Can’t Get Loose
Jack
ON HIS BACK, HIS HANDS wrapped around the sides of Belle’s hips that were straddling his face, Jack pulled her deeper into his mouth and listened to and, better, felt her sweet, husky moan wrap around his cock.
This was because his cock was deep in her throat.
Feeling it, hearing it, her warm softness pressed the length of his torso, her taste on his tongue . . . fucking hell, he should have thought to teach her to do this a long, fucking time ago.
The first time she’d asked him to teach her would have been good.
Their first night they were together would have been better.
Digging his fingers in, he pulled her even deeper, working her harder and got another moan then he felt her mouth slide up and release him even as her hand wrapped around tight.
“Oh my God.” He heard her breathe.
She was close and losing focus.
He wanted back inside but he knew he was going to have to take her a different way.
Gently, he rolled her to her back and she moaned differently when he did. This moan was in protest.
He grinned to himself then moved her around in the bed. Once he had her head to the pillows, he reached to the nightstand and grabbed the packet.
“Come here, love,” he ordered quietly, and her stormy-gray eyes moved from his hands to his face. She put one hand behind her in the bed, pushing herself up. Her other hand came to rest light on his stomach and her touch might have been light but it knifed through him. “Take this, poppet. Put it on.”
She looked back at the packet then to him. His cock twitched as he watched the storm in her eyes grow stormier and she wet her lips as she took the packet from him. Then he watched her hands shake and fumble as she ripped it open and slid out the condom.
She was cute with her fumbling.
As cute as it was, no way in hell he was going to be able to wait or endure her fumbling as she rolled it on.
He took it from her and whispered, “Place your hand over mine.”
Her head tipped back, her eyes caught his, she nodded again then he felt her hand move to round his as he rolled it on.
She wet her lips again, her head dipping to watch their hands move.
Jesus.
He was right, he couldn’t wait.
“Lie back,” he demanded, his voice thick and her head shot back again, she looked in his face, her pupils dilated then she did as she was told.
Finishing with the condom, he pulled her legs apart and settled between. She wrapped all of her limbs around him and he drove deep into her wet, hot silk.
Fucking bliss.
“Jack,” she breathed into his ear, the fingers of one hand sifting into his hair, cupping his head and holding on.
Jack turned his head and took her mouth as he took her body. Her moans drove down his throat. His groans, then grunts drove down hers.
Finally she gasped against his tongue as every inch of her body, inside and out, tightened around him.
Yes. Fucking bliss.
Minutes later he growled against hers.
After he recovered he found she was giving him a sweet, deep kiss, her tongue dancing with his. Jack took over as he settled deep inside her, keeping one forearm in the bed to alleviate some of his weight while his other hand drifted over her soft skin to her waist then in, around her back and down where he cupped the ample cheek of her behind.
Finally, he released her mouth but only so he could slide his lips to her neck. He could still smell hints of her appealing perfume that she’d sprayed on the morning before.
It was Sunday morning. He’d awakened curled into her and his first thought was to give in to her request of several days before.
So he did to spectacular results.
“I like the way you smell, poppet,” he murmured against her skin and felt her limbs convulse.
Then she whispered a sweet, “Thank you, honey.”
He lifted his head and looked down at her to see the storm in her eyes had passed. They were now languid, content.
Happy.
He’d been wrong.
Being buried inside her was magnificent.
Seeing that in his Belle’s eyes, that was bliss.
He grinned at the sight and continued speaking, “And the way you taste.”
A flush of pink tinged her cheeks but she replied softly, “Thanks again. And, um . . . I like the way you taste too.”
She didn’t have to tell him that, he already knew but his grin got bigger as he muttered, “Good.”
“And that was very nice,” she went on and Jack couldn’t help it.
His body collapsed on hers and he burst out laughing.
“What’s funny?” she wheezed, he registered her breathlessness and carefully slid out then rolled them so she was full on top, straddling him.
“Very nice?” he teased when she lifted her head and looked down at him.
Her head tilted to the side and she stated, “Yes, and it was so nice maybe we should do it again.”
“I’m thinking we’ll do it again, poppet,” he informed her, running his hands down her back to her bottom and up again. “It was so very nice we’ll likely do it often.”
When she told him the story of her life, considering her timidity, he was not surprised to learn she had very few lovers, in fact, only two before him. He was also not surprised to learn that Calvin Cole was a selfish one.
Although not delighted by the last, he was by the first. This meant he had the honor of initiating her to certain things. Things like they’d just done.
She’d also shared that he was the only man with whom she’d enjoyed sex at all. With her uninhibited response to him, this was a surprise. But she’d explained she’d only had what they had, what they’d just shared, what they would always share with him.
Only him.
And this didn’t delight him, it thrilled him.
As he thought these thoughts, she studied his face and her hand slid up his chest to curl around the side of his neck before she suggested, “And maybe we can try some . . .” she hesitated then finished, “other things.”
Jack’s arms moved to close around her.
“What other things were you thinking, my love?” he asked gently.
“Well,” she began, “I was thinking we could try other things you thought of.”
He smiled up at her. “We can do that.”
It was then she surprised him again, rather profoundly, by announcing, “And you can be adventurous. I’ve decided I’m not Belle ‘Meek and Mild’ Abbot anymore so I’m willing to experiment.”
He was bloody ecstatic she was willing to experiment.
But something else she said caught his attention, his brows drew together and he asked, “You’re not Belle ‘Meek and Mild’ Abbot anymore?”
She shook her head immediately as she awarded him one of her sweet, small smiles. “No. See, earlier this week, I thought about it and all my life I’ve been . . . well, I’ve let things hold me back. The three times I didn’t, one, I saved some children and a bus driver from drowning and the other two, well,” her eyes went soft and her hand slid from his neck up to his jaw as her face dipped closer and she finished, “the other two got me you.”
Jack felt her words hit warm and heavy in his gut as his arms got tight around her and he rolled her to her back again, muttering, “Jesus, Belle.” He settled partly on her, partly pressed to her side and tangled his legs with hers.
He was so moved by her words he was unable to say any more of his own.
Her hand didn’t move from his jaw with his roll but she slid it to his cheek, cupping it and running her thumb along his cheekbone, her eyes holding his, no evasion, straight and true, and she whispered, “And you’re gentle and loving and accepting, not only of me, my neuroses, my shyness and my silences but also all the craziness and the crazy people around you. So I figure this means I’m safe to jump in, feet first, to whatever’s next for me,” the fingertips of her hand against his cheek pressed in gently, “for us. So, like I said, I’m willing to experiment. Because, well,” she grinned up at him and tilted her head on the pillow, “I just kind of did, and personally I think it went great.”
