on the wine swimming in her head, she flung out her arms to fasten them around his neck. “Come down here, okay? And kiss me again. It just makes my head go all funny, and my heart pound. Want to feel my heart pound?” She snatched his hand and slapped it over her breast. “Feel that?”
Yeah, he could feel it all right. “Cut it out.” His system was jangled, and he had to hold on to honor with a slippery fist. “You’re impaired, sweetie.”