THE END
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[email protected] About the author: Veteran romance writer Florence Witkop was born in the city and has lived in the suburbs, the country and the wilderness where she still lives and writes contemporary, sci/fi and fantasy romances that often have a gothic feel and that are romantic without being erotic. At various times she's been a confession writer, a copywriter, a ghost writer and an editor. Her preferred format is the short story but she also writes novellas and novels.
Other works by Florence Witkop:
Spirit Legend (first of the Legend series) Charlie is forester for Macallister Outdoors. She guides Ian Macallister, owner and her boss, to inspect a newly acquired tract of forest with a tiny lake in the center that fascinates Ian because of the legend of a spirit that resides in the lake. Soon after arriving, they do see strange lights and hear unearthly songs. Before they can investigate the legend further, a storm isolates them and almost destroys the beaver dam that created the lake. They must choose whether to stay and repair the dam to save the home of a spirit that might not exist… or start the long and difficult trek back to civilization.
Read an excerpt from Spirit Legend:
The aerial photos covered most of the two pushed-together tables. The corners and edges were carefully matched to create one large picture, green being the predominant color. Green as in an evergreen forest. The only things breaking the green were a few darker lines representing creeks that crisscrossed the area, a fire trail or logging road or two circling the outer edges, and, in the center of it all, a small area of blue that could be a tiny lake, a pond, or, more likely, a swamp.
After scooping up our empty glasses and replacing them with additional drinks on a third table pulled close, Mickey of Mickey's Eatery, leaned over the photos and perused them casually. Then again, only this time not so casually. In detail. Then he thoughtfully traced one of the creeks with a finger. "I took a canoe along this creek once when I was a kid." The finger jabbed at the blue in the center of the montage. "And I ran across this lake when I was hunting rabbits. It was shallow, lots of rice beds along the shore. I figured I'd come back and harvest the rice when it was ripe. I wanted a Harley in the worst way and Harley's are expensive but rice brought a good price that year so I thought I might be able to buy a used one."
There was a huge motorcycle in Mickey's garage. "So that's when you got your Harley."
"Nope. I didn't go back and harvest that rice." Something about his voice gave me pause as I followed his finger.
I didn't look at the man across the table from me. In fact, I avoided him. My boss, Ian Macallister, owner and CEO of Macallister Outdoors since his parents retired. I squirmed inwardly, forced myself to be blank outwardly, and concentrated even harder on the photos so he wouldn't know I was intentionally ignoring him, though my stomach churned as I tried to decipher just how angry he was. That anger was my fault.
The Johns Falls airport was too small to have a waiting room or any of the luxuries of larger airports so Ian Macallister was waiting on a folding chair hastily provided by the single airport employee. He was polite enough when I peeled into the parking lot, ran full bore into the waiting room and skidded to a stop in front of him, but his back didn't touch the chair, and that could indicate anger… or frustration… or merely that he was a fitness freak and always bore himself with a ramrod straight back. I hoped it was the last but, figuring it was more likely the first, I waited to be fired, smiling weakly and standing tall so as to present as imposing a figure as I knew how..
His expression didn’t change. I felt myself shrinking as he unfolded from the airport chair and loomed over me, forcing me to look up into his six foot something self. Into his eyes. They were dark. From anger or were they always midnight blue or did that just happen now because I'd soon be unemployed? Or was he born with bottomless eyes? I wanted to fold my arms across my body in a feeble attempt to ward off his anger. But he said nothing, merely picked up the single suitcase that was his luggage and asked if there was somewhere in town where he could eat since it was getting late.
So I forced myself to breathe in and out, in and out, until I could sound normal, and suggested Mickey's Pub and Eatery. Then I followed him out of the terminal and into the storm that had moved his flight up a couple hours and had hit in all its fury during the few minutes we were in the terminal. There was no waiting for it to pass, it was supposed to last all night. Storms threatened to hammer the area off and on for the next couple weeks with one storm following another as if they were trains on the same track, with possibly a day in between.