One thing about that, it was a lot better than “very nice.”
The other thing about it was everything.
Jack dropped his head, burying his face in her neck and yanking her body more fully under his before he muttered, “Jesus, Belle, I love you.”
“I know, Jack,” she whispered. “That’s why I’m free not to be what I was before.”
He lifted his head, locked his eyes with hers and reminded her, “Don’t forget, poppet, I fell in love with that woman.”
He watched her beautiful face get soft, her gray eyes grow warm, she lifted her other hand and both moved to curl around the sides of his neck as she replied quietly, “I’m still here, Jack. Just kind of improved.”
“You don’t need to improve,” he told her, his voice vibrating. “I like you just the way you are.”
Her face got softer, her eyes warmer and her fingers dug into his neck when she returned gently, “Well, with what we just did, I’m going to have to disagree. I think I could do with a little bit of adventure. Just as long as I do it with you.”
That he couldn’t argue with so Jack grinned.
Belle grinned back then continued, “Except, maybe next time, we should tear open the condom packet in preparation. I was a little impatient and in a bit of a state, I nearly dropped it.”
Jack kept grinning. “I noticed that.”
“If you’re adventurous,” she shared, “I might be more in a state.”
God, he fucking hoped so.
On the thought, Jack’s grin got bigger. “Then we should be prepared.”
She nodded once in mock-seriousness, her hands sliding down to his chest and she agreed, “Definitely.”
“It should be noted that I’m feeling in the mood to be adventurous about,” he dropped his mouth to hers and finished on a whisper, “now.”
“Oh,” she breathed against his lips, he felt that knife through him too and just as her hands slid around to hold on, his mouth took hers in a heated, wet kiss.
One of his arms sliced around her, the other one dove into her hair, he rolled them yet again so he was on his back and she was on top.
Then he heard dog tags as the dogs moved with agitation and Baron started barking. Seconds later, there was a loud knock on the front door.
Jack let Belle lift her head away from his as he growled, “This is not fucking happening.”
And it shouldn’t be. Yesterday evening, early, when he left The Point, he told everyone that he would be picking Belle up from her shop, taking her to her cottage and they wouldn’t be seeing any of them until Monday.
Or hearing from them.
Any of them.
For any reason.
Therefore, there should not be a knock on the goddamned door.
He focused on Belle’s face just as she noted distractedly and with disappointment, “But it’s Sunday.”
“Yes, love, it’s Sunday, and unfortunately before we get adventurous, I’m going to need to commit homicide,” he ground out and only felt slightly better when he heard her adorable, startled giggle.
He rolled her off him, flicked the covers over her, slid out of bed and snatched up his jeans. Stalking to the bathroom, he quickly dealt with the condom, something which he and Belle were successfully experimenting with in order to enjoy it as part of sex. Something which he’d be glad to dispense with once she was safely on the Pill.
He tugged his jeans on as he walked out onto the landing, both of his dogs circling to him and the top of the stairs and back again as he moved.
He prowled down the stairs, unlocked the door and pulled it open to scowl at Mickey Dempsey who was standing at the top of Belle’s steps.
“I see Olive failed to inform you of this,” he clipped instantly upon catching the man’s eyes, “but Sundays Belle and I are not disturbed for any reason. I’ll deal with this omission directly with Olive later. I’ll deal with you now by telling you to hold whatever it is until tomorrow.”
Without another word or allowing Dempsey to utter one, he stepped back and started to slam the door but Dempsey’s hand shot out and caught it.
“You’ll want to hear this,” he stated.
“Is the world ending?” Jack asked and he could see Dempsey fighting a knowing smile.
Through it, he answered, “No.”
“Then I don’t want to hear it,” Jack returned and put pressure on the door but Dempsey moved into the frame, blocking its closure with his shoulder.
“Not kidding, Bennett, you’ll want to hear this,” he said quietly and with not a small amount of gravity.
“Give me a hint,” Jack bit off.
“The third soul is not reincarnated in Cole.” He paused and held Jack’s eyes as he finished, “Caleb Caldwell is reincarnated in your brother.”
Jack felt his chest get tight just as he heard Belle say softly from the top of the stairs, “Oh my goodness gracious.”
He looked to his feet, clenched his teeth, felt a muscle tick in his cheek then he looked to Dempsey and stepped back.
“Come in, stay down here, thirty seconds,” he ordered. “Only then can you come up.”
Without waiting to see if Dempsey agreed, he turned, ducked his head in order not to give himself a concussion on the low hanging ceiling and, once he’d cleared the ceiling, took the stairs two at a time.
Belle was at the top wearing a becoming nightgown (another one of her own, something he’d learned recently after asking was all she ever wore) and looking astonished.
“That man, Jack,” she whispered as she lifted a hand and rested it on his chest. “I’ve seen that man.”
“I’m not surprised,” Jack replied. “That’s Mickey Dempsey. I told you I recruited his assistance after he wrote the article about Calvin Cole. He watched us and thus, I would assume, you.”
Her eyes grew unfocussed for a moment as she whispered, “Oh,” then they focused on him and she stated, “Well, that explains that.”
It was lucky she was so endearing or he’d be even more pissed at that moment than he was.
Instead, he was only mildly pissed and therefore he could gentle his voice when he asked her, “Now, I need you to get dressed and make coffee. Can you do that for me, poppet?”
She nodded. “Of course, Jack, I make coffee every day.” She paused then finished, sounding somewhat disgruntled as if she missed having the chore of making coffee, “Or I used to before I moved in with you and started to get waited on hand and foot.”
He was surprised at that juncture to find himself fighting back a smile.
She was blossoming and it wasn’t happening slowly.
She trusted him. She trusted his love. She trusted in their future. And she knew he’d keep her safe. So he had the best of both because he had his cute, sweet, imperfectly perfect Belle and he had the Belle she gave him when he flipped on her switch.
Instead of smiling, he dipped his head, touched his mouth to hers, followed her to the bedroom, closed the door behind them, and as she moved around getting dressed, he pulled on a long-sleeved, black T-shirt.
Dressed, he walked out, closed the door again and saw Gretl sitting outside the door.
Baron was sitting in the living room where he found Dempsey.
“Beautiful dogs,” Dempsey muttered.
Jack made no comment about his dogs.
Instead, he said, “Belle’s going to make coffee in a minute. But you’re going to explain now.”
Dempsey grinned. “I could use some coffee.”
Jack’s head cocked to the side. “Did you miss the ‘now’ part?”
“Right,” Dempsey muttered, moved to the window, glanced out over the rooftops to the obstructed but nonetheless lovely view Belle had of the sea then he turned back to Jack and crossed his arms on his chest. “This legend, Bennett, Addison, Caldwell, the children, the murders, it’s very well-known.”
