...Tennessee...

Chapter One Hundred Five

Clay and Catherine stood, with his mother, in the doorway of his mother's home and waved to the screaming hordes of fans who had braved the autumn morning chill to come and wish them well. The media had blared the news of Clay's Vegas marriage to Catherine the day Faye went to Amarillo, but that news had not dampened fan enthusiasm for last evening's official and somber church ceremony. The reception hadn't ended until dawn, and Clay suspected Junior would have hung around even longer had Chef Andrews sent a second wedding cake. Eric would return to Virginia later that afternoon.

Now, Clay put his arm around Catherine's waist and the crowd screamed louder from behind the police barriers separating them from access to the house and driveway. When they met in a long kiss the crowd went wild.

Even though the crowd was many yards away, Clay nearly shouted, "We'll call you when we get back", to his mother. Then, a broadly grinning Clay grabbed Catherine's hand and raced for the waiting limo, waving nonstop to fans until he and Catherine were behind the dark glass of the white limo's windows.

To his surprise, as the limo exited his mother's driveway and headed for the Raleigh/Durham airport Catherine rolled down her window and shouted into the crowd, "Thank you! We love you guys!"

The screams of approval from the throngs that threatened to crush security and mob the car nearly deafened Clay as he stuck his head out of the window to wave and give a 'thumbs up' to the crowd.

Then he closed the window and looked at Catherine. Really looked. The last months had been extremely hard on him, he couldn't imagine how deep the effect went on her. The tour had been so successful, his fans so insatiable for live concerts that dates had been added. In all honesty, he'd loved every grueling second, returned every iota of love to his fans that they lavished on him. And that they now lavished on Catherine.

She had been concerned she'd not be accepted, would, in fact, be hated for taking 'bachelor' Clay away from his fans. Instead, the fans had welcomed her with open arms. There were a few, of course, who took an instant dislike to Catherine because they felt she came between them and Clay. During the tour she proved them wrong and the loudest moment at each concert was at the end, when he signaled backstage to Junior, now full-time security for Clay, to bring Catherine to join him and be introduced.

But sometime during the tour Catherine became more and more quiet. When, exactly, Clay couldn't identify, but as she became quiet she also withdrew further and further into herself and jumped at the slightest sound.

The worst night of all was when he found her sitting on the hotel room floor crying. No amount of comfort stopped her tears and it wasn't until he pressured her that she finally told him, "I hear voices. I think I'm going crazy."

Stunned, Clay held her. Guilt assaulted him with the force of a tidal wave. Had this all been too much too fast for her? His mother had offered Catherine to stay with her during the tour but Catherine wanted to be at Clay's side and, God help him, he encouraged that. His mother had planned the wedding and reception while Clay toured, consulting occasionally by telephone on things she wasn't comfortable deciding without either of them. Had his selfishness, his wanting Catherine with him every day, through months of physically exhausting one-night stands been too much for her and caused a breakdown? No amount of Clay's coaxing, cajoling or demanding made Catherine explain what she meant by 'voices'.

But as Catherine met his gaze now in the limo, her eyes glowed with happiness. No sign of stress or jangled nerves. Clay smiled at her. He knew all brides are considered beautiful, but the memory of her quiet, steady voice as she exchanged vows with him in the candlelit church surpassed any borders of beauty. He hoped she remained as relaxed as she now looked. Maybe since the anxiety of the tour and preparing for the wedding were done she could truly focus on enjoying their upcoming 'down' time.

"Tell me about the house again," she coaxed as the limo made its way through town. "I admit," she giggled. "I can't wait to see it."

"Well," he started. "It's three levels, with the master bedroom on the first floor, a second bedroom on the main floor and a small alcove in the loft by the billiard room. A jacuzzi in each bedroom, huge bathrooms. Modern kitchen." He shrugged. "That's it."

"No, tell me again the best part," she said, snuggling up to him.

Clay put his arm around her and grinned. "No phones. No television. Nothing but privacy and..." he kissed her, his voice breathless "...each other."

Catherine's kiss was so heated Clay had to caution her that the window dividing them from the driver was down. He rolled it up, then noted that they were almost to the airport.

"And from whom did you rent this house?" she asked.

"I didn't," he told her, peering through the window to the outside, waiting for the moment they needed to race from the car to the small private plane. "Someone at RCA rented it, said they've used it for years as a retreat. Modern appliances and all, but the house is pretty much one of those used to 'lose yourself' when you need privacy."

Catherine's lips tickled his. "And will we be needing privacy?"

He grinned down at her again and said, "Oh, yeah," teasing her mouth as they arrived at the runway where the small plane was waiting to take off.

The limo driver opened the door. "Your luggage is already onboard, sir. I suggest you hurry on to the plane before someone catches on to the limo switch and realizes you're not at the other end of the airport."

Holding hands, together Clay and Catherine ran to the plane and after a brief welcome from the pilot, belted themselves in and watched the horizon as the plane taxied, then lifted into the sky.

Clay smiled at Catherine. "It's a little less than two and a half hours from Raleigh/Durham to McGhee Tyson Airport in Knoxville. I rented a Jeep to take us the rest of the way, about forty five minutes, into the mountains."

Catherine nodded and most of the flight passed smoothly and in silence broken only by Clay pointing out different landmarks.

At McGhee Tyson, Clay loaded the luggage into the Jeep and they headed south toward the Great Smoky Mountains.

When they'd passed through Gatlinburg Clay turned to Catherine. "I have a surprise for you. A wedding gift."

Catherine blinked, a pleased expression on her face. "Really? What is it?"

"You'll see," was all he'd answer, but his heart soared higher with each mountain peak as they neared the surprise he'd so painstakingly planned.

Each twist and turn of the mountain road brought breathtaking vista, steep, sheer drops and an azure sky so wide it seemed endless.

For the hundredth time Catherine pleaded, "Tell me", for the hundredth time he answered, "You'll hate yourself if I tell you now."

Finally, Clay pulled the Jeep into a parking lot. From his pocket he withdrew a blindfold and handed it to Catherine. In response to her raised eyebrows he offered a simple, "Trust me".

They stood in front of the Jeep, near a trail leading into the forest. Her "Is the house back there?" received a "No, put the blindfold on".

When Catherine had donned the blindfold Clay took her hand and led her down the trail, a trail that gradually widened into an immense clearing and clifftop. He swallowed hard. It had been nothing short of hair-pulling frustrating trying to pull all of this together, but it had happened. Because people who cared had helped with the logistical-nightmare part of it. But now Catherine was here and the gift from the depths of his heart was about to be presented to her.

Clay led Catherine to within a few feet of the cliff's edge and turned her to face the edge. With a gentle hand he removed the blindfold and waited for her reaction.

Catherine gasped and in her eyes Clay saw what she saw. The Great Smoky Mountains in all their autumn glory of reds, golds and yellows, seamlessly melded together with the lush evergreens and wisps of lifting smoke that gave name to the mountains. The sun was brilliant in a cloudless blue sky and Catherine's face shone with the beauty reflected before her.

Clay's fingers touched Catherine's cheek. "Last night was for our family and friends," he said softly. "Today..." his voice caught. "...this is my gift to you."

When Catherine heard the opening strings, he saw realization flood her eyes and she turned toward where a small orchestra had begun to play. Clay couldn't take his gaze from Catherine's stunned, radiant face when Josh Groban smiled at her and started to sing.

When I am down and, oh my soul, so weary
When troubles come and my heart burdened be
Then, I am still and wait here in the silence
Until you come and sit a while with me

Catherine's gaze was now only for Clay and he blinked back hot tears. The love and serenity in her eyes overshadowed any light the sun had to offer. She leaned against him, wrapped in Clay's arms while Josh sang.

You raise me up, so I can stand on mountains
You raise me up, to walk on stormy seas
I am strong, when I am on your shoulders
You raise me up..to more than I can be

Again and again Josh's powerful voice rang through the clear air, the song's message sending the sanctuary of Clay's incredible oneness of love with Catherine to Clay's very core, forever and inextricably entwined with the inner peace, the deep spirituality, they shared.

When the last notes of the song faded, Catherine, her hand in Clay's, walked to Josh. She nodded her appreciation to the orchestra but kissed Josh's cheek. "Thank you," she said quietly. "You can't know how much this means to me. To us."

Josh smiled at her, his brown eyes warm and understanding. "I think I do," he said quietly. "Clay made it pretty clear just how much you mean to him. That's why I'm here."

Clay loved Catherine's shy smile, but was jolted out of his reverie when she said, "I love to sing along with that song..." His hair nearly stood on end at the thought of Catherine serenading Josh Groban.

"They have to leave," Clay said pointedly to Josh, a reminder of the warning Clay had given Josh of Catherine's love of singing.

Josh couldn't seem to get off the low, makeshift stage quick enough. "We need to get back to the airport anyway," he said. "The buses will be back here in about ten minutes so we have to get all the instruments packed. Someone else will be by to collect the staging and sound equipment." He smiled at Catherine and said, "Maybe some other time?"

As they walked back to the Jeep Catherine gave Clay a puzzled look. "What do you suppose could have given Josh such a scared look?"

His face a study in innocence, Clay answered, "Beats me."

 

Chapter One Hundred Six

Guided by Clay's firm hand on the wheel, the Jeep moved higher into the mountains, over winding roads that provided incredible views of the Great Smokies. Catherine gasped so many times at the panorama of exploding colors of the mountain ranges, crests and valleys that Clay lost count. But each gasp made him smile. The sense of peace settling into his heart said this had been the perfect choice for their getaway honeymoon.

Clay pulled in at one overview area and they stepped out of the Jeep to sit in the rays of the dipping crimson sun, on the low stone wall that projected outward on a hill, more than a mile above the lush forest floor. Clay's arm went around Catherine and she rested her head on Clay's shoulder as they took in nature's palette, a palette of shades and hues that no human artist could duplicate.

"There are no words for this," Catherine murmured.

From behind, Clay put both arms around Catherine and she leaned into him. "Happy?" he whispered into her ear.

Catherine turned then and when her eyes met his he hoped she didn't speak. Words could never tell his ears what her eyes now told his heart and soul. The lump in his throat prevented him from saying anything and he drew her near, relieved beyond comprehension that she not only seemed as happy as him, but that she was again her old self.

Clay trembled when his fingers lifted her chin and he brushed her lips with his. The immediate jolt to his heart when she responded with a soft, "I love you, Clay," sent his spirit higher than heaven's stars could hope to reach.

His kiss deepened and Catherine returned it with every ember of the passion between them, her fingers moving slowly through his hair as his mouth worked hers. Clay raised his head, and his voice was ragged, conveying the impact of the sudden loss of her warm, supple lips beneath his. "We'd better get going," he advised, "or we'll be giving mother nature one whale of a show."

Catherine stopped him by pulling on his hand. When he turned she said simply, "Thank you."

His heart swelled, but she put her fingers on his lips before he could answer.

Open, honest blue eyes looked directly into his green ones. The tenderness expressed in them burst into and lit every corner of Clay's heart.

"Just for being you," she said softly. "My hero. My love. My husband."

Clay didn't trust his voice, and he briefly closed his eyes, not trusting himself to not spoil such a pure moment. All he could do was hold her against him, surprised at the fierce, incredible surge of emotion she unfailingly evoked.

**

They rode again in relative silence, then Catherine remarked, "I've never seen Aunt Margaret so happy as when Junior seated her at the wedding."

"You weren't supposed to be gawking inside," Clay commented lightly. "You were supposed to be a nervous wreck out in the church hallway, not watching the guests take a seat."

Catherine giggled. "I wasn't nervous, but Eric sure was. You'd think he was the one getting married, not walking the bride down the aisle." She sighed. "Didn't Aunt Margaret look beautiful? She even looked less frail than I remember. Your mother is so wonderful, Clay, to have made sure Aunt Margaret didn't have a moment's worry or trouble with the wedding."

Clay nodded. "My mother's pretty wonderful," he agreed. "Margaret will enjoy this week with my mother. Now that the wedding is over they can just relax and get to know each other better."

"Okay," he told her and pulled a sheet of paper from his pocket and handed it to Catherine. "Here's the first turnoff we need," he commented and pointed to the street sign. "Goose Gap Road. Since I'm driving, how about if you read the rest of the directions to me?" He tapped the paper. "Ignore the numbers on the top. One is to reach Barksdale at RCA, the other set is the code for turning on and off the security system. I have the door key in my pocket."

Catherine read aloud, "Left onto Goose Gap Road. Go about five miles to a fork in the road. No street sign, but bear right onto Restless Haven Road."

A little over five miles later they spotted where the road forked. "Hey," Clay exclaimed as he made the turn, "did you see that?" He checked the rearview mirror but the little rustic shop was now behind the bend.

"See what?" Catherine asked, looking behind them.

"A little store of some sort. Right after we turned onto this road. Real country, antiquey looking place. Might be a nice place to stop and look around tomorrow or in a few days, after we get settled."

Catherine looked again, but Clay knew the dense trees and curves in the road they'd already taken prevented even a glimpse of the little shop.

Catherine turned her attention back to the paper. "Approximately one mile ahead on the right is Restless Haven."

Even as she said it, the house came into view.

"Wow," Clay exclaimed, referring both to the brightly lit house and the steeply inclined driveway he drove with extreme caution. The driveway ended at the house's second floor and wraparound porch, ended in a small lot that allowed drivers to turn around and not have to brave the driveway in reverse. Cement bumpers had been placed as a barrier to vehicles slipping gear and rolling from the lot and down the hill.

Swinging in the slight autumn breeze, on a wrought iron pole next to the porch steps, was a sign engraved in gold: Restless Haven. A second set of steps led down to the first level, another set led up to the third floor, also encased by a wraparound porch.

Still inside the now parked car, as Clay and Catherine craned their necks to get their first good look at the beautiful house, from around the back came a tall, very thin man of around thirty and a tall, even thinner woman of about the same age. Though both were dressed in black, both wore friendly, welcoming smiles.

Clay and Catherine exchanged looks, but said nothing as they got out of the car.

"Good evening, sir," said the older man. "Mrs.," he added with a polite nod to Catherine. "A gentleman visited here this morning with instructions and he told us to expect you this evening. I'll take your luggage inside. Louise has prepared your dinner and it's warming in the kitchen."

"Wait a minute," Clay halted him when the man headed for the rear of the Jeep. "Who are you?"

The man looked surprised. "I'm Charles, the caretaker, and this," he added, prompting his wife to come beside him, "is Louise, housekeeper and cook."

"There must be some mistake," Clay said. "No one but us is supposed to be here."

The man smiled. "You won't even know we're around," he remarked. "My wife will prepare your meals and leave, supper only if that's what you choose, and return in the morning or whenever you say to clean up. She can take care of the housekeeping whenever you request or have the need."

Clay frowned. "No one told me about this."

Charles blushed and looked momentarily at the ground, then at Clay. "Yes, sir, I know. We weren't supposed to be here, but..." His next words were a rush. "We recently have fallen onto very...difficult...financial circumstances. The owner was kind enough..."

Clay raised a hand to stop him. "I understand. But you don't mind if I check this out, do you?"

"Of course not," the woman gushed in gratitude. "See, Charles," she whispered to her husband. "I told you he's a fine young man, that he wouldn't have us sent away."

Clay pulled out his cell phone and punched in the private phone number that was given to him and that had been written on the directions.

While Clay waited for someone to answer Charles said, "Cell phones are hit-and-miss in the mountains so it might take you several tries. They're supposed to put more towers down in the canyon to boost the signal."

Clay nodded, then turned his attention to the man who'd answered the phone. But it was a recording, one that left messages for various people.

You've reached Howard Barksdale at RCA...

After listening to the notes left by Barksdale for other RCA people, Clay heard, "Clay, I left you a pile of brochures inside Restless Haven, on the kitchen table, along with some tips and some instructions. If you need anything while you're there or if you have any questions about places to sightsee, Charles can help you with just about anything. I'll try to catch up with you later in the week."

Clay flipped off the phone and put it away. He glanced at Catherine and shrugged, then told Charles, "You get the luggage and I'll open the front door."

While Charles and Louise went to get the luggage, Clay preceded Catherine up the steps to the main level and pulled the door key from his pocket. But before he could use it and ask Catherine to read him the security code she seized his hand in a near death grip and when he turned in question her expression froze him.

Catherine stared toward the darkening, dense woods that edged the property less than twenty yards from the porch. She had gone rigid, her face pale with barely concealed fear.

Clay looked where she stared but he saw nothing, nothing but thick copses of decades old trees swaying in the gentle wind, twilight bringing color changes and images to contrast those from the day.

His brain willing her to say she'd seen a fox, or even a bear, Clay gripped her shoulders and gently shook her. "Catherine, what is it? What's wrong?"

But Clay's heart thudded to his feet when her terrified eyes lifted to meet his.

Tears streamed down her cheeks. "You didn't hear them, did you? The voices?"

 

Chapter One Hundred Seven

Clay jerked Catherine into the security of his arms, one hand crushing her head to his chest, but his heart hammered with fear for her sanity. Had he been kidding himself, that extended rest and his loving care and attention was all she needed? What kind of horror had he done to her by failing her in such a time of need?

He gave a start and Catherine screamed when Charles, who seemed to appear from nowhere, spoke.

"I'm so sorry, Mrs., if I frightened you," Charles said, ignoring Clay's angry look and putting their suitcases on the porch. "I wasn't eavesdropping, but I couldn't help but hear you say you heard voices."

Clay's anger almost exploded and he opened his mouth to ream the man even as Catherine trembled against him. For some reason, the quiet look in Charles' eyes stopped him.

"That may be easily solved," Charles said. He pointed toward the woods. "It's bobcat mating season, and their calls and cries can sound remarkably human, even childlike. Sometimes eerily so." He turned his attention to Catherine and spoke in the same quiet tone. "That's possibly what you heard, Mrs."

The desperation in Catherine's eager, "Really?", went straight to Clay's heart. When he heard his own voice echo hers, his tone as desperate and eager as hers, he realized just how badly he wanted, needed, to believe that she hadn't again heard voices.

Charles smiled at them and Catherine broke free of Clay's arms to face Charles and Louise, who had just joined them.

"A bobcat?" Catherine asked with the hopeful tone.

"Yes, Mrs.," Louise answered. "We hear them all the time throughout the autumn, sometimes into early winter. I guess we're just so used to it, sometimes we don't pick up the sound."

Charles' gave a short laugh. "Not a smart thing to do, either. You don't want to run into one of them when they're on the hunt."

Relief nearly buckled Clay's legs and the smile he gave Catherine was shaky. "Well, I'm glad that's cleared up," he said smoothly. Within seconds he had turned off the security code and unlocked the front door. He fought and won a very strong battle with his mind to dismiss what Catherine heard as the cry of a mating or hunting bobcat. Charles and Louise had no idea this was not the first time Catherine had become distraught over unexplained voices.