I stepped into the rain and wind and was almost knocked sidewise. Ian Macallister, however, was a rock. I moved closer to use his body as a windbreak. As I basked in the relative calm his bulk provided, I decided not to mention the real reason for my tardiness until he was in a mellow frame of mind such as Mickey was providing compliments of another round of drinks. Strong, I'd guess, knowing Mickey. I didn't drink because it was my job to drive my boss to the Center and Mickey knew that, so mine were Virgin Mary's.
Eventually, when Mickey's drinks had my boss in a mellow frame of mind, I would explain my late arrival. Until then I threw Mickey a grateful look and he nodded imperceptibly in answer. He knows me, Mickey does, and the endless rounds of drinks were a gesture of true friendship.
I looked again at the photos, wondering what about them was so seductive. They were just photos of the property the Center had recently acquired and they showed miles of unspoiled wilderness. I'd felt total awe after I printed them out and put them together to form a comprehensive picture. I'd found myself staring at a jewel, a rare and ecologically unique acquisition to be cared for with love. And, as the Center's newest Forester, I'd be doing the caring.
I was so enthralled that I'd forgot the time and that was why I was late, though I doubted my boss would see that as a good reason to leave him cooling his heels on a folding chair. Now, if silence was any indication, I'd not work for Macallister Outdoors much longer. Not long enough to visit the rare slice of wilderness that had caused my lateness.
Now, in Mickey's Pub and Eatery, Ian Macallister moved for the first time since finishing dinner. My breath stopped but all he did was lean closer to follow Mickey's pointing finger. "You say you've been there?" Mickey nodded. "And you intended to return ?" Mickey nodded again. "But you didn't?" Mickey shook his head and my boss asked quietly, with no inflection, "Why not?"
Mickey was glad to talk. He's a loquacious guy. "When my parents found out where I'd been, they were angry." Mickey moved the empty glasses from one hand to the other, restlessly. "No, they weren't angry, that's the wrong word. They were concerned. No, that's not right either. They were… scared."
I peered at the photos. There was nothing dangerous about the property Macallister Outdoors had purchased. No cliffs, no dangerous rapids in any of the several creeks, nothing that I could see. Then I thought of a possible reason. "Was the bottom of the lake mud? If you were alone and overturned your canoe, you'd not have made it to shore."
He shook his head. "It did look muddy when I was there, but that wasn't the reason."
Ian's lips pursed and he zeroed in on Mickey. "They why didn't they let you go back?"
"Because of the… thing… in the lake."
I examined the tiny blue area that could be a lake. Or a pond. Or a swamp. "It's a wide area of a creek is all. Nothing unusual about it."
"The creek backs up behind a beaver dam. It forms a small lake but if that dam breaks, the lake will cease to exist."
"It doesn't look dangerous."
"It's not the lake itself that scared them."
Ian peered closer. "Then what?"
Mickey curled his shoulders forward the way people do when they are embarrassed. "It was because of the spirit that lives in the lake. Or spirits. No one k
nows if it's one spirit or a lot of them."
"Spirit?" I laughed, an explosion of sound that released some of my pent-up tension. "Really?" His parents were Chippewa and their ancestors had lived in the area forever, but his dad was a banker and his mom operated a jewelry store. They were educated, savvy people. "Your mom and dad don't believe that stuff."
"You know them. Of course they don't. But that one time, they did. Or at least they believed what their parents had told them enough to not want to take any chances."
"Your grandparents believed in spirits?" I'd met his grandparents. They both had college degrees. "How far back does this go? Who started this fantasy?"
"I don't know. A long time. Hundreds of years, maybe. Probably."
"And you believe it?"
"I didn't say I believe it. I said my folks wouldn't let me go back to harvest wild rice so I had to get a job in town to earn money for my first bike. And it wasn't a Harley, either, and it would have been if I'd got that wild rice and sold it. I couldn't afford a Harley until years later."
Ian Macallister leaned back, a half smile giving his face expression for the first time since I saw him in the airport terminal. He still said nothing, choosing to listen, but I was sure he heard every word, saw every expression, and correctly interpreted every nuance. For some reason, the topic of spirits interested him. Mellowed him. Might make him forget to fire me.