“You disturbed my Sunday with Belle to tell me something I’ve known since I could process thought?” Jack asked, losing patience.
“What I mean is, it’s known widely. St. Ives. Penzance. Land’s End. Falmouth. Even as far as Newquay.”
Dempsey had covered a great deal of ground in the last few days.
He still was not telling Jack something he didn’t already know.
“It’s legend,” Jack agreed. “Legend with over two hundred years to travel widely. It’s known beyond Newquay, Dempsey. It’s written about in books. This doesn’t explain why you think Miles is Caldwell reincarnated.”
They heard the bedroom door open. Dempsey’s torso shifted to the side to catch a look out the door of the living room to Belle moving through the landing, thus Jack’s body shifted to block his view.
Dempsey’s eyes shot to Jack and the grin came back.
“Protective,” he muttered.
“You’ll meet her soon enough,” Jack returned. “And you’ve investigated her. If she was yours, you’d be the same bloody way. Now, focus. What did you find?”
“Ghost tale,” Dempsey got to the matter at hand, “told around campfires. Kids telling it to scare the hell out of other kids.”
“Dempsey,” Jack warned low.
“For centuries, Bennett,” Dempsey returned. “A shocking story, heartbreaking, brutal. So much so, there are not one but three local historians who’ve made it the focus of their field of study. And not only that, it was shocking, heartbreaking and brutal back in the day. It stunned local residents. Joshua and Brenna Bennett were popular, Brenna especially. She was adored. Her murder marked the locals. The fact that her children were taken made it worse. So there’s a good deal these historians could study. And they shared it all with me.”
“Explain,” Jack demanded.
“Diaries of local residents, letters kept, archives of constabulary records. I haven’t had time to go through it all thoroughly but the primary theme bled through almost immediately,” Dempsey answered.
“And that theme would be?” Jack prompted when Dempsey didn’t go on.
“Bennett and Caldwell had a lifelong feud,” Dempsey replied and Jack felt his body get tight.
Dempsey continued.
“It was not private. It played out very publicly and started when they were young. It followed them into adulthood and business. Caldwell was not well liked, and the story goes this was because he was a cheat and a poor loser. Further, although Caldwell was not a peasant, not common, his family didn’t have the kind of money the Bennett family had, still, he was ambitious. And most of that ambition was centered around besting Bennett. Unfortunately, Bennett was richer, smarter and better looking than him and always won. Caldwell didn’t like this. From what I read, as boys even to young men, Bennett participated in these various contests, whatever they were, and in the end they included the pursuit of women. However, as Bennett matured and turned his mind to the family business, he lost interest in Caldwell and his competitions. In fact, Bennett was often in London and not in Cornwall at all. That said, it was widely believed that Caldwell still smarted that the games ended before he could best Bennett at least once.”
As engrossed in the story as he was disturbed by it and its further similarities to his own life, Jack still heard Belle moving about the house so he lifted a hand. Dempsey fell silent and his attention cut to the door.
Jack turned to see Belle standing there, looking curious and tentative, her gaze on Dempsey. She was wearing jeans so faded they were nearly white and had a frayed split in one knee. She was also wearing a white slouchy sweater that was loose-woven and had a wide neck so he could see her white vest at her shoulders and through the weave. She’d pulled her hair back in a ponytail but tendrils had escaped and framed her face.
Even nearly first thing in the morning without makeup, she looked just as casually chic and adorably charming as she actually was.
She also, fortunately and unfortunately, looked like she’d just enjoyed a rather pleasurable orgasm.
Jack liked that the results of their lovemaking lasted some time for Belle.
No, he loved it.
Though, as usual, he wasn’t keen on sharing it.
Without a choice, he extended an arm her way and called softly, “Come in, poppet, meet Mickey Dempsey.”
Her eyes came to him, she gave him her small smile then she walked straight to him. She fitted herself tight to his side as his arm curled around her shoulders and hers around his waist but she leaned forward and extended her other hand to Dempsey who took it.
“It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Dempsey,” she said softly in her musical voice.
“Mickey,” he corrected. “And nice to meet you too, Ms. Abbot.”
She awarded Dempsey one of her small smiles. It was smaller than the ones she gave Jack but it was something and that something was something Dempsey liked. Jack saw it immediately as Dempsey’s gaze grew captivated.
“And please,” Belle continued, “call me Belle.”
“Belle,” Dempsey murmured, and he still hadn’t let her hand go.
“Perhaps we can move forward with what you have to share so Belle and I can get on with our Sunday,” Jack suggested pointedly. Belle pulled her hand from Dempsey’s grip and Dempsey grinned at him. Jack looked down at her. “I explained I’d spoken with Mr. Dempsey and what I asked him to do,” he reminded her of the conversation they’d had days before and he did this to share with Dempsey that Belle was aware of the situation.
She nodded up to Jack then to Dempsey and she informed them, “Coffee should be ready in a few minutes.”
Jack had no intention of sharing coffee with Mickey Dempsey. He wasn’t even going to ask him to sit down.
His blossoming Belle, however, had other ideas.
“Please, sit, Mickey,” she offered, throwing her arm out to the couch.
There were times, Jack thought, when meek, mild and shy worked in his favor in regards to Belle.
This would have been one of them.
Dempsey smiled and sat on the couch. Again with no choice, Jack took an armchair and was slightly appeased when Belle perched on the arm in the perfect position for him to wrap an arm around her hips. Therefore he did this without delay.
“Sorry to say,” Belle put in, “but I was eavesdropping. Small house, hard not to do,” she told Dempsey.
“What he says does affect you, my love, and it is your house,” Jack pointed out.
She looked down at him and whispered, “Right, of course.”
Jack gave her hips a squeeze and looked back to Dempsey. “Why don’t we continue?”
Dempsey nodded and did just that.
“As I was saying, although Bennett moved on, Caldwell did not. So, when Brenna Addison saved that child from drowning—”
Jack’s arm got tight around Belle’s hips even as he leaned slightly forward and whispered, “What?” at the same time Belle whispered, “Oh my goodness gracious.”
Dempsey’s brow furrowed. “Brenna saved a child from drowning. She nearly drowned herself doing it. It was one of the reasons she was so beloved. Didn’t you know that?”
Jack shook his head. “I paid little attention to the legend.”
“I hadn’t heard that either,” Belle said softly.
“I know you two are aware of the similarities in their story to yours, of course. But I thought you knew all of it. And all of it is near to identical to your own. Including Caldwell pursuing Brenna because of her beauty and popularity but also in order to win her in an effort to best Bennett. He made it clear after drinking heavily and bragging in pubs that he was keen to show Bennett his prize. That prize being Brenna.” Dempsey’s eyes moved to Jack. “I’m relatively certain this sounds familiar.”
