Creighton Manor

CHAPTER ONE

Gillian opened the hatch to her SUV and tossed her friend's leopard-print suitcase in the back with her luggage. She caught Samantha eyeing her, as she pretended to secure her long blonde hair in a ponytail. Gillian recognized that look. She had endured them all week