Widow's Walk- New Release!

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Chapter One 
 
The wide-bodied jet picked up speed and Lindy sighed as the wheels left the tarmac. Heading off to Cornwall might have been a bit rash but once Lindy set her mind on something she did it. What’s the worst thing that could happen? When her mother had passed away she inherited her Great Aunt Emmaline’s dilapidated old cottage on the southern coast of England. She wondered how quickly she could sell it and use the money to support her “nasty habit”, as her mother had called it—her writing habit. Sure, she wrote her romances on the spicy side but didn’t people in love have sex—lots of it? Once the plane reached cruising altitude Lindy let out the breath she hadn’t remembered holding. Flying over the Atlantic, she was looking forward to some time away—time away from grieving over her mother’s death and time away from seeing her ex-boyfriend Stephen with his perpetually happy fiancée. He certainly hadn’t wasted any time finding another woman. Knowing Stephen he probably had been seeing Rachel long before he and Lindy had split up. Forget it. This is a new beginning, an adventure!

Lindy lifted the tiny window shade and let the sun blind her. For the first time in months she was excited about something. She loved to discover new places. She knew there was a story in each and every one of them. She would clean up the old place, relax a little—maybe even start a new novel just as soon as she finished the current one. A summer by the sea might be just the break she needed. Lindy had never met Emmaline but had read some of the letters she had sent to her mother. Her mom had promised they would visit one day but the plans were lost in years of pain, promises and disappointment. The documents from the attorney contained her only real link to her deceased aunt. A note in a spidery hand in the margin read, “This house is magical. Open your eyes and allow it in. Do not be afraid of whatever it brings you.” Lindy’s natural cynicism reared up and she scoffed at the silly note but her romantic nature overruled it and she shivered, suddenly very afraid indeed. 

* * * * *
The taxi dropped her at the top of the road. The Italianate structure had been somewhat of an amusement when it had been built over one hundred years ago. Emmaline’s father had been a sea captain and had traveled the world. The house was a combination of all the beautiful places he had seen, mashed together in a gingerbread confection of wood, slate, copper and glass. Quite unusual compared to the drab stone boxes that lined the beaches of Cornwall. The weather-beaten gate swung softly in the breeze, its rusty hinges begging for oil. The pampas grass in the dunes waved a welcoming hello. Lindy pulled the pointless shrug closer around her shoulders. It is almost June for crying out loud! Why is it so cold? Her carry-on slipped off her shoulder as she dragged her suitcase behind her down the twisted walk. She could just see the gabled roof rising high into the pale sky above the sea grass and she smiled when she noted the widow’s walk at the top.

Well that was a familiar sign of home. Her parents’ home in New England had boasted one of the most intricately wrought walks in the area. When Lindy was a young girl she would wait until everyone was asleep and she would carefully climb the attic steps and crawl though the cupola window. Standing at the wrought-iron rail, she would look out at the water, pretending that she was waiting for a handsome sea captain to return to her. She made up glorious stories in her head using scenarios from the constant stream of romance novels she’d read. If her parents had known she was up there she would have been punished. But she loved to daydream and the romance novels she sneaked in to her room would have only added to her punishment. Her rather patrician parents, a couple of academics, would not have understood. After her father had passed away, her mother became lost in memories and Lindy had the freedom she had always craved. One day while visiting her mom in the hospital, she told her the story about the widow’s walk and how she had recently been writing stories of her own. Her mother had smiled and said, “Such a dreamer, Lindy.” She would not accept the fact that her daughter was a writer. What she wrote didn’t count, she had said, published or not.

Lindy’s heels wobbled in the worn grooves of the rotting timbers that lined the path to the door and she cursed at her choice of shoes. Why do I always insist on dressing for the occasion? In her mind this was a romantic adventure. Her flowing sundress and strappy sandals added to the magic of the day. Who knew what she might find in this place? As she reached the front steps to the porch her mouth fell open. The wooden screen door hung haphazardly on a single nail, flapping in the breeze. She wasn’t sure how she would maneuver the decaying steps to the door without falling through the boards. The attorney had said the house needed some work but this was worse than she thought. Leaving her suitcases on the walk, she removed her heels and carefully stepped near the outside edges of the planks until she reached the porch. The skeleton key slid into the keyhole and turned around and around in circles. Shoulder against the jamb, she rested her hip against the door and gave it a shove as she turned the knob. Screaming with years of neglect, the door moved slowly until it caught momentum and then flung Lindy roughly into the main foyer. She landed square on her bottom. Dress around her hips and legs in the air, Lindy lay on the smooth tiled floor and laughed. Quite the welcome, that! 