“It does, indeed,” Jack agreed, his voice low and annoyed but he wasn’t annoyed.
He was uneasy.
“Although I can see why you’d think Caldwell is reincarnated in Cole,” Dempsey carried on, his eyes moving to Belle and giving her a gentle look before they shifted back to Jack, “I hope you can see why I believe this isn’t true. The initials are the same. The marital treatment is the same.” He again looked to Belle and muttered, “Sorry.”
“Please don’t worry about it,” Belle replied quietly.
Dempsey nodded then his gaze went again to Jack. “But the behavior, as I understand it, is your brother.”
It was. Absolutely.
And this could mean that it was Miles who’d pushed Belle down the stairs. He’d lived at The Point all his life, grew up there. He knew every inch not only of the castle but of the land surrounding it. He could get to and in the house without being detected. He could get out the same way.
His brother.
His own fucking brother.
“We need to talk to Miles,” Belle said, and Jack looked up at her to see her looking down at him as she continued, “We need to ask him to let Cassandra touch him.” Her head tilted sharply to the side as her eyes moved over his face and she asked, “Jack, are you okay?”
Miles would not do that. There wasn’t a chance in hell.
And he was most definitely not okay.
“We’ll talk later, love,” Jack muttered and looked back to Dempsey. “Is there more?”
Dempsey shook his head. “Not now. I thought it important to share my theory with you without delay so you could be aware your brother posed a possible threat. I’ve been loaned some papers, books, diaries, etcetera, and I have more reading to do, a few more people to talk to, and if I find anything, I’ll contact you.”
“Next time, call,” Jack ordered and Dempsey’s lips quirked.
“Did any of the stuff you’ve read talk about magic? Witchcraft? Anything like that?” Belle asked at this point.
“None at all,” Dempsey answered but finished, “so far.”
“So I wonder how that third ghost . . .” She didn’t finish likely because she didn’t want to cast her mind back to losing their child and how she did.
But at her words, Jack realized she hadn’t put it together. She thought it was a ghost. She didn’t think, possibly couldn’t wrap her mind around the thought of Miles sneaking in and pushing her down the stairs, killing their child at the same time wounding her without thought that such a fall could kill her as well.
Miles had told him in the stables that Jack would pay. He’d vow to do it through Belle. And now, possibly twice, he’d tried. Once, he’d attempted to fill her mind with rubbish and prey on her fragility by planting ideas about Jack and Yasmin in her head.
Once, he might have attempted to take her away from Jack another way.
Lewis saw the “ghost.”
They needed to find Lewis.
Now.
“I’m sure the coffee is ready now, Mickey. How do you take yours?” Belle asked, moving from the chair.
“He takes it by ordering it from the coffee house down the street,” Jack replied for Dempsey, rising from his chair.
“Jack!” Belle snapped, her eyes moving swiftly to his and narrowing.
“We have to get to The Point as soon as possible,” he told her. “We need to report this to Angus and Cassandra. They’ve been making little headway for weeks. This could be a breakthrough.”
“Oh, right, that probably would be smart,” she muttered.
Jack looked to Dempsey to see him gazing fondly at Belle. “You’ll pardon our rudeness at not offering you refreshments.” He spoke with politeness but it was a thinly veiled order.
“Right, mate,” Dempsey replied.
Jack caught Belle’s eyes. “I’ll show Dempsey out. Then we’ll have a quick breakfast and head to The Point.”
She nodded, offered her hand to Dempsey who took it, to Jack’s way of thinking, for several seconds too long, and finally Jack showed him out.
By the time he was back upstairs, Belle had his coffee ready for him and bread in the toaster.
They had toast, coffee and gave the dogs a quick walk. They then came back and had a shower together that Jack decided, even though it was imperative to get back to The Point, would be a long one.
A very long one.
And in the end, it was a very, very long one.
Then, on their Sunday alone together, Jack loaded Belle and his dogs in his Jag and headed to a castle full of people.
As with every day since Jack broke through her grief, waking up with Belle meant the day started brilliantly.
As with everything happening in his home, the possibility of this continuing was unlikely.
And, upon arrival at The Point, their already ruined Sunday degenerated.
This was because Jack found he had more guests.
As they said they’d do, Angus and Cassandra had called in reinforcements. And after Jack explained he wished to speak with the not-so-dynamic duo in his study with Belle and no one else so as not to distress his mother with the news about Miles, he was introduced to them.
A brother and sister pair. Twins. They were Angus’s niece and nephew, Lachlan and Lorna McPherson.
“Oh my,” Belle breathed when the motley quartet sauntered into his study and he looked down at her to see she was gazing with shy interest at the twins.
Or, more accurately, the male one.
With narrowed eyes, Jack took them in.
They were in their late twenties. Both ginger. And both, Jack was mildly pleased to see, didn’t appear in full Scottish regalia.
Lachlan wore jeans, boots and a sweater that fit close to his broad chest. Lorna wore a jean skirt, high-heeled boots, a form-fitting long-sleeved T-shirt and a long, colorful scarf wrapped around and around her neck.
And luckily, unlike Cassandra who was sporting what looked like six on three different places on her body including head, neck and hips, Lorna only had one scarf.
The female twin was more than slightly attractive. She was petite and rounded, much like Belle, but with masses of thick, curling red hair, delicate features and bright-blue eyes.
Her brother was surprisingly tall, towering at least six inches over his sister. His ginger hair was cropped short, the waves contained though longish and curling around his neck. He had a short clipped, red beard, craggy, dominant features with a high, strong brow all of this making him appear older than his twin.
But they shared the same startling blue eyes.
It took Lachlan McPherson approximately half a second to lock eyes on Belle and a half a second longer to grin a wolfish grin at her.
“Oh my,” Belle repeated even more breathily.
“Jesus,” Jack muttered and felt Belle start at his side.
Angus, not one to miss much, one of the few things Jack respected about him, didn’t miss this.
Therefore, he clapped his nephew on the shoulder and boomed proudly, “He’s a McPherson!”
This made Lorna roll her eyes and murmur, “Someone kill me.”
Lachlan, his gaze still locked on Belle, noted, “You’re prettier than your pictures.”
“Thank you,” Belle replied softly.
“By quite a bit,” Lachlan carried on.
“Um . . . thank you,” Belle repeated, dipping her chin and looking under her lashes at him.
Lachlan’s wolfish grin turned predatory.
“Jesus,” Jack repeated, again on a mutter.
