Free Slow Burn by Ednah Walters Page B

pick flowers from the garden,
take pieces of cake and drinks from the party, a cassette player
and a recording of a rendition of the happy birthday song my
parents did while they were still alive. My aunt and uncle would go
with me, wait for me while I talked to my parents.”
    Did he think she was loony because she talked
to the dead? She shot him a glance out of the corner of her eye,
expecting to see shock or derision. Relief and something close to
gratitude zipped through her when she saw him nod.
    “In the early years, I’d always talk about
the same thing—my birthday party and the presents I received that
morning. Then I’d play the tape and arrange the cakes and drinks by
their graves and leave.”
    “That must have been tough.” His voice was
gentle, encouraging.
    “At first, yes. As I grew older, it became
easier. I know it is illogical, but I believed they could hear me.
I still do. I always see things clearly after talking to them.”
When she saw the fascinated expression on Ron’s face, she blushed.
“Silly, huh?”
    Ron covered her hand with his, again. “No, it
isn’t. My grandmother used to speak with my grandfather all the
time. She once told me that when you truly love someone, you share
a bond that transcends the physical world. I believe her.”
    Hmm, interesting. There was more to this man
than a sexy body, a sensual mouth, mesmerizing pair of electric
blue eyes…she could go on forever. She glanced furtively at their
joined hands. It felt natural, yet his large hand swallowed her
smaller one. He was back to caressing her skin, unleashing a storm
of emotions inside her.
    She wrenched her gaze away. This was silly.
To find a man totally fascinating was so unlike her. And what were
they discussing before they switched to ‘talking to the dead’?
    This time, Ashley slowly eased her hand from
underneath his and placed it on her lap. A chill washed over her at
the loss of his warmth. Her gaze searched for a distraction.
Anything. The pictures came to her rescue.
    “Anyway, on that day,” she continued, “I got
what I’d always wanted—a Nikon camera and a chance to celebrate my
birthday with my cousins. We were staying at Aunt Estelle’s home,
but almost all of my cousins were there. It was a beautiful party.”
She paused and smiled. “I didn’t know we were celebrating much more
than my birthday, until later. My parents had saved the best
present for last.”
    As though reading her mind, Ron said,
“Carlyle House?”
    “Yes.”
    “An unusual gift for a child,” he
murmured.
    “Not when you consider what it meant to me.
I’d spent the first fifteen years of my life traveling with my
parents and the band all over the world. Buying Carlyle House was
going to change all that. It signified stability, not that I knew
that at the time. I just knew my cousins would be thirty minutes
away and I could do things with them, have friends and sleepovers.
They told me about the papers they were signing that evening, their
plan to stop touring and start working with local talents.”
    Slowly, she stroked the glossy prints, a
nostalgic smile on her lips. The shock of seeing the pictures was
now gone, but she still needed to know where they came from. “I
remember everything that happened before we left for the Carlyle
Club. My mother’s soft, floral scent.” Oh, the memories, so
sweet I can see and smell them. “Roses. She always smelled of
roses. The two of us were waltzing and singing the lyrics of a
ballad they’d produced, when my father joined in.” Her eyes misted
and she had to swallow past a knot in her throat to continue. “He
gave me a hug and a kiss after the song ended, called me his
precious. I was so happy I had to capture the moment. This is the
shot.” She tapped the first picture.
    Ron scowled. “And the film?”
    “It disappeared. My aunt told me it wasn’t in
the camera after the fire. I think I lost it that night.” A
thoughtful expression settled on her face. “At