Charles went out for the rest of the luggage and Louise went to the kitchen to set the table for the supper kept warm.

Catherine looked at Clay and when he saw the torment in her eyes he battled for the strength to not grab her, cocoon her within his embrace and keep her there until the end of time, safe from all possible harm from any quarter.

Instead he maintained minimal distance between them, but gently brushed her hair back from her face. "It'll be okay," he said softly. "We just need to get used to the sounds of animals and the woods at night. And we will."

Catherine nodded and went to the front of the living room. He moved to stand beside her and gazed outside.

The entire front of the building was floor-to-ceiling windows. Darkness was falling and the security lights came on automatically, illuminating the perimeters of the house. Every inch between the house and the woods was bright, but beyond that border the dark woods beckoned.

Catherine shuddered and Clay put his arm around her. "Cold?"

She shook her head and he saw her peer intently into the woods. "It...it must be the light," she said in a strained voice.

Dread sent a chill down Clay's spine. "The light? What do you mean?"

Before she could answer him Catherine clutched her throat and jumped backward, then burst out laughing when she saw the racoon race from the woods, turn around and race back into them.

She collapsed against Clay in laughter. "Oh, Clay, I thought I saw a child standing there in the shadows."

Clay laughed with her and they kept a lookout for the racoon to emerge but it had gone, probably scared off by the sounds in the parking lot.

Charles and Louise, unnoticed in the doorway, exchanged a long look.

Louise's voice was tight with unshed tears. "Did you hear, Charles? She saw a child at the edge of the woods. You were right. She's the one."

 

Chapter One Hundred Eight

Louise set a fried chicken and cornbread dinner on the table and when Clay pulled Catherine's chair out for her he insisted that Charles and Louise leave for the day.

As the caretaker and housekeeper headed for the back door Clay suddenly asked, "Where's your vehicle? Ours is the only one in the lot."

"I cleared some of the creeper vines this afternoon and left the truck next to the back porch after I emptied the last of it. Tomorrow morning I'll park in the lot like I always do." He nodded to each of them. "Goodnight, sir. Mrs." Then he turned back to Clay. "I almost forgot. I know sometimes people get uneasy being so isolated in the mountains, but in case it helps the Mrs.' peace of mind, if the alarm goes off after you set it, someone from the sheriff's department will be along to make sure everything is all right."

Clay watched as the door then closed behind Charles and Louise, then he looked at Catherine, but she shrugged.

"I don't know about you," she told him, reaching for the basket of chicken. "But I'm starving and this smells wonderful."

"It sure does," Clay agreed and helped himself to a crispy, well-seasoned breast. But even as he bit into the juicy meat his gaze wandered again to the back door. As pleasant and innocuous as the couple seemed, something about them didn't sit quite right with his gut. But try as he might he couldn't pin it down.

**

Even though the kitchen supplied a dishwasher Catherine insisted on washing the dishes by hand and informed Clay he would dry. The light chore turned into playtime when Catherine turned to Clay, who stood with his hand outstretched for a dish to dry, and dragged a handful of suds down his face. Clay returned the favor and one-upsmanship quickly turned into a chase and throwing handfuls of water that left them both nearly soaked. Clay caught Catherine in the small kitchen and pressed her against the wall, his mouth nuzzling her neck as he held her hands above her head.

"Truce?" he asked softly as his lips made a slow, sensual walk down her neck to her collarbone.

"Oh, wow," she responded in a breathless whisper, turning her head to give him total access to tender exposed skin. "Your truce is much more interesting than the water war."

Clay pulled back and grinned at her, then put his face an inch from hers, his mouth less than a heartbeat distant to hers. "Not that I don't want to ravage you right here and now," he teased, "and not that I don't fully intend to within a few minutes, but how about if we look around here first? Resetting the alarm would probably be a good idea, too."

They went back to the living room and Clay examined the alarm panel. The house was sectioned and each door and window would alert them if left open or opened while the alarm was activated. Clay punched in the code, then pressed 'stay'. If either of them forgot about the alarm and opened any door or window the alarm would blast.

"Okay," he told her and took her hand. "Let's explore."

**

The main level comprised a living room, kitchen, dining area and off the rear of the kitchen, a small, but lavish bedroom with its own jacuzzi and separate bathroom. Everything was decorated in country style, with early twentieth century antiques a focal point. The kitchen table proved a smaller version of the larger dining room table, heavy oak with old-fashioned doilies that matched those on the living room's tables. The coffee table was black and gray fieldstone, a touch both expensive and homey, the table's top matching the mantle adorning the gas fireplace.

But most impressive was the single, A-framed ceiling shared by the main level and the upper floor, fronted by a wall of windows that allowed light to pour into the entire area. Ceiling fans moved in a continuous slow duty of keeping the air flowing uniformly.

A climb of the stairs to the upper level showed the billiard room, with only a birch post railing that ran across the front of it, separating it from the main level. Full, unobstructed view of whatever vistas were outside the wall of windows. Clay smiled as Catherine oohed-and-ahhed over the antiques displayed above the billiard room's heart-shaped iron loveseat. A door to the left led to a bath that held everything but a tub. A lighted shower stall would have to do for those unable to drag themselves too long from the pool table.

"Now for the master bedroom," Clay stated as they went back to the main level. he pushed open a door in the dining room, beneath the stairs to the billiard room, revealing a staircase that led downward. The lights were already on, both in the staircase and beyond and he grinned as they hurried down the steps.

When they reached the bottom, which emptied into the master bedroom, Catherine gasped. "This is beautiful," she cried.

Clay tried to take it all in at once. "This room takes up the same amount of space as the entire main level."

The room, decorated in shades of burgundy, pink and beige, held a massive canopy bed draped in beige country lace. In the corner was a mirrored jacuzzi, with steps of thick slate leading from the floor to the lip.

Clay opened the door of a tall, wide armoire. "An entertainment center. Well, for music, anyway. No television."

Catherine turned in a circle, trying to see everything, then opened heavy maroon drapes. Sliding doors, flanked outside by bright lights, led to a patio.

"Don't open those doors," Clay cautioned. "I don't see a panel down here and you'll set off the alarm."

A short corridor was next to the jacuzzi and led to a full sized, complete bathroom. Next to the bathroom was a small room with a washer and dryer.

"Wow," was all Catherine could repeat as she sat on the bed and gazed around the gorgeous room.

Clay walked to the sliding doors and put his hands on the drapery pull cord. "Do you want these open or closed?"

Catherine threw herself backward on the bed and giggled. "I don't care. They probably don't go far in blocking out the night noises..." she stopped short and hurriedly sat up, her face concerned when she looked at Clay. "Clay? Is something wrong?"

Clay smiled at Catherine, but her innocent They probably don't go far in blocking out the night noises... had pinpointed something that had bothered him for the last hour, though he just now realized it.

"Wait a sec," he told her and headed for the steps. "I'll be right back."

"What are you doing?" she called after him in a puzzled tone.

Clay didn't answer, but headed to the kitchen and the back door. A glance out the door's window into the brightly lit yard reaffirmed a strange, icy chill on his spine.

Tomorrow he'd be point-blank blunt in his questions to Charles.

But he wasn't about to tell Catherine that not only had he not heard a truck leave, there was no truck parked out back. And no reason he could think of why they wouldn't have heard a truck pull out that supposedly was less than ten feet away from where they sat eating dinner.

Oh, yeah. He would definitely be waiting for Charles in the morning.

 

Chapter One Hundred Nine

With the drapes closed and not even a small amount of light seeping through a crack, Clay and Catherine were cloaked by darkness in the luxurious bedroom.

Catherine slept peacefully, quietly, with her back against Clay, so snugly against him and within his embrace that a twin bed could easily fit the two of them. But sleep eluded him. What was keeping him so keyed that he couldn't drift off?

Maybe some warm milk would help. He doubted it, but eased himself away from Catherine, settling her gently when she stirred. He sat on the side of the bed, but instead of getting up he dropped his head into his hands.

Was it his imagination that something was wrong here, off kilter? Had he become so worried about Catherine that he jumped too fast to read into things, sending them out of proportion to what they really were?

He couldn't see her in the dark, but could hear the sound of her steady breathing, visualize the rhythmic rise and fall of her chest in peaceful sleep. Clay's hand moved to Catherine's cheek, gently touching her soft skin, his heart glad she seemed so happy. If only he could ease his mind as simply as his heart.

Their lovemaking tonight had been so perfect, so gentle, filled with new discovery as their bodies soared together to new heights, new passions. They had shared the wonder, the tenderness, as if it was their first time.

Catherine stirred and reached for him, her voice hazy with sleep. "Clay?"

"I'm here, honey," he answered immediately.

Catherine sat up and Clay felt her looking at him. The sound of sleep was replaced by a tense, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he assured her and moved to lay beside her and draw her back into his embrace. "I was just thinking about some warm milk to help me get to sleep."

Catherine almost purred in his arms and her mouth found his in short, teasing heated strokes. "You can't fall asleep?" she asked demurely, her hands wandering up and down his thighs. "Maybe you're just not tired enough."

Intense heat and a shattering love shot through every inch of Clay, centering just below his stomach and spreading from there. His reaction to Catherine's invitation was so strong he nearly growled, his mouth on hers hungry and demanding.

His inability to fall asleep was forgotten, drowned out by the pounding of his heart in his ears, his hands wending through honey blonde hair as Catherine's lips produced a trail of promise as her mouth moved slowly south to his stomach.

**

The sun was over the crest of the mountains when Catherine opened the drapes.

Clay came to stand beside her, to take in the fantastic view of autumn foliage and evergreens basking in the Smoky Mountains morning sun. "What a beautiful sight," she murmured.

Clay kissed the top of her head, then went to pull on his sneakers. "I'll bet the view is even better from the deck. There's only a patio down here, but both the other levels have full wrap around decks."

Catherine peered out the sliding doors. "What time did Charles and Louise say they'd be back today?"

Clay shrugged, their exquisite night pushed out of his head by the sudden unease he felt. "No time in particular," he said lightly. "Why? You hungry?"

"Not really." She smiled at him. "I want to go outside, look around the property."

Clay nodded. "Okay, we can do that. Just don't open any doors or windows until I turn the alarm off."

She followed him up the stairs, none too patiently, but said nothing until he'd turned off the alarm. In the living room, there was a small door to the deck near the stairs to the upper level, a second door from the dining room and sliding doors in the middle of the wall of windows. They went out by the door to the upper level.

"Oh, look," Catherine cried in delight and headed for the large wooden glider that swung gracefully from the planked wooden porch ceiling. "We couldn't see any of this last night." She plopped down and patted the seat next to her but Clay walked to the front of the building, then to the other side.

When he came back he said, "This is the only glider and the only porch ceiling. Around the front there's a couple of handmade rockers and a small wooden table. On the other side is a picnic table, I guess for when the weather is nice enough to eat outside."

From the corner of his eye Clay saw an old green pickup come down the road, then heard it groan when it climbed the steep driveway and parked by one of the cement bumpers. Charles and Louise offered them pleasant smiles and waves as they got out.

When they reached the porch, Clay smiled and, in unison with Catherine, gave a pleasant, "Good morning." But Clay's was followed with a quick, "Is that the truck you drove yesterday?"

Charles looked surprised. "Yes, sir. Why? Did it leave marks in the grass?" He hurried to add, "I'll take care of that right..."

"No," Clay interrupted, feeling foolish in the light of day. "I was just wondering, is all. I didn't see your truck and didn't hear you leave."

Charles looked puzzled, but only nodded. "Well, then, we'll be getting to work." Another polite nod accompanied, "Sir. Mrs.," and he and Louise walked into the house without another word.

Clay looked at Catherine. "Want to take a ride?"

Surprised, she asked, "Where?"

"Remember that little shop I mentioned? We passed it right after we came onto this road. I thought we'd do a little touristy-shopping."

Catherine's face lit up and when she said, "Sure," he went for his keys.

**

"Okay, let's see," Clay said thoughtfully, scouring the sides of Restless Haven Road as they neared Goose Gap Road. "It was right around...there," he stated, and pointed to his right.

The little store had only a dirt parking lot and even though Clay eased the Jeep into the small area dirt still flew from the tire movement. The store itself was a one story building that vaguely resembled a log cabin, for the tourists benefit, Clay was sure. Make everything as rustic as possible but still provide necessities to keep your customers coming, through repeat or word-of-mouth.

He climbed out and went around to Catherine's side, surprised her door was still shut. She had a strange look on her face and stared at the building.

He opened her door and held out his hand. "Come on."

He didn't know what to make of the expression in her eyes when they met his. It wasn't fear. It wasn't upset of any kind. The best description he could come up with was that somehow she knew that going inside was a bad idea.

Despite himself, he was annoyed. "Catherine," he said, forcing himself to joke. "I really want to see what's inside. I want to see real folk art, folk crafts..."

"Don't go in there," she said in a harsh tone, but she looked away from him and stared straight ahead.

Frustrated and his good mood quickly disappearing, he snapped, "I am going inside. You can come in with me or stay out here." He wasn't happy with himself for talking to her like that but his nerves had been pushed just like hers had. The right thing to do would be to calm down and find out what made her say such a thing. He chose to turn on his heel, go up the one step onto the low porch and enter the dim little store. He was immediately taken with how many antiques and displays of old tools were scattered around the store and on the shelves of the three narrow aisles.

"Hello?" called a woman's voice from the back of the small, cluttered room. "May I help you?"

Already regretting his impulsive act of bad temper he started to say no and head back outside. Then he got an idea. Why not find something small and beautiful to give Catherine, to show her she was being silly, to help make her relax once and for all? Clay walked back to where the gray-haired woman sat on a stool and smiled at her. "I'd like to look around, maybe find something special for my wife."

The woman said nothing, but her eyes were expressionless. Unease again found Clay, the feeling almost that this woman was evaluating him.

Clay wandered the aisles, not seeing anything that caught his interest. Then on the front counter he saw a large, clear ball, mounted on a bronze base.

"What's this?" he asked the woman, fascinated by what appeared to be moving clouds in the ball.

"A warning," she said quietly.

Baffled, he said, "Excuse me?"

The woman's pleasant demeanor evolved into something Clay had never seen before, and the look in her eyes riveted him. "Heed the warning," was her raspy, only response.

Clay wanted to turn for a quick exit, to leave the dankness of the dusty shop and get back into the welcoming sunshine. But he stood rooted, unable to do what his mind screamed. Instead, he felt his gaze drawn downward to where clouds were no longer mixing in the ball.

He saw the mountains. More importantly, he saw the exact spot where Josh Groban had sang their song in private concert to them. Then he saw himself approach the cliff, something cradled in his arms. He watched himself look up to the heavens, saw his own face was pale, gaunt, his eyes hollow and empty, haunted and grief-stricken. To his horror he watched as he approached the edge of the cliff. He lifted higher what he held in his arms and saw his tears fall from his cheeks onto the urn of ashes in his grasp. "I'm so sorry," he heard himself whisper, saw his hands gently caress the urn. Then he clutched the urn tight, to his heart, said a heartbroken, "Forgive me," and stepped from the cliff.

Jolted to reality, Clay recoiled in horror and turned to the woman with a snarled, "What kind of sick joke is this?"

But he was alone and as he almost ran for the front door the quiet whisper of the old woman resounded through the room and assaulted his ears like thunder. "Will you find the courage?"

 

Chapter One Hundred Ten

Clay hit the store's front porch in full stride, ready to peel out of the lot and leave this bizarre place in his dust. One look at the Jeep and his heart jumped into his throat. Catherine was gone.

"Catherine," he shouted, and immediately repeated it as he started a frantic search around the area.

"Over here," she called.

When he heard Catherine's calm voice, relief hit Clay like a tidal wave but he himself felt anything but calm. Not because of Catherine, but because the incident inside had unnerved him more than he’d ever believed possible. And scared him half to death. Heed the warning still rang in his ears.

He hurried to where Catherine had wandered down the road and grabbed her hand, throwing glances at the store as he tried to hustle her toward the car.

"What are you doing?" she questioned, pulling her hand away from the one pulling her toward the Jeep.

"We need to..." he stopped and looked at her free hand. "What's that?"

Catherine smiled and held up an old, homemade doll that looked and sounded to be pale cloth stuffed with cornstalks. Beat-up and weathered, the doll had no hair and the only face was a set of eyes, a dot of a nose and a smile drawn on by long-faded ink. It's dress was a very old piece of once bright plaid cloth tied at the waist by twine.

"Isn't it precious?" Catherine asked softly, turning it for Clay to examine.

Caught off-guard, Clay repeated, "Precious?" Then he put a hand on Catherine's shoulder and told her, "Let's go. I want to put as much distance between us and this place as possible."

Catherine said nothing, just looked at him quizzically and got in the Jeep. Within seconds Clay was speeding back up the hill.

"Where did you get that doll?" he demanded, terrified she'd say the old woman had somehow materialized outside and handed it to her. He was well aware that was a ridiculous thought but right now he didn't care. "You need to get rid of it, and pronto," he emphasized.

"Clay, what's wrong?" Catherine's eyes were filled with concern and she brushed beads of sweat from his forehead.

Clay took his eyes from the road only long enough to give her stunned looks. "You didn't want me to go inside that store," he reminded her. "You were right, to put it mildly. It's a weird place, run by a weird little old woman who showed me some sort of prophetic vision. It was spooky, creepy and any other word you can think of to describe it." He shook his head. "I can't believe coming here was my idea. We're leaving. Tonight. No, make that today."

Catherine's startled look was more of a surprise to him than her warning to not go inside the store. Her next words nearly floored Clay.

Tears filled her eyes. "Clay, are you doing this as a joke, to pay me back for the way I acted when I wouldn't go inside with you?"

Clay hit the brakes so hard the Jeep rocked to a halt right in the middle of the road. He didn't care. He jammed it into 'park' and grabbed Catherine to him in a hug close to a death grip. He ran his hands over her hair and shushed her. "Oh, baby, no," he soothed. "I would never do something like that."

Catherine sobbed into his chest. "I know you wouldn't," she admitted. "But I've never seen you like this. You're scaring me."

Clay drew in, then let out a deep sigh. He released Catherine, put the Jeep into gear and started back up the mountain. "Catherine, if the way I'm acting scared you, thank your lucky stars that you didn't come inside that store with me."

He glanced at the doll. "Where did you find that?"

"A little girl gave it to me," she told him, holding it up for him to see. "She left right before you came outside."

Wary, he asked, "A little girl?"