“Uh, Lach, just to remind you, the man standing right there has a soul that’s eternally bound to the woman at his side,” Lorna informed her brother then finished bluntly, “There’s no way in hell you’re getting in there, mate.”
Her brother swung his head her way and tipped it down to catch her eyes.
“I know that,” he replied. “Doesn’t make her any less pretty.”
Lorna looked to Cassandra and shared, “He breathes therefore he flirts. This is my lot in life. Can you imagine being connected to him through blood and profession, and having to put up with this constantly?”
“I can imagine being connected to him but not through blood,” Cassandra returned, eyeing Lachlan appreciatively, her words getting his attention and he turned his roguish grin her way.
Lorna sought another ally, found Jack and requested, “Please, kill me.”
“I’d rather you tell me what your purpose is for being here,” Jack retorted, not in a good mood and none of this making his mood any better.
“They’ve got the gift,” Angus boomed, and Jack looked at the older Scot.
“Pardon?” he asked.
“The gift!” Angus boomed again without any further explanation.
“As I don’t share Cassandra’s reported powers of clairvoyance, you’ll have to explain,” Jack pushed with rapidly waning patience.
Lachlan threw himself in a chair and slouched back with his arms on the armrests. He then placed his ankle on opposite knee and reported, “We were on a job, it got hairy or we would have been here sooner.”
“It was in France,” Lorna added. “French ghosts . . .” she gave a delicate shiver, “not fun. Especially if they’ve been beheaded. That revolution of theirs left some seriously pissed-off phantoms and all of them are a pain in the arse.”
“Holy heck,” Belle breathed.
Jack crossed his arms on his chest. “This does not answer my question about why you’re here now.”
“They’ve got the gift,” Angus repeated and Jack’s eyes sliced to him so Angus quickly went on. “The gift. The feel. They can track ghosts.”
“I thought that was your job,” Jack remarked.
“Well, it is, lad,” Angus returned. “Cassandra can sense them, so can I. If we can’t, we can do readings. What I mean is, Lach and Lorna, they got the feel. That’s how the McPhersons got started in this business in the first place. All of us got it, some of us stronger than others. Lach and Lorna, they got it the strongest of all. They can track them and they can call them out.”
“Oh my,” Belle whispered.
Jack ignored Belle and looked between the twins. “And have you been doing that?”
“Aye,” Lachlan muttered. “Got here about an hour ago but didn’t even have to try. Minute we stepped over the threshold, we felt them. The wee ones, they’re here. Hidden and scared out of their minds, but they’re here. We haven’t had time to pull them to us but they’re here.” His eyes shifted briefly to Belle exposing he knew the whole story before they came back to Jack, “The third ghost, nothing.”
“Not one thing,” Lorna put in. “Not even a little bit. No trace.”
“This doesn’t make sense,” Belle noted quietly and Jack uncrossed his arms to wrap one around her and pull her to his side.
“Unfortunately, it does,” Lachlan stated, coming out of his lounge. He sat forward and put his elbows on his knees, his gaze on Belle. “We got the briefing. Although Caldwell did his dirty deeds in this house and this could be a reason why his ghost would be tethered here, unlike Myrtle and Lewis, he isn’t a ghost. He’s like you with Brenna and Bennett here with Joshua.” He tipped his head to Jack. “The triangle is not made of two reincarnated souls and a ghost. The triangle is complete only if the trace of the third soul finds its host.”
Belle went still at his side, whispering, “Oh my God,” and Jack pulled her closer as his own body got tight.
“So, we’re dealing with a human,” Jack surmised, this information uncomfortably and disturbingly matching Mickey Dempsey’s theory.
“Absolutely,” Lorna replied. “Cassandra nor Uncle Angus could feel him or read him anywhere. Except once. This means the night, erm . . .” she hesitated, her eyes also going to rest briefly on Belle before coming back to Jack when she continued, “the recent sad event occurred, whoever he is was in the house. And not only that, Cassandra sensed him here not only because his host was here but because Caldwell, active in the host, had taken it over.”
This, Jack thought, was not getting any better.
“What on earth does that mean?” he asked aloud.
“It’s likely,” Cassandra entered the discussion, “and has happened before, that whoever pushed Belle didn’t even know they were pushing her. They might not even have been aware they were here at all. If Caldwell’s spirit is strong enough, he could take over his host’s body and the host would have no memory of the acts he or she was perpetrating while Caldwell had control. It’s almost as if they don’t share a soul like, say, you and Joshua or Belle and Brenna. If it’s like this then it’s like a spirit inhabiting a body. It can lie dormant or it can take over. If it’s strong enough and angry enough, it’ll take over.”
“That’s bloody ridiculous,” Jack growled.
“It may sound it, but it’s true,” Lachlan replied quietly, his eyes now on Jack, his elbows still to his knees but his body was alert in response to Jack’s swiftly deteriorating mood and Jack made note not to underestimate him. A flirt with a ludicrous profession he might be, but by the look on his face and his posture it was clear he was not easily bested. “It would explain why there’s no readings or traces of his ghost or presence in this house. If Caldwell had never taken over his host, even the children wouldn’t sense his existence. He certainly would leave no trace, as you and Belle haven’t of Brenna or Joshua.”
“Does this mean Brenna or Joshua can take over Jack or me?” Belle asked and all members of the quartet nodded.
“Fucking hell,” Jack clipped out.
“My guess, and Lewis might be able to confirm,” Lorna stated, “is that’s the way this has to go. Brenna, through you, has to do something. What, we don’t know yet. Or, perhaps, both of you need to do something. That’s what we’ve got to find out. All the players are here, we just don’t know what they have to do to release the children.”
“And how do you find that out?” Jack asked.
“We talk to the wee ghosties and hope they know,” Angus answered.
“And if they don’t?” Jack pushed.
The quartet looked amongst themselves then their gazes came to Jack. But it was only Angus that shrugged.
They had no idea.
“Bloody brilliant,” Jack muttered.
“So you need to call them,” Belle noted, her eyes going between Lachlan and Lorna.
“Aye,” Lachlan answered.
“And if you do that, it’ll be gently?” Belle asked.
“No harm will come to them, Belle,” Lachlan replied softly.
Jack felt Belle straighten at his side and she declared, “Well then, let’s do that now.”
“Fucking hell,” Jack repeated on a mutter.
“We have another problem,” Cassandra remarked and Jack’s eyes cut to her. “When we figure out how to send the children to the other plane, which we will do, Belle, I promise,” she said to Belle. “We still have the reincarnated soul of Caleb Caldwell walking around. He intends harm. He’s proved that and we need to neutralize him.”
This was precisely what had been preying on Jack’s mind since Dempsey shared his news on Belle’s cottage steps that morning.
