“You know what? We’re procrastinating. Come on, Daniel. Let’s do this.” She closed her eyes and held her breath. At first all she experienced was a gentle brush against her, similar to that of a cool breeze gusting against her bare skin, and then nothing. “Daniel …” she said, her tone one of exasperation.
“Don’t rush me, woman.”
Another nervous laugh escaped her. “Just do it, man.”
A low growl echoed through her mind, the pressure grew, and then he was there, filling her. She hadn’t expected his presence to feel like a caress, as if she were being cradled in loving arms. She gasped, and all her senses flared to life. His being within her brought a sweet ache to her heart. She hadn’t been prepared for the intense intimacy. His gentle, tender caring was so physically discernable and so very real it nearly brought tears to her eyes.
“Meredith, being with you this way … it’s almost too much to bear. I hadn’t imagined this would be so—”
“Sensual?” she blurted.
“Aye, sensual beyond my wildest dreams.”
He moaned, and she felt his pleasure to her very core, and then his arms—or rather her arms under his volition—were around her, holding her tight, and a trail of sweet whispering kisses began along her collarbone, traveling up her neck to her ear, sending sparks and shivers of electricity arcing through her. His erotic thoughts and images burst into her mind, and her own heated blood chased away any trace of chill he’d brought with him.
“Do you know you’ve the loveliest ears I’ve ever beheld? You are beautiful, Meredith, and that’s a fact.”
Her hands began to slide upward toward her breasts, and she pushed back against his control over her. “Daniel, if you continue along your current path, the all-important letter will not be written today.”
“Does that mean we might do this again tomorrow?” he asked, a note of pleading in his tone.
“Get serious.”
“I am serious, love. I’ve waited more than a hundred years for you to come for me?”
His low, sexy growl rumbled through her. Come for him? Gulp. An answering throb low in her belly sent heat spiraling through her.
Daniel stirred within her, as if coming to attention. “I can feel what you’re feeling, and I know what you’re thinking.”
“I’m aware. It’s the same for me.” Meredith corralled her thoughts and feelings, and wondered how she could keep them to herself. This was not normal or right, and as much as she reciprocated his desire, what they were doing wasn’t getting them anywhere. “It’s a two-way street, you know, so let’s both focus on what needs to be done. At least this confirms that you’ll be able to transfer images of your camp to me.”
He grunted, then sighed, tightening his hold around her for a second before acquiescing. “Right you are. Let’s write the letter first, and then I’ll do my best to share my memories with you. Please relax. Whether you realize it or not, you maintain control, and I cannot write unless you relinquish that control to me.”
“I know, and it’s a pleasant surprise. I suspect it’s true only because your intentions are good, and we’re partners in this endeavor. I doubt if a ghost with a less agreeable nature would—”
“Now who’s going down an errant path, sweetheart?”
Meredith smiled at his use of yet another endearment. She relaxed all her muscles, and let go of any last trace of resistance. “Do you need my eyes, or should I close them?”
“I can walk through walls, lassie, but I cannot see through them.”
“Right. Eyes open it is.”
He took over her limbs again, used her arm and hand, and drew a sheet of vellum closer. He gripped the pen in her hand. “What is the date?”
She told him, and experienced the shock that shook him. “You didn’t know?”
“I knew it had been a long time, but I hadn’t realized it had been quite that long.” He paused, uncertainty thrumming from him to her. “I’m not sure how to begin.”
“Begin with the date and go on to explain how and why you’re writing to your past self.”
Through her, Daniel drew in a long breath—using her lungs which was disconcerting to say the least—and leaned into his task. He began with the date, underlined it and continued
I, Daniel J. Cavanaugh, am writing this letter to myself to be read by myself in the year 1854.
“That’s a good way to begin. What does the J. stand for?”
“James, and thank you. I figured I might as well put the issue right out there.” He went back to his task.
At present, I am naught but a scáil, haunting Garretsville and have done these past one hundred sixty-six years. Thanks to the lovely and generous woman standing before you now, I—or rather we, or is it you?—have the chance to alter the circumstances that culminated in our demise, and by ‘our’ I am referring to you and Charles. (Charles and I) Only with the lassie’s help am I able to write this letter in my own hand.
Let me introduce you to Meredith MacCarthy, who is gifted with the sight. I’ll leave it to her to regale you with how she became involved, and the even more amazing tale of how she was able to bring this letter to you now.
On the morning of the nineteenth of June, 1854, as you and Charles bring your gold into Garretsville’s only assayer, you and he will be accosted by three men who will rob you and Charles and slit your throats. Be aware the assayer is likely involved. It has to be Joe Biggs who identifies who is ripe for the pickings for the three murderous thieves. He may be their ringleader, or he may be the gang’s minion. I cannot say which.
As he wrote, images of that fateful day assaulted her, and all the fear, anger, and regret he’d suffered since became hers as well. Her determination to succeed on his behalf grew by leaps and bounds as he went on,
