“A ley line?” Joss had heard of those. “Like at Stonehenge?”
Lydia nodded. “And Sedona, Arizona, or the Great Pyramid at Giza, at Nazca in Peru and more sites across the world.”
A chill passed through Joss. Incredible. She’d never have guessed the energies meant such power coursed regularly below the inn like a river. Or maybe hadn’t wanted to acknowledge it. “So, what now?”
Aunt Lydia glanced at Gram, who pressed her lips together. “It depends.”
Meaning, even Gram had no clue. Great. “Wait and see?”
“For now. Promise you will be ever vigilant.”
No need to tell Joss twice. She’d need more than margaritas to fortify her if she ever saw that dark creature again.
Chapter 3
Main Street in Boiling Springs saw a few more pedestrians and slightly fewer parking spaces than normal as locals gathered for Sunday breakfast at Kara’s Kafe. Eric cringed at the kitschy spelling, but the place offered great cuisine. More than the usual diner fare, it provided the closest to a home-cooked meal he could hope for, along with the company of other people.
A lime green Beetle sat in the prized space directly out front. A jolt shot through his chest as he slid his truck a few spots behind and got out. The Bug was hers. Jocelyn’s. Hard to miss the neon car when it passed his practice, and sometimes he shut his blinds so it wouldn’t distract him. Since the Halloween party two days ago, he couldn’t stop his mind from stripping away her gold and cream outfit to explore her golden skin. First, he’d better apologize for his behavior the other night. He hated for her to think he always acted so awkward, even if it were true.
In the Beetle’s front seat, the border collie edged its nose out the window, open nearly halfway. Eric stopped beside the car and the dog wagged its tail. “Hey, boy.”
Jocelyn Gibson. Her name rolled through his mind. What was she doing here so early? He’d noticed lights on inside the B and B as he jogged past every morning. Local farmers rose that early, of course. He hadn’t expected her to.
Most clients at his veterinary practice pressed him about her. Was she as nice as she was pretty? What were her plans for the place? Did he know she was a widow too? The last question ended every conversation fast.
Occasionally, he considered dating, but he couldn’t get past the numbness inside. The first year after his wife Karen’s sudden death, he’d fought to maintain enough interest in just getting out of bed every morning. If it hadn’t been for his practice, he might not have.
Through the glass front of the diner, he saw her. In jeans, a T-shirt, and denim blazer, her honey blond hair and petite form caught his full attention.
The bell over the door jingled as he entered. Behind the counter, Sheree flashed her usual smile and waved. “Be right with you.”
Jocelyn glanced behind her, directly at him, and smiled. “Hello, Dr. Hendricks.”
Her warmth washed over him, and like waves frothing over the sand, soothed him.
Turning, she pressed closer to the counter. “So you don’t mind if I hang a sign in your window?”
“Sign for what?” He hadn’t intended to move beside her. Usually he minded his own business.
She held up a handmade poster. “I’m looking for a handyman or two.”
Her creamy skin still had a glow. Must be some special type of makeup. No one looked that good under the harsh diner lights. “Oh right. You’re fixing up the bed and breakfast.” Stupid thing to say. He already knew she was.
Pointedly, she said, “Lavender Hill Inn.”
“Lavender Hill?” The hill’s sparse grass added to the rundown appearance of the old place. He’d always believed the B and B held much more potential.
“Yes. Lavender will be our specialty.”
“What sort of specialty?” An image came to mind of Jocelyn lying atop gauzy, lavender-colored sheets. Naked. At a sudden rush of heat, he edged away from her, embarrassed. What the hell had gotten into him?
“Old family recipes with culinary lavender.” A gleam lit her eyes, blue and clear as a spring sky after a rain storm. To the waitress, she said, “Thank you, Sheree. Could I get a cranberry orange muffin to go? They’re too tempting to pass up.”
“Don’t you make your own at the…inn?” Christ, he wished he would shut up. He must sound like an idiot. Even the waitress shot him a disdainful look.
Her petal-pink lips open, Joss stared. “Annie will make a wonderful assortment of dishes, once we’re fully up and running. I still like to support other local businesses.” Taking the small white bag Sheree offered, Joss paid, then went to the door and taped the poster on the window beside it.
He stood watching like a village idiot.
Charlie Fulton approached from the back of the diner to sit at the counter, then ducked his head with sudden interest in his cup. Probably because he never paid for the last vet visit. Laid off, he likely owed more than a few others around town.
Taking the empty stool next to Charlie, Eric nodded in greeting. “How’s it going?”
“Slower than I’d like.” Charlie’s features hardened.
“No work yet?” Seemed like half the town had been pink-slipped or forced into early retirement.
Charlie grimaced. “I’m looking, believe me. Full time jobs are few and far between. I’m paying what I can as I get occasional work.”
Joss smoothed the last piece of tape across the glass behind them. “What sort of work do you do?”
Angling to face her, Charlie shrugged. “Whatever needs to be done.”
“I have plenty of that.” Her face lit in a smile and she extended her hand. “Hi, I’m Joss Gibson. I bought the Suttons’ old place on Yellow Breeches Road. Can I give you my number?”
“Sure,” Charlie said.
Pulling a scrap of paper out of her handbag, she scribbled and tore it off. “I can keep you plenty busy. How about if we talk specifics later? Sorry to have interrupted. Bye.”
Her gaze caught Eric’s and held for several thudding heartbeats. His stomach tightened. The overhead lights gave sheen to her hair and her eyes shone with warmth and intelligence, like she could see inside him and understood the turmoil beneath the hard exterior.
The world slowed around them. Background chatter, the clank of silver against dishes, faded with a roar of white noise in his head. When she turned away, an unnamable ache surged through him. An aura of light swirled in her wake.
The jingle of the bell riveted him until the door closed behind her. Like an antique record player cranked to life, the air crackled again with talk, forks on scraping plates, newspapers folding.
“Doc? Can I get you something?” a woman asked.
As if awakening from a dream, he blinked to focus. “Pardon?”
Sheree waited on the other side of the counter, concern evident in her pursed red lips and furrowed, overly tweezed brow.
“What?” He stood, his appetite gone. “Yes, give me a cranberry-orange muffin to go too, please.”
The waitress frowned and dropped a muffin into a bag. “I hope she doesn’t change the B and B into one of those garish commercial inns with a yucky blinking sign.”
An older woman at