Catherine nodded. "Yes. She said she lives a little way from here, but her directions meant nothing to me." Sadness flitted across her face. "From the way she was dressed I'd guess she's from one of the poorer mountain families, and she looked hungry so I made a game of offering her that small bag of chips that was in the back. She didn't want to take it, but I think hunger and a child's love of a treat finally won out." She shrugged. "She was excited that it's almost Halloween and she was telling me some of the traditions they have around here for mischief night. It was really kind of cute." She smiled. "She asked me if you went inside and I told her you were looking for local folk crafts and things like that. That's when she gave me this doll." She gave Clay a soft smile. "I think that was her way of saving her pride, of not accepting the chips without giving something in return."

Clay didn't know what to say, but he was still unconvinced that the little girl and the doll were unconnected to the strangeness of the shop.

"She just came down the road?" he asked and snapped his fingers. "Just like that?"

"Well, actually, she came out of the woods," Catherine corrected him. "I didn't want to scare her so I waited until she saw me. When I asked her what she was doing out by herself she said she was looking for mischief. That kinda started our conversation about Halloween."

Lost in thought, Clay's mind slowed enough to wonder if Halloween was somehow key to this. Had the woman in the store played some sort of Halloween joke on him, scaring the living daylights out of a tourist, a prank to be laughed about around her dinner table? It was certainly possible. And he fervently hoped that was the case.

But as the Jeep climbed the mountain road and the vistas opened in front of him, even the beauty of red and gold sugar maples basking in sunshine beneath a wide, cloudless azure sky didn't convince him.

In his heart, he knew something was drastically wrong. And his gut backed it up.

 

Chapter One Hundred Eleven

When Clay drove up the steep driveway to Restless Haven and eased to a cement bumper he glanced around before shutting off the Jeep. What a misleading picture this tranquil scenario presents, he thought grimly, taking in the palette of brilliant colors that speckled the landscape alongside ancient evergreens. Red and gold leaves landed gracefully on the acorn and pine needled ground courtesy of a crisp fall breeze.

But his mind had locked on one point and one point only, refusing to let go. The old woman in the shop had absolutely no way of knowing he'd visit that shop, couldn't possibly be aware of his special wedding gift to Catherine on the cliff. So how had she projected into that ball the tragic end she'd shown to him? More importantly, why?.

Clay and Catherine got out of the Jeep without talking and from the corner of his eye Clay saw the green pickup truck in the back yard near the edge of the woods. Louise was helping her husband clear weeds from the wildflowers that rimmed the entrance to a sun-dappled forest trail.

Clay went to Catherine and put his hands in the air, then slowly drew her into an embrace. "I'll put in a call to Barksdale, then tell Charles..."

Catherine's head was on his shoulder and the words that fell on his ear were far from what he expected. "Please don't."

Her statement came out of the blue and left him at a loss. All he could do was tilt her head back and search her eyes for explanation.

"Please don't," she repeated softly.

Even though the breeze was cool, they stood drenched in warm sunshine, all the sweet smells of lush forest and clear mountain air surrounding them in what should have been perfection. The reality of what they'd found was nowhere near what Clay had set out to give to Catherine.

Blue eyes held his steady and her voice was calm. "I don't want to leave," she said softly. "Whatever happened in that store, Clay...we don't have to go back there, do we? Can't we forget about it..."

His hand shot into the air to cut her off. "Whoa." He stared at her, evaluating his thoughts before he spoke. "You warned me not to go into that shop, Catherine. You. And you were right. I saw..." he trailed off. How could he tell her he saw himself carrying her ashes to the cliff's edge and that he joined her in death? Would he believe something so bizarre if it were told to him? He ran his hand through his hair and turned away in frustration.

Catherine touched his arm, her voice unsure. When he turned back to her he saw the same unsureness in her eyes that was in her voice. "All I'm asking is if we can just give it a chance. We're here to get away, aren't we?" Her voice became taut with unshed tears and her words trembled. "I know how worried you were about me, Clay," she said, her gaze holding his while her fingers brushed a stray lock from his forehead. "I'm...I'm not ready to go back..." she trailed off, then swallowed hard and smiled at him. "I like it here," she admitted. "I find it peaceful. I find it a perfect escape." Her voice lowered to a whisper and she touched his lips. "With you."

Clay's heart swelled with intense love and protectiveness, emotions that surged and pounded to every nerve point in his body. He closed his eyes and pulled her into his arms, laying his head on top of hers as he rocked her. When he opened his eyes he was facing the woods, the woods that seemed so innocent, just like everything else had seemed at first glance.

"How about if we sleep on it?" he asked reluctantly. "We'll decide tomorrow."

She nodded against his chest then offered him a deep kiss that heated the chill mountain air. He prayed he didn't regret the delay.

**

Clay woke the next morning to Catherine gently calling, "Time to get up, sleepyhead," then her lips nuzzling his neck. He wrapped his arms around her and tried to snuggle, then realized she was sitting up and fully dressed.

"Are you going to sleep all day?" she teased. "I made breakfast."

Clay shook his head to clear the last remnants of sleep. "How long have you been up?" he asked, surprised he hadn't felt her leave the bed.

"Long enough to make you something hot to eat," she answered. "Come on. I've been looking at the brochures and there are a ton of craft festivals around here in the fall. The downside is that the roads might turn into gridlock."

Clay sat up, reached for his jeans and pulled them on, not sure he was hearing her right. "Craft festivals? Catherine, we need to talk and decide about going home. We haven't solved anything here."

She was visibly taken aback, puzzled. "I don't know what that means, but come on before your eggs get cold." She turned for the stairs, said, "I want to show you something," and hurried to the main level.

Clay pulled on his shirt and sneakers, caught off-guard by the excitement that had very obviously replaced Catherine's mood yesterday. He looked up when he heard her quick footsteps returning to the bedroom.

"Look at this," she cried, clearly pleased by the doll in her hand.

Clay stared at her, fear of he didn't know what slowly creeping up his spine. He said nothing, just waited for a rational explanation of her gushing over something she'd shown him the day before.

"I met the sweetest little girl this morning," she told him. "I told her we were interested in the craft exhibits and she gave this to me. It's old and in pretty bad shape," she admitted, oblivious to Clay's dead silence.

Clay's voice was hoarse, his throat dry. "This morning? The same little girl you met yesterday? That's the same doll."

Catherine frowned. "What are you talking about?"

"The little girl you met yesterday at that old shop, Catherine. The little girl you said came from the woods. She gave you that doll."

"What on earth are you talking about, Clay?" Catherine asked. "What shop?"

Clay went cold and fought to keep his calm and his wits. His voice was deathly quiet. "Yesterday, Catherine. The shop you warned me not to go into, remember? When I went inside you met a little girl that gave you that doll."

Catherine shook her head and Clay saw pure bewilderment in her eyes. "Clay, I think maybe I woke you from a dream that you haven't shaken off. We spent the whole day here yesterday."

Clay couldn't explain what shot through his body then, but it was cold and unpleasant, and finally settled in the pit of his stomach.

Without a word he grabbed Catherine's hand and with no more than a, "trust me" to her startled, "what are you doing", put her in the Jeep with him and drove down Restless Haven Road toward Goose Gap Road.

When he arrived at his destination he slowed the Jeep to a stop and both his hands gripped the wheel so tight his knuckles hurt. He heard Catherine's gasp when she looked at him and he knew his face had completely drained of color.

Tall thin pine trees were an unbroken natural fence along the road, with no visible trail into the woods. No picnic area. No parking lot.

No little shop.

Chapter One Hundred Twelve

Clay jumped from the Jeep and raced to the edge of the woods, frantically scouring them for any sign of a building, not realizing Catherine was beside him until she'd grabbed his arm.

"Clay," she cried in fright, shaking his arm. "What is it?"

He whirled on her and gripped her upper arms, but when his gaze met her terrified one he thought maybe he had lost his mind. But when the image of the doll popped into his head he knew better. It wasn't strange coincidence that he recognized that doll from the day before, nor was it his imagination. Something was happening to the two of them, yet only Clay was aware of it. Why?

He watched as terror grew in Catherine's eyes and her gaze went from him to the woods and back.

"Is there someone in the woods?" she whispered and moved closer to him.

With every ounce of control he owned, Clay sucked in, then let out a deep breath, praying Catherine couldn't hear the frenetic beating of his heart. "No," he assured her. Beyond that, he didn't know what to say, what type of explanation to give that wouldn't scare her.

"I...I'm sorry," he said simply. "I..." he stopped, determined to avoid stressing her further. Stress was precisely what he'd brought her to the mountains to shed. Fighting to produce a normal, steady smile, he almost succeeded. "Think those eggs are cold yet?"

The fear in her eyes didn't ebb. "This isn't funny, Clay."

"It wasn't meant to be," he informed her flatly.

She looked around in confusion. "Then tell me truthfully why we're here."

Clay ran a hand through his hair, but that fraction of a second was longer than it took to reach his decision. "When we first arrived, first turned onto this road and you were reading me the directions to the house, do you remember me pointing to a little shop on the side of the road?"

She shook her head. "No, but I remember you saying that you saw one."

Clay stared at her. She was right. Her head had been bent over the directions and she didn't look up until they'd passed around a bend. She hadn't seen the shop. His jaw tightened. But she had been here with him yesterday. To a place that seemingly vanished into nothingness, shrouded by mother nature herself. Only shrouded hinted that mother nature was not the one involved.

Clay's laugh sounded tinny and forced, even to his own ears. "I guess you were right," he told her, and shrugged. "You must have woke me up this morning in the middle of a dream." He laughed again and steered Catherine back toward the Jeep. "I'm sure you've had those dreams yourself...vivid, real, hard to accept that it's only a dream and not actually happening."

Catherine's smile was forced and her expression said she wasn't convinced by his words, that his actions were too far out of the norm for him. "Sure," she responded, but her tone of jest was as flat as his.

As Clay put the Jeep into gear and started back up the mountain his gaze riveted on the woods revealed in his rear view mirror. The only thing moving were pinecones that swayed and dropped to the quiet carpet of pine needles.

Despite Catherine's memory blank, he instinctively knew this was about her, not him. He sent a grim, silent message to anyone or anything that watched.

You need to get past me to get to her. And there's not enough force in this world or any other that can make that happen. I'm not moving.

 

Chapter One Hundred Thirteen

Once back at Restless Haven Clay wasted no time getting out their suitcases and emptying drawers into them. Neatness was the least of his concerns as he tossed things into the luggage. Catherine sat on the bed and hadn't said a word since he began packing. He beat back a nagging twinge of guilt for telling her point blank we're out of here. No discussion. Just his pronouncement.

She did nothing to help pack and her expression was unreadable. He couldn't hazard a guess as to whether she was relieved or livid. He'd deal with it later.

Her calm voice broke into his thoughts.

"You never did eat your eggs."

Frustrated, he threw a pile of boxers into the suitcase.

"And that's another thing," he said, turning to her. "Why did you make breakfast? Where was Louise? I thought the idea of them being here was to earn money they needed so badly? Why did they get here so late today?"

Catherine rose to her feet and met his gaze. "When they left yesterday I told them to come in later than usual today. I wanted to cook for you. It's been so long since I've been able to do such a simple thing for you, to not have someone else take care of every little thing..."

To Clay's surprise, Catherine's tone stayed level. "I really like it here, Clay. It's peaceful, it's uninterrupted by phone calls, visitors, meetings, photo shoots, interviews..." she trailed off and he watched her swallow hard. So she hadn't been as composed and calm as he'd thought.

She opened the sliding doors and walked onto the patio, her back to him.

He sighed, feeling like a heel. The fact that he was right in that he was about to lay rubber and leave this place in their wake did little to ease his guilt over how he'd treated her the last few minutes. He went up behind her and wrapped his arms around her. When she'd laid her head back on his chest he offered a sincere, "I'm sorry."

She nodded. "I know. The worst part is that this whole argument is so silly and makes no sense."

Then she turned and held his gaze and though her voice was so low it was nearly inaudible her words hit his ears with the impact of a freight train. "I'm staying."

"You're not," he said curtly.

"I am."

He stared at her. "What has gotten into you?" he demanded.

She shook her head, her eyes filled with questions. "It isn't me, Clay. It's you. You drag me off to a place down the road that isn't there, that you finally admit you dreamed about, and now it seems that it scared you so much you're running out of here."

"Now wait a minute," he said, his anger rising.

"No," she said quietly and put her warm hands on either side of his face. "Please listen to me. I know I frightened you when I told you I heard voices, but that's gone now and I believe it's because it's so peaceful here...Clay, I can't describe it, but I feel like I need to be here."

"Need to be here?" he repeated. "What is that supposed to mean?"

She smiled and did a slow gesture of the mountains in all their fall glory. "It's beautiful. Peaceful. All the words I've already used a hundred times. I feel more and more relaxed each time I step outside here." She lay her hands on his shoulders. "I feel the most peace of mind I've felt in a long time. Please," she said softly. "Will you stay...for me?"

Clay looked around, but his mind was spinning memories of his encounter with the old woman. Heed the warning, she'd said. To him that meant hightail it out of here as fast as you can and don't bother looking back. But...warning? If what happened to him had come from some dark side, why would a warning come with it, one that he now knew meant that the vision in the ball wasn't written in stone. The vision projected to him was a possible event, not a definite happening. But when? Where?

He cleared his throat. "Catherine...the doll...where did you get it?" He held his breath, sure she was going to give him yet a third story of where it had come from. He didn't exhale until she told him, "A little girl gave it to me this morning."

Against his will he heard himself say, "Okay, we'll stay. On the condition we don't leave this house for a few days. Agreed?"

Catherine's face lit up. "Of course," she told him, then gave and accepted a tight hug. "I hate it when we argue," she said softly.

Clay's heart jerked in guilt and exasperation with himself. Catherine had done absolutely nothing wrong and he squeezed her to him, not yet ready to tell her the entire truth. "Me, too," he murmured.

He tipped her head up and two sets of eyes closed as their lips met in a tender kiss. Catherine turned and leaned against him again as they drank in the sight of the mountains. All Clay could think was God help me if Catherine ends up paying for me making a poor decision.

Behind them, they didn't notice that Louise and Charles had come down the stairs to the master bedroom to begin cleaning. Louise stared at the bed, where Catherine had tossed the doll, gasped and clutched her dress to her neck.

Charles nodded somberly as he saw where his wife looked. "It's begun."

 

Chapter One Hundred Fourteen

Stretched out on his stomach in front of their bedroom's gas fireplace, Clay looked at Catherine, in the same position across the thick, woven, black-and-gray, three-by-five checkerboard rug. He grinned when she frowned at the board and moved her fingers tentatively to hover above her remaining two red checkers. Dark had fallen outside and the only light in the room was the soft glow of the flames.

"You can't win," he informed her. "Just give up and we'll start another game."

Catherine raised her head to scowl at him before she turned her attention back to the board. "Says you."

"You can't win," he repeated smugly. "I'm the checker champ."

"Hmmmmph," she sniffed at him. Then she grabbed the checkerboard and jerked it into the air. The red checkers, along with Clay's kinged black checkers chasing them, went flying.

She rose to her feet. "Ooops," she said sarcastically. "I guess that game is a draw. Sorry to break your streak, champ."

Clay grinned as Catherine huffed and muttered all the way up the steps to the main level. He gave her a few minutes to cool off before he followed.

He found her at the dining room table looking at brochures of the mountains.

He perched on the edge of the table and leaned down to put his face in front of hers. "How about a game of pool?"

She threw him a look. "You're as bad at that as I am and I'm tired of chasing the balls you hit off the table and through the railing. So far you've been lucky and when they fall to the main level they've landed on the couch."

"I'll take that as a no," he said lightly and got off the table to come around behind her. "What are you looking at?" he asked, bending over her shoulder.

She tossed the brochures down and faced him. "You know what I'm looking at, Clay. The same flyers I looked at yesterday. And the day before. And the..."

"Tomorrow," he cut in. "You pick the place and we'll go sightseeing tomorrow." He took the papers from her hand and pulled her up to him. "These last few days have been absolute heaven, Catherine. Completely quiet. Completely..." his lips teased hers... "just us."

Catherine's arms went around his neck and she giggled. "Just us? Well, with the exception of Charles and Louise, just us. I thought they'd never leave tonight," she commented. "They seem to be hanging around a little longer each day."

Clay's heart did the familiar flip-flop as Catherine's mouth ended his teasing and the hunger in her mouth shot anticipatory heat to every nerve he owned.

"These last days have been absolute heaven?" she whispered, echoing his own words against his lips. "Oh, Clay, you underestimate yourself."

Clay picked her up, but his mouth never left hers, never stopped working hers as his heartbeat accompanied his footsteps down to the bedroom. He lay Catherine on the soft carpet in front of the fireplace, unaware of and not caring whose hurried, shaking fingers quickly got whom naked.

Firelight illuminated the tenderness in her eyes as he drew her warm body against his, and he trembled when he lowered his mouth to hers.

God how he wanted her. How he loved her.

Clay's heart soared in joy at their uncompromising need to possess each other, their uninhibited passion and pleasure as they made wanton love.

**

The next morning, over breakfast, he and Catherine evaluated sightseeing choices. Several brochures were tossed immediately.

"White water rafting isn't even on the table," Clay informed her. "No pun intended," he added with a chuckle, glancing to where he had tossed the information from the table to the garbage.

"None taken," Catherine said dryly, not lifting her gaze from the other choices. She looked at Clay. "I don't feel like horseback riding, either."

Clay took the paper from her hand, rolled it into a ball, tipped his chair back and threw the paper in a basketball dunk to the garbage. "So what does that leave?"

She looked up at him. "Are you kidding? The Smoky Mountains National Park is just a few miles and there's a ton of things to do there." She frowned. "Fall is much more hectic in the mountains that I thought, Clay. When I said there's a ton of craft festivals I had no idea that was a huge tourist draw this time of the year. Dollywood has a massive display of local..."

"That's a negative," he told her. "We want to stay as much to ourselves as possible, don't we? I don't think a trip to Dollywood meshes with that."

"People will be there to see crafts, not to see you," she said sourly, but when she tossed that brochure aside he knew she wasn't really upset.

She picked up a thick brochure and held it in the air. "I want to go here."

"And where is here?" he asked, looking at the cover.

"Cades Cove. It's high up in the park and I don't think they get as many visitors at this time of the year. It's an eleven mile loop road of one of the oldest communities in the Smokies," she read from the front page. "It's a dirt road and you drive from one of the old buildings to the next." She lowered the paper and looked at him. "I think it sounds like a perfectly relaxing time. What do you say?"

He did a quick scan of the brochure and shrugged. "Sure."

Charles came in the back door then and Clay stated, "We're going sightseeing, but we'll be back before you leave so don't worry about the alarm not being set."

"Yes, sir," Charles answered. "Are you going locally or into the park?"

