He shook his head. “No. Never a fake.”

She arched a brow. “Are you referring to life—or sex?”

Again, that slow lazy smile that might have broken a hundred hearts. “Both, maybe.”

“There’s no future here,” she said, somewhat primly.

“Does everything have to have a future?”

She shrugged. “No, maybe not. Could you move? You’re on my nightgown.”

“Going somewhere?”

She nodded firmly. “Back to the Lee Room.”

“Then I’m coming with you.”

She was startled, staring at him. He shifted, producing her gown. Then he rose, found the black knit boxers and a terry robe, and looked back at her. She stared at him, shimmied back into the gown.

“You don’t have to—”

“Do you mind?”

“I—no.”

“Then let’s go.”

“I’m not sure if this should be…a habit,” she said.

He smiled. “Never thought of it as a habit.”

“You’re incredibly exasperating,” she told him.

But he paused then, in front of the balcony doors, and again, his thumb and forefinger touched her chin.

“May I come with you to the Lee Room, if you find it so important to sleep there? We will, however, lock the balcony doors. I don’t feel like entertaining any tricksters in the middle of the night.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t come. Maybe I make great bait for the trickster,” she said.

Something hardened in his jaw. “You’re not bait, and whatever the hell you do, don’t go thinking that way.” He turned, drawing her with him. Inside, he locked the balcony doors.

“You left your balcony doors open,” she pointed out.

He shrugged. “No one has ever disturbed anything in my room. I simply don’t want anyone in here. With us.”

She was amazed to realize that just the sound of his voice made her shiver again. Thrill throughout.

Then he walked toward her. “Trust me, no one will disturb us tonight.”

“But—”

She was drawn back into his arms. “Darcy, let it go, please. Give us this. Let it be normal. Not normal. Incredible. But still…let tonight be. Just be…normal.”

And then…

The feel of his lips.

And then everything that was raw and real and somehow still magic started all over again, and yet, this time, a thought crept into the blindness of passion.

If only…

If only this could be a reality…

If only she really were…

Normal.

Chapter 7

7

T he day was a surprise, Penny thought, sipping her coffee and staring over the rim at Clint and Carter.

But then, all days were a bit different now, and she loved it. Darcy Tremayne had changed everything at Melody House. This, however, was amusing.

“How on earth do you think that she found that skull when no one else ever could?” Clint said, shaking his head as he added jam to his English muffin. “Creepy, huh? She must be for real.”

Carter shrugged. “It’s been out there for a long time. Maybe it’s just that no one else ever really looked for it.” Carter scratched his bearded chin. “Luck, maybe. Pure luck.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, gentlemen!” Penny protested. “She’s the real thing.”

“Oh, come on, Penny. No one really has extrasensory perception,” Carter argued.

“She sure has a lot else,” Clint murmured.

Carter offered a dry laugh. “But I think she’s off-limits to us.”

“He definitely has a thing for her,” Clint agreed.

“Who?” Penny said.

They both stared at her as if she were totally blind.

“Matt,” they said in unison.

“Oh,” Penny said, settling back.

“And she’s a redhead,” Clint said, as if that made it all beyond comprehension.

“Tall,” Carter said.

“Really built,” Clint said.

“Regal.”

“Really, really, built!” Carter repeated.

Penny leaned closer to the table. “Well, boys, I do think that you’re both out of luck. Because I think that she may have a bit of a thing for Matt.”

“But it’s ridiculous,” Carter said.

“Absolutely,” Clint agreed.

“Why?” Penny demanded.

“Because she believes in ghosts,” Clint explained, smiling broadly. “Matt is like old Stone Mountain. He’ll never accept the idea that she might be psychic. Now me, I’m charming—and I have an open mind.”

“Hell, the whole thing can’t be real—can it?” Carter said, frowning. But then he forgot the main question. “Matt’s still in lust, my friend,” he advised Clint. “Lust can last a long time.”

“Yeah, it had to be lust with Lavinia.”

“Hey, we were all in lust when she first showed up.”

“Lavinia,” Penny intervened, “was a bitch.”

“Ah, but she had us all fooled,” Clint teased.