The soft chuckle floated through the air and Lindy froze. A man stood in the open doorway, his gaze travelling the length of her exposed pale legs. Lindy was sure her telltale blush showed her embarrassment as she yanked at the fabric bunched around her thighs. “I beg your pardon, miss.” His tone was as formal as his words. “I saw you struggling with your bags and just thought I might lend a hand.” Lindy looked at the well-tanned hand reaching out to her as if it were a snake. The light-golden fuzz on his knuckles and strong-looking fingers made her want to take it but she was hesitant. Looking up, she smiled warmly to try to excuse her poor manners. His grin was wide—bright teeth and sensual lips, the warmth of it reaching his sparkling eyes. A mane of sandy hair lightened by the sun framed his face, not quite reaching to his broad shoulders. Lindy thought she must be describing a hero in her head but this guy was seriously hot. When she looked into his eyes she shivered. Blue-green like the sea outside the door and for a moment, she thought she saw the whole world floating within them.

Taking his hand, Lindy stood beside him. “Thank you. Much obliged,” she said politely.
“Ah—an American.” Lindy thought she picked up some smugness in his voice. “Why is it you Brits always seem to say ‘American’ with such disdain?” she asked with equal smugness.
“Why is it you Americans are so paranoid?” he replied, laughing. “Captain Thomas Phillips at your service.”
“Well, pardon me. Miss Lindy—Belinda Ann Reddington—of America,” she added caustically.
“Well Miss Belinda Ann Reddington of America, it is a pleasure to meet you.” He took her outstretched hand, effortlessly pulling her up from the floor. Lindy saw the corded muscles in his forearm bunching under the tanned skin. He was saying something and she looked back into those ocean-deep eyes.
“Looks like you have your work cut out for you here.”
“Yes, it certainly does,” Lindy sighed, the dejection filling her heart as she turned slowly in a circle.
“Would you like me to stay until you have taken a walk-through?”
“No! I mean no thank you. I can manage.”
“Of course, strong woman and all.” She might have mistaken the disdain but his patronizing tone rang clear as a bell.
“Well, strike two for me. Nothing wrong with self-reliance, Captain.”
“Tom will do—Lindy.” Was it the familiar way he used her nickname that made her tremble or the gleam in his eyes as he said it? Lindy looked at him intently, wondering what his story was, her mind writing him a steamy history with a girl in every port. 

The sudden flutter of wings startled them both as the blackbird swooped through the foyer and quickly headed back out the broken window. Lindy squealed and without thought grabbed on to Tom, pressing her face into his broad, welcoming chest. His faded t-shirt was soft on her cheek and she took a deep breath. He smelled fresh and clean, like a green forest after a summer rain, making her want to snuggle even closer before realizing what she was doing.
“Umm, oh sorry,” she said, extricating herself from his arms that had snaked protectively around her shoulders. “I don’t like things that flutter about.”
“Not a problem, I assure you.” He let his arm drop slowly, sliding his hand down her back, lightly brushing the curve of her hip. His fingers were warm on her skin through the thin material of her dress and Lindy shivered inside, enjoying his touch. Lowering her eyes in embarrassment, Lindy couldn’t help but notice the tightening fabric at Tom’s crotch. It would seem he liked feeling her as well.
“If you’re sure I can’t be of assistance?” Tom raised a brow, the low tone of his voice like warm honey trickling down her spine.
“No thanks. I’ll be fine.” Lindy tried to keep her voice from quavering as she put a little distance between them. What is wrong with me? It must be jet lag or dehydration or not having had sex in far too long!
“If you look just down the beach to the south, you’ll see my place. The one with the Siren masthead hanging from the eaves. Can’t miss it—if you need anything... 

Widow's Walk was previously published by Ellora's Cave