Surprised, Clay said, "Into the park. Cades Cove. Does it matter?"

"Oh, no, sir," Charles responded. "And it's certainly none of my business. But I think you should be forewarned about the weather, especially at the higher elevations like Cades Cove."

Catherine joined in with, "We'll have our jackets, if that's what you mean."

Charles shook his head. "No, Mrs., I meant rain."

Clay laughed. "There's not a cloud in the sky."

Charles didn't alter expression. "Yes, sir. But severe downpours happen almost every day in the higher elevations. They come from nowhere and are gone almost as fast as they arrive. That's how the mountains maintain their lushness."

"We'll be careful," Clay said, smiling at the concern.

"I don't think you understand, sir," Charles persisted. "I mean severe downpours, thick as heavy curtains, downpours that force you to the side of the road because you can't see past your windshield."

Clay went still as he watched Charles' eyes. Was it his imagination or did he see some type of warning there?

"Rain," Charles continued, "that has blinded many drivers and forced them to the side of the road, only to be hit by other drivers as blinded as they were. Some accidents have sent vehicles over the side of the mountain."

"I'm a careful driver," Clay said slowly but unease had displaced his upbeat mood.

"I suggest, sir, that as soon as you see clouds start to gather, well, that you find shelter until the rain has completely ended and the sky is clear."

"Thank you," Clay said amiably, but unprecedented gnawing started in his stomach.

 

Chapter One Hundred Fifteen

Clay didn't spend a lot of time watching Catherine's face while the Jeep climbed increasingly steep and winding roads but he saw her instinctively lean further and further into her seat, as though that would steady the Jeep on these treacherous roads. Her foot also worked an imaginary passenger side brake.

"Relax," he told her for what seemed the millionth time. "This was your idea, remember? Change your mind?" he teased.

"Uh uh," came her tense answer.

She didn't visibly loosen until they'd reached the top of Laurel Creek Road and the entrance to Cades Cove. Their's was the only vehicle in sight. Clay pulled into one of the spaces at the Orientation Shelter and together they walked to the table beneath the shelter, manned by an older gentleman. Pamphlets and books about Cades Cove were splayed across the table. Clay paid for a book and a map of the eleven mile, one way loop road and Catherine collected the free pamphlets.

Clay glanced at the sky. It sure wasn't the weather that kept visitors away. Pure blue stretched from one horizon to the other and brilliant sunshine poured down on open fields. Tall, golden grass was almost endless, the grass waving beneath a slight breeze that couldn't decide if it was warm or chilly.

"This place is open, isn't it?" he asked the man.

"This time of day most are at Dollywood, at the craft festival. It'll pick up here later." He smiled. "You young people can mosey at will. There's park rangers throughout if you have questions that aren't answered in the book or pamphlets. All you need to do is holler if you don't see one and they'll find you. Sound carries well here."

Clay turned toward where the man pointed ahead, down the road. "Keep a sharp lookout during your ride and when you reach some of the broader fields, if you sit for a few minutes you'll probably see at least one fox in the open field. Deer you're more likely to see on your way in or out of the cove." He chuckled. "Word of advice. The black bears are eating their way into hibernation about now so if you happen to see one I don't recommend hanging around. And if you see a cub, get moving away quick, because mama isn't far off and she doesn't like anybody oohing and ahhing over her babies. Best thing to do is find a park ranger so he can detour others from the spot."

"Thanks," Clay and Catherine said and once back in the Jeep started down the loop road toward the first historic cabin. They had to walk from the road to the building and after exchanging comments about whether or not they could have braved the elements like early settlers, they continued down the loop road.

The Primitive Baptist Church was next and Clay told Catherine he'd join her inside in a minute. A small white bus stood by the roadside and through the church window they could see a fairly large group of people walking around and examining the pews and interior as they talked quietly.

Catherine shrugged and went inside the church. Clay strolled over to the large stone marker and read Cades Cove Primitive Baptist Church - Organized June 16 1827. He lay his hand on the stone's rough top, his gaze taking in the tranquility, the inner peace that such a place invited.

And, dear heaven, in that split second, he knew. Knew. Catherine would find the same sense of peace that he had, and, predictably, her unstoppable joy would come through in the way it found expression.

Too late, he heard it. Heard Catherine's God-awful voice lift in ear-torturing song. He knew it was only coincidence that the birds took off from the church roof, but one glance through the church window at the slack-jawed faces staring at Catherine and her joyfilled expression and Clay raced for the church door.

He had to get Catherine out of there before the slack-jawed turned into villagers with torches. Then he remembered what the man at the Orientation Shelter had told them: Sound carries well here. As he grabbed a startled Catherine by the hand and pulled her out the front door, Clay could only be grateful there weren't enough people visiting Cades Cove to surround the building.

 

Chapter One Hundred Sixteen

Despite Catherine's protest and struggle Clay held tightly onto her hand, not wanting to consider that he pretty much dragged her to the Jeep. He opened the door and her mouth popped open when he gestured for her to get inside quick.

"What on earth are you doing?" she demanded.

"I had to get you out of there," he blurted, then snapped his mouth closed when he realized what he'd said. Catherine stared at him, and she looked so puzzled it broke his heart. She had no idea her singing could peel the bark from trees.

He smiled, but his mind raced for gentler, kinder words than those he'd been thinking. "I mean," he added, backing the Jeep onto the road and heading for the next stop, "when I looked through the window I saw you singing. And I saw their faces..." he broke off before he inadvertently uttered an unflattering description.

Her eyes widened. "I know. I saw them, too." Her brows furrowed. "They didn't look very happy, did they? I thought that was odd, considering they were in such a beautiful old church."

Clay groaned aloud, digging deep for his most diplomatic self. "Catherine, sweetheart..." He glanced at her as they pulled to the side of the road, beside the dirt lane they'd walk to the next cabin exhibit. He put the car into park and sighed, then faced her. And the innocence he saw washed over him. He smiled and shook his head, laughing inside at his own thought: he'd personally take on anyone who insulted Catherine's singing.

They stopped at most of the exhibits, but skipped some. Catherine pointed to one of the open fields and Clay parked to give the best view of the open expanse, to watch for anything darting across or through. They were rewarded with not one, but two red foxes streaking from the deeper golden grass to the woods.

Clay glanced beyond the fields and past the woods, to where the mountains that surrounded the cove rose to touch the endless sky. Wisps of 'smoke' rose from too many places to count and the brilliance of reds, golds and oranges blending into, converging with and separating dozens of green ridges was beyond his descriptive capabilities.

A park ranger sat on the porch of the last cabin they visited, but rose and accompanied them through the accessible areas of house, reciting a long narrative about the original inhabitants, work ethics and way of life. Catherine pointed to a small garden in the back, maintained by the park service. Large pumpkins and gourds were on the vine, their rich hues and leafy green vines stark contrast to the dark garden soil.

"We probably should get a pumpkin," Catherine commented. "It's almost Halloween and, well, everybody needs a pumpkin at Halloween."

Clay laughed, but turned to the ranger. "Speaking of Halloween, what kind of traditions did they celebrate here?"

The ranger shrugged. "Not any different from other places, really. Mischief night had a different name, but kids were kids, even back then. Knocked over outhouses, threw shucked corn at doors, things like that." He laughed and gave a knowing look toward the woods. "The real fun of Halloween here was in the legend and ghost telling. And in the mountains and the foothills, there's more tales than I can count. Some have at least a small foundation in fact, some are taller than Mount LeConte," he added, referring to the highest peak in the Smokies.

Clay's ears picked up at that and he asked casually, "I'll bet there's a lot of them about children. Ghost stories about children are usually the most inventive."

The ranger snorted. "I'd say at least seventy percent of them have some angle or another that involves a little kid. Some are spooky stories, some are really sad."

Catherine pulled at Clay's arm. "We need to get going," she told him. "I want to wait by one of those little crossroads to see if any deer come by or if we can see them inside the woods."

After thanking the ranger for the stories and his time, they headed for the road leading from Cades Cove. Clay eased the Jeep as near to the woods as possible and they kept a vigilant eye for movement from the woods. But no deer rewarded them with even a fleeting glimpse of its hooves, its tail or antlers.

Finally they gave up, and as Clay started back down the mountain, he said, "Those stories were interesting. I wish we'd had time to listen to more."

"Well," Catherine said, "the ranger told us pretty much the same thing Lattie told me about Halloween."

Puzzled, Clay looked over at her. "Lattie?" he asked. "Are you talking about Louise?"

Catherine flushed and an odd sensation landed on Clay's neck. Catherine obviously had said something she hadn't meant to say.

"Who's Lattie?" he asked, trying to sound nonchalant.

Flustered, Catherine stammered, "It's...it's...she's..." She drew and exhaled a breath, then blurted, "The little girl that gave me the doll. Her name is Lattie."

"Her name is Lattie," Clay repeated, still playing the role of unconcerned. "And you know this...how?" To his great relief his voice remained steady when he added, "Did you see her in the woods again?"

A long, heavy silence followed, then Catherine answered with, "Lattie needs me, Clay. I've been meeting her in the woods every morning, all this week."

Clay nearly drove the brake pedal through the floor and the Jeep screeched in protest. "You what?" he demanded.

"Don't be angry," Catherine said softly. "She's a sweet little girl, but she's lonely. It's only for a few minutes and it seems to make her happy. I'm back in bed long before you wake up so I didn't see any harm."

So unnerved he shook, Clay had trouble keeping his mind on the road as they again moved forward. Seeing a small parking lot about a hundred yards further down the road, he headed for a space and shut off the Jeep.

"I didn't think you'd be so upset," Catherine said and put her hand on his.

Clay held her gaze. If she didn't think he'd be upset about meeting this 'Lattie' in the woods then she wouldn't have kept it secret. Or had Catherine been told to keep that from him?

"I'm not mad," he said quietly and drew her close. Then he pulled back and looked at her. "How did you turn the alarm off to go outside? I didn't think you knew the code. Did you get it from the paper?"

Catherine looked surprised. "I didn't turn it off. When I opened the door it was already off, or at least it didn't activate. I assumed you forgot to set it."

Clay's smile was weak. He set the alarm every night. Diligently. But somehow Catherine was exiting and reentering the house through an alarmed door without setting off the alarm.

 

Chapter One Hundred Seventeen

Clay stared through the windshield, at nothing, close to losing his struggle for a calm demeanor. "And what do you and Lattie talk about, Catherine? Why, exactly, does she need you?"

Catherine shrugged. "We just talk," she said softly. "To be honest, I'm not real sure what we talk about. Most of it I've forgotten by the time I get back in bed."

Clay turned a sharp look on her, not liking any of the possible implications of what she'd said. But Catherine was looking at a sign in the parking lot.

Excitement rimmed her tone. "This is Laurel Falls. One of the biggest tourist draws. Come on," she called and jumped from the Jeep.

Before he could stop her she'd gone to the sign, then beckoned him to join her. When he stepped from the Jeep a glance toward the sky warned him that thunderheads rolled in, that the deep blue that punctuated the picture perfect sky had been bullied out of the way. He didn't remember the sun being surrounded by an ever-increasing gray, but the territory dominated by the circle of yellow grew smaller and smaller.

Catherine grabbed both his hands, and, walking backward toward the trail, said, "Let's go see the falls while we're here. I don't think I want to make a second trip up this road, so..." she trailed off and smiled.

Two other couples came from the direction of the falls and headed to their car, followed by a young family with three very rowdy children.

Clay stopped Catherine's backward progress and read the sign. "It's a mile away," he informed her. "Do you really want to walk that far?"

"The sign says it's a paved trail," she told him. She pulled one hand free and her index finger pointed up. "I know you see that sky, Clay, and I know you remember as well as I do what Charles said." She shuddered. "I do not want to be on the road during one of those deluges and be terrified that we'll be hit out of nowhere or that we'll hit someone else. Do you?"

Without warning, the vision in the globe leaped into his mind. Was Catherine's death due to an accident on the road? A preventable one? And did the guilt he saw in himself at the cliff's edge stem from knowing he could have, and did not, avert the incident? His mind spun. Was he now to examine every second of his existence, searching for which way to go, what to do, until he drove himself insane?

Catherine smiled. "If I have to get wet I'd much rather it was from a waterfall's mist than from the sky's cold hard rain." With that she broke free and hurried forward around the bend and down the trail.

Clay caught up with her and took her hand, strolling hand-in-hand. "Who said we'd get wet from the rain?" he asked. "We'd be in the Jeep. Besides, if we're getting wet from the waterfall, and we're obviously outside if we do, won't we be standing in that cold hard rain you want to avoid?"

She gave him a quick kiss. "Hush," she told him lightly. "You're making sense. I hate that."

Clay sighed. "Catherine, we need to talk."

She looked at him in question, but with a smile.

"About Lattie," he said flatly.

Her smile faded. "Can it wait until we get back to the house?"

"Catherine..."

"Please, Clay," she said softly. "I just want to enjoy this moment. We can talk about anything you like when we get back."

Reluctantly, he nodded agreement and they walked in silence.

As the sun grew dimmer and dimmer behind increasingly thick clouds he kept one eye on the sky, waiting for the heavens to open and assault them with a drenching. But they walked all the way to Laurel Falls without so much as a drop splashing on them.

"Wow, this is beautiful," Catherine cried, her gaze taking in the cascade of water as it fell in a graceful but noisy eighty foot torrent.

"Mother Nature at her best," Clay agreed, his gaze more watchful of the sky than the waterfall. "And I'll bet that mountain water is as cold as..." he stopped, surprised at the intensity on Catherine's face as she stared at the falls.

"Catherine? Are you all right?"

Her turn toward him was slow and the strange look in her eyes was one he'd never seen before and couldn't describe now. Then he saw that she'd paled. He grabbed her and gave her a slight shake. "Catherine," he gritted sharply.

Catherine's gaze held his and in them he saw not only fear, but wonder.

"That's it, Clay," she said in a rock steady tone. "Now I know what I heard."

Confused, Clay waited, but she said nothing. Finally he prompted, "What you heard...where?"

"In my head," she answered quietly and turned to the falls. "The voices. Listen and you'll hear them, too."

Her eyes were earnest and Clay's heart thudded to his feet when Catherine turned back to him.

"I didn't hear voices, Clay. What I heard call to me is the waterfall."

 

Chapter One Hundred Eighteen

Clay cleared his throat but his gaze stayed on Catherine's. "Ummm...you heard a waterfall...call you." He paused, then joked, "Did it say what it wanted?"

Catherine's face darkened and her eyes flashed. "Are you making fun of me?"

"No...no," he said, gripping her arms. "I'm simply trying to understand what you mean. That's not a...uh...usual...thing to come out with, you have to admit."

Catherine's eyes held anger. "You mean normal, don't you?"

"Catherine," he said patiently. "I'm trying here, I really am."

"Listen to the sound carefully, Clay," she said quietly. "When the water comes down that eighty foot drop and hits the rocks, rushes together and..." she stopped and the anger on her face intensified. Her laugh was short and tight. "No, I can see from your expression it's easier to just believe I'm crazy."

She stormed off toward the parking lot and Clay threw his head back onto his neck in exasperation. With his head still back, he took two deep breaths with his eyes closed. When he opened his eyes it was just in time to see the sky open and the cold, pelting deluge come charging down from the thick gray masses overhead.

Irritation shot through him but he turned and sprinted toward the Jeep, knowing that a mile was one very long sprint and that he'd be walking long before he neared the parking lot. So as a noise of major annoyance escaped his lips he slowed to a walk, the rain coming so fast and so hard he could barely see two feet in front of him. He shouted through the rain for Catherine but between the pounding rain and the distance between them he knew there was little chance she'd hear him. His pace increased as the rain grew colder and rivulets ran down his forehead and face, down the back of his head and neck to chill his skin as it not only soaked through his clothes but sneaked down his neck for a direct strike.

By the time he reached the parking lot every inch of him squished through inches of soaked clothes and sopping sneakers. He didn't even entertain the thought of wringing anything out or removing anything before he opened the driver door and jumped inside the Jeep. He didn't plan or want harsh words to be on his lips when he turned to the passenger side, but they were and found their way loose before he could stop them.

"Just what the..." he stopped. He was talking to an empty seat.

He climbed back out, slammed the door and started shouting for Catherine, frustrated at the loudness of the rain. Would his voice carry to wherever she'd decided to go? Surely she wasn't foolish enough to start walking alone down this steep road? He chewed his lip in thought, too aware of Catherine's unpredictability when she reacted to her emotions. If she was still upset she very well may have started walking.

Angered at the situation he pounded his hand on the Jeep's roof.

"Clay!"

Clay turned, trying to pinpoint Catherine's voice through the pouring rain. Between the teeming rain and the descending grayness that accompanied it he could see little to nothing. He said a short, terse vow to never again underestimate someone's experienced advice about a storm.

"Where are you?" he called.

"Over here," she called. "I'm stuck."

"Talk so I can follow your voice," he hollered back.

"I'm across the street from the lot," came a voice nearly smothered by wind. "I fell down a hill and I can't get back out."

Clay raced across the road, craning his neck in all directions for her. "Catherine, keep talking."

A long roll of thunder boomed, drowning Catherine's response to where Clay couldn't pinpoint the origin.

"Keep talking, honey, I don't think I'm too far from you."

Lightning flashed and Catherine's screech reached Clay with no trouble.

Within seconds he saw where she had fallen into a steep ravine, one with rocky sides now so slick she couldn't get a foothold to climb out. Water had risen to just above Catherine's ankles in the ravine.

Clay laid down on his stomach and extended his hands to Catherine. "Grab hold," he told her. When she did he pulled her up the sides. After she reached the top they lay next to each other, exhausted.

"Okay," Clay said lightly, staring up into the rain. "And you jumped down into the ravine...why?"

Before she could answer there was another flash of lightning, immediately followed by a loud crack somewhere above them, then the rumbling of the ground and ominous sounds overhead.

Clay instinctively grabbed Catherine and rolled on top of her, shielding her from what, he didn't know. Then branches hit and scraped his arm and he nearly flattened Catherine in a frantic effort to protect her.

When the noise ebbed and they raised their heads to look, both gasped. The rain had stopped as suddenly as it had started. But the loud crack they'd heard had been lightning splitting a massive branch from an ancient oak. The huge limb had come to a halt in the ravine, in the exact spot from which he'd pulled Catherine only seconds before.

It wasn't the cold or the wet that sent Clay into uncontrollable shaking. It was a flashback to the vision in the globe.

Would Catherine had died right there if he had decided to drive and look for her instead of getting out and calling to her? And why he would have blamed himself?

Was it coincidence that Charles had insisted they find 'shelter' during the storm? Without that warning he and Catherine would more than likely have been driving down the mountain and been nowhere near that ravine.

