LITMIR.BIZ

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bacon, eggs and homemade biscuits drifted through to her upstairs bedroom, reminding her of her need to nourish the growing child in her belly. Despite her intent to remain aloof from other boarders and guests of the inn, Jocelyne couldn’t resist the breakfast call and descended to the bottom floor.

      In the kitchen, with an apron tied around her gently rounded figure, her long, fading red hair neatly twisted into a knot on top of her head, Hazel Baker scrambled eggs in a large skillet. “Oh, good, you’re awake. Could you hand me that bowl on the counter over there?”

      Jocelyne settled into the routine she’d grown up with, helping her mother cater to the guests that made living in the huge old mansion possible. “What can I do to help?”

      “Mr. Gibson likes toast instead of biscuits. Would you pop two slices in the toaster?”

      “Yes, ma’am.”

      Her mother scraped the eggs off the bottom of the pan and flipped them, careful not to brown the pale yellow. “You look tired, dear. Are you not feeling well?”

      “I couldn’t sleep.” Jocelyne slid two slices of bread into the toaster and prayed her mother wouldn’t question her too much on her dreams.

      Hazel’s hands paused in stirring the eggs. “I’m not sure now was a good time for you to come home, honey.”

      A lump settled in the empty cavity of Jocelyne’s belly. “What do you mean?” After all these years, she’d come home to mend fences and wash away all the built-up resentment of her childhood. And now her mother was trying to get rid of her?

      “What with the curse and all, it’s just not safe for you and my grandbaby.” Her mother stared across the hardwood floors of the kitchen at Jocelyne, her gaze dropping to her daughter’s midsection before she turned back to the eggs. “Maybe you should go back to New Jersey.”

      Her words hit with the force of a baseball bat to Jocelyne’s chest. “I can’t, Mom. I don’t have a home to go to. I gave up the lease on my apartment and I have my entire inventory here. I don’t have any other home. Raven’s Cliff is the only home I have left.”

      “Don’t you have a friend you can stay with until after the baby is born? Maybe by then I’ll have come up with a cure for the curse.”

      Jocelyne pulled the slices from the toaster and carefully laid them on a plate. Then she dusted the crumbs from her fingers and walked across the kitchen to where her mother scraped the eggs into a large serving tray. When she set the pan in the sink, Jocelyne stood in front of her. “What curse are you talking about?”

      “Captain Raven’s curse, of course.”

      “The one about Beacon Lighthouse? I thought that was an old fish story.”

      Her mother’s eyes widened. “Oh, no, my dear. Captain Raven left strict instructions that the lighthouse was to be lit and pointed to the exact position where his ship went down. He lost his entire family in that wreck, all those years ago.”

      “So where does the curse come in?”

      “The Sterling family kept the promise to shine the light on that day until five years ago. Young Nicholas Sterling the Third…forgot.” Her mother’s voice softened, her eyes became sadder.

      Despite her determination not to let her mother’s superstitions affect her, Jocelyne couldn’t stop the goose bumps rising across her arms.

      “When his grandfather saw that the light wasn’t lit, he climbed the steps himself, but it was too late. In his attempt to light the flame, he started a fire that destroyed the lighthouse. Nicholas tried to rescue his grandfather from the inferno, but he fell into the sea. It was all so horrible and his body was never recovered.” Her mother buried her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking.

      The older woman had bought into the curse with all her heart. Jocelyne pulled her mother into her arms and held her, rubbing her back until the sobs diminished. When Hazel raised her head, tears trembled on faded red lashes, her pale skin splotchy and wet, emphasizing the crow’s feet at the corners of her eyes and the worry lines on her forehead. “I missed you, sweetie, but I’m so afraid for you.”

      “Don’t worry about me, Mom. I can take care of myself. Why don’t you go lie down and let me finish getting the breakfast out on the table?”

      “Oh, no, you’re the one who’s pregnant. You should go put your feet up. I’ll be all right.” She wiped the tears from her face with the corner of her apron.

      “I’m pregnant, not crippled. I’m in better physical shape than I’ve ever been.” Jocelyne gently pried the spatula from her mother’s hand. “Let me help. It’s the least I can do to repay you for giving me a home to come to.”

      “You’re always welcome, dear. This will always be your home. I just wish it was safe for you and your baby.” Her mother wiped her hands down the front of her apron and stared around the kitchen. “The biscuits will need to come out of the oven in a few minutes. Don’t forget the pancakes in the warmer.”

      “I can find things, go lie down.” Jocelyne steered her mother toward the dining room.

      Leah Toler was busy setting out napkin-wrapped silverware at each place setting. “Morning, Jocelyne.”

      “My mother is going to lie down for a few minutes. I’ll be handling the kitchen duties.” She gave her mother a stern stare. “We’ll do just fine. Now go.”

      “I’m not used to letting someone else handle the kitchen.”

      “Then get used to having a little more help around here.” Jocelyne smiled at Leah to let her know her comment wasn’t meant to belittle Leah’s work. She’d been a godsend to her mother.

      Once her mother was out of the dining area, Jocelyne turned to push the swinging door into the kitchen. At the same time, the door swung toward her, jamming her hand. Pain shot through her wrist and she jumped back. “Ouch!”

      Rick Simpson strode into the dining room from the kitchen. “I’m sorry, did I hurt you?” He grabbed her hand and held it, studying her wrist for a brief second. His hands were cool and clammy like beached fish.

      Jocelyne jerked her fingers out of his grasp. “I’m fine, you just surprised me. Most guests enter through the front door.” If her voice was sharp, count it up to the shards of pain shooting through her jammed fingers.

      “So they do.” Simpson’s attention moved from her to the breakfast buffet set up against the wall of the large dining room. Without another word, he stepped around Jocelyne and lifted a plate so that he could be first in line when the food came out.

      Jocelyne used her other hand to push the swinging door. “Jerk,” she muttered beneath her breath as she strode across the kitchen, shaking the kink out of her damaged hand.

      “I hope you’re not referring to me.”

      The voice behind her made her jump. “Don’t do that!” She faced the man who’d occupied much of her thoughts yesterday and most of last night in her dreams. If not for him, her nightmares would have been much worse, but that didn’t excuse him sneaking up on her.

      He leaned against a counter, incredibly handsome in his police uniform.

      “Guests enter through the front door, not the kitchen.” She marched to the oven and pulled out the tray of biscuits, ignoring the tingle of awareness she’d felt at his nearness.

      “I’m not here to eat.” Andrei Lagios pushed away from the counter he leaned against and moved toward her, gliding like a jaguar toward his prey.

      Had heat from the open oven caused the temperature to rise so dramatically in the room? Jocelyne stood in his path, her gaze fixed on his mesmerizing dark eyes. Not until heat seeped through the hot pad did she return to her senses. “Yow!” She looked for a place to set the hot tray but the countertops were full of the dishes to be carried to the dining room.

      Andrei

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