“Caldwell is reincarnated in my brother Miles,” Jack told them what they needed to know but he didn’t relish saying and felt all eyes on him.
“You sorted that, lad?” Angus asked quietly and Jack felt his eyes narrow.
“You knew already?” he shot back.
“Got the niggle when I first met him,” Angus replied. “The diary I told you about, local lore we’ve been hearing, Cass and me pieced it together. We can’t be sure, unless Cass touches him, but that’s our guess.”
Jack thought of Miles’s visit earlier that week, targeting his Belle who was unprotected and he felt a burn start in his stomach as he asked bitingly, “Did you think maybe to share that niggle in an effort to protect the inhabitants of this house?”
“Laddie, you’ve made it clear you aren’t thrilled about all the goings-on and Joy is a sweet lass. We’re not sure of that kind of information, information about your brother, we share it with you without any proof to back it, do you think you’d pat us on the back and give us a medal?” Angus returned.
“Maybe not but I would have taken measures to protect the inhabitants of this house,” Jack fired back.
Angus had the good grace to look uncomfortable as he muttered, “Point taken.”
It was done, all was well so Jack decided to move the conversation forward.
“It’s highly unlikely you can confirm this as it’s highly unlikely that Miles will ever return to The Point. This I know since he’s vowed not to do so again,” Jack reported.
“He might not have a choice if Caldwell takes over his host. He won’t even know he’s doing it,” Lorna put in. “Therefore, we need to seek him out and neutralize him.”
“And uh, how would you go about doing that?” Belle asked cautiously.
“A spell, or, more accurately, a potion,” Cassandra answered. “The good news is I have some. The other good news is, I’ve used it before and it works a charm. The bad news is, it’s like medicine. You don’t take it once and then, poof, entity gone. You have to take it once a month for the rest of your life in order to keep the spirit inside latent.”
“Fucking hell,” Jack muttered yet again.
“I think Miles is unlikely to do that,” Belle remarked and Lachlan stood.
“Then he’ll have to be convinced to do it,” he stated firmly, and both Belle and Jack went still then Jack’s body went solid when he saw Angus’s demented smile.
“Lachlan has another gift. My laddie here has a way about him. He can convince folk to do a lot of things,” Angus declared.
“Do you hypnotize them or something?” Belle asked curiously.
“Yeah, they go into a trance, a trance caused by his fists,” Lorna muttered.
“Holy heck,” Belle breathed.
“There’s another option,” Cassandra put in at this point and Jack, holding close to his dwindling patience and trying to ignore his increasing unease, looked to her. “We kill the soul he carries.”
Belle gasped and Jack’s body petrified but his mouth moved to say two words.
“Absolutely not.”
“It won’t kill him,” Lorna added quickly.
“How could it not?” Belle asked, her voice rising with each word.
“He’ll change, definitely,” Cassandra explained. “From what we can tell, though, only some of his less appealing traits will be gone. Though, we can’t know that, of course, since he was born with Caldwell in him. But it could be he is how he is because he carries Caldwell’s soul. If we release that, he could just be . . . him. Whoever that is,” she ended on a mumble.
“It’s a ceremony,” Lorna stated. “Mega power and mega cool. But, to be honest, the traces of a soul being torn from you isn’t the most comfortable thing and, usually, you’d have to be captured because no one volunteers. And you’d also have to be bound to endure the ceremony because it can get a little intense. But the good news is, it holds no lasting effects. Except, of course, if the personality being torn away makes up most of your own. Then you can end up being a little, erm . . . addled.”
Jack frowned at Lorna then transferred his frown to Cassandra.
“You are not performing this ceremony on my brother,” he declared.
“Lad, we get you,” Angus said quietly. “But what you need to get is that, even after those children are released, Miles carries the trace of Caldwell. If he doesn’t agree to take Cass’s potion for the rest of his life, Caldwell could conspire to do harm against you, Belle and your kin. Your brother wouldn’t even know it.” He saved his kill shot for last. “Your brother probably doesn’t know what he’s already done.”
Likely because of all that was happening, and the entirety of it being beyond mad, Belle had not come to understand the fullness of the situation.
Until then.
And Jack knew she did when she whispered, “Oh my God, it was Miles who pushed me.”
Jack curled her close, moving his other arm so he could hold her in both even as Angus said gently, “No, lass, no’ Miles. Caldwell.”
“I don’t believe this.” Belle continued whispering, and Jack lifted a fist to below her chin to tip her face to his.
“If this is true, my love, it’s as Angus says. It wasn’t Miles. It was Caldwell.”
And he said that because he had to believe it. If he didn’t, he, too, would go mad but it would be a far different madness than the benign lunacy sharing that room with him and Belle.
She pressed into him, sliding her arms around him. “We have to get him to take that potion, Jack.”
“We do,” he agreed though how they would manage that he had no fucking clue.
“Joy is going to need to talk to him, Jack,” Cassandra stated quietly, and Jack’s mouth got tight before his gaze moved to her.
“I don’t want my mother involved in this,” Jack returned. “Hell, I don’t even want her knowing this.”
“You’re no’ going to convince your brother to talk with us, lad,” Angus replied cautiously. “And from what we know of the situation, Belle and Yasmin will have no better luck.”
“It has to be Joy,” Cassandra reiterated. “But I’ll go with her. There’s a few tricks I have up my sleeve.”
“Lachlan has a way about him,” Lorna put in, “and I’ve got a way about me.” She grinned cheekily. “I’ve been known to be good at slipping in a potion here and there without detection. We make him docile, he’ll be easier to talk to. We give him a talking potion, it’ll all come out.”
“See, laddie, we’ve got it covered,” Angus announced, throwing his arms out and grinning his demented grin.
Jack wasn’t certain he agreed.
However, he was certain he had no choice.
And he bloody detested it.
“Right,” he said. “We’ll talk to Mum. We’ll call to Myrtle and Lewis and then we’ll reconvene to decide what’s next once we speak to the children.”
“Uh . . . Jack, that we would be Lorna, Uncle Angus, Cassandra, Belle and me talking to the wee ones,” Lachlan told him. “You can’t be there.”
“Pardon?” Jack asked low, his eyes narrowed on the younger Scot.
“As you know, we’ve been asking around, gathering intel,” Angus cut in. “No master of this house has ever seen the children. They appear freely in front of others, members of the family, servants, guests. But no master. Not only no current master but also none of the sons. We think there’s a reason for this. Though we canno’ say for certain why, whether it’s their wish or if seeing a master puts them in some danger. What we can say is that we need to abide by it if it’s their wish, or, if it’s the other way around no’ forcing their appearance in front of a being that might place them in danger.”