The thought did nothing to allay Clay's shaking.

 

Chapter One Hundred Nineteen

The difference in weather when they reached Restless Haven was nothing short of mind-boggling. The sky was clear, the roads and ground showed no signs of rain. Though Clay tried not to be too obvious in his search, just as every time they drove this road now, there was also no sign of the shop he'd been inside.

Charles greeted them when they arrived and offered to do what he could to dry the Jeep's seats. He sent Louise inside for towels.

Clay kept his tongue but gave an evaluating look to Charles, who met his gaze without the slightest flinch or indication of a guilty thought.

"You sure were right about the rain," Clay said pleasantly, though his feet ached to rid themselves of the sloshing sneakers. "I'm surprised it didn't reach here."

Charles shrugged, taking towels from Louise and handing one each to Clay and Catherine. Then Charles began sopping the driver's seat while Louise started on the passenger seat. "That higher elevation rain is a daily occurrence, year round," Charles said conversationally. "What's known as a necessary nuisance."

"Well," Clay continued with a smile. "Good thing we took your advice and weren't on the road. We stopped at Laurel Falls." He watched both faces for any sign that gave away a connection to 'waterfall' and 'voices'.

Louise snorted, then muttered, "Looks more like you were in Laurel Falls."

Catherine smothered a grin, but Clay shrugged. After Catherine had gone down the steps to the lower level's patio entrance, Clay told Charles, "Guess our timing was a little off. The rain hit before we made it back to the Jeep." He cleared his throat. "But while we were up in Cades Cove we chatted with the park rangers. That's a really beautiful spot up there."

"Yep," Charles answered without looking at him. "One of the biggest tourist attractions in the park." He gave a short glance to Clay. "I'm sure you're wanting to get out of those wet clothes like the Mrs."

"Yeah," Clay said, then acted lost in thought. "You know, there were so few people there today we had a lot of time to ourselves, to look around without being hurried out by another group coming through. It was really nice. Gave us a lot of time to talk to the rangers."

"Yep," Charles said again, more or less ignoring Clay. "That's their job. Handing out information and making sure the tourists don't get themselves into a jam when they spot a bear or anything else they shouldn't be touching."

"Well," Clay said agreeably, "this one ranger in particular was just a trove of local information. My wife was especially interested in some of the holiday traditions, and, since it's close to Halloween and all..." he trailed off but neither Charles nor Louise showed the slightest bit of interest in what he'd said.

"So we asked about Halloween. Ghost stories and legends in particular."

The interruption in Charles's arm motion was almost imperceptible, but Clay saw it. And did his best to widen the opening. "So, do you two know any good ghost stories? Local stories?"

At that, Charles and Louise halted and looked at each other for a long moment, then Charles shook his head and said pleasantly, "Can't say that we do."

Unwilling to let go, Clay persisted. "He said a lot of stories center on children."

"Of course," Charles answered, still keeping his attention on trying to get the water from the driver's seat. "What's scarier in a tall tale than a child's ghost?"

"Gee," Clay said lightly, "I don't remember how it went, but have you two ever heard the story about a little girl ghost...I think her name is Lattie?"

Louise shot upright and turned away, her voice trembling when she said, "Charles, I think I left something on in the kitchen."

Clay watched her walk hurriedly toward the back of the house, then he looked at Charles, who held his gaze steady, unblinking.

"No," Charles said evenly. "I don't believe I ever heard that one."

 

Chapter One Hundred Twenty

Clay didn't think he'd ever shake the cold, clammy feeling from deep in his bones, but a hot shower, dry clothes and a warm fireplace worked wonders.

He stretched out beside it with Catherine, hoping he put just the right amount of seriousness into his tone. "Catherine, we need to talk."

She sighed and kissed the tip of his nose. "I know. I'm sorry, Clay, for walking off like that, but it was so frustrating that I couldn't make you understand what I heard...I didn't mean to..."

He put a finger to her lips to stop her, and smiled. "That isn't what I meant," he said, wondering how to phrase his thoughts so he didn't ignite another argument or send her into defensive mode.

"Well, I'm still sorry," she said sincerely and gave him a sweet kiss.

Clay brushed her hair back. "It's about..." he broke off, then forced himself to say it. "It's about Lattie."

Catherine drew back and Clay saw an instant curtain in her blue eyes.

"What about her?" Catherine rose to her feet. "I don't want to talk about Lattie."

Clay rose and stood in front of Catherine. "I'd like to meet her."

Suspicion pushed aside the blue curtain when Catherine asked, "Why?"

Clay looked as innocent, as sincere as possible. "You said she looked hungry," he reminded her. "Maybe I can help her family."

Catherine looked puzzled. "I never told you that."

Clay stared at her, then remembered Catherine had told him that when she'd first encountered Lattie, at the shop she didn't recall visiting. "Oh," he said quickly. "My mistake. But you have hinted that she's from a poor mountain family, so if there's something we can do..."

Catherine shook her head. "That's not a good idea," she insisted.

"Why not?" Clay asked. "Are you afraid of insulting her family by giving something they'd see as charity? Help me out here, Catherine, because I'm not sure why you're trying to keep me from meeting your friend."

Catherine's mouth moved but no sound came out. Then in a quiet voice she said, "Because I only remember going to meet her early in the morning, when there's no one else around, and coming back before you're awake."

Clay nodded. "You have no memory of actually being with her, do you? Of where you might go, how long you're out of the house?"

"No."

Clay gathered Catherine into his arms and stroked her hair, his voice barely above a whisper. "Catherine, do you see that something is very wrong here?"

To his complete surprise, Catherine jerked away from him. "Yes," she shouted. "Do you think I'm blind or stupid? I can't remember anything about what I do when I'm alone and away from here." She started to shake but took a step back from him when he reached for her. Blue eyes glittered with hurt. "Thank you for reminding me that I'm probably losing my mind."

Horrified, Clay said, "No", then shouted, "no. It isn't you, Catherine, it's this...this...place."

She turned away from him and he ran a hand through his hair in frustration. Then he grabbed Catherine and spun her to face him. His determination crackled through with incredible strength and green eyes held blue ones level as he told her, "Tomorrow. First thing. We're both going to the woods to see your little friend. And I guarantee you that I won't forget anything about it. And I plan on making sure she doesn't forget me."

Outside the patio door, Louise turned frightened eyes to Charles. "You've got to stop him, Charles. If he interferes..."

Charles nodded gravely. "Don't worry. I'll take care of him."

 

 

Chapter One Hundred Twenty One

Clay talked to Catherine until long into the night, until he thought he could talk no more. Then when they went to bed he started all over again.

Propped on one elbow beside Catherine he said, "Don't you think it's odd that you remember nothing about being with this child, but yet you know her name and that she gave that doll to you?"

Catherine glanced at the bureau where she'd placed the doll. "Lattie gave that to me as a sign she trusts me. That our meetings are a secret, between only us."

Taken aback, Clay asked, "She told you that?"

"Well," Catherine hedged. "She gave it to me because I told her that you'd like country folk art, or crafts like that doll, and she said she wanted to make you happy, too. But when she gave it to me, Clay, it was so sad. Lattie said she'd never even let anyone else hold it before. She called it 'Sissy'."

Clay blinked. "Excuse me? She called her doll 'Sissy'?"

Catherine sighed. "Lattie's an only child and pretended her doll was her sister."

Clay shook his head, his finger moving back and forth in front of Catherine's face. "And you see nothing wrong with this?"

"No," she said honestly. "I did the same thing when I was little. Only I called my doll Caroline."

Clay rolled onto his back, stared at the ceiling where flames reflected from the fireplace and blew an exasperated breath. "So Lattie and Sissy are out in the woods together looking for mischief?" He gritted his teeth to keep from exploding. "Catherine, has it occurred to you that Lattie is not really a little girl? That the 'mischief' she talks about is something she has planned for you? That she intends to bring harm to you?"

Catherine pooh-poohed him. "Don't be silly, Clay. Lattie is only six or seven years old. Harming anyone isn't in that sweet child's nature."

Clay put his face over Catherine's, but stayed high enough that he could lock gazes with her. "Sweetheart, 'looking for mischief' is another way of saying 'wreaking havoc'. Lattie is not a little girl, Catherine," he said flatly. "At least not the sweet little girl she's presenting herself to you." He threw his hands in the air and sat up on the side of the bed. "Lord only knows what's happened to you during these lapses of your memory." He turned and put his hands on her shoulders and squeezed. "That scares the living daylights out of me, make no doubt about it. Neither of us knows what this 'child' has done to you or maybe has made you do to yourself."

"You're wrong," Catherine said quietly.

Clay lay beside her and drew her close. "We'll see," he answered softly against her hair, his hand pulling her head to his chest. "Tomorrow morning, we'll see."

**

The nonstop ringing of the cell phone finally broke through Clay's heavy sleep, but he was still groggy when he padded across the dark bedroom to pick it up. To his intense irritation it stopped before he could grab it. Almost immediately it beeped to alert him to a message. He hit the button to retrieve the call and heard "Clay, I know you're on the east coast and I'm in LA so I apologize for calling you at six thirty in the morning. But when I was there and left the brochures for you I must have laid some important business papers down without realizing it. I've looked all over for them and I have to have the info that's in them for a critical meeting in about a half hour. I'd appreciate it if you'd hunt them up and give me a call ASAP. The most likely place that Louise would have put them is in the main floor bedroom. The key to the bedroom desk is on a hook in the closet. I'll wait for your call."

Clay hung up and glanced over at Catherine. She hadn't even stirred. He sighed and went up the steps to the main level, put the phone on the kitchen table and went into the bedroom. He flipped the light switch and squinted at the sudden light, but went to the desk and tried the drawers. Locked, like Barksdale said. On the way to the walk-in closet he shot a quick look through the window. Dawn had started to creep over the mountains, a rosy, pink-tinged dawn sky that promised another crisp, beautiful fall day.

Clay searched the closet and after longer than expected, found three different keys in three different places. None fit the desk. Knowing he wasn't going to find the papers in time to help Barksdale he went back to his phone and punched in Barksdale's number.

We're sorry...your number cannot be completed as dialed. Please check the number and try again.

Annoyed that he'd dialed too fast, Clay tried again.

Same message.

He muttered a mild oath under his breath, knowing how ticked he'd be if someone failed to return to him such an important phone call. He dialed Clive Davis's private number and Davis answered on the first ring.

"Hey, Clive," Clay greeted him. "I just got a call from Barksdale and he needs papers that he left here, needs them right away for a meeting that he's probably at by now. I can't find the papers and I'm hoping you have a copy that maybe you can get to him real quick."

Silence, then, "What?"

Clay repeated his request.

"Clay," Clive said, "I understand what you're saying that you need, but who is Barksdale? If I have what he wants I'll send it on to him but I need to know to whom and to where."

Startled, Clay said, "Barksdale. One of the brass at RCA. I assume he's in the same building as you."

Clive coughed politely, then chuckled. "Clay, someone's pulling your leg."

Davis's next words slammed Clay like a hammer.

"There is no one at RCA named Barksdale."

Clay didn't know what he said next but he hung up, threw the phone on the table and raced down the steps to his and Catherine's bedroom, screaming her name.

But he already knew.

Catherine was gone.

 

Chapter One Hundred Twenty Two

Clay threw on his clothes and sneakers, pushed the drapes aside and yanked open the patio doors. Or tried to. They were locked. Maybe Catherine was still in the house? It didn't matter that he knew she couldn't have gone through a locked, alarmed door. His gut told him that she had, told him to not waste his time searching the house.

He unlocked the patio door and rammed it open, and though he was shocked that the alarm didn't go off as it should have, he ignored it and raced off in the direction of the woods, shouting for Catherine.

But which way had she gone? Which trail had she taken?

Realization that the phone call had been to keep him away from the windows at the back of the house sent him toward the trail entrance where he'd seen Charles and Louise clearing weeds from the wildflowers that flanked the trail's opening.

Wings flapped as birds protested and flew from their perches high in the trees when Clay crashed into and through the woods, calling and shouting nonstop as he hurried up the narrow, barely discernible path.

Small, furry animals scurried far to the side, away from his invasion.

Brilliant autumn leaves rustled on treetops and dead ones crackled on a bed of pine needles beneath his steps. But the only human sound that returned to Clay out of the dense, chilly forest was the echo of his own voice.

As he ran up the increasingly steep mountain, brambles caught at his pantlegs, vines twisted beneath his sneakers. His hurried pace resulted in missteps on rocky, uneven ground, missteps that nearly sent him sprawling and tumbling back down the mountain more than once. Leaves and thorns snagged at his clothes as he moved higher, deeper into woods to where sunlight grew less and less, to where the forest was so thick, so dense, sunlight rarely reached the ground.

But neither Clay's steps nor his nonstop "Catherine!" slowed.

Neither did his frantic, terrified heartbeat.

Where are you? his heart cried.

All of a sudden he bent forward, his head down and his hands on his knees, spent and gasping, gulping deep breaths of much-needed air into burning lungs. Despite his determination, fear of not finding her in time slowly crawled up Clay's spine.

He wasn't even sure where he was, how far he'd gone into the woods, though he was certain he had covered at least several miles, although God only knew in how many directions he could spread those covered miles.

He had to get help.

It was the most difficult thing Clay had ever had to do, but after sending a fierce mental message, Hold on, Catherine, because I'm coming, he forced himself to turn back, to run as fast as his lungs allowed for the one person that he knew was familiar with the area.

Charles. Charles could quickly gather local searchers, spread them out and let them lead Clay to the most likely spot. Louise could call the sheriff's department and have search teams and dogs immediately dispatched.

Clay used precious minutes, minutes that he didn't have, trying to backtrack to the entrance. Desolation nearly claimed him when he realized he was lost, with no way to find his way back out. But he clamped his jaw and continued his trek through the woods, twisting his way through dense brush, down rocky slopes. When he lost his footing and fell, he bounced off rocks and stumps and slid almost twenty yards before he gripped the base of a sapling to stop his fall.

When he made his painful way back to his feet he was rewarded with the sight of the spot where he'd entered the woods, less than thirty yards away. Spurred by renewed adrenaline, Clay ran for it, broke out of the woods and made a beeline for Charles and Louise, who stood just next to the back door.

Clay, once again bent over and gasping for air, told Charles, "Thank God you're here." He didn't let his lungs need for air interrupt his instructions. "You need to go for help right away. Louise, bring my phone..."

Clay stopped, uneasy at the absolutely calm looks returned to him.

Slowly, Clay drew upright, his gaze piercing Charles's.

"Catherine is missing," Clay said flatly, suddenly sure the news would not change the expression of the two people watching him.

He was right. They said nothing.

Clay's smile was cold, his eyes green chips of ice. "Lattie," he almost spat to Charles. "You're going to tell me everything you know, ever knew or just thought you knew, about this...Lattie."

Clay walked to stand directly in front of Charles, and the threat in Clay's eyes, voice and demeanor was crystal clear. "And I don't care if I have to grab hold of your neck and squeeze it out of you one word at a time like a Pez dispenser."

 

Chapter One Hundred Twenty Three

Instead of responding to Clay, Charles walked up onto the porch and sat down in one of the rockers. Clay couldn't believe his eyes when Louise joined Charles in a rocker next to his and they began to rock while gazing at the intimidating ridges and hills of the Great Smoky Mountains that rose behind the house.

So livid that he shook, Clay strode into the house and grabbed his cell phone from the kitchen table, disregarding the two stoic people on the porch while he tried to contact the sheriff's department.

Five attempts proved fruitless. No signal.

He ran out the back door and started running for the Jeep, hating that he'd have to leave Catherine for even a minute.

Charles' mild, "You'll be too late," stopped Clay in his tracks and he wheeled back to Charles, closing the distance between himself and the porch within seconds. He was so hot with anger he didn't trust himself to get near Charles, but he took a slow walk up the porch steps, his gaze a deadly green rage.

"Ever hear of a bear hound?" Charles asked, still rocking, still gazing at the mountains.

Clay kept his hard gaze on Charles but said nothing, knowing if he did it would be pure venom.

"Different types of bear hounds, of course, but I'm talking about a Bluetick. Best tracking and woods dogs you can imagine." Charles stopped rocking for a second, gave a thoughtful look to the mountains, then continued. "A little over a hundred years ago, Lattie's family lived in this area. Her daddy raised Blueticks, or at least he tried to raise and breed them. He didn't have a whole lot of them, and the family never got too far away from their money struggles, but Lattie's father always tried to do right by her." He shook his head. "He loved that little girl more than anything in the world and did anything he thought would make her happy."

"If there's a point, get there," Clay said coldly.

Charles didn't flinch, nor did he hurry. "That last summer...when Lattie turned seven. The female had a litter and Lattie fell in love with the little runt, the one that couldn't keep up with the others, the one who fought to get a place beside his brothers and sister when his mama laid down to feed them." A smile played at Charles's lips and he and Louise joined hands for a second. "Watching Lattie and that pup play was a beautiful sight, one that should have melted any cold heart."

His voice turned low and Clay had to strain for Charles's words to reach him.

"There was a breeder from over in Maryville that was always coming around, interested in buying out the Blueticks. Owned and trained just about all the Blueticks in the area and knew how to turn big profits, much more so than a poor mountain man did. Lattie's father couldn't keep both his family and the hounds fed any more and he had to make a choice."

Louise stopped rocking and Clay saw her hand gently come to rest on Charles's arm. Charles patted her hand but kept his gaze on the mountains.

His voice dropped even lower. "That October, the breeder offered to take all six of the pups and the parents. If he didn't get all of them, no deal."

Clay stared at him. "So what?" he demanded.

Then Charles looked at Clay, his eyes indescribably sad, almost tortured. "The runt was ruined. Lattie had made a pet of the pup, ruined him for tracking or hunting. The breeder wasn't taking any chances that the father would breed the runt or try to sell him as a tracker. He was a hard businessman. It was all or nothing."

Clay ran a hand through his hair, now as frustrated as he was angry. "Again, so what? I don't care about the dog. What..."

"Lattie knew," Charles said somberly. "Knew the breeder was going to put the pup down, that ruined pups couldn't be sold or bred and ate more than they were worth. But her father," he said, his voice catching in his throat, "knew what had to be done. The pup had to go or he'd lose the only money his family had to see them through the winter. Lattie heard her father tell her mother to take her berry picking the first thing next morning so that she wouldn't be there, wouldn't know until it was too late."

Images filled Clay's head and ice snaked up his spine, sure he knew where the story was going and why.

Charles sighed, a deep sigh of longing, of regret, and again rocked as he watched the mountains. "That night, after her mother had tucked her in and the house was quiet, Lattie took the little dog she loved so much and ran away. Searchers found her and the pup's tracks the next morning up in the mountains. They also found bobcat tracks. The bobcat was treed and killed two nights later. Neither Lattie or the Bluetick pup was ever found."

