“Judith Cavanaugh enjoys the latest inventions and often
has gatherings at her home. She invites scientists and inventors
to expound upon their work in front of her friends. That does
not make her a scientist.” He paced around the room as he
instructed her, waving his index finger in the air to punctuate
his remarks. Mica noticed that even in his outrage his body
still had little more substance than a shadow.
Mica couldn’t keep quiet. “This is too much. We’re talking
about more than one hundred fifty years from your time!”
“Nevertheless,” Logan continued, “principles regarding
women are unbendable. Elizabeth loves to grow things. She
and John have the largest hothouse in Cameron. She often
supplies her friends with flowers for winter balls when there is
no other way to get the variety.” He spun around to pierce her
with his gaze. “That in no way makes her a tradesman.” He
said the word with such a condescending air, Mica refrained
from correcting him by saying tradeswoman.
“In other words, if I work at a law firm, you think I can
only be a secretary?”
“If you are to convince me you have an occupation in this
time, then yes. A secretary would be, if not believable, at least
more plausible than being a lawyer. How could your father
allow you to pursue such an unsafe profession?”
Logan appeared adamant about this, and Mica wondered
if his thinking had more to do with the attitudes of his day than
he was letting on. “I thought you were more progressive than
that, Logan,” she said.
Her comment seemed to surprise him and he looked
chagrin. “I will admit I admire your choice of careers and your
desire to help the downtrodden, but surely you don’t want to
associate with the dredges of society?”
Mica frowned. There were definitely things she would
change when she returned to Indigo Bay, and Logan’s attitude
was just a start. As quickly as the thought came, her anger
deflated, knowing their love could never be untangled. It wasn’t
just a difference in attitude.
Logan must have sensed her inner struggle, because his
voice calmed as he said, “Michaela Marie, you should not
have to work. You should be taken care of, pampered, given
your heart’s desire.”
“You don’t really believe me, do you?”
“I believe you are the most desirable woman I know, and
the most beautiful. I believe the mystery surrounding you is
part of your appeal, but I doubt I would desire you less if I
knew every detail of your past.”
It was probably fortunate the phone rang at that time,
startling Logan and giving Mica time to collect her thoughts.
“Mr. Whitney? Yes,” Mica glanced at the clock. “I didn’t
realize you worked so early. No, it’s an inside door, but it must
be repaired immediately. Fine, I’ll meet you at the front door.”
She turned to give Logan the news, but found his gaze intent
on the phone that sat on the table.
“Amazing. You talked into that...telephone, and the
locksmith will come and do as you request?”
“Well, he’ll come, anyway, in just a few minutes. He was
on the way to work when he got my message, so will stop here
first. We’ll have to keep our fingers crossed that he can do
what needs to be done.”
“Keep our fingers crossed?”
“Just an expression. Look, I’m going to make some coffee.”
She glanced his way while heading for the kitchen, but then
stopped and stared. The first pale light of morning streamed
through the French doors, and for a moment she couldn’t see
him at all.
“Logan?” His name caught in her throat as she watched
the shimmering light particles move to the side of the doorway.
Even with the wall behind him, his shape was less defined
and much more transparent than it had been earlier. She had no
trouble reading the depth of anguish on his face. Panic squeezed
her heart that they may not have enough time to return him
before he became only a memory.
He turned to the light for an instant, then back towards
her. “Michaela, I must go...soon. I want to feel the wind in my
face and the rich earth sifting through my fingers.” He held out
“I know.” At that moment, the outside entrance buzzer
sounded, and Mica silently said thanks that the locksmith must
have been close by, perhaps answering her call from a cell
phone. “Please, stay here. I can’t take a chance the professor’s
alarm will sound again.” She paused with her hand on the knob.
“I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
She couldn’t say that perhaps the door couldn’t be fixed
and he’d be stuck on this side—the side where she was alive
but he couldn’t exist.
Luckily, Anna hadn’t awakened with the buzzer. Mica
quietly let the repairman in and guided him upstairs.
“If you could work quietly since it’s still so early, I would
appreciate it. We have guests, you know.”
The locksmith nodded his gray head in agreement as he
knelt to examine the lock. “It doesn’t appear to have damaged
the lock itself. Someone mostly dug at the surrounding area a
bit.”
“Can it be fixed, exactly as it was before?” Mica’s nails
dug grooves into her palms as she waited his answer.
“Why exactly as it was?”