So I talked about spirits. "What is this spirit supposed to be like?
"Or spirits. Plural, maybe. Or singular. Nice sometimes. Other times, not so nice. Depends."
"On what?"
"The old people… my grandparents and the people before them… didn't say. Just that whatever is in that lake… "
"It's not a true lake, just a wide spot in a river," Ian interjected in a low voice.
"Whatever is in the lake doesn't suffer fools gladly. Or is reclusive. Or afraid. That's the best way I can put it." Mickey was uncomfortable beneath my boss' scrutiny. Ian Macallister's eyes were darker than before and intense. Because, unlike Mickey, he believed in ghosts? "According to the old people, it depends on who is at the lake and what they do." He stopped tossing the glasses from hand to hand and that broke the spell his words had cast over me. "All I can say is it didn't talk to me and, while I was there I didn't see anything resembling a spirit. Maybe because there's no such thing."
"Most likely that's it." Ian wanted to ask more but Mickey moved away, glasses in hand.
"Have you ever heard the wind in the trees?" I yelled after him, making sure the topic of ghosts stayed in the forefront of the conversation because my continued employment might depend on it. "Some people think it sounds like voices. Like someone singing."
Mickey paused in his headlong rush. "My people have lived in the forest for hundreds of years. I think they know the sound the wind makes well enough not to mistake it for anything other than what it is. The wind." He continued on and disappeared in the kitchen.
"Or the sound of water on rocks." I concentrated on Ian Macallister and added to the list of possibilities. "Or an echo if the creek has steep enough banks."
"Or everything you mentioned." Ian pulled his chair closer to the photos and leaned over them, effectively shutting me up. "This talk of spirits and beaver dams and lakes and rivers makes me curious." He gathered the photos into a pile that he then stuffed into the large envelope I'd carried from the Explorer when we arrived. "I'd not given any real thought to this new acquisition when I flew in today. My plans were more along the lines of bookkeeping. But I'm thinking about changing them."
"To what?"
"Checking out the new property. The wilderness. Everything. All of it."
He didn't fool me. It was the lake that held his interest. And the spirit that legend said inhabited it. "Will you go alone?"
"I'll want a guide. I'm sure there's someone at the Center whose job includes knowing their way around the property."
"A forester."
His eyebrows rose. "We employ foresters?"
It was hard to breathe. "Yes you do. Me. I'm the forester." Something told me that it was time to come clean. To tell the truth. "And that's why I was late. Because I was looking over the photos of the new property." I counted to ten until I could speak without the squeak that made his eyebrows rise a bit. "I'm sorry for that."
He blinked. Tilted his head slightly. Let his eyebrows fall back to their normal position above his eyes. Frowned a second then let a smile slide briefly across what seconds earlier had been a chiseled countenance, and some of the fear that had almost immobilized me melted. "You were late? I hadn't noticed."
He was a nice liar. He had too noticed, the chill in the airport had been enough to freeze the entire county, but he wanted to see the tiny lake in the forest and that meant he needed me. And that meant I'd keep my job and he'd be nice to me, at least until he'd seen everything he wanted to see.
I breathed deeply in relief as he continued. "Can you take me tomorrow? I can't stay indefinitely and there are other things that need attention while I'm here."
"The rain should let up by morning. Then it'll start again in a day or so, though. So tomorrow may be the only decent day to go." I checked the clock behind the bar. "It's late, now and it'll be a long day tomorrow. We'll have to take a four-wheeler for the last part of the trip. So we'd best get going."
"It's a long drive to the Center and the weather is lousy. How long will it take us to get there in this rain? Minutes? Hours?"
"Two hours at least. More if the road is muddy and we have to go slow."
He didn't like that. "What if we stay in town tonight? That way we'll get a good night's sleep and can get started early. It'll be faster driving in the daylight, won't it?"
I agreed that staying overnight was a good idea and he waved to Mickey, who'd returned to his bartending. "Is there a decent motel nearby?"
Mickey doesn’t have a dirty mind but I made sure to explain why we wanted a motel. When he understood our reason for staying in town, he made a call and booked two rooms. "Height of the tourist season. Not many rooms left." He pointed out the window to a large building across the parking lot. "It's close. You don't even have to drive."