"If you know all this," Clay said between clenched teeth. "Then you know what this little girl wants with Catherine."

"Please don't try to stop it," Louise whispered, fear in her eyes.

Taken aback, Clay stared at Louise, then another realization rammed home and he turned back to Charles. "The puppy...what was its name?" he demanded.

"Mischief."

The little girl is looking for mischief, Catherine had said.

Clay gripped the porch railing. Charles looked at Louise, then at him, and to Clay's horror, Charles smiled at him.

Enraged, Clay leaped at him, his hands reaching for the front of Charles's shirt to drag him off the porch.

His hands passed right through Charles.

Clay recoiled, his mind reeling as he stared at Charles and Louise.

Tears streamed down Louise's cheeks as her soft gaze rested on the ominous mountains that stood between Clay and Catherine. "Please don't interfere," she begged quietly. "You must let our child do this..."

Clay didn't hear any more than that. He raced at breakneck speed for the entrance to the woods, frantically screaming Catherine's name.

 

Chapter One Hundred Twenty Four

Clay slammed his way into and through the dense brush and thorn-and-bramble-filled thickets, scrambling up the steep, rocky trail, higher and higher, desperate to find the path he'd already covered.

Blood trickled down his arms from thorns unwilling to set him free, pulled his feet free from vines that wrapped close to where he stepped. He batted away thin, leafless branches that overhung the trail as he raced upward, relieved when the sheer trail leveled out for even a short distance.

Any respite in the uphill climb was welcomed, even the careful stone-to-stone jumps over the ice cold water of small creeks.

The hammering in his heart was drowned out by the words pounding through his head. They're all dead...they want Catherine for some horrific...

He ran and stumbled, shouted for Catherine, ran further, shouted until his throat was raw, until that rawness reduced his shouts to the strength of a hoarse whisper. His head moved constantly, side-to-side, scouring for even the slightest movement or sound, of anything, of anybody. An unending obstacle of massive-trunked evergreens and immense, brightly-leaved hardwoods swayed in a crisp autumn breeze, in a moistened-air stillness that seemed to mock his words.

No answering call returned to him. Even the birds were silent.

No one was here but him. At least no one that could, would or wanted to help.

The Great Smokies forest remained unfriendly, unyielding. Gargantuan, centuries old trees canopied the forest from the sky, denying him the aid of sunlight. Instead, mist had start to rise and hang in the air, offering an increasingly dim and murky atmosphere. At least an hour had passed, but he searched higher, wider, calling in a steadily weakening voice, traveling so far into the dense, chill woods of the mountain ridge that he accepted he'd probably never find his way down or out.

Pine needles and leaves carpeted the rocks beneath his steps, and the thick walls of trees that lined each side of the narrow trail muffled what was left of his weakened calls to Catherine. Even battling his way through those trees to hunt for another path had been fruitless and he'd wasted precious minutes lost in a maze before finding his way back to the uneven, difficult, rock-strewn trail.

Then a glance up showed Clay there was a secondary reason for the forest mist. Though he could barely see sky through the thick layers of evergreen branches, what he saw was fast moving and slate gray, a gray that deepened in color as the clouds gathered and blocked more and more light from woodlands already blanketed in shadow.

To his right, Clay heard the sound of small rocks clattering downward.

Hope leaped into his brain and he used the last of almost spent energy calling to Catherine and running towards the sound as quickly as possible.

He had reached an area where massive rock formations replaced, if only for a short span, the ancient woods. One look upward showed him the raccoon perched on one of the jutting rocks, small rocks still being sent downward from the raccoon's movement. When it spied Clay, the raccoon took the rooted plant it had pulled from between two rocks and disappeared.

Disappointment coated Clay's throat when he realized help had not arrived after all. He was still alone.

He went toward the rock formation and looked up. It was a sheer wall, hundreds of feet high and just as long. A wall so steep, so smooth and with any conceivable gripping points so far apart he couldn't have climbed it if his own life depended on it. This mountain-shielding wall would have given a professional climber fits.

Bitterness swelled his throat. But if I knew how, I could have stood higher to gain a better view of the area, of possible places to search.

He leaned against the rock and put his head back, then despite his iron-willed determination that he would not be defeated from finding Catherine, pent-up fear for Catherine overwhelmed him and he slid down the rock to a sitting position.

He laid his head back on the rock and looked toward the sky, just as large, angry drops began a slow, intermittent fall from the storm clouds.

And he heard it.

Voices.

Clay closed his eyes, ignoring the rain that still fell in only occasional drops, centering all his concentration on the sounds in his head.

His eyes popped open and he scrambled to his feet, spinning his body and his attention to the rock formation. The voices were not in his head.

Clay did his best to suppress his excitement and again closed his eyes to listen, to pinpoint from where the sounds originated.

He walked slowly, with his eyes closed, to the left, then to the right when left made the sounds too low to hear.

When he found where the sounds were strongest, he opened his eyes. A rock wall, covered in vines. No opening, not even a boulder to try and move. But the sound was somewhere behind that rock wall.

Adrenaline gave Clay the push he needed and he examined every inch of anything that looked promising. He was rewarded when the thick layer of vines growing down the rocks ended in a bulky grove of wild bushes that concealed a natural opening in the rock wall big enough for Clay to get through.

He entered as the sky opened up with fury, drenching the landscape in seconds.

He had to get on his hands and knees to make it through the opening, but when he did he found himself in a cave, one lit by natural light through openings in the monumental rock wall.

Clay walked forward, toward the sounds that were now obviously from a waterfall.

When he was almost to the cave's widest point he stood and stared at the waterfall, a graceful cascade of liquid that ended in a churning, deep pool at its base. As the sounds of water landing on water, water running over small rocks and stones, water lapping to the sides of the pool all converged and became one, Clay realized this indeed did sound like voices. Laurel Falls hadn't, even to Catherine, and this left not a doubt in his mind he was now close to where Catherine had gone.

A look to his right brought him up short. The waterfall wasn't a single entity. The pool from the first emptied into a quick-moving body of water that headed toward another waterfall. Noise from that direction said there were probably a series of falls that ran as far down the mountain as the rock wall, then probably continued on as a mountain stream. He doubted the one he was at now was the first or the highest in the rock wall.

He also realized that the torrential downpour outside was increasing the speed of the waterfall and giving steady rise to the water it pushed forward.

 

Chapter One Hundred Twenty Five

Clay did his best to ignore the water, focusing instead on the vastness of the cave level on which he stood. He walked about thirty yards into the cave, not stopping until he was within three feet of the sharp drop to the water.

He looked to his left, upward, not at all happy that the waterfall was increasing in volume, the cave's mist growing thicker and wetter as the falls crashed nonstop into the waiting pool below. The heavy mountain rain pounded the exterior of the rock wall, sending outside runoff water down and into the interior waterfalls and streams, probably the best outlet to prevent flash flooding of the terrain. But inside, there was no place for runoff. What couldn't escape fast enough through natural channels quickly rose to dangerous depths until the rain subsided enough to allow interior accumulation to wend its way to where these streams emptied into mountain creeks.

A ledge identical to the one Clay was on ran the length of the cave wall on the opposite side of the waterfall.

Which way to go?

To his left, a narrow dirt and rock trail led upward. Ferns peeked from behind the rock wall at various spots and patches of bright green moss speckled the rocks on the steep path. It looked like there had been small rockslides through the years. Small piles of rocks blocked unimpeded movement on the path, rocks he'd have to carefully maneuver over or around to reach a higher cave level. How unstable the areas of the rockslides were he had no idea, nor did he wish to find out. One glance told him the path across the way looked the same. Not that he saw any way of getting to the other side other than through the water.

A quick stride to his right ended abruptly after fifty yards, where the ledge he was on cornered left into a slight downward path. With one hand on the rock wall for balance, Clay stepped as quickly as he dared down the path, releasing a breath he didn't realize he'd held as soon as he reached the bottom.

But it was a ten yard reprieve. In front of him was a steep decline of a path. His heart dropped when he saw the moss-covered evidence of a long ago rockslide stood between him and the bottom. He breathed a little easier when he saw that at the bottom of this incline, the cave floor broadened, with an alcove to the right.

The stream was rising, the water gaining speed as it raced in frothy whitecaps toward the next waterfall, about seventy yards distant. Waves crashed into the side walls as the water churned, and as it splashed higher and hit him with drenching mist, Clay had to keep wiping his eyes and face to maintain an unobstructed view. Boulders in the stream, boulders with more than two feet showing above the water line, started to become shorter markers as the water flexed its muscle. A look across the water showed the ledge there also became a downhill slope to a lower level.

Clay stayed close to the wall and craned his neck for a better look down the path.

And then he heard the most beautiful sound in the world.

Catherine was singing his favorite childhood hymn.

He blinked, then gasped.

On the lower level, Catherine sat on the cave floor, singing to a little girl Clay knew had to be Lattie. Lattie stared at Catherine in adoration as she sat facing her.

Clay swallowed hard, realizing that all Lattie heard in Catherine's singing was the love behind the message.

Catherine seemed oblivious to the danger around her.

"Catherine!" Clay shouted above the water's din.

Surprise covered Catherine's face and she turned slowly toward Clay's voice. She blinked several times, as though unsure of where she was, then jumped to her feet and cried, "Clay!"

Lattie also looked surprised. She rose and watched him, but said nothing.

"Catherine," he said in as calm and even a tone as he could manage, "the cave is going to flood. We have to get out of here."

Clay started down the rocky path but it proved too slippery, too treacherous. "Is that alcove a way out?" he asked her, planning to send her out that way and he'd make his way back to where he'd entered.

Catherine shook her head. "No." She looked confused. "I don't remember how I got in here."

Clay looked at Lattie, who looked as though she were going to cry. Unbidden, he felt the need to comfort her. He smiled at her.

"Lattie, I'm Catherine's husband, Clay. Can you help Catherine get outside? Do you remember the way?"

Sadness filled Lattie's eyes and she nodded, then turned to Catherine. "You promised to help me."

"And she will," Clay hurried to answer before Catherine could. "We will. But first you need to help her."

Lattie took several steps back, and her voice trembled. "I'm afraid."

One glance at the water told Clay they could wait no longer. "Catherine," he said flatly. "You have to make it up this path. It might be the only way out."

Catherine nodded and Clay saw her face pale as she noted the rising water.

She bent to Lattie and whispered something into her ear, then hugged her before she walked to the bottom of the path.

When Catherine lifted her gaze to meet Clay's his heart nearly stopped at the terror in her eyes, but he gave her an encouraging smile.

"Easy steps, Catherine. It's slippery and getting worse."

Clay took a tentative step downward and needed a quick hand on the rock wall to stop his immediate, uncontrolled slide on the wet moss.

Catherine's steps were slow and excruciating, her feet unable to maintain balance or tread on the dirt that the mist turned into mud on the steep, narrow path.

Clay could barely breath, keenly aware that one misstep could send Catherine over the sheer side and plunging into the angry water.

"A little at a time," he coaxed, his own downward progress to help her stretching into heart-stopping minutes as he finally made it to the area of the rockslide.

Catherine was within reach of the rockslide when her foot slid in the mud. She grabbed frantically for the wall and her left hand clutched tightly to a small protruding rock. Her right hand grabbed at the moss-covered remains of the rockslide that stood between her and Clay.

Clay threw himself forward onto the ground, his body hugging the wall as he grasped hold of her hand.

"Hold tight," he commanded above the water's roar, his eyes sending what he hoped was a soothing communication into hers.

Catherine nodded, but her eyes didn't reflect any type of calm. She was scared to death. Clay fought to keep his own terror from his eyes and voice.

"We're getting out of here," he told her. "Just do what..."

Clay's voice broke off as he heard the rumble that hinted at rockslide.

The terror in Catherine's eyes increased to an almost mind-numbing level.

The path vibrated and Catherine instinctively let go of the rock wall to cover her head. When she did, the only thing keeping her from falling was Clay holding onto her right hand. Clay held the concentrated weight of her entire body.

"Give me your other hand," he screamed.

Catherine tried to get her left hand to Clay, but when she shifted she lost the tentative balance she held on the path. She slid over the side.

Clay hung onto her hand in desperation, repeatedly screaming to her to give him her other hand. He slid himself to the edge as Catherine dropped further toward the water, her feet dangling in the air.

Clay gripped her arm and tried to grab her body, struggling with every ounce of his strength to thwart gravity and pull her back onto the path.

It was a hard-fought but futile effort.

Clay's horrified, "No!" resounded from the cave walls as Catherine slowly slipped to a finger grasp, then entirely from his grasp and into the raging water.

When Catherine surfaced, she screamed, then her screams were smothered by a torrent of water rushing over her as it raced toward the waterfall. Catherine battled the push-and-pull but the furious water tossed her like a ragdoll, closer and closer to the protruding underwater rocks.

Clay's mind raced feverishly, frantic to find a way to get to her. "Catherine," he shouted. "Grab one of those rocks and I'll find something to throw to you."

A roar from the waterfall was followed by a surge that caught Catherine and threw her into one of the boulders.

To Clay's horror, Catherine went limp. Seconds later, she floated face down in the rising, fast-moving water.

Clay was almost literally frozen with fear at the sight.

He couldn't swim.

Then the old woman's whisper pounded through his brain and he finally understood the challenge in the prophetic vision.

Will you find the courage?

But Clay had already leaped into the dangerous, pounding water.

 

Chapter One Hundred Twenty Six

Clay hit the water feet first and went straight down, the ice-cold mountain water a severe shock to his body and his mind as it surrounded and encased him like a liquid sarcophagus. Then without warning the fickle water forced him to the surface and he gasped, choking, spewing water and sucking rapid deep breaths, breaths the icy water had stolen from him on impact.

He had surfaced too far from the edge of the water to grab hold of anything and pull himself out and run to where Catherine's unconscious body floated with the motion of the raucous water.

Clay was unable to ignore his sheer terror of drowning, but he did his best to not panic as he continued to be pulled underwater and dragged toward the silent bottom, only to be pushed upward for a gulping breath just when his burning lungs felt like they would burst from oxygen deprivation.

An experienced swimmer would have the fight of their life in this circumstance. What possible chance did he have?

A better one than Catherine gave him the impetus to battle down his fear of the water to where he could control it, and when he was again sucked under the freezing water, he made a decision. When the raging currents tossed him back to the surface he would do what he could to use them to propel him in Catherine's direction.

He had to get her face out of the water.

He was nearing exhaustion and called into command every muscle in his body to struggle against the cold, swift-moving water inviting him to a permanent rest. But Clay was too aware that human muscle could only do so much, his need to now get to Catherine a horrendous example of the result of strength and muscles giving out. The water temperature had dropped his body temperature, which only further drained his strength.

Clay was now so tired and weak from just this short time in the frigid water that when he was dragged down again he barely caught a short breath in time, and almost accepted he'd gone down for the final time.

But when air again hit his face he was closer to Catherine than he had dared to hope. When he saw the waterfall's surge coming at him he braced himself, struggling and choking on ingested water, fighting to stay on top of the water until the surge reached him.

His reward was to be thrown within yards of Catherine, close enough to grab hold of the slippery top of one of the underwater rocks.

The water pounded Clay, washed over him and Catherine as one hand clung to the rock, the other reached out for her, straining to stretch his fingers those last few inches they couldn't reach. The roar of the waterfall behind him was now miniscule compared to the raging tower of thunder that lay just yards ahead of him. The rock he held steadfastly with his right hand was the only thing between him, Catherine and the waterfall.

He groaned from the exertion of reaching, and nothing but sheer will power pushed his fingers the necessary distance to clamp onto Catherine's shirt and drag her through the water to him.

Clay was so exhausted he couldn't utter a sound and he felt his grip on the rock loosening, his hand so cold from the water he was unable to firmly clench the rock.

He raised Catherine's head from the water and, with her back to him, leaned her against him. A large, angry bruise marked her forehead just above her right temple. Her head lolled and her lips were blue.

Is she still breathing?

Before Clay could check for her breath, he heard a roar and looked up to see a swell of angry white water heading for them.

With his last ounce of strength he pulled Catherine against him, his arm around her waist, her head against him. Clay's free hand held on for dear life to the rock, his only hope of preventing what he knew was about to happen.

The water slammed into them with terrifying force and Clay's hand was jerked from the rock, his and Catherine's lifeline.

No amount of struggle stopped the driving, unrelenting water from forcing its captives toward the waterfall.

Knowing there was no way to survive this, Clay whispered a tender, "Forever", into Catherine's ear and tucked her tightly to him as they reached the coursing water that thundered over the waterfall.

Clay's only thought as they plummeted together through the freezing water of the hammering, merciless waterfall was to pray that he died first, that he'd be there waiting for his beloved Catherine, to ease her terror, to comfort her.

 

Chapter One Hundred Twenty Seven

The impact of slamming into the waterfall's deep pool stunned Clay into a state of semiconscious and his hazy mind barely registered that the water pressure, coupled with the brutal contact, had sent him and Catherine straight to the bottom.

It also ripped Catherine from his arms and flung her far from him, far enough that he was unable to see her through the bottom's frothing, churning water.

In stark contrast to the thunderous roar of the falls, underwater it was completely silent. He could see and feel the water's tremendous rage, but he heard nothing.

Instinct kept his mouth closed and he struggled to remain conscious, amazed that he hadn't been killed and now beyond desperate to find Catherine.

Had she survived?

The raging water was relentless and caught Clay in a "pin" that was the dread of even professional whitewater rafters. It spun him, flung him, sent him repeatedly to the bottom, spinning him, the pressure threatening to crush him, until he was so disoriented he had no idea which direction was up or down.

If he could have screamed his horror, the terror of his drowning fear that had become reality, he would have. But to open his mouth invited quick death and as precious bubbles of air escaped his lips he frantically fought the surging water.

And he realized it was useless. The water had won. He was too tired, too weak.

Bitterness seeped into his heart, and whether he was to blame or not, he would never forgive himself for Catherine's death.

He gave up. He closed his eyes and prayed his final prayer.

The agitation spin caught him and he hoped for a quick death. It grabbed him in the peculiar circular motion of whitewater 'spins' and hurled him.

All Clay heard was a horrendous noise.

Then he felt the impact of hitting water.

His eyes flew open and he realized the noise was the waterfall's roar. The unpredictable water had spit him out, the 'spin' had ejected him so forcefully from the bottom that he'd landed more than ten yards from it. And that he was now in chest deep water.

His head jerked in every direction, but he knew he wouldn't hesitate to go back to the falls for Catherine.

Even if she was no longer with him.

Then he saw her. Again floating face down, but this time near the side.