“Well, because it has to be the same...to...” What? To allow
her to use a key that opens a door to the past? She remembered
what Anna had told her. “Everything is of the Georgian period.
It must be the same to keep the symmetrical appearance of the
house.”
“That’s what your Aunt said when she had the same
problem some forty years ago.” He shook his head and turned
back to the door, digging into his toolbox. “Must be where all
the family skeletons are kept.” He chuckled to himself as though
he had made a great joke.
Mica gaped at the back of his head, unable to form any
kind of reply at all. Aunt Theo had known forty years ago?
“I see the key is missing now, too, just like back then.
Don’t see why a door needs fixed when there’s no key, but I
suppose you know the answer to that.” Without waiting for a
reply, he concentrated on his work. “I don’t need nobody
looking over my shoulder when I work, Miss, so I’ll just knock
on your door when I’m done.”
Mica returned to her apartment, sending up a silent prayer
that the locksmith could repair the damage before it was too
late. She entered quietly to find Logan staring out the window,
unaware of her return. She had done what she could. Now all
they could do was wait. She slipped into her room, grabbed
some clean clothes and started a shower.
“How novel. I thought we had progressed as far as possible
with indoor plumbing.” Logan commented from close by.
Mica squawked at the sound of his voice. �
��I swear you’ll
be the death of me,” she commented, sticking her shampooed
head around the edge of the shower curtain.
Logan stood, arms crossed and leaning against the door
frame, looking terribly masculine and out of place in her aunt’s
dainty bathroom, even in his current indistinct form. His heated
gaze steamed the tepid water that ran down her back, causing
her temperature to rise.
She knew he couldn’t see through the opaque curtain, but
she still felt his energy caress her slick skin. Knowing there
was nothing she could do about the sensations which coursed
through her body—at least not until they were back at Indigo
Bay—she jerked the curtain closed and rinsed her hair.
“I’d offer to share my shower, but in your condition I don’t
think it would do any good.”
“I’m afraid I have more than one condition which requires
attention, but it will have to wait until your telephone man has
fixed the lock.” His voice, clearly frustrated, still carried enough
sexual innuendo to make her shiver with anticipation.
Mica’s thoughts ran along similar lines, so she could
understand his frustration. She changed the subject. “He’s not
a telephone man, he’s a repairman,” she said as she pulled her
wrapper on behind the curtain then stepped out of the tub.
“He talked through the telephone.”
“Everyone does that.” She shook out her hair and stood
before the mirror to brush it, looking for Logan’s shadowy
“Just like everyone drives these automobiles and airplanes
you spoke of?”
“Automobiles, yes, but not airplanes.”
“Why not?” His brow lifted in question. Before Mica could
formulate a reply, the doorbell rang.
“Good, he’s done.” She hurried past Logan. While his
ghostlike existence meant she couldn’t touch him, she still felt
his presence as she moved to the door.
“Could you fix it?” she asked even as she swung the door
open. Her shoulders sagged when she saw who stood on the
other side, and she tried to slam the door shut. But it bounced
back open.
“What are you doing here, Richard?” Her voice a
monotone, she realized she had overcome all her feelings for
the man except anger.
“Why, I’ve come to see you, darling.” Richard moved
quickly into the apartment before Mica could again slam the
door in his face. He wrapped his arms around her as though
happy to see her, which Mica knew was not the case. There
could be only one reason he would travel to Sea Crest, which
he confirmed the next instant.
“You closed our accounts, Michaela. That wasn’t very
nice.”
She wiggled out of his embrace only to turn straight into
Logan. The amazement on his face registered as quickly as her
fear of Richard’s discovering him there. Richard appeared
unconcerned, as though he couldn’t even see him. Mica tilted
her head to the side, considering that possibility.
“Say something,” she whispered to Logan.
“Who the hell is that?” he snarled as Richard reached for
her again. She spun around and sidestepped, searching
Richard’s face for any sign that he’d heard Logan. All she saw
was anger at her evasiveness.
“Where’d you put the money?” Richard grabbed her arm
and squeezed, but she stood firm, a smile lifting the corners of
her mouth.
“He can’t see you,” she said over her shoulder to Logan.
“Who can’t see me? The banker?” Richard shook her, his
tone belligerent.
Mica clinched her teeth, her mind reliving all the horror of
their last year of marriage.
Logan growled, “Whether he can see me or not, if he
doesn’t let you go this instant, I’ll find a way to kill him.”
He stepped forward and surrounded her with his energy.
Suddenly Mica felt warm and protected, his strength seeping
into her and giving her courage.
