“Please, Professor, you must come downstairs. If the wind
gets much worse, I can’t be responsible for your safety. The
trees, telephone poles...” Her voice trailed off, but her mouth
remained open.
The professor’s contraption glowed with lights. Every bulb
on the machine was blinking in a series of reds, greens or blues.
Fortunately, he had turned the volume down, but Mica couldn’t
stop staring in amazement. The closer he moved to the door,
the faster the lights blinked.
“There’s a great disturbance on the other side of that door.
The same sort I noticed weeks ago, only much stronger.”
“It’s probably just the weather,” Mica spoke to divert the
professor’s attention. She recalled the episode when Logan had
accidentally crossed over. She didn’t doubt the professor’s
machine could really detect spectral phenomena. Now she must
get him downstairs so she could investigate. Was Logan
standing on the other side of the door yearning for her? Waiting
for her?
“No, no, it’s not the storm, nor the electrical currents
generated by the lightning. Something horrendous is happening
beyond that door, and we must help!” He set the box down and
wrapped both hands around the doorknob, twisting and jerking
in an attempt to open it. “Where’s the key? There used to be a
key in this lock.”
Mica quickly slipped the key down the front of her shirt.
Nobody, not even the professor, could be allowed access to
Indigo Bay. She would protect it and its inhabitants with her
life. But if what the professor said was true, Logan was in
trouble.
Anna’s cry of alarm sounded from downstairs. Mica froze,
uncertain which direction to go. The manager’s next words
made her decision for her.
“Fire!” Anna’s cry became one of panic and Mica had no
choice. She was happy to note, however, that the professor
raced her to the stairs.
They came upon Harold and Anna slapping ineffectively
at a small flame on the edge of a throw rug. Mica grabbed the
fire extinguisher behind the desk and quickly doused the area.
It hadn’t been a large blaze, but Mica rounded on Harold, whose
red face tattled on him.
“What the hell were you thinking?” she shouted right in
his face.
“I’m terribly sorry. Naddie didn’t have enough light to see
the books, so I thought to light one of those small lamps to
help her out.” He shrank from Mica’s vicious glare.
“Of all the idiotic ideas. I told you not to disturb my
property.” She took a step forward, not sure that, at the moment,
she didn’t intend to do him bodily harm.
Nadine came to her husband’s defense as the professor led
a distraught Anna over to the couch. “My goodness, Ms.
Chadwick, it’s not like it was a raging inferno. Just a little
disturbance, that’s all.”
Raging inferno? Disturbance? That’s what had been written
in the—
“Where’s that journal?” Mica questioned the woman, her
voice brooking no argument.
Nadine gave her one, anyway. “Now see here, you have no
right to our book.”
“Where is it?” She spit the words, grabbing the woman by
the arm and shaking her with all her might.
“Here, here!” Harold thrust the book into her hands, forcing
her to let go of his wife, whom he cuddled as she feigned injury.
Mica ignored them as she frantically flipped through the
pages, searching for the passage she had read before. “Where
is it?” she mumbled, scanning the erratic handwriting.
“Not only does he have the land, but now the gold as
well...a raging inferno consumes all he holds dear. Then I
shall have my revenge!”
Dear God, she had given Neil yet another reason to covet
what belonged to Logan. No wonder it hadn’t made sense
before. She had read the journal entry before she had taken the
gold to Logan.
In court they would call it circumstantial evidence—a
journal with no dates or names, and nonsensical comments
about spectral disturbances from a professor who believed in
ghosts. Mica didn’t care, because this time she relied on her
heart. Racing up the stairs and stumbling in the dark, she
staggered down the hall. Fumbling for the key, her hands shook
so badly she had difficulty fitting it properly.
“Please, please, don’t let it be too late,” she begged. “Not
now. Not after I’ve finally learned to love.”
The door gave beneath her shoulder, and she fell through
the entrance, thick smoke immediately causing her to choke.
She slammed the door and dropped to her knees, though the air
wasn’t much easier to breathe. She held her shirttails up to
cover her mouth and nose.
“Logan,” she yelled as loudly as she dared, knowing that
to breathe too deeply would only make it more difficult.
Crawling on hands and knees, she checked every room as she
came to it.
The room in which she slept showed signs of a search.
Bed linens were strewn across the floor, and the draperies hung
at crooked angles against the windows. Apparently Neil thought
she lived permanently at Indigo Bay and he had searched her
room for the gold.
The smoke and heat intensified as Mica crept down the
hall. Though she shouted Logan’s name until her voice grew
hoarse, she could hear no response. Perhaps he had gotten out,
but Mica’s heart told her otherwise.
