For Fans and Lovers of Paranormal and Historical Erotic Romance!

Chapter 1

Chapter One

Near Fredericksburg, Virginia

May, 1864

Sophronia Whitfield cupped a hand over her brow and squinted against the harsh rays of the sun. A tiny speck on the horizon drew her gaze. A deer, or perhaps a man. Her mind wandered to her dreams last night. Down that same road he'd walked, Jesse Gaines Grantham, her gallant man in gray. Seven tortuous nights she dreamed Jesse had returned from the war. The thought it might be him caused her heart to quicken.

The porch steps creaked behind her. "Lawdy, Miss Sophia, you gonna stand there all day dreamin' on what was?"

With a guilty start she turned toward the familiar voice. "I'm thinking."

At sixty-odd years, Daddy Brister's brown skin reminded her of tanned deer hide. Tall, broad-shouldered and prone to laughter, his loyalty was indisputable. Benevolent brown eyes sat deep in his skull, topped by bushy brows the same color as his white hair.

He walked toward her, his leg bearing evidence of a negligible limp. "Thinkin' 'bout Massah Cooper's offer to marry his son?"

"Even if Jesse never returns, I'd rather die than marry Billy." She paused. "Despite the fact I'm nearly twenty and three years."

"White trash father an' son both," Brister mumbled under his breath.

She clenched her hands into fists. "No better than dirty Yanks in my opinion. Why, look what's happened to Arbor Rose since the war."

"Yes'm," Brister said. "Dem blue bellies moved on now, got their eyes on Richmond.

"I hope they ride into the gates of hell."

Memories from her childhood surfaced. Built near the banks of the Rappahannock over a hundred years ago, the old manor still maintained the timeless grace of a Virginia willow, albeit one that had endured several seasons of blight. Traces of abandonment stuck out like a hammered thumb―the faded exterior, the sun-bleached gray shutters and blistered white paint. She drew a deep breath. When the war ended, she'd marry Jesse and restore the manor to its prior magnificence.

Brister's words broke her reverie. "I knows that Cooper had his eyes on Arbor Rose for years, an' he had somethin' to do with Massah Rueben and Mistress Ellen dyin' in that fire."

"Don't forget about Rolf." The words pierced her heart. She pictured her brother dashing across the fields on one of their father's bays, his dark hair gleaming beneath the midday sun. "At least I don't have to worry about Whitfield Manor now."

"No, Missy, you don't." Brister sighed. "Weren't nothin' left."

"Rolf loved our summer home, wanted to raise his children there."

Brister turned to her. "No sense talkin' 'bout what was Missy when it pains you so." With a smile, he added, "An' right now, I needs you to help me and Nap corner that turkey."

"You go on ahead, find Ol' Nap and I'll meet you in the barnyard."

The tiny speck in the distance grew larger, and it wasn't an animal. Could it be Jesse? Onward he walked, past the once green fields, down the oak-lined drive overgrown with little barley and witch grass.

Daddy Brister shuffled off and she paused at the entrance to her mother's gardens, a formidable childhood sanctuary against the outside world. The vegetables and herbs had been dug up long ago, the perennials trampled, but the aromatic trellises remained, cloaked in thick, twisting vines of wisteria and rose blossoms. Rooted in her favorite spot, she fixed her eyes on the approaching form again.