Hearts Through Time

TWO

"Your mother is a witch!"

Nick snapped to awareness from a deep sleep. Cold sweat covered his body from the nightmare, and he sat up in bed, running his hand across his moist forehead. Memories haunted him of his mother concocting liquids and herbs together when he was sick instead of taking him to a doctor like normal mothers would, and as he grew, she tried to predict his future telling him about strange dreams she'd received. When he was young, the other children teased him because of his mother's strange lifestyle. Nick thought he'd repressed that part of his life a long time ago. So why had he dreamed of it now?

He fell back on the mattress, flinging his arm over his head and inadvertently hitting the headboard. Pain shot through his wrist. He flinched then rubbed the pain shooting through his arm.

Why had the taunting echoes from yesteryear about his mother's way of life bothered him after all this time? He'd tried to forget the craziness of his youth. His parents' divorce hadn't helped him to let go of the confusion he felt over her so-called psychic powers. Good ol' mom hadn't referred to it as "psychic powers." No, nothing so mundane, instead she'd called it her special gift. No wonder most everyone thought she was a witch.

Nick shook his head. Gift or not, people still thought she was not in her right mind. And because of what happened yesterday at work, Nick wondered if his mother's "gift" was hereditary.

He glanced at the bedroom window. Through the closed shades, the light of the rising sun was starting to peek inside the room. He might as well get up. There was no way he could go back to sleep now.

Throwing off the covers, he swung his feet to the floor before climbing out of bed. Why let those memories of long ago rattle him now? If he could wipe them from his memory for good, he would. He just had to figure out how.

After a warm shower, Nick dressed in a navy blue Armani suit and ate a breakfast of toast and scrambled eggs. Yesterday, after the mysterious crazy woman had left his office, he'd acquired his first three real clients. Not the power brokers he'd had while working at Burns, Copeland, and Whiting, but Nick wasn't looking for that kind of influence again. During those years, he had careened down the road of life at full speed. Women and money came quickly, and left just as fast. Nick had been a pawn in their game, and he vowed he never would be again.

He drove to work with the convertible top down, letting the cool morning air slap against his skin and bring him fully awake. By the time he arrived at his office and parked his car, dark clouds formed in the sky, predicting rain. He lifted the top of the car before heading into the building.

Shoulders back, chin up, and walking with confidence, he felt prepared for whatever challenge the day could bring. Nothing could be as odd as his encounter with the old-fashioned beauty with the remarkable—unforgettable eyes—the day before.

When he hurried through the door of his office, Nick half expected to see Miss Carlisle waiting for him. He might be paranoid, but talking to self-proclaimed ghosts made him feel as crazy as his mother was reputed to be.

Two winged-back chairs on the other side of the desk remained empty. Thank heavens! He still couldn't figure out why he hadn't seen Miss Carlisle when he entered the room with Vanessa. He recalled glancing at the Persian rug, the cabinets that matched his desk, and the coat rack to the side of the door, but not her—not until she stood, anyway. That deep purple hat she wore should have grabbed his immediate attention, so why hadn't he seen it when he entered the room?

Strange, but he hadn't heard from Steve or Travis, either. Had they been the ones in charge of this creative joke? If not them, then who? It was definitely someone who wanted him to think he was losing his mind.