And The Winner--Weds!

“Six.”

Summer gently placed her hands on Frannie’s shoulders. “Can you look me straight in the eye and honestly tell me you don’t ever want to go to a formal dance again the rest of your life?”

Did she really want to limit her life in that way? Frannie sighed. “I guess not.”

“Well, then, it’s high time you got back in the saddle.”

“But the idea makes me so—so uncomfortable.”

“Frannie, sometimes we have to move outside our comfort zone in order to move forward. We have to face our fears in order to get over them.” Summer’s tone was calm and authoritative, the tone that Frannie secretly called her doctor’s voice. “This is a great opportunity for you to put the past behind you, once and for all, and start a new chapter in your life.”

Jasmine nodded earnestly.

“Besides,” Summer continued, “what have you got to lose? It’s just one night out of your life. For just one night, try things our way. If you don’t like the results, you can always go back to the way things are now.”

A car pulled up in the drive and killed its engine. The hum of another engine rapidly followed. A wave of relief washed through Frannie. “Sounds like both of your dates are here. Too bad we’ll have to discontinue this fascinating discussion.”

Summer rose and straightened her skirt, her lips curved in a smile. “Don’t worry. We’ll continue it later. In the meantime, will you promise to just think about it?”

It would be a disaster. She was awful at making small talk. She would make a fool of herself. She was nuts to even consider it.

But she was considering it. Heaven help her, she was. Meeting that race car driver had made her realize how much she longed for male companionship. More than anything, she wanted a husband and a family.

Her cousins were right, Frannie thought ruefully. She wasn’t likely to meet any prospective mates sitting at home in front of the computer.

Frannie sighed and reluctantly nodded. “Okay. I’ll think about it.”

Two

Frannie thought of little else for the rest of the evening. She was still thinking about it the next morning when she strode into the large sun-filled kitchen, where Aunt Celeste was fussing over the stove.

Frannie smoothed a wayward strand of hair back into the tight bun she’d coiled at her crown, thinking how different her own drab coloring was from her vivid aunt’s. A natural redhead, Celeste had russet hair that became progressively brighter over the years as she fought off the signs of aging. Her current shade was called Autumn Flame, and she’d evidently taken the theme to heart, because she was dressed in a loose yellow shirt over a filmy orange and yellow gypsy-style skirt.

“Ouch!” Celeste dropped a heavy skillet back onto the stove with a loud clatter, then stuck her index finger into her mouth and dashed to the sink, her bangle bracelets jangling.

Frannie hurried forward. “Are you all right?”

Celeste flipped on the faucet and stuck her right hand under the running water. “Depends on your definition of ‘all right.’ That’s the second time I’ve burned myself this morning, and the third skillet of scrambled eggs I’ve nearly ruined.”

“Where’s Jasmine?” Jasmine normally did all the cooking at the B and B.

“That nice young man she went out with last night came by and wanted to take her fishing this morning,” Celeste said. “I told her to go ahead, that I’d enjoy taking a turn in the kitchen. I didn’t know I was going to be all thumbs this morning.”

Frannie frowned. Aunt Celeste might be less than careful when it came to bookkeeping and paperwork, but she was usually the very picture of efficiency in the kitchen. Celeste’s personality was as warm as her hair color, and she was just as nurturing as she was warm. She loved cooking and baking, and was as comfortable around the stove as Frannie was around the computer.

Frannie stepped closer. Her aunt’s complexion seemed paler than usual this morning, and the delicate skin under her eyes was etched with deep blue shadows.

“Are you feeling ill?”

Celeste brushed a strand of hair away from her forehead with her left hand and sighed. “I’m fine, dear. Just tired. I didn’t sleep well again last night. I kept having those awful dreams.”

Celeste had been plagued by nightmares for the past two weeks. All of them involved members of her family, and most of them centered on her sister, Blanche. In one particularly vivid dream, Blanche had warned that the past was about to rise up and greet her. She’d also cautioned Celeste be careful to make the right choices.

“Have you had any more dreams about Blanche?” Frannie asked.

“All of them seem to involve her.” Celeste stared out the kitchen window at the forest. “A couple of them last night were about my brother, Jeremiah. He was angry—horribly angry—but I don’t know why or at whom or what was going on. Another time I woke up with my heart racing, and I’d been dreaming about Blanche. I could see her in the distance.”

Celeste shut off the faucet and reached for a paper towel. “She was trying to tell me something, but for the life of me, I couldn’t understand what it was. She was too far away. I could see her lips moving, but I couldn’t hear what she was saying.”

Frannie reached for a clean cloth and filled it with ice. She gave it to her aunt. “You’ve been having a lot of bad dreams lately.”

Celeste put the ice pack on her injured finger. “Just about every night. I’m sure it’s a sign.”

“Of what?”

“I don’t know. Blanche keeps trying to tell me something. I keep thinking back to the dream where she told me the past was about to rise up. Something’s about to happen. And whatever it is, it’s important.”

Celeste was a deeply spiritual person, but she harbored some odd notions about dreams and ghosts and the afterlife. She’d lived in Louisiana for a year with her late husband, and she’d brought back some strange beliefs from the bayou.

“Sometimes a dream is just a dream,” Frannie commented.

“And sometimes it’s not.” Celeste shook her head. “You know, dreams are nothing to dismiss lightly. Sometimes they contain messages from the other side. The problem is, the messages are often hard to read.” Celeste inspected her finger. “They’re like smoke signals—they can drift away before you get a chance to understand them.”

An acrid odor reached Frannie’s nose. She sniffed, then looked at Celeste in alarm. “Speaking of smoke, is something burning?”

“Oh, dear!” Celeste dashed across the kitchen, grabbed an oven mitt and yanked open the oven door, then reached inside. “Ouch!” she exclaimed, waving her hand.

“Did you burn yourself again?”

“Yes, dadblast it! Frannie, come and take these cinnamon rolls out of the oven before they burn to a crisp.”

Frannie patted her aunt’s back. “Why don’t you go sit down and relax? I’ll get breakfast for our guests this morning. We only have three, don’t we? Mr. Deshaw and that nice couple from Washington?”

“Four. Mr. Deshaw’s friend came by to pick him up, and I invited him to stay for breakfast. I believe Mr. Deshaw said he’s a race car driver, of all things.”

Frannie’s heart unaccountably picked up speed. She pulled on the oven mitt her aunt had abandoned and retrieved the burned rolls from the oven.

“The couple ate an hour ago. They’re out on the lake in the rowboat, fishing.”

“Well, then, I’ll get breakfast for the gentlemen.”

“Why, thank you, dear.” Celeste smiled at her niece. “I believe I’ll take you up on that offer.”

“Are you serving breakfast on the back porch?”

Celeste nodded. “It was too beautiful a morning to stay inside. Since the rolls are burned, why don’t you make some toast? You can serve it with the scrambled eggs. I made enough to serve an army.”

Celeste made her way upstairs and Frannie bustled around the kitchen. In a matter of minutes she’d prepared two attractive plates garnished with sliced cantaloupe and fresh strawberries. She loaded them onto an antique silver tray, her stomach fluttering nervously. Taking a deep breath, she headed out of the kitchen, through the den and onto the screened-in back porch.