“Richard, let go of me,” she said in a firm voice.
“Regardless of whether we’re outside of Charleston, I’m sure
you remember the judge’s warning.” His hand dropped to his
side, and she breathed a sigh of relief.
She had managed to keep the abuse factor out of the divorce
hearing, but she had had a private conversation with Judge
Wilson. He had assured her he would relay to Richard what
would happen if he ever touched her again.
Richard ran his hands through his hair. The action caused
Mica to become aware of things she had missed when he first
burst into her home. His clothes were disheveled, his hair
needed a trim, and his face looked puffy.
“Look, Mic, the restaurant went under, and I need funds.
You’re the one working for your father and getting a great salary,
so why won’t you share?” His tone pleaded with her for
leniency, but his eyes still held the anger she remembered.
Richard never could understand how hard she worked for what
she made. He actually thought she was just a figurehead and
her father gave her money whenever she wanted it.
“I’m already paying you plenty. There is no more.” She
tried to keep the quiver out of her voice. Taking deep breaths,
then exhaling slowly, she also tried to control her fear.
Richard moved slowly around the room, eyeing the
furnishings and fingering the draperies. Mica began to shake,
the breathing exercises not working this time.
Logan whispered in her ear. “Shh, take it easy. This man is
all bluff.”
“I’m afraid even though he looks kind of scruffy, he’s
anything but bluff.” She leaned back into Logan, aching for
the comfort she knew he could provide. Forgetting that he had
little form, she lost her balance and almost fell.
Richard turned back to her. “Perhaps I’ll just take a cut of
this nice little business. No, maybe I’ll just take it over for
you.”
“Sorry, but the divorce was final six months ago. You have
no claim to anything I acquire after that.”
“Always the lawyer, aren’t you?” His voice escalated as
he stalked toward her.
Logan’s voice came from the area of her desk. “Can’t you
use this telephone to contact the authorities?”
“Yes.” Relief flooded her. She had forgotten everything
except the menace her ex-husband posed.
“So, you’re seeing the light,” Richard said, giving her a
sinister smile.
“What?”
“You just said yes to a cut of this enterprise.”
“Like hell,” Mica swore as she moved to the phone.
“Michaela, such language.” Logan grinned as she stomped
towards him.
Mica looked from Logan to Richard and back, unable to
keep track of two conversations at one time. Especially when
one of the people talking didn’t know the other existed. Men!
Why had she ever thought she needed them? When her gaze
came back to Logan, though, she knew wh
y.
She gave a snort of exasperation as she pointed to Richard.
“You. Sit down and stay put.”
Turning to Logan, she hissed, “You, follow me,” then
stomped off to the tiny kitchen.
“Get me a beer while you’re in there,” Richard called after
her.
Mica’s eyes narrowed to a glare, but she bit back any retort
she considered making.
“Will you please be quiet and let me handle this?” she
chided Logan, her anger more about Richard’s appearance than
Logan’s comments.
“He hurt you. I could see it in your eyes.” When she offered
no response, he continued, “No gentleman has the right to abuse
a lady in any manner. Especially a lady of quality such as
yourself. I understand now why you divorced him.”
“Look, I’ll get him to leave, somehow.”
“I would prefer dragging him through the door with me,
and then shooting him for what he has put you through.”
His words were exactly what Mica needed to hear. By
offering her assurance and comfort, even though he
contemplated violence, he expressed his love and concern for
her. It gave her the courage to return to the living room.
With her hand on the phone, she said quietly, “Richard,
you will leave now and never return. If I have to, I’ll call the
police and have you removed.”
He stood and took a menacing step towards her. She picked
up the receiver, her finger poised to punch 911. She saw his
hesitation before he gave a casual shrug and turned away.
“You’ve changed, Mic, and not for the better.”
“Get out of my life.” She kept her voice quiet until the
door swung closed behind him. Then she added in a loud voice,
“I hate being called Mic!”
“Now what?” Logan questioned from the other side of the
room.
Mica watched as he raised a ghostly hand to the early
morning sun streaming through the window. He turned his hand
this way and that, a scowl on his face. She couldn’t begin to
imagine what he thought. When she crossed the time barrier,
she could still feel the sun on her face and could touch his
bronze skin. She cursed her stupidity in not making sure Logan
was away from the plantation when she tried to return.
As she rushed to her bedroom, she said, “I’ll dress and see
how the repairman is doing. Surely he’s done by now.”