“Me? Never,” Penny assured him. “She didn’t have what it took to hold on to Matt.”

“Well, sleeping around never did make a marriage work real well,” Clint drawled sardonically.

“I don’t think he cared by then,” Penny said.

“Still, kind of uncanny—two redheads,” Clint said.

“One a bitch—and one a psychic,” Carter said amused. “Clint, surely, this field still has to be open to us.”

“Matt will never really get involved with her,” Clint agreed. “I, on the other hand, would not care in the least if such a woman communed with the ancients on a daily basis. I’d just thank heaven above that she was mine.”

“Clint Stone, that was a lovely thought, and quite surprising from you,” Penny applauded him.

“Yeah, and it’s bullshit. You just think she’s hot,” Carter said.

“Hey!” Clint argued.

“Well, let’s face it. She may be smooth, intelligent, cool, and lovely, but Matt is in lust. She’s really not his type,” Carter said.

“Really?”

They were all startled by the voice that spoke from the kitchen doorway. Penny actually jumped up, nearly knocking her chair over. She hadn’t looked out yet, but it was nine in the morning and Matt was usually long gone by then.

Carter had the grace to flush. He shrugged. “She’s a psychic,” he said again, as if that explained his take on everything.

Penny, anxious to defuse a possible situation, broke in quickly. “Matt! I thought you’d left for the office long ago. I’ve never seen you home so late in the morning.”

Clint looked down at his muffin. “Darcy does resemble Lavinia,” he murmured.

“Not in any way, shape, or form,” Matt said.

“Coffee?” Penny offered brightly.

“No, I’m late. I’m going in.”

“Any word yet on the skull?” Carter asked.

“I’ll find out when I get to the station.”

“We all know that it belongs to our poor, decapitated miss of eons past,” Carter said.

“Most probably,” Matt agreed. “It’s still a human skull, and there are laws regarding human remains.”

“Of course,” Carter said, looking at Matt. Then he shivered. “Scary, huh? Maybe Darcy knows things about all of us that we would just as soon no one knew.”

Matt turned around and walked out.

“That is scary,” Clint murmured.

“Oh, come on, why?” Penny tsked.

“Because it’s quite true, we all have skeletons in our closets,” Clint told her.

Shirley Jamison was, just like clockwork, at the front desk when Matt walked into the sheriff’s station. She smiled at him, apparently not at all curious as to why he was late. Apparently, everyone had known that he’d worked late hours the night before.

“Hey!” She was a slim, attractive woman of about thirty-five, and truly pleasant. She loved her job, her husband, her two perfect little children. She’d been born in Stoneyville, and never had the least temptation to move elsewhere. Her husband, Ray, was a building contractor, and just as pleasant as Shirley. Matt used to wonder if there was something artificial about their constant cheer, but oddly enough they seemed to be a genuinely happy couple.

“Good morning.”

“I heard you were here until the wee hours,” she said. “I didn’t expect you in so soon, but I was actually about to call you at home. Digger called.”

Digger was actually Darrell Jordy, an exceptional osteoanthropologist who worked at the Smithsonian museum in D.C.

“And?” Digger was a busy guy. He was given bones to study by police agencies across the country, not to mention the FBI. Matt had never expected him to get to the skull the first thing when he had walked in that morning.

She shrugged. “Just what you thought. The skull carbon dated at about a hundred and fifty years. He said he already told you it once belonged to a young woman, between fifteen and twenty-five years of age. Seems she fits right in with the old story about the jealous older sister who hacked up her younger sibling.”

He shrugged. “Glad to hear it.”

“They’ve already called from the newspaper, too. They want to know when you’re planning to see that the head gets buried with the body.”

“Exactly who called?”

“Max Aubry.”

“Great.”

Aubry would sensationalize the whole thing. Granted, they were a small town. And thankfully, in the local paper, small events were often given headlines. He still dreaded the kind of attention the skull was going to receive.

“Oh, come on, Matt! It is a great story. Sad, but now with an ending.”

“Aubry will play up the ghost bit, then hone in on Darcy and Harrison Investigations.”