So, having dried out in front of Mickey's fireplace after our wet arrival at the Pub, we went back into the driving rain and wind. The storm had grown fiercer. In seconds we were as wet as if we'd jumped into a nearby lake except we had twigs and leaves stuck to our bodies. I ducked behind Ian Macallister again and hoped he didn't know I was using him as a buffer against the flying debris. But of course he did.
The motel receptionist stared at us in dismay as we dripped all over her pristine carpet. She pointed down a long hallway and said something about the last two rooms. "Not our biggest or most elegant but they are all we have left. We recently remodeled them. New beds. King size." She added that they were across from each other. As we trudged towards the hallway, leaving wet footprints in the carpet and twigs and leaves everywhere, she breathed in distaste.
"I thought for a moment she wouldn't let us stay." Ian's sotto voiced words were dripping with sarcasm.
"Do we look that bad?"
He paused to give me a once-over and I had to look at him, too. "Yes we do." We resembled drowned rats.
Ian Macallister, I decided, was one of those people who looked good in any situation. I wasn't so lucky. And I was dripping dirt as well as rainwater because I'd been in the woods before coming to town to pick him up. "You, at least, can change into something dry."
He stopped. "I'm sorry. I didn't think. I have my luggage with me but you don't have anything to change into." He turned back towards the receptionist. "Perhaps they can suggest a store where you can get something to wear."
I stopped him with a hand on his sopping wet sleeve. "Don't bother. It's too late, all the stores are closed." His eyebrows rose in question. "This is a
small town. We don't believe in late hours."
"Surely there's something we can do about those wet things you are wearing." He looked about. "There's a laundry."
Was he insane? "And what will I wear while my clothes go round and round? I don't think nudity is allowed."
"Sorry." A frank grin spread across his face, changing him completely. He didn't laugh out loud but it was hard for him not to as I tried and failed to keep my face from turning red. "Tell you what. I'll do the laundry. You can wrap yourself in a towel and wait in your room in comfort while I watch the washer do its thing." The grin spread until, realizing it could be interpreted many ways, it disappeared as quickly as it had come. But it stayed in his eyes and, yes, they must always be the color of dark fire because he wasn't angry now and they were still the color of night. "Afterwards, we can get some sleep."
I didn't want to stand in front of my boss dressed in a motel towel but I couldn't see any other option so I nodded and tried for nonchalance as he found our rooms. He slid his key card into the slot in his door. "I'll shower and change, and then I'll come for your things. Give me a half hour or so, that'll give you time to shower too." He looked me up and down, that flash of silent laughter lingering in the backs of his eyes. "I hope half an hour will be enough." And, ducking in case I wanted to hit him, he disappeared inside, which made me wonder whether the big boss of Macallister Outdoors was possibly a nice guy after all.
Getting out of my wet clothes was such a relief it was almost erotic and standing in a spray of hot water even more so. I used my fingers and the motel dryer to turn my hair into some semblance of order, almost wishing I'd given up long hair in favor of a cropped look, then deciding for the thousandth time, that braids are more practical most of the time and don't require frequent visits to a hair salon. Anyway, normally I wore a hat in inclement weather. This was an unexpected situation. I hadn't planned on a trip to town. So, instead of reaching for a pair of scissors, I redoubled my efforts.
The knock was loud enough that I had to assume there'd been several before that I hadn't heard because of the dryer noise. I grabbed the largest towel from the available pile and wrapped it around me as I went to answer what was now heavy pounding on the door. "Are you there? Are you okay?"
I opened it and peeked around. "I'm fine."
"It took you so long to answer I was concerned." One hand held his dripping clothes, the other a small box of detergent.
"Sorry." He stared at me in consternation. Stared at my hair. So I should have opted for a short style after all. He stared so hard that I unconsciously raked it with the hand that wasn't holding the towel in place. "I'll get my clothes."