“Okay, I’ll be there and I’ll tell Jack all about it,” Belle offered quickly.
“Aye, lassie,” Angus grinned at her.
“No,” Jack stated flatly and felt Belle’s eyes move to him so he looked down at her.
“What?” she asked.
“No. You will absolutely not be in on this without me with you.”
“But, they’re children and they’ve never harmed anyone,” she reminded him.
“This is true,” he agreed. “But what they could say might be distressing and I’ll not have that either. Let Cassandra and the McPhersons deal with this. They can brief us later.”
“I want to be there,” she pushed.
“And I’ll not allow it,” he returned and her brows drew together.
Then she whispered, “Allow?”
“Belle—”
She took a step back, out of his arms but she didn’t go far and immediately dug in for a fight. He knew this when she planted her hands on her hips.
“Inside me is their mother,” she announced.
“Belle—”
“And I’m here to release them,” she went on.
“You’re here because we’re in love with each other and intend to spend the rest of our lives together,” Jack reminded her.
“Well, that too,” she muttered.
Jack pulled in a calming breath and repeated, “Belle—”
“I’m going to help those children, Jack. I’m going to be there when the McPhersons and Cassandra talk to them. I’m going to assure them we’re going to do everything we can to get them where they need to go. And then I’m going to do everything I can in order to get them where they need to go!”
“Perhaps, poppet, we can talk about this without an audience,” Jack suggested with strained patience.
“We could, I’m sure. Though it would be a waste of time because the result will be the same. I’m going to be there when they talk to the children. And there’s a lot to do so we shouldn’t dillydally,” she declared.
She was lucky she used the word “dillydally” because Jack thought it was cute. If she hadn’t, he’d have lost control of the shreds of patience he was clinging to.
Unfortunately, she used the word “dillydally” therefore Jack found himself biting off the word, “Fine.”
“Fine,” Belle replied, grinning at him, openly pleased she got her way.
“My love,” Jack started to warn, “if you end up with nightmares or sitting in the window of our room attempting your non-thinking in order to get over unpleasant thoughts, don’t come to me. I’ll only tell you I told you so.”
She moved into him, pressing her softness to his frame as she wound her arms around him, tipped her head back, kept grinning at him and whispered, “Balderdash.”
It was. It was complete balderdash.
And he thought that word was cute too.
“Jesus,” he muttered, winding his arms around her as well.
“Can we get to work or are you two going to continue your domestic through cuddling?” Lachlan asked, and Jack looked over Belle’s head to pierce him with a scowl.
“Getting to work would be good,” Jack told him.
“Excellent,” he murmured, grinned at the floor and left the room.
Lorna followed her brother but she did it grinning at Cassandra who went with her.
Leaving them with Angus who announced, “Always the way.”
“What’s always the way?” Jack asked when he knew he shouldn’t.
“The quiet ones,” Angus replied.
“Pardon?” Jack queried.
“It’s always the quiet ones who manage it. Before you know it even began to happen, you’re already wrapped so tight around their finger, you can’t get loose.”
This was absolutely true.
“Good thing is, you don’t want to,” Angus finished softly, grinned his manic grin, turned on a whirl of his kilt and stomped out.
“Do I?” Belle asked softly and Jack looked from the door to her.
“Have me wrapped around your finger?” Jack asked back and she nodded. His arms got tighter as he answered, “Absolutely.”
“How did I manage to wrap criminally handsome James Bennett around my finger?”
Criminally handsome James Bennett?
Jack smiled through his response. “If you don’t know, poppet, it’s not me who’s going to tell you.”
Her eyes drifted to his shoulder as she murmured, “I’ll ask Mom.”
Rachel wouldn’t know.
Jensen would.
Jack didn’t tell her that either.
He gathered her closer, dipped his head and at the tightening of his arms, hers tipped back.
When it did, he kissed her.
She kissed him back, she did it without delay, it got heated to the point she moaned sweetly into his mouth, and in so doing Belle Abbot wound Jack Bennett even tighter.
Lewis and Myrtle
“Lewis! What’s happening?” Myrtle screeched as, powerless, they were pulled from their hiding place and they materialized in the eastern turret, Lewis standing strong, his arms wrapped tight around his quivering little sister.
She had her face tucked in his neck but Lewis looked around.
The witch was there. The Scot too, in his kilt. Two others were there, a brother and sister, like him and Myrtle, Lewis could tell.
And Belle.
They were all staring at Lewis and Myrtle, gentle looks on their faces.
But Lewis felt it coming from the red-headed siblings. The man was standing, feet planted apart, arms crossed on his broad chest. The woman had her hands on her hips. But Lewis felt their power.
They were holding him and Myrtle there.
When they arrived, though, it was only Belle who moved.
Coming toward them and crouching down, her pretty, soft-gray eyes on Lewis’s, she whispered in her musical voice, “Hello, my darlings.”
Lewis closed his eyes because her talking to him in that voice, that look on her face, it reminded him of . . .
“Belle.”
That was Myrtle. Lewis felt her turn her head and rest her cheek against his collarbone. He opened his eyes and tipped his chin down to see his sister shyly looking at Belle.
“Yes, Myrtle. I’m Belle. I know who you are and I know who Lewis is. What I want you to know is, you’re safe. All these people,” she threw her arm out, “and I are here to help you.”
“We know,” Lewis told her.
She dropped to her knees then rested her bottom on her calves as she tipped her head to the side and asked, “You know?”
Lewis nodded.
“If you know we’re here to help, why have you been hiding?” she went on gently and Lewis pulled his sister closer.
He looked to the red-headed woman before his eyes went to the man. “Let Myrtle go.”
“Lewis, darling, we need to talk to you,” Belle stated and he looked to her. “Don’t be scared. We’d never, ever harm you. Not one of us.”
“Please,” he whispered, “let Myrtle go.”
“I want to stay,” Myrtle said quietly.
“She has to go,” Lewis demanded, his back going straight, his gaze moving again to the red-headed man.
The man stared him straight in the eyes then looked to his sister and nodded.
Myrtle disintegrated in his arms.
Lewis drew in a ghostly breath.
“You’re protecting her, right, laddie?” the older Scot asked and Lewis nodded again. “She doesn’t know you saw him,” the Scot went on and Lewis nodded again.
“Who is he, sweetheart?” Belle asked and Lewis looked back at her.
“The bad man.”
She scooted forward on her knees toward him, he held his place and she settled again. “Who’s the bad man, Lewis?”
“You know,” he replied.
He watched her pull in a soft breath before she queried, “Miles?” and Lewis’s ghostly brows came together in confusion.
“Miles?”
“Is he the bad man?”
