until he was ready to share whatever it was that was eating him
up inside. Though she had no extraordinary powers beyond her mysterious dreams,
she had the natural instinct that every person possessed. Perhaps she was more
attuned to her intuitive side than some, for she was certain Tyler's harshness
was meant to cover up his own feelings of guilt.
"Cheryl
sounds a bit like Flanna," Keelin said, going on to another scrapbook,
this one older. "My sister. And my grandmother Moira, too."
She was
looking at Cheryl's baby book, Keelin realized as Tyler said, "I thought you were like your grandmother."
His attention
was on a stack of Cds , hers on the faded photographs
of the infant and her parents.
"We
shared some traits, yes. But I think we're all a bit like her in some way or
other. Flanna has a wildness about her that was definitely Moira's."
Tyler's late wife
had been stunning, curvaceous and blond, Keelin noted. And she was a natural
model. She knew how to make love to the camera, and the camera, in turn, had
loved her. Plus, in each photograph where they posed together, Tyler wore the
besotted expression of a truly happy man.
A stab of envy
made Keelin too-quickly close the album, telling herself that she'd find
nothing of value in these pages. She slid it to the side with the others.
"Cheryl
sounds very different from you," she mused. Or at least different from
what he'd become since losing his young wife. "Does she favor her
mother?"
Tyler's
"Cheryl's nothing like her mother!" was so vehement, his words sent a
chill through Keelin.
He sounded as
if he hated the woman, and more than a decade after her death. And yet the love
he'd had for his young wife was obvious for anyone to see in those photographs.
Uneasy, she wished she hadn't brought up the subject.
To break the
tension, she turned the conversation back to her own family. "I wish I
were more like Moira."
Words stiff,
he asked, "How so?"
"She was
a woman who drew people and creatures alike to her. More important, she was so
unafraid of who she was."
He seemed to
let down his guard when he asked, "What do you have to fear?"
Her gift. Not knowing if she could ever live up to its
expectation of her.
People.
Him.
"Sometimes...everything,"
she admitted.
His dark
eyebrows slashed upward. "You could have fooled me."
Warmth crept
through Keelin. Tyler almost sounded as if he admired her. A little flustered,
she chose another of Cheryl's scrapbooks, this one newer than the others, and
turned back the cover. A large glossy print of father and daughter stared back
at her. They stood in the shelter of some trees. The facades of buildings
behind them had a medieval look as did several costumed people. A summer fair.
Cheryl looked only slightly younger than she had in the news clip Skelly had
shown of her. This probably had been taken the year before.
As she studied
the pretty face she had never seen in person, Tyler urged, "So tell me
more about this grandmother you wish you were like."
Keelin looked
up at him. "She was quite unconventional for a woman of her day. She
married late. The thirty-third day after her thirty-third birthday to be
exact."
Hence, part of
Moira's legacy.
"Ah, a
superstitious woman."
"More to
the point, the people who lived in the area were superstitious, including the
young men who feared to pursue her. Some called her witch."
"Because
of the dreams?"
Keelin nodded.
"And because she had the power to heal. We had that in common also – our
love of the land and of the plants that could ease suffering." Seeing the
shadow sweep over Tyler's features, she quickly added, "Gran also talked
to the animals, both domestic and wild, and swore she understood what they said
in return."
"Most
people would consider that a little
strange," he agreed, his expression lightening, making him appear even
more handsome.
Her pulse
skittering strangely, she said, "And the men of the surrounding villages
were timid romantically because of these things.
up inside. Though she had no extraordinary powers beyond her mysterious dreams,
she had the natural instinct that every person possessed. Perhaps she was more
attuned to her intuitive side than some, for she was certain Tyler's harshness
was meant to cover up his own feelings of guilt.
"Cheryl
sounds a bit like Flanna," Keelin said, going on to another scrapbook,
this one older. "My sister. And my grandmother Moira, too."
She was
looking at Cheryl's baby book, Keelin realized as Tyler said, "I thought you were like your grandmother."
His attention
was on a stack of Cds , hers on the faded photographs
of the infant and her parents.
"We
shared some traits, yes. But I think we're all a bit like her in some way or
other. Flanna has a wildness about her that was definitely Moira's."
Tyler's late wife
had been stunning, curvaceous and blond, Keelin noted. And she was a natural
model. She knew how to make love to the camera, and the camera, in turn, had
loved her. Plus, in each photograph where they posed together, Tyler wore the
besotted expression of a truly happy man.
A stab of envy
made Keelin too-quickly close the album, telling herself that she'd find
nothing of value in these pages. She slid it to the side with the others.
"Cheryl
sounds very different from you," she mused. Or at least different from
what he'd become since losing his young wife. "Does she favor her
mother?"
Tyler's
"Cheryl's nothing like her mother!" was so vehement, his words sent a
chill through Keelin.
He sounded as
if he hated the woman, and more than a decade after her death. And yet the love
he'd had for his young wife was obvious for anyone to see in those photographs.
Uneasy, she wished she hadn't brought up the subject.
To break the
tension, she turned the conversation back to her own family. "I wish I
were more like Moira."
Words stiff,
he asked, "How so?"
"She was
a woman who drew people and creatures alike to her. More important, she was so
unafraid of who she was."
He seemed to
let down his guard when he asked, "What do you have to fear?"
Her gift. Not knowing if she could ever live up to its
expectation of her.
People.
Him.
"Sometimes...everything,"
she admitted.
His dark
eyebrows slashed upward. "You could have fooled me."
Warmth crept
through Keelin. Tyler almost sounded as if he admired her. A little flustered,
she chose another of Cheryl's scrapbooks, this one newer than the others, and
turned back the cover. A large glossy print of father and daughter stared back
at her. They stood in the shelter of some trees. The facades of buildings
behind them had a medieval look as did several costumed people. A summer fair.
Cheryl looked only slightly younger than she had in the news clip Skelly had
shown of her. This probably had been taken the year before.
As she studied
the pretty face she had never seen in person, Tyler urged, "So tell me
more about this grandmother you wish you were like."
Keelin looked
up at him. "She was quite unconventional for a woman of her day. She
married late. The thirty-third day after her thirty-third birthday to be
exact."
Hence, part of
Moira's legacy.
"Ah, a
superstitious woman."
"More to
the point, the people who lived in the area were superstitious, including the
young men who feared to pursue her. Some called her witch."
"Because
of the dreams?"
Keelin nodded.
"And because she had the power to heal. We had that in common also – our
love of the land and of the plants that could ease suffering." Seeing the
shadow sweep over Tyler's features, she quickly added, "Gran also talked
to the animals, both domestic and wild, and swore she understood what they said
in return."
"Most
people would consider that a little
strange," he agreed, his expression lightening, making him appear even
more handsome.
Her pulse
skittering strangely, she said, "And the men of the surrounding villages
were timid romantically because of these things.
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