Lucky Stars (Ghosts and Reincarnation #5)(118)

Finally, Cassandra came back to herself and pulled away.

Taking a step back, she said decisively, “Yep, mate, you’re Joshua.”

Jack again looked at Angus then back to Cassandra and found himself saying “So, my soul holds his trace.”

This, for some bizarre reason, made her laugh.

When she got control of her hilarity, she shook her head. “No, Jack, you are Joshua.”

Jack’s eyes sliced back to Angus.

Angus caught Jack’s look and muttered, “We’ve a professional difference of opinion about what reincarnation means.”

“I see you gave him that trace business,” Cassandra said to Angus, her voice amused.

“It’s the way it is, lass,” Angus shot back.

“It isn’t, Angus. I mean, whoever heard of traces of souls drifting through eternity? That’s rubbish!” Cassandra retorted.

“And whole beings reincarnated again and again throughout time isn’t rubbish?” Angus returned hotly.

“Nope,” she replied calmly.

Angus’s face got redder than its normal red and Jack astutely surmised the Scot was about to blow.

Jack, thinking both theories were rubbish and also thinking that them having a passionate argument about it was preposterous, was quickly coming to the end of his patience.

Therefore he cut in, “Are you done with me?”

Both their eyes came to him and Cassandra said, “For now.”

Jack nodded, left the room, found Yasmin and asked her a favour to which she agreed. Then he and Yasmin drove to Belle’s cottage and Yasmin packed Belle’s belongings while Jack collected his own and the dogs’. They took them to the car then they took them to The Point.

Jack collected Belle from the stables, they had a late lunch and, after lunch, she wandered away and disappeared.

He found her in the library seated in a chair she’d pulled to the window. Her legs were tucked underneath her, a sketchbook was in her hands, a box of coloured pencils on the armrest, the page was blank and she was staring out the window.

He walked to her, pulled the sketchbook out of her hand, tucked it under his arm then took her hand and pulled her out of the chair.

She watched him do this as if she was in a trance herself before her body jolted and she started, “Jack –”

He ignored her, leaned down, grabbed the box of pencils and, his hand still in hers, he guided her to his study.

There, he dropped her hand and positioned a chair at the window behind his desk. He went back to her, led her to the chair and, with a gentle shove, he pushed her into the seat. He gave her back her sketchbook and pencils and then turned to sit behind his desk.

As he opened a file, he felt her eyes on him.

“Jack,” she called softly.

“Yes, love?” He kept his eyes on the papers in front of him and forced himself not to look at her.

He was attempting to establish normal. Before the baby died, they hadn’t had time to create a “normal” but, when they did, he had decided this would be it.

“Nothing,” she whispered.

Minutes later, when he allowed himself to glance at her because he heard her pencils scratching on her pad, he saw her head was bent and she was drawing.

He pulled in breath slowly and, just as slowly, he released it.

And when he did, some of the tightness he’d been carrying in his chest for three and a half weeks released as well.

They all had dinner together, Jack made certain Belle came with him when he walked the dogs and when they returned, they sat talking with Lila, Joy, Yasmin, Cassandra and Angus.

When it was clear Belle was ready for bed, most of the others having already left one by one, Jack, his arm around her waist, guided her up the stairs.

She was Belle and therefore unable to hide her reaction to the stairs which he knew throughout the day she’d avoided. He stayed close, his arm firm around her, his tread steady and they made it to the top after which he heard her let out a little sigh.

He wanted to give her a squeeze or a kiss, some reward for facing that fear but he didn’t call attention to it and simply led her to their room.

Now he was lying in their bed on his side, waiting for Belle to finish in the bathroom.

His eyes were on the door when it opened and she came out, wearing a simple pale green nightgown with thin, satin, pastel blue straps and a matching sheer pastel blue ruffle at the hem which came to mid-thigh. Her hair was down, her cheeks were pink and she was rubbing lotion in her hands. But her eyes, which skittered around the room looking anyplace but the bed, betrayed her nerves.

And, Jack thought, she never looked more beautiful.

“Come to bed, poppet,” he called softly when she hesitated.

She wet her lips and walked to the bed.

Gretl and Baron had greeted her at the bathroom and they followed her. She paused to rub their heads and then commanded quietly, “Down,” and they both settled at her side of the bed.

She turned to him and hesitated, so Jack leaned forward, took her hand and gave her a gentle tug. She came toward him, he caught her at the waist and pulled her over his body as he yanked the covers up to her waist.

She lifted up with a forearm in his chest and looked down at him.

“Jack.” Her sweet, musical voice was tentative, her glorious grey eyes were stormy and she announced, “We need to talk.”