"Okay." But his gaze didn't move from my hair. Until it slid downwards, then, realizing that he was looking me over when I was half-naked, it stopped and returned to my hair. Given its disheveled appearance, I'd rather he kept going, all the way down me and then up again. Better than the amazed expression, almost awe, that he couldn't hide as he inspected my hair again. That stare kept me rooted, unable to move. Until, flushing, he said, "I'll wait out here," and closed the door in my face.
What did he expect me to do with no hairbrush handy? What did he expect any normal human being to do when confronted with a rat's nest that hung half-way down a back and was a mess to begin with, courtesy of being outdoors a lot, and probably worse now, thanks to the debris that had battered us both?
I tripped on my way to the bathroom to retrieve my clothes. And again on my way back. Looked to see what I'd tripped over and the carpet was smooth and unbroken which meant being face to face with my boss when he was newly clean and dressed and I was in a motel towel was getting to me.
I stopped and breathed deeply a few times before opening the door in order to thrust my wet, drippy clothes at him. Found myself inches from my boss. Backed off a bit and held the wet clothes near his middle. Mumbled thanks in his general direction and pulled the towel tighter around my middle, holding it with two hands now that they were both free.
As for the owner of Macallister Outdoors, he mumbled something in return and backed away while his face flushed cherry red and his gaze wandered freely over all of my towel-wrapped self as if he'd rather be doing anything other than what he was doing but couldn't help himself.
Good! I wasn't the only one who was embarrassed, and that knowledge gave me the courage to speak after clearing my throat a couple times and taking one last deep breath. "I'll be waiting." I closed the door, slumped against it and wished I'd not been late in picking up my boss because if I'd been on time, there'd have been time to drive him back to the Center and I'd be home now watching reruns on TV.
When he knocked on my door a good hour later, I wasn't watching reruns. Instead, I was checking the weather. I snugged the towel tightly around me and opened the door with bated breath, wondering what part of me he'd stare at this time.
No part at all. His gaze went straight to the TV. "Looks bad for tomorrow."
My breath came and went normally because he was looking elsewhere and I even relaxed my hold on the towel slightly. "Not too bad. The storms will return, perhaps by evening, but during the day it should be decent. Sunny and warm."
"Then so as long as we get an early start and don't take too long checking out the new property, we should be okay?"
I nodded. "I'll pack ponchos just in case, but we should be back before any clouds gather." I didn't add that was a good thing because the land we'd be inspecting was rough and not a good place to be in a storm but I was so eager to see it myself that I didn't want to say anything that might cause him to cancel the trip.
As he handed me a neatly folded pile of dry clothes, my cell rang. So instead of taking my clothes, I hitched up the towel with one hand and grabbed the phone with the other. "Yes?" I wanted to kill whoever had the nerve to call with me in a delicate state of semi-nudity.
The Center was checking on the welfare of the big boss. "He's okay. He's here with me as a matter of fact." Talking about Ian, I found my gaze moving over him much as his had over me. Six feet at least since he was a good head taller than me, I already knew that, with dark eyes, I already knew that too, and dark brown hair that wouldn't accept taming over the lithe build of a person of athletic bent who could double as a model. Which I realized he did as I recalled some of the Macallister Outdoors clothing ads. If what I'd been told was true, the man could climb a mountain with the best of them and pose at the summit for a clothing ad.
Right now, he was mouthing a question. "Is that for me?"
I shook my head. Then I changed my mind and nodded because, though the Center had called me, he was the reason for the call. I mouthed back, "They are concerned."
He shut the door behind him with a well-aimed kick and, after a look to ask permission, took the cell from my hand. "This is Ian Macallister." A different voice from the one I'd heard thus far. The voice of command. Of the owner of Macallister Outdoors.
I wanted to beat a retreat to the bathroom to dress but my clothes were held tightly in his free hand. I was sure he'd forgotten them but his brows were knit in such concentration that I didn't dare take them. So I tried to make myself relax, an almost impossible task in a bath towel but somehow I managed. Sort of. Then I crawled onto the bed because the room was too small for any other furniture, tucked my feet beneath me and tried to look as if I did this every day.