Lewis shook his head and Belle’s eyes darted amongst the others in the turret before coming back to him. “Who’s the bad man, then, darling?”
Lewis looked to the floor, shuffled his see-through toe through the floorboards and muttered, “Hurt Mum. On the cliff. Saw it. Watched it. But Myrtle and me were already dead.”
“Oh, sweetheart,” Belle whispered, her voice trembling with an ache that felt a lot like what Lewis felt deep inside whenever he thought of it the many, many, many, many times he remembered it over the years.
“Matey,” he heard and his eyes went to the witch, “was Miles there the night the bad man hurt Belle?”
Lewis kept her gaze and nodded but replied, “Shimmered through.”
“The bad man took control,” the witch said. “He took control of Miles.”
Lewis nodded yet again.
“You saw him, through Miles,” she pressed and Lewis nodded again.
“Shimmered through,” he repeated. “And he saw me.”
“Oh God,” Belle whispered and Lewis looked to her then leaned into her with ghostly, childish fervor.
“I wanted to help,” he whispered back fiercely and her face melted in a way that both hurt to look at and made him feel really nice. “I wanted to help. I tried but there was nothing I could do.”
“I know you did, sweetheart.”
“He took your baby away.” Lewis kept whispering and this time Belle nodded. “I’m sorry,” he finished so quiet, he could barely hear his ethereal words.
“Me too,” she returned in a whisper just as quiet and he saw her eyes get wet. He watched her pull in another breath, this one trembling and she continued, “But we’re not here about that. We’re here to help you. We just don’t know how and we need you to help us help you.”
“You’re here to send us home,” Lewis stated and Belle nodded again.
“Yes, Lewis, we just need to know how. We’re all ready. Jack and me with all this help from Angus, Cassandra, Lachlan and Lorna. Everyone’s ready. You just need to tell us what we need to do.”
“Don’t know,” Lewis told her and her head tilted again.
“You don’t know?”
“Only know it’s you.”
Belle’s eyes quickly darted to the others again before she looked back at Lewis. “Do you maybe have an idea?”
Lewis shook his head.
“Does Myrtle?” Belle asked.
Lewis shook his head again.
“Well, darn,” Belle muttered, looking at the floor.
“You need to beware of the bad man,” Lewis told her quickly and her eyes came back to him.
“I know, darling.”
“He wants to hurt you.”
“I know, Lewis. We’re taking care of that.”
“If something happens to you, Jack will never be happy. He’ll never be happy again. And we’ll never go home,” Lewis kept going.
“Nothing’s going to happen to me, Lewis,” she said gently.
“Poppa was never happy. He smiled and he pretended. Sometimes, with the others, his other children, the ones he had with his new wife, it looked real. But when he was alone, we knew. Myrtle and me, we knew. He was always at the window, looking at her cliff. And when he did, his face was sad.”
He watched the tears gather in her eyes as she scooted even closer and lifted her hand up, palm toward him and she whispered, “Stop, Lewis. Stop thinking about that, darling. Nothing is going to happen to me. I promise. Nothing. And we’re going to get you home. I promise that too. Do you believe me?”
He held her eyes as he watched one tear fall and slide down her cheek.
Then he nodded again.
“Put your hand up, sweetheart, up against mine,” she urged.
“You can’t touch me,” he informed her.
“Yes, I can. Put your hand up, Lewis, up against mine,” she repeated and he did as he was told.
Just as he thought, his hand went through, melding partly with hers but when his eyes went from their hands to her face, he saw more tears, her lips quivering and a tenderness so deep, so familiar, so beloved, so longed for in her eyes, if he had breath, it would catch.
“I promise, darling,” she whispered, her voice scratchy, “I’m going to get you and your sister home.”
“I believe you, Belle,” he whispered back and he did. He saw it.
He felt it.
“Think, Lewis, if you have any ideas, you let one of us know. You’re safe with all of us. Anyone in this castle.”
He nodded.
“You can’t appear before Jack,” she stated but it was a question.
He shook his head.
“Do you know why?” she asked.
He shook his head again. “Just that, something bad will happen.”
She nodded. “Okay, Lewis. Jack understands. He’d like to talk to you, meet you, but he understands.”
Lewis knew that. Jack was very understanding.
“Myrtle is going to be scared. Can I go to her now?” he requested.
“Of course, sweetheart,” Belle replied.
He drifted back a few feet and she dropped her hand.
“I’ll think, Belle, I promise,” he told her. “And I’ll tell you if I figure something out.”
“Okay, sweetheart. Give Myrtle a hug for me.”
Lewis screwed his face up and Belle smiled at him, dashing her hands on her cheeks to dry her tears.
“You were just holding her a few minutes ago,” she reminded him.
“I just do that when she’s scared,” he informed her.
“Well, for me, give her a hug just because,” Belle ordered gently.
“Oh, all right,” Lewis gave in.
“Go to your sister, darling,” she urged on another small, sweet smile.
He nodded and looked around at the gentle eyes on him.
Then he disappeared and went to his sister.
Belle
“I told you so,” Jack’s quiet voice that held a hint of humor rumbled through her and Belle, lying in the window seat between his bent legs, her upper body pressed to his, her cheek on his chest, lifted her head to look at him through the dark.
“Be quiet,” she whispered.
She saw the white flash of his smile as his hand came up, his fingers sifting into her hair at the side, and he pulled it gently back.
“It’s going to be okay,” he assured her and she nodded.
“I felt it, Jack,” she reminded him of what she’d told him earlier that evening. “When Lewis touched me, I felt it. I don’t know what it was but I felt it.”
“That just means you can help, poppet.”
She drew in an unsteady breath.
Then she nodded again and rested her cheek back on his chest, giving him a squeeze with her arms that were wound around him.
Jack’s hand left her hair so both his arms could close around her and he returned the squeeze.
She studied the inky night out the window.
After some time, Jack repeated on a murmur, “It’s all going to be okay, my love.”
“All right, Jack.”
“Can we go to bed now?” he queried.
She nodded again, her cheek sliding on his chest.
Jack shifted, moving her with him. Picking her up in his arms, they exited the window seat and he carried her to bed.
The dogs settled on her side.
Jack settled curled into her.
“Sorry our Sunday was ruined, honey,” she muttered into the night.
“It started brilliant and it’s not ending all that badly. You’re upset about Lewis and Myrtle but you’re also right here,” his arm around her tightened, “and that works for me.”
She smiled into the pillow. That worked for her too.
Then she sighed.
After that, she whispered, “I love you, Jack Bennett.”
“And I you, poppet,” Jack replied.
Belle blinked into the dark room.
On the third blink, her eyes didn’t reopen and she drifted into sleep in the protective embrace of James Bennett.