The study was shut tight, but smoke rolled from beneath
the door. She heard a timber crack and then thunder to the
floor somewhere within.
“Logan,” she shouted again as she reached for the door
handle. “Ouch! Damn it!” She jerked her hand back, blisters
already forming where the hot metal had bitten into her palm.
She couldn’t even conjure up enough spit to moisten it.
Rising to her knees, she wrapped the tails of her shirt around
her hand before attempting to touch the knob again. As she felt
the latch give, she dropped back to the floor and rolled up
against the wall. She had heard too many horror stories about
flash fires erupting when new oxygen became accessible.
A blast of bone-melting heat escaped when the door opened
further, and Mica was thankful for the wall’s thin protection.
When the smoke cleared a little, she cautiously peered around
the doorjamb. Flames cracked and sizzled, licking up the walls
to consume the wallpaper and timbers beneath.
The fire appeared contained along the outside wall of the
study, and Mica searched the floor and closer areas for signs
of life. This room, too, showed signs of invasion—Logan’s
precious law books laid helter-skelter on the floor, and papers
from his desk were scattered to become more fuel for the fire.
“Logan, I know you’re here somewhere. I can feel it.” She
crawled into the room, her gaze moving constantly in search
of him. The
n she heard a moan.
“Logan!” This time she shouted, scrambling to her feet as
she came around the back of the desk.
***
Logan tried to make sense of his world. His lungs burned,
the back of his skull felt like someone had cracked it wide
open, and a sharp pain invaded his right shoulder to travel down
his arm. Smoke and tears blurred his vision.
He thought perhaps Neil had gotten the best of him after
all, for kneeling beside him was the most beautiful angel he
would ever see. Her wet tears dropped to his face to become
balm for his soul.
“Michaela...Marie,” he croaked. “Ever the salvation of this
wretched soul, aren’t you?” He reached with his uninjured arm
to circle her neck and draw her closer. “Have you come to
gloat over what my stubborn pride has cost me?”
“You are stubborn,” she said, sobbing as she hugged him.
“But if there’s anything to gloat over, it’ll have to be done
later.”
She was tugging at his arm, trying to get him to his feet. At
her words, he became aware of the heat. He swiveled his head
to survey the damage, intense pain ricocheting inside his skull.
“Damnation!” Leaning heavily on her for support, Logan
managed to shift from his knees to his feet. When Michaela
grabbed his right wrist and tried to wrap his arm around her
shoulder in support, he cried out in agony.
“I’m sorry, but we’ve got to get out of here! I can’t call
911 to come to our rescue.”
As they shuffled over to the door, Logan didn’t have time
to wonder about her choice of words. It took all his strength
and willpower just to move his feet one in front of the other.
They entered the hallway, and he slumped against the wall,
unable to take another step. Black crept into the edges of his
vision, and he feared he would pass out.
“We must stop—just for a moment,” he wheezed, for the
smoke still captured in his lungs made it difficult to say the
simplest words.
“We can’t,” she replied. Her hands felt cool against his
cheeks as she cradled his head. Still, the black crept closer,
sucking the strength from his legs. He began to slide down the
wall.
“Look at me!” He couldn’t recall ever hearing such
determination in her voice before. “I love you, Thomas Logan
Rutledge, and I didn’t come back to you just to have you die on
me.”
Her words gave him strength, for he truly thought when
she left this afternoon he would never see her again. She had
become his world, more precious than the land he held so dear,
and more valuable than any gold she might give him.
Too late, he had gone in search of her. He would have
pleaded, begged on bended knee, for her to come back. Unable
to find her, he had gone to the music room, pleading his case
with his music. He had prayed she would hear, as she had before,
and return to his side.
Now, his angel had no mercy as she tugged him away from
the wall by his shirtfront, and together they stumbled down the
hallway.
Fortunately, Simon met them at the top of the stairs, and
between Michaela and him, Logan managed to get to the
bottom.
“Mister Logan, I got everyone out, but I thought you had
gone into town.” Simon informed him.
Logan had intended a visit with friends before Neil’s arrival,
and he had earlier told Simon not to wait dinner.
“It’s ... all right.” His voice cracked, and he coughed.
Once outside in the fresh air, Logan’s senses became more
tuned to his surroundings. He found his people already forming
a bucket brigade, but he seriously doubted anything could be
saved. Fortunately, a rain had begun to fall, and it would help
put out the flames. He had no strength to help. He could only
stand and watch the fire consume his home, and he hugged
Michaela tightly to his side.