Clay moved as fast as he could through the resisting water and rolled Catherine over, brushing away the wet hair plastered to her face. She was white, her lips still blue. The bruise on her forehead was larger, angrier.

He couldn't get his fingers to her throat fast enough and his own heart jerked in response when he detected a very faint rhythm.

Clay held Catherine's head up with one hand and quickly pulled her to the side by her shirt. He struggled to lift her from the water, each second draining more and more of what little strength he had left.

When he had pushed her onto the ledge he rested, breathing hard, for no more than ten seconds. Then he crawled onto the ledge and knelt beside her.

Again, he felt for a pulse.

Nothing.

"Don't you do this," he said to Catherine between gritted teeth. "Don't you die on me. You hear me?" he demanded.

His mind raced and his throat clogged. CPR. CPR. Can I remember what I learned when I'm this scared?

Airway... Breathing... Circulation... rescue breathing.

Clay's hands shook but he went to work on the most important thing he'd ever done in his life.

He did what he could to rid Catherine's lungs of water, then began the rescue breathing he'd learned as a counselor.

"Breathe," he ordered Catherine as his body did its best to breathe life back into hers. "Breathe," he commanded as he kept working on her.

Hot tears streamed down his cold, wet cheeks and he shouted, "BREATHE, DAMMIT!"

On his knees, dizziness swept him and he realized he was probably going into shock, would be no use at all to Catherine. He forced himself to continue.

Then a wave of disorientation hit him and he went down on all fours.

When the dizziness eased he raised his head slightly. In the distance, far above him on the ledge from which Catherine had fallen and he had jumped, he saw Lattie, her back to him, jumping up and down and clapping her hands.

Exhaustion finally ebbed the last scrap of Clay's strength and though he tried to again help Catherine he fell to his back on the ledge. His eyes closed.

Then a cold hand reached and touched his and Catherine's weak, almost inaudible voice called, "Clay?"

Clay's eyelids were so heavy he could barely lift them, and battled to keep them open. He was spent, his energy gone. But tears of elation ran from his eyes down the sides of his face.

His cold, numb fingers closed around Catherine's hand and squeezed.

But something warned him that he had to look, had to get his eyes open.

He was so tired, his eyelids so heavy, it almost felt like someone held them closed. Finally, he managed to drag them open, to a sight that sent shockwaves of terror straight through him.

Clay succumbed to the swallowing darkness just as the hand of a grim-faced Charles reached him.


*****


Chapter One Hundred Twenty Eight

Thick, dense blackness swirled, then started to slowly lift from and clear his mind, and through Clay's first groggy realization of this he heard Catherine's terrified scream beside him.

His instincts kicked in and he threw himself on top of Catherine, blocking her from whatever Charles had planned for them.

And got the shock of his life.

He and Catherine were not only bone dry, they were laying on the red and gold leaf covered ground at the wildflower edged entrance to the woods.

Catherine's body was warm to his touch, and when his hand tenderly touched her forehead he found her beautiful face was once again flawless, unharmed, uninjured.

What had just happened?

Clay turned his head and squinted into autumn sunshine that, after the cold, dank cave, was blinding.

He and Catherine were alone.

Clay shot into a sitting position, running a shaky hand through his hair. He turned to Catherine when she sat up and started to cry.

Clay grabbed her, pulled her into his arms and rocked her, his heart racing as he tried to calm the rising hysteria he felt in her trembling body.

"It's okay, sweetheart," he said gently, his head on top of hers in comfort. "I'm here. We're okay."

Catherine's sobs eased but she clung to Clay and he wanted nothing more than to quiet her fears, reassure her that their bizarre ordeal was over.

But was it?

Catherine's voice was soft, but her uncertainty, her apprehension, came through. "How do you know we're not...like them. That we're not..."

Clay searched his mind for a solid answer but he had none. "I can't explain it," he admitted. "I just know."

Catherine drew back and looked at him and blue eyes held his for so long he thought she couldn't talk. But when she spoke she also almost smiled.

"I believe you," she said softly. "But if we are...like them..." she broke off, then finished, "I'm glad I'm with you."

Clay hugged her so tightly he thought he might crush her, but what she returned to him was just as tight.

When he released her, he drew back and touched the sides of her face, and green eyes locked with blue ones that mirrored his own unconditional, unyielding love.

When Clay's lips lowered to hers and they met in a tender kiss the love that rocketed through every fiber of his being held more power than ever before.

"Clay," she whispered against his lips and something in her tone made him look at her.

"What if we are...d..dead?" she stammered. "How will we know?"

Clay looked at her, helpless to give her a definite answer. The truth was that right now he had no way of knowing for certain whether they were dead or alive. All he could do was hold steadfast to what his gut told him.

"I don't know," he finally admitted.

The sound of light footsteps on pine needles and dead leaves in the woods got Clay's attention fast and he looked up. His smile was tight and his gaze riveted on the figure walking unhurriedly toward them.

"But I think we're about to find out," he said, his face a stone cold mask.

He grabbed Catherine's hand and pulled her to her feet alongside him, wondering if they really wanted to hear, or were even ready to hear, what the advancing figure had come to tell them.

 

Chapter One Hundred Twenty Nine

Catherine stepped closer to Clay and his arm went around her, but his gaze stayed locked on the figure that stopped less than a yard away.

"Catherine," Clay said curtly, his eyes as cold as his voice. "Meet the woman you didn't see in the shop that doesn't exist."

The old woman smiled at Catherine but Clay didn't relax.

"Lattie chose well," she said softly to Catherine.

Clearly confused, Catherine looked from the old woman to Clay, then back to the old woman. "I...I don't understand."

"What do you remember of your encounters with Lattie?" the woman asked.

Clay put his hand in the air to stop any answer, then he pointed to the old woman, his voice like steel. "As much as I enjoy the pleasure of your company again," he said, his tone dripping sarcasm, "you're not asking the questions. But you sure better have some good answers."

Unruffled, the old woman took her gaze from Catherine for only a second, long enough to quietly tell Clay, "In due time." She turned back to Catherine. "Sit, my dear. I promise you're in no danger."

Catherine cleared her throat, but Clay heard the tears, the stress in her barely audible voice. "Are we...did we..." she trailed off.

"Sit," the old woman encouraged. She selected a spot on the cool autumn ground and patted an area in front of her for Catherine.

Resigned that they had no choice but to go along with her if they wanted the woman to tell them anything, Clay sighed, then took a seat with Catherine nearly touching against him. He couldn't be sure if Catherine sat so close to him because she was afraid or because the chill wind had started to pick up.

The old woman nodded to Catherine and her voice was quiet, pleasant. "Please, what do you remember of your encounters with Lattie?"

Again Catherine looked confused and looked first to Clay before answering. "I remember meeting her...almost at this spot...one morning, very early, when I came to see the wildflowers. She had an old folk doll with her that she wanted me to have."

"Stop right there, Catherine," Clay ordered. To the old woman he asked, "Who are you? What happened here and how did that shop..."

Her smile stopped Clay and despite his intent, initial anger and unease ebbed.

"Who I am doesn't matter," she told him. "What Catherine did...that's what matters. And it matters greatly."

"But...what did I do...other than nearly drown?" Catherine asked.

The woman sighed and looked up into the wide, cloudless blue sky. She looked directly at Catherine and Clay knew this woman brought neither harm nor threat with her.

"I know Charles told you the story of why and how Lattie ran away," she finally said to Clay. She smiled softly and shook her head, her gaze on the ground. "How she loved that puppy." Her smile faded then and she looked at Catherine. "Lattie took Mischief with her to hide in the caves, determined to protect her constant companion, her best and devoted little friend, from what she knew would happen to him when the man took him away." She paused. "But Lattie was just a small girl, a child, with no idea of the dangers that could happen in almost any situation." The old woman turned to Clay. "Lattie died the night she ran away to save her puppy. In a flash flood, in one of the caves behind the rock wall where you found Catherine."

Catherine gasped and the woman continued.

"It happened so fast that Lattie was unaware that she'd died. Mischief had been torn from her little arms when the water hit and she was desperate to find him."

"Looking for mischief," Clay murmured.

The woman nodded at Clay and her voice turned sad. "When Lattie first saw the Light that would take her Home, to Heaven, she was terrified. She had no idea what it was and she just kept hiding from it." A smile played at the old woman's lips and she shook her head. "But Lattie wasn't going anywhere without Mischief."

The old woman sighed deeply. "Lattie's parents were devastated when she disappeared. They realized why, of course, and they blamed themselves. Knowing full well that their decision meant they would have no money for food and could not survive the winter, Charles and Louise didn’t hesitate to make it anyway. They refused to sell the dogs to the breeder. Or to anyone else. They did not survive the winter," she said quietly, then added, “All they wanted was to be with their beloved child again.”

"When they died…is that when they found Lattie?" Catherine asked softly.

A long look into the distance was followed by a sigh, then, “Louise was heartbroken that Lattie wouldn’t let them find her. Charles was devastated.”

Clay frowned. “But how is it possible, that they couldn’t see Lattie or find her spirit? Especially when they’re also spirits and she’s a small child…their child.”

The old woman let out what Clay could only call a frustrated sigh. “Keep in mind that Lattie ran away from them because they were sending her puppy to die. She didn’t understand anything about needing money for food. She was a child, a child who adored her little friend and would do anything to save him. She was terrified that Charles would find Mischief before she did, that he and Louise had come to the cave to get him and give him to the breeder. She hid well from her parents and anyone else who ventured into the caves, from either world. And she never stopped her search for her puppy.”

Clay stared at the woman. “But…all these years…”

The old woman’s laugh was gentle. “I keep forgetting mortals consider time by a strict and rigid clock.” She paused. “Time passes much differently for Lattie than for you.”

Clay saw realization jump into Catherine’s eyes. “The early morning visits…” she cried, and turned to Clay. “Lattie came for me very early, every morning. I thought she was just a lonely child looking for a friend and I sat and talked with her. But we didn’t just talk,” she exclaimed. Her gaze moved to the old woman. “Somehow when Lattie touched my hand we were in the maze of caves behind the rock wall. I told her stories and we sang songs, but mostly, we looked for Mischief.”

The old woman nodded. “Yes. And she brought you back here with Clay being none the wiser. She knew you were the one.”

“Why did Catherine see Lattie at the shop, but she has no memory of going there or of meeting Lattie there?”

The old woman smiled at Catherine. “Lattie was always extremely shy. She used the time while Clay was in the store to approach you, to make certain that she could trust you. To know in her heart that you truly were the one.”

Clay frowned, then gestured to the woods, to the flowers at the edge. “She also came here, to this spot, but not to the house?”

“Oh, no,” the woman said. “She couldn’t take the chance that her parents would see her and follow her. Remember, Lattie wasn’t aware, didn’t understand, that she’d died.” A fond, warm gaze fell on Catherine. “When Lattie gave Sissy to you, well, that was the sign that she had found the one she sought. She trusted you above all others.”

Clay put his hand in the air to interrupt. “What do you mean…found Catherine?”

Catherine nodded in excitement and turned to Clay. “I think I can answer that.”

 

Chapter One Hundred Thirty

"The voices," Catherine said. "Lattie was trying to talk to me, during your tour, Clay. But I couldn't hear her voice because of the waterfall. And the waterfall sounded enough like...well...like unintelligible voices melding together that I scared us both into believing I was losing my mind. Lattie's very small voice was lost within the louder noises."

"Not exactly," the old woman told her. "Lattie searched many years for the one, very special person that she desperately needed, the only person Lattie would trust. Trust enough to allow them to hold Sissy, trust enough to show herself to, trust enough to let them help her search for Mischief."

"But the voices...the waterfall," Catherine protested. "That's the message she sent to me...the message that brought us here."

"What Lattie sent out," the old woman corrected Catherine, "was a plea from a lonely, scared little girl that could only be heard by a special person. One with a pure, unselfish heart." Sadness colored her eyes. "Lattie didn't know how to send out a 'message', as you call it. She's very young, with no recognition that she's on the other side, let alone the knowledge of what she's capable of doing there. She had no idea she even had the power to project a 'message'. What she sent to you was the sounds of where she was, hoping you'd understand."

"Wait a minute," Clay interjected. "How can you possibly know so much about the state of mind and emotions of someone you claim is unable to be found? Other than going incredibly far out of your way to scare me to death with some sort of magician's trick," he threw at her caustically, "what, exactly, is your role in this...this..." he stopped, unable to find a reasonable word to describe what he considered well beyond bizarre.

The old woman smiled, first at Clay, then at Catherine, then back at Clay, but she hesitated and Clay saw her choose her words carefully. "The simplest explanation I can give to you, in words that you'll understand, is that for this event I was sent here as a Guardian."

Clay snorted. "Some Guardian. Whomever sent you must be just tickled to death that you needed Catherine to find Lattie for you."

The old woman's face was thoughtful. "You misunderstand, Clay. We've always known where Lattie was hiding. She's never been alone."

Clay stared, puzzled. "Then why..." he halted, aware he'd almost blurted, "Then why didn't you just take her? She's a child, you're not."

The old woman shook her head, as though she'd read his mind, and Clay saw gentle reproach in her eyes. "No one can be forced into the Light against their will, Clay. Not a child. Not an adult. No one. Are you saying we should have kidnapped Lattie to take her Home?"

"Of course not!" he answered, but now he wasn't sure what he'd meant, and certainly was at a loss to explain it.

Old eyes looked at him with vast wisdom Clay could never hope to understand.

He wasn't prepared when she nodded and told him quietly, "My assignment wasn't as Lattie's Guardian. Lattie's Guardian has been by her side since Lattie died."

At first startled, Clay's anger grew and finally he grabbed Catherine's hand, tucked it protectively into his own and lashed out at the old woman. "Well," he gritted, "I hate to tell you this, but you did one poor job guarding Catherine. She nearly died in that cave, in the water, just like Lattie." He lost control of his anger and because he'd come so close to losing Catherine he ignored that he was shouting at an angel. "Was that the plan, Guardian?"

Catherine gasped, but all the uncertainties, the stretched nerves, the constant fear for both Catherine's sanity and her life, had finally caught up with Clay and he lashed out at the old woman. "Did it go something like this...If we can't convince Lattie to go into the Light, I'll get her a permanent playmate?"

"Clay!" came from a horrified Catherine.

But the old woman remained unruffled, impassive, though her eyes darkened with profound sadness, sadness born of Clay's not recognizing what she tried to show him. "I'm not here as Catherine's Guardian."

Clay could only lock gazes with the woman.

"I'm yours," she finished softly.

Clay's jaw dropped and his mouth moved, but no sound came out. Then sarcasm spewed from him with, "Well done, Guardian."

When the old woman didn't react to his words, didn't defend anything that had happened, Clay rose to his feet, his angry green eyes leveled at the woman. Catherine rose at his side, but he brushed away her hands when she tried to calm him, instead releasing his pentup anger at the old woman who also rose and stood in front of him.

"My Guardian?" he breathed in a hard tone. "Oh, I don't think so," he informed her, and acid dripped from the edge of every word. "If your idea of being my Guardian is to show me blaming myself for Catherine's death, and then committing suicide while holding her ashes..." He snapped his mouth shut when Catherine gasped, but he couldn't stop his rush of words. He hurt too badly inside, hurt at how any entity bragging of the title 'Guardian' allowed to happen all that he and Catherine had been through.

"Clay, what are you talking about?" Catherine demanded, clearly frightened by his words and his out-of-control emotions. "Clay, please..."

Clay turned to Catherine and gripped her shoulders. "The shop that I took you to, the one you don't remember. That's where I met..." he glanced at the gentle figure watching them. "...this old woman. She had a globe and projected some sort of vision into it, one that showed you dead and me about to be."

He let go of Catherine and faced the old woman. "Is that about right, Guardian? Or can I stop calling you that now, since...well, since you stink at your job."

"Clay!" Catherine breathed, stunned at his venom toward the old woman.

But the old woman smiled. "Tell me, Clay, if I had told you who and what I was, would you have believed me? Of course you wouldn't have," she said, not waiting for his obvious answer. "You would have thought I was a crazy old woman." For the first time, she offered a tiny laugh, one that sounded like gentle windchimes.

Clay almost said, "I'm not so sure you're not," but caught himself. One raised eyebrow from the old woman told him she'd heard it anyway.

"Clay," she continued. "Let's just say that I told you the truth in the beginning and that you believed me. Search your heart and say truthfully that you would have stayed as diligent to what happened to Catherine as you were. That you wouldn't have kept, in your subconscious, that a Guardian was always present and would prevent harm to her. Even if it wasn't her Guardian."

Incensed, Clay shouted, "Of course I would have..." but stopped abruptly and admitted, "no, I wouldn't have." Then at last he started to understand. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "But did you have to scare me to death in that shop?" His voice softened and he put his arm around Catherine and drew her close to him. "Why would you show me such a tragic vision?"

The old woman looked at him and sighed. "I did nothing to scare you, Clay. I merely showed you, warned you. You scared yourself."

"Oh, no, uh uh," he argued. "You showed me, you told me..." he trailed off.

"Yes," she agreed. "I did. I showed you a warning of what was to come, and of what would happen if you weren't able to find the necessary courage within yourself." She smiled. "But you realized my meaning before you jumped."

Clay glared at her. "You were there and did nothing to help?"

"We can't intervene with events. You and Catherine were in that cave because of destiny. You chose the fate of the outcome. Or, rather, your heart did. If courage had failed you, the vision I showed you would have happened."

Catherine leaned her head on Clay, then lifted it to ask the old woman, "You've told me why I was called here, but why did Clay have to be involved?"

The old woman smiled and Clay saw a hint of pale golden glow surround her, then fade. "Catherine," she began, "you were the one because of your pure heart. No one else could help Lattie, but there's a little more to it. It was decided that it was absolutely necessary for Clay to be here with you, but the outcome has always rested with him."

Taken aback, Clay said, "I don't understand."

After a long look into the sky, the woman said, "Catherine finding Mischief was preordained. Whether or not you saved Catherine was not. That was put to your heart, to your free will."

"I didn't find Mischief," Catherine interjected, puzzled.

"You did," the woman said quietly. "When Mischief was torn from Lattie's arms in the water, like you, he was tossed toward the side, and, like Clay, he fought his way onto the ledge. But within minutes Mischief was buried in a rockslide brought on by the storm. You pulled free the rocks that concealed him just before you slid over the side and fell into the water." She sighed. "That much we knew would happen. What we couldn't be certain of was what Clay would do when you fell. There was much elation when we recognized the couple that Lattie had called."

Clay stared, shocked. "You chanced Catherine's life?"

The woman sighed. "If Catherine had died, we knew she would recognize and go into the Light. But Catherine had the one thing always at her side that we knew was going to prevent her death."

