The staircase seemed somewhat disturbing, which Darcy didn’t find at all odd. She wondered how many men had walked down that stairway, followed by wives, lovers, or children, only to ride away to war, and perhaps never return.
The parlor was truly beautiful. She ignored the velvet ropes that kept the area protected from the sticky fingers of visiting children, the abuse of too many feet, and the overall damage that could be caused by large groups coming through on a frequent basis. Like the library, the parlor had a feel. When she closed her eyes, it drummed with the energy of the past. But again, she felt nothing evil.
Beyond the beautifully appointed parlor were the dining room—elegantly set as if for a dinner party of twenty in the mid-eighteen-hundreds—and the kitchen, kept entirely charming while being in a state-of-the-art condition. She instantly loved the room. There, the back door gave way to the wraparound porch. The view from the porch was exquisite. It was a beautiful day and the mountains could be seen in the distance in a riot of greens, violets, pinks, oranges and golds. The season was rich with flowers and foliage.
Darcy stepped back in. Rather than return to the foyer to take the grand stairway to the second floor, she walked up the far-less-spectacular servants’ stairway, winding from the rear of the kitchen up to the back of the hall on the second story. She gazed at her map again. Originally, there had been six bedrooms up here. Now, there were five, since the master suite these days consisted of a second office or sitting room as well as the master’s—Matt’s?—bedroom.
She assumed his personal area was off-limits to her. For the time, at least.
The rooms had apparently all been named after Southern generals, the Lee Room, or course, being the most prominent and assumably elegant, with the Stuart, Longstreet, Beauregard, and Amistad rooms being a bit smaller, judging by the map. Darcy entered each of the rooms, noting that they were all period, and quite charming, clean as a whistle, and inviting. The crew here kept the place up beautifully.
At last, she stood in front of the Lee Room, and closed her eyes. The atmosphere was heavy, cloudlike, dense, wrapping around her instantly. She opened her eyes and entered the room.
French doors were open to the porch. The breeze swept in. The room was quiet, and touched by the sweetness of the breeze.
Deceptive, Darcy thought. An aura of tremendous turbulence lay just beneath the apparent peace and serenity.
She imagined trying to explain the sensations she felt to Matt Stone.
It was not a pretty picture.
She didn’t think that there was any way she would ever be able to explain her particular talents to Matt Stone. Adam would understand. He was an amazing man. He had some abilities, but his true talent was in understanding that there were people in the world with special senses. She might have gone mad, seeing and hearing what others didn’t, except for Adam. First, he had believed. In his belief, he afforded her great trust. While he worked on a scientific level, proving different levels of heat and electricity, she worked purely through the visions and feelings that came to her—whether she wanted them or not, most of the time. Adam had taught her how to channel the strange images and feelings that came to her. And when she had thought herself a misfit who could live only in fear, he had taught her that she could bring peace and relief to lost souls, and given her purpose—as well as a very decent living that kept her feeling not only sane, but tremendously useful.
In this room, the feelings and impressions of trauma rushed around like a swirl of dark storm clouds.
However, it was incredible. Not a bad place to stay. Far, far, better than the hotel. Her bag was at the foot of the bed. She began to unpack, humming as she did so, yet completely attuned all the while for the slightest shift in the atmosphere.
All that touched her was the feel of the breeze and yet…
She was certain that she was watched. She could feel an unease streaking down her spine. It was as if the eyes of someone—something—were intently upon her, creating a trickle of sensation. An unearthly gaze seemed to reach out and touch her.
Feelings…intuitions. The hackles rising at her nape.
She paused for a moment.
But…
There was nothing solid. Nothing whatsoever. But Darcy knew.
Whatever lay within the room would wait, observe, and bide its time.
Summer hours kept the area light until well past eight in the evening.
Matt arrived home at about six and checked in at the house. He was certain that he’d find Penny and his visitor busily discussing the many ghosts they had already discovered. Maybe they’d even have the Ouija board out.
But Penny was in the kitchen with Joe McGurdy, their chef. Matt hadn’t known that Joe was coming in that night; he usually arrived only when they had a function planned. Finding the two in the kitchen, he arched a brow at Penny while Joe greeted him with a friendly smile.
Penny stared at him reproachfully. “Well, of course, we’re having dinner!” she said.
“We?”
“You, me, Darcy, Clint, and Carter.”
“Of course. Eight-course meal?” Matt asked dryly.
“Don’t be ridiculous. But you didn’t want me to serve beannie-weannies on her first night here, did you?”
“Goodness, of course not,” Matt said. “Where is our guest?”
“Carter saddled up Nellie for her. She’s taken a ride out to see some of the country around here.”
“Do we know that she can ride? There’s some really thick forest if she headed west.”
“Matt, she is an adult. She said she could ride.”
“Maybe I’ll take a ride out to find her anyway,” he muttered, shaking his head at Penny. Great—they were already bringing the chef in and stretching out the welcome mat. He wondered why Carter hadn’t chosen to ride with their visitor.
When he’d changed to jeans and sweater and headed out to the stables, he found out why. Carter shrugged, watching Matt as he led Vernon, his quarter horse, from his stall. “She said that she wanted to do some exploring alone, that it was important for her work. Naturally, I offered to go with her. Are you kidding? The woman is one looker.”
“One kooky looker,” Matt reminded him, slipping a bridle over Vernon’s nose.
“Hey, everybody’s got to make a living somehow, right?” Carter said.
Matt slung a saddle over Vernon’s back. “I imagine she probably had a few other choices.”
“Maybe she’s for real,” Carter said. He thoughtfully chewed a blade of hay, eyes amused as he watched Matt mount up. “You know, I just bought the old Reed place, next county over. If you don’t want her looking for your ghosts, I’ll be happy to have her take a look at mine.”
“I’m sure you intend to have her looking for ghosts,” Matt said, shaking his head. “For the moment, just let me go make sure she’s not lying on a trail somewhere with a broken leg. Whatever possessed you to let her just ride out alone?”
“Let’s see—maybe the fact that she said she didn’t want company?”
“She doesn’t own the place,” Matt reminded him.
Carter shrugged, stroking his beard. “Hell. I don’t own it either, do I now?”
Matt urged Vernon on out of the stable. “Hey—don’t be late for dinner!” Carter called. “Seems like Penny’s got Joe cooking up something good.”
Matt felt his resentment grow, and put a check on it. Adam Harrison had paid a fair price for coming in to do what he was referring to as “research.” And so, hell, they had to feed the