“Thank the heavens you weren’t there when Neil returned,”
he told her, his voice harsh with emotion. He kissed her
forehead. Her solid presence felt so right.
“It was all my fault.”
Her whisper held anguish, and he hugged her tighter to let
her know he was all right.
“No, you’re not to blame. I should have listened to you
when you tried to warn me about Neil.” He sighed. “He wasn’t
satisfied with a share, nor was he willing to work for it. He
wanted it all and tried to kill me to get it.” Logan swiveled his
head, trying to release the tension and dull ache that still clung
to his brain.
A groomsman interrupted with a discreet cough. Logan
glanced over Michaela’s head to where the man stood, bathed
in wavering light from the fire.
“Excuse me for bothering you, Mister Logan, and I’m sorry
to be the bearer of bad news, but I thought you’d want to know.”
He nervously twisted and untwisted his felt hat.
“What is it?” Logan couldn’t think of any news worse than
watching his home burn to the ground.
“It’s your brother, sir.” He coughed again, his gaze shifting
from the ground to the house and back, looking anywhere but
directly into Logan’s eyes.
“Get on with it, man.”
“Well, sir, he come tearing out to the stables, insisting on a
with him, but he struck me and grabbed the first one he could
saddle. The horse must have smelled the smoke and panicked,
for she reared and threw Mister Neil.” Another deliberate pause,
and Logan raised a brow in question.
“He’s dead, sir. Broke his fool neck, begging your pardon.”
With no outward display of emotion, Logan thanked his
groomsman and turned away, curling his good arm around
Michaela’s shoulders to pull her close against his chest.
“I’m sorry, Logan. He committed a terrible crime against
you, but I still wouldn’t have wished him dead.”
He kissed the top of her head. “Sweet, sweet Michaela.
How did you ever manage to be a lawyer when you have such
a soft heart?”
She turned in his arms and reached up to kiss him, her lips
cool and moist. Logan clung to her, wanting to absorb her into
himself, to forever have her close. He had thought all he would
ever have were memories of her, but perhaps now his prayers
had been answered.
He whispered against her cheek, “I have nothing to offer
you now, except a pocketful of dreams.” Even before she
answered, Logan knew what her response would be. He wasn’t
disappointed.
“It doesn’t matter. I’ll trade my responsible and dull life
for your pocketful of dreams any day.”
Logan’s chest was real and solid against Mica’s back. His
uninjured arm hugged her tightly to him. They stood together,
watching as the rain smothered the remaining fire, the smoke
thick in the damp air.
“Do we rebuild?” he asked her referr
ing to the future. A
future they had irreversibly changed. But perhaps they hadn’t
changed it, after all, because her Cupid statue remained as
evidence of their destiny.
“I suppose we must. After all, what will the Barkers have
to look forward to if there is no Sea Crest and no treasure?”
Mica spun around, panic in her voice. “Oh, heavens, Logan,
the gold!” She didn’t care about the gold for herself, but for
what it could have done for Logan’s island.
He chuckled hoarsely. “Regardless of the fool I acted at
the time, I am grateful for your financial backing.” He kissed
the tip of her nose. “The gold is what brought Neil back. We
argued, and in the midst of our fight, he clubbed me over the
head.
“He must have started the blaze in a fit of fury when he
couldn’t find the gold. You see, I had already removed it from
the house and buried it beneath your Cupid. It seemed only
sentimental at the time, but it proved fortuitous.”
“Then Neil was searching in vain, yet he almost killed you.”
“Hush, sweet. It’s all right.” The crash of timbers turned
their attention back to the remains of Indigo Bay. Silhouetted
against the first rays of dawn, the gutted building was a grisly
reminder of all Mica had nearly lost.
The passage door, oddly enough, was the only piece of
wood not burned beyond recognition, and it swayed on the
charred remains of its frame.
A chill swept through Mica to settle in the key she now
clutched. The door groaned as if to beckon her, and the key
grew colder in her hand. The ribbon from which it hung seemed
to tighten against her neck, constricting her throat and cutting
off her air.
“Logan?” She whispered his name fearfully, though she
knew he had not ventured from her side.
His arm tightened in reassurance. She didn’t hesitate this
time, but quickly removed the key from around her neck and
tossed it into the middle of the smoldering rubble. The instant
it landed, the door creaked and swayed, then appeared to melt
down the charred framework to the ground. Presently, only the
rain and wind could be heard over the loud beat of her heart.
“You’re stuck here now.” His voice warmed her heart. She
leaned her head back against his shoulder, knowing that she’d
made the right choice. This was the life she wanted—the life