Clay couldn't help his bitter sarcasm. "Her Guardian?"

"Yes."

Clay clamped down on a heated, negative remark about the level of competency he'd seen in someone claiming to be his Guardian. He stopped himself from spewing his thoughts on the one who'd allowed Catherine to hover at death's edge.

"You, Clay," the woman said softly.

Clay said nothing.

"For this event," the woman said, exactly as she'd previously phrased it, "you were Catherine's Guardian. We felt it best that you didn't know."

From within, Clay started to understand, but he still needed to hear the words from his Guardian. "Why?"

"Why?" Again they heard the gentle windchime laugh. "Catherine was chosen to do this because she has a pure, unselfish heart. Despite that, only one thing would save her from the fate you watched in the globe. Pure, unconditional love. Your love for her, the love that sent you, without hesitation, into that water after her, willing to sacrifice your own life to try and save hers."

Stunned, Clay asked, "You saved us?"

She shook her head. "We're not allowed to intervene," she reminded him. "Your heart, your pure, unyielding, unshakable love for Catherine gave you the courage, the strength to save her."

Clay frowned. "But Charles..."

The woman's laugh was uncontained. "We were all very nervous, very apprehensive watching you struggle to keep Catherine alive in that water. And I don't mind telling you that even angels can be reduced to tears watching the valiant fight of such a love." She sighed. "Charles brought the two of you here."

Catherine interrupted with a concerned, "Lattie...has she gone into the Light?"

The old woman shook her head. "No. You and Clay have two more things to do. I hope you're prepared for, and understand them."

 

Chapter One Hundred Thirty One

"Forget it," Clay snapped. "We're doing nothing more. Not for you. Not for them. Nada. We're out of here."

Without so much as a, "come on, let's go", he grabbed hold of Catherine's elbow and spun her toward the house, intending to hustle her through them packing and immediately put many miles between them and the Great Smoky Mountains.

He and Catherine sucked a breath in at the same time and what Clay saw shocked him so badly it nearly knocked the wind completely from him.

Restless Haven was gone.

In its place was an old, one-story cabin, clearly the home of a poor family. A low, wooden porch ran the length of the front and a badly listing chimney, missing a brick or two at the very least, topped a roof that hadn't seen repair in a long time. Uncurtained, six-pane windows straddled each side of the front door and a broom leaned against the porch railing by the corner of the house.

The long driveway that Clay had driven up to get to the small parking lot was now a steep dirt hill.

The Jeep sat at the bottom of the driveway.

From behind him came a quiet, "Restless Haven was an illusion that Charles created so everything seemed normal." The old woman paused, then in a subdued, but peaceful tone, added, "They're waiting."

Clay physically balked at those words, and dragged Catherine to stand right next to him. He turned back to the old woman.

"Ohhhhhhhhhh noooooo," he said flatly. "We're going nowhere near or with them. Like I said, we're out of here."

He gripped Catherine's hand tightly and took a step toward the downhill trek to the Jeep. "I'd like to say it's been nice," he called back to the old woman, "but that wouldn't exactly be true."

But Catherine was staring beyond the house.

A smile so joyful that it startled Clay broke over her face. She tore her hand from Clay's and began running for the back of the cabin.

Clay was after her so fast she hadn't gone ten yards when he caught her, stepped in front of her and stopped her.

"Let me go," she cried, craning her neck to see around him.

Stunned by her actions, he locked an insistent gaze with hers and demanded, "What are you doing?" When she ignored him he shook her. "Catherine, I'm sure they'll let go of us as soon as we get clear. You need to fight, honey..." he urged, then clamped down on his words when she pulled free and raced for whatever she had spotted.

What could she have possibly seen that held such a solid lure for her?

Clay didn't know, nor did he really care what had gotten a hold of her, but he had every intention of severing her connection to it. Pronto. Before these...whatever they were...could get any kind of damaging mental threads woven through her brain that would be impossible for him to reverse.

He raced after her, shouted, "Catherine," and grabbed at her, but she eluded his grip and took off again. He rounded the back corner a second after she did.

Clay went as still as a stone, unable to move at the sight before them.

Standing on a small hill behind the house was Charles, Louise and Lattie. In Lattie's arms was a Bluetick puppy.

A soft, ethereal glow surrounded the reunited family and Charles briefly closed his eyes, visibly overwhelmed with emotions before he opened his eyes and nodded thank you to Clay and Catherine. The smile on Louise's face was one of pure joy as her hands rested on Lattie's shoulders.

Clay looked at Catherine, at her peaceful gaze riveted on Lattie, on the sweet, love-filled smile the little girl offered back to her.

Lattie lowered her gaze, then raised it to meet Clay's. She gave him a shy smile, then raised her hand in the finger-bending wave indicative of a small child.

Charles took Lattie's hand and he, Louise and Lattie turned toward the sun, toward the cloudless blue sky.

A shimmering trail of white light stretched before them, beckoning them Home.

Charles stepped forward, then all of a sudden Lattie stopped, pulled her hand free and turned toward Catherine. Clay saw tears on the little girl's face when she put Mischief on the ground.

Catherine had already knelt in the hard dirt when Lattie ran to her.

Even though Lattie, like Charles and Louise, was now nearly transparent, she threw her arms around Catherine's neck and whispered, "I'll miss you."

Catherine was crying, squeezing Lattie tightly. "I'll see you again someday," Catherine said softly into Lattie's ear. "And Mischief, too."

Clay bent to Catherine and gently told her, "It's time, Catherine."

Catherine nodded and released Lattie, watching silently as Lattie rejoined her family.

Clay could tell it was as hard as it was joyful for Catherine to watch Lattie go, but he didn't realize his own tears that Lattie had found peace had fallen until Catherine tenderly brushed them away.

Lattie picked up Mischief, tucked him securely into the crook of one arm and took her father's hand.

Clay put his arm around Catherine and they watched as the adults slowed their steps to keep pace with Lattie, steps that took them farther and farther up the road of shimmering white light.

The family of four, which definitely included Mischief, grew more and more translucent, until neither they nor the road they traveled were any longer visible against the brightness of the autumn sky.

Clay brushed Catherine's tears and gave a half-laugh when she wiped his.

Then from behind them they heard, "One thing more." A sigh, then, "And I have a feeling you're not going to like this one."

 

Chapter One Hundred Thirty Two

Clay turned to the old woman and tried to keep his voice light, but it wasn't easy. "How about if for once you tell us hey, brace yourselves...here comes some good news!?"

The old woman studied Clay for long moments, bit thoughtfully on her lip, then said, "You can't stay here."

Clay drew back in sarcastic mock horror. "Noooooooo!" he exclaimed, then pointed to the cabin. "Please don't tell me you're about to take that designer vacation cabin away from us. The luxury of staying there would make this the most memorable..." he came to a sudden halt, closed his eyes, opened them and looked at the old woman with nothing short of aggravated frustration. "So that's it."

"Yes. I wasn't sure how you'd feel about it."

Confused, Catherine asked, "What's it?"

Clay glared at the Guardian. "Oh, yeah, like being unsure how we'd receive unpleasant little tidbits has stopped you so far."

"I'm still here," Catherine reminded them both.

"Do you understand why?" the old woman asked him.

Clay sighed, looked up at the smattering of lazy clouds that had started to streak the sky high above, looked around at the looming mountains and finally nodded.

"Hey!" Catherine shouted at them both. "I didn't leave with Lattie, you know. I'm not invisible and I can hear very well."

Clay's gaze rested on Catherine's. "We can't stay here."

"I heard that part," came her testy response. "What does it mean?"

Clay returned his gaze to the Guardian. "Unless I miss my guess it doesn't mean that we're about to be whisked off to a nice hotel."

Catherine lightly cuffed Clay's arm. "Clay," she warned. "We could guess all day about what it doesn't mean. Call me silly if you like, but I'd like to know what it does mean."

Then Catherine stiffened. "Oh, no," she cried in a barely audible whisper. "We're on a different...plane...level...parallel, whatever you want to call it. Aren't we? And that's why we can't go back."

She turned an anxious face to the Guardian. "Are we trapped here?"

Clay embraced Catherine and drew her against his chest, trying to calm her pounding heart while he searched for the right words. All he found were, "No, Catherine, we aren't trapped anywhere."

The Guardian smiled at Clay. "There's one more thing for you to see before you leave. But only if you're willing."

Though reluctant, Clay nodded, hoping it was the right decision.

Catherine turned in Clay's arms, her back against him while she, too, faced the Guardian. Clay's arms encircled her as he pulled her even closer against his body. Holding Catherine in any manner always felt so right.

A pale golden glow, not unlike an aura, encompassed the Guardian and began a slow pulse. Colors of indescribable fragility twinkled, glistened and sparkled, melding until the Guardian became an entity of pure light.

In the center of the light, pulsing with its own brilliance, was the globe of prophecy.

Clay's heart had entered a cadence of awe, of wonder and humility at this privilege allowed him and Catherine, no matter how fleeting. Catherine trembled in his arms and he felt her own sense of awe entwine with his.

In the globe, he saw a tall, gray-haired man stroll hand-in-hand with a beautiful woman, gray liberally sprinkled throughout her honey blonde hair. Preceding them was a tall, younger man who looked remarkably like Clay did now. At his side was a smiling woman with light brown hair, calling gentle chastisement to the three small, rambunctious children who kept trying to race on ahead of them. The smallest of them, a girl of thick honey blonde hair and blue eyes put her hands on her hips and dared her older brothers, red-haired and freckled twins, to try and keep up with her.

Clay not only immediately recognized the place, but also understood the significance. Catherine's gasp said she, too, understood.

Words reached Clay from within the essence of pure light before him, but they were unspoken on the gentle breeze. "We will meet again," a tender voice echoed in his mind.

The light grew, widening and lengthening in strength and power until it became so tremendous that Clay had to turn his back to it, protecting him and Catherine from the blinding intensity. The ground began to rumble, to tremble around them. Even the air vibrated with an ominous boding that shot trepidation deep into Clay's heart.

Catherine whimpered in his arms, clutching him to her.

Thunder slowly rolled, then ended in tremendous booms in the once-again cloudless sky. Thin, forked streaks of yellow and white lightning challenged the thunder for dominance.

Fear raced through every corner of Clay at breakneck speed.

What was happening?

Then even his tightly closed eyes were not barriers against the light and he felt every warm touch, every nerve-tingling pop and every heated sizzle on his skin when the light had finally and fully surrounded and closed in on him and Catherine.

Catherine's jumps and short, fearful cries told him that she, too, felt everything.

Despite Clay's increasing terror and his and Catherine's death grip on each other, he couldn't help his thought of, "Gee, whatever made the Guardian think we wouldn't like this?"

The ensuing thunderous explosion and roar of engulfing air was sudden, unexpected and hit with screaming impact.

As the light invaded and penetrated his very core, Clay was only grateful that whatever was waiting at the end of this, he and Catherine would face it together.

Clay didn't think the horrific earth trembles, wind and blinding light would ever cease...nor his terror with each new crack of lightning...

 

Chapter One Hundred Thirty Three

...locked immobile by the pulverizing conditions around them, neither Clay nor Catherine saw the raised hand guide the mist, nor did they hear the gentle, "Goodbye..."

When they'd passed through Gatlinburg Clay turned to Catherine. "I have a surprise for you. A wedding gift."

Catherine blinked, a pleased expression on her face. "Really? What is it?"

"You'll see," was all he'd answer, but his heart soared higher with each mountain peak as they neared the surprise he'd so painstakingly planned.

Each twist and turn of the mountain road brought breathtaking vista, steep, sheer drops and an azure sky so wide it seemed endless.

For the hundredth time Catherine pleaded, "Tell me", for the hundredth time he answered, "You'll hate yourself if I tell you now."

Finally, Clay pulled the Jeep into a parking lot. From his pocket he withdrew a blindfold and handed it to Catherine. In response to her raised eyebrows he offered a simple, "Trust me".

They stood in front of the Jeep, near a trail leading into the forest. Her, "Is the house back there?", received a, "No, put the blindfold on".

After Catherine had donned the blindfold Clay took her hand and led her down the trail, a trail that gradually widened into an immense clearing and clifftop. He swallowed hard. It had been nothing short of hair-pulling frustrating trying to pull all of this together, but it had happened. Because people who cared had helped with the logistical-nightmare part of it. But now Catherine was here and the gift from the depths of his heart was about to be presented to her.

Clay led Catherine to within a few feet of the cliff's edge and turned her to face the edge. With a gentle hand he removed the blindfold and waited for her reaction.

Catherine gasped and in her eyes Clay saw what she saw. The Great Smoky Mountains in all their autumn glory of reds, golds and yellows, seamlessly melded together with the lush evergreens and wisps of lifting smoke that gave name to the mountains. The sun was brilliant in a cloudless blue sky and Catherine's face shone with the beauty reflected before her, the world laid out at their feet.

Clay's fingers touched Catherine's cheek. "Last night was for our family and friends," he said softly. "Today..." his voice caught. "...this is my gift to you."

When Catherine heard the opening strings, he saw realization flood her eyes and she turned toward where a small orchestra had begun to play. Clay couldn't take his gaze from Catherine's stunned, radiant face when Josh Groban smiled at her and started to sing...

When I am down...and, oh...my soul, so weary
When troubles come and my heart burdened be
Then I am still...and wait here in the silence
Until you come...and sit a while with me

Catherine's gaze was now only for Clay and he blinked back hot tears. The love and serenity in her eyes overshadowed any light the poor sun had to offer. She leaned against him, wrapped in Clay's arms while Josh sang.

You raise me up...so I can stand on mountains
You raise me up...to walk on stormy seas
I am strong, when I am on your shoulders
You raise me up..to more than I can be

Again and again Josh's powerful voice rang deep emotion through the clear air, the song's message sending the sanctuary of Clay's incredible oneness of love with Catherine to Clay's very core, forever and inextricably entwined with the inner peace, the deep spirituality, they shared.

When the last notes of the song faded, Catherine and Clay lingered in a tight embrace as they gazed out at the fantastic spectacle of the world at their feet. Then they brushed each other's tears, silent tears that had spoken directly to each other's heart, to a love and devotion that mere words would never describe.

Hand-in-hand, they walked to Josh.

Catherine nodded her appreciation to the orchestra but kissed Josh's cheek. "Thank you, Josh," she said quietly. "You can't know how much this means to us."

Josh smiled at her, his brown eyes warm and understanding. "I think I do," he said quietly. "Clay made it pretty clear just how much you mean to him. That's why I'm here."

Clay loved Catherine's shy smile, but was jolted out of his reverie when she said, "I love to sing along with that song..." His hair nearly stood on end at the thought of Catherine serenading Josh Groban.

"They have to leave," Clay said pointedly to Josh, a reminder of the warning Clay had given Josh of Catherine's love of singing.

Josh couldn't seem to get off the low, makeshift stage quick enough. "We need to get back to the airport anyway," he said. "The buses will be back here in about ten minutes so we have to get all the instruments packed. Someone else will be by to collect the staging and sound equipment." He smiled at Catherine and said, "Maybe some other time?"

As they walked back to the Jeep Catherine gave Clay a puzzled look. "What do you suppose could have given Josh such a scared look?"

His face a study in innocence, Clay answered, "Beats me."

They were still a few steps from the Jeep, when, from the corner of his eye, Clay saw an aging green pickup enter the parking lot. It parked five spots from the Jeep, then an old woman got from behind the wheel and headed for them, holding something at her side.

The old woman's smile was hesitant, her tone unsure as she addressed Clay. "I'm sorry, Mr. Aiken, but I was just driving past and I couldn't believe my eyes. I thought that was you and..." she trailed off.

Clay smiled back at her, trying to put her at ease. "Relax. I don't bite. This is my wife, Catherine," he added. "Do you have something you'd like autographed?"

The old woman shook her head. "No," she said in a low, sad voice. "That's not..." she stopped, then continued in a stronger voice. "A little girl that I loved very much just...well, she's now in Heaven."

Catherine touched her arm in sympathy and murmured, "Oh, I'm so sorry."

The old woman turned her smile to Catherine. "Actually, you're why I stopped here. For some reason, after the first time Lattie saw you she felt close to you, almost like she knew you."

Clay could have kicked himself. This woman had suffered tremendous loss and he'd asked if she'd like his autograph. "Did she attend a concert? A meet-and-greet?" he asked, curious as to how the child knew Catherine.

The old woman sighed. "No, Lattie wasn't able to do that and she never physically met your wife. I'm not sure how she first saw you, Mrs. Aiken, but I wanted you to know that what that little girl perceived as her friendship with you helped her through a very difficult time."

Tears filled Catherine's eyes. "Thank you for telling me. Is there anything I can do now, to help in any way?"

The old woman smiled. "Yes." She lifted her hand from her side and held out an old folk doll. "Lattie called her Sissy. She wanted Sissy to have a loving home after she...well, she asked if I would give her to you." The old voice again grew sad. "I told her, yes, of course, but never thought it could actually happen." Soft eyes fell on Catherine. "I am just stunned beyond words to have found you here."

"I'd be honored to have Sissy," Catherine told her and took the folk doll from the old woman.

"Thank you," the old woman said quietly. "I just...please just know that you've made all of us that love Lattie very happy."

Catherine nodded and Clay knew she was too near tears to answer. When the old woman got back into the green pickup and left the parking lot he took the doll from Catherine and examined it.

"Sissy looks well loved," he said lightly. "I think she's found a good home."

To his irritation the cell phone he'd left in the Jeep rang. Caller i.d. alerted him to pick it up.

"Hey, perv," came a somber voice on the other end.

"What's wrong?" Clay asked.

"I figured you'd want to know. Curtis Yearwood died this morning. Your mama asked me to call you because her and Margaret are already on a plane to Texas. Margaret made her promise not to call and disrupt your honeymoon." Junior's chuckle held no humor. "She didn't say anything about me calling, though."

"Thanks, you did the right thing. I'll let you know later if we're coming back or not. I'm not so sure I want Catherine exposed to this again, but I know she'll be concerned about Margaret so we may cancel our plans and be right home."

"Okay. Oh, one more thing. Some producer or director has been calling all over trying to get your private number."

Clay frowned. "Why? Any offers need to be sent through the proper channels."

"Yep," Junior agreed, and then laughed aloud. "But, perv, I think you're going to like this one."

"Bye," Clay said bluntly. He hung up and Catherine's face told him she'd heard some of what Junior had said about Margaret.

"Do you mind?" she asked quietly.

"Of course not, sweetheart," he answered and drew her close.

Their honeymoon in the Smokies would have to be put on hold and at this point in his hectic career Clay couldn't even guess how long it would be before he could spare time to come back to the mountains.


***End of Tennessee...to be continued in Los Angeles...***