The owner of Macallister Outdoors paced. Three feet one way, then two feet back, using all of the space the room afforded. He talked for a long time with the manager of the Center. Assured him we were both all right and had chosen to stay in town because of the weather. Informed him that early the next morning we'd need whatever was necessary to explore the new property. And handed me the phone. "He wants to know what to have ready."
Given that I couldn't hold the towel with both hands and talk too, I dropped one hand and stuck my feet straight out in front of me and took
the phone to give what I hoped were crisp, professional instructions to have the four-wheel-drive truck ready with two four-wheelers in tow with the pack on one of them that I kept in my office for just such expeditions tied securely to it.
I was about to hang up when Ian waved to me that he wanted to talk again. When he took the phone, he said crisply, "Have the cook prepare something for us to eat. We might be out there a long time." He flipped the phone shut and handed it to me. I took it without dropping the towel, a rather neat trick, set it on the bed, there being no place else to put it, and waited for him to leave.
Instead he said, "Want some coffee?" He rubbed the back of his neck. "I don't know about you but I had enough liquor this evening to last a long time. I'd like to sober up a bit before going to bed so I'll hopefully wake up ready to go."
"Good idea." He waited so I asked, "Do you want me to make it?" Looking towards the complimentary coffee pot and grounds next to the sink.
"Would you?" Then he did a double take as I tried to move and couldn't without dropping the towel a bit. He turned even redder than earlier. "Sorry." He handed me my clothes. "I'll make coffee while you change." After a moment, he added, "Will you leave your cell here? I forgot a couple things I should mention to whoever is on duty at the Center." I handed him the cell and scooted to the bathroom as he headed for the coffee pot, cell in hand, having forgotten I existed.
By the time I returned from the bathroom once more wearing dry clothes that covered all of me except my feet because my boots were drying by the heater, he'd procured a travel hairbrush from the motel receptionist in addition to making coffee. "She said not to bother returning it."
"Probably afraid what she'd find in it."
"Your hair isn't that bad."
"It's bad enough."
He examined my hair carefully, walking around me twice. The second time around he poured us each a cup of coffee and brought them to the bed where I was sitting with my feet hanging over the side. "I used to watch my dad brush my mom's hair. It didn't look so hard."
"It's only bad at first. After the worst of the knots are gone, then it's easy."
"I can see a couple knots in the back. Want me to untangle them?"
Frissons of horror went through me. My boss wanted to brush my hair. My big boss, the one who signed my checks, who could fire me on a whim. There was no way I wanted him to touch me. Anywhere. Except he could see the knots and I couldn't. "Uh… " He handed me a cup of coffee, took the brush from my hand, and turned me around.
"I don't think it'll take long."
It took minutes that seemed like hours. The only thing that made the time bearable was sipping the hot coffee while wearing clothes. When he stopped, he turned me around and checked his work. "Yep, no knots left." He inspected both sides of me, an action that sent such an odd feeling through me that I hid behind my coffee cup. Until it was empty. "I'll take that." He took it and I had nothing else to hide behind. "Want another cup?"
"Yes, please." Why couldn't I keep the squeak out of my voice?
While he got it, I used the brush to pull my hair into a long, neat fall behind my back that I scooped into a rubber band. Then, feeling semi-professional with hair and body in place, I enjoyed my second cup of coffee, complete with enough cream and sugar to qualify it as a cappuccino.
After another cup of coffee each, Ian Macallister shook his head a couple times and moved his shoulders. "I think I'm sober enough to sleep now." He looked at me. "You?"
"Yep." No need to tell him I'd had no liquor.
He left. I locked the door, set the cell alarm for an early wake-up, slid beneath the covers, and waited for sleep to come. Instead, I stared at the blinking smoke alarm and wished I could get Ian Macallister out of my mind. I failed completely. And when I finally slept, I dreamed of my boss, only in my dream he lived at the bottom of a lake with… something. I couldn't make out his companion, I just knew there was one.
Then my alarm went off and it was morning and, yes, the sun was shining. We'd best get going if we wanted to reach that lake and return before the next storm. And no, we weren't going to inspect some new property. Not even to see the lake, pretty as it might be. We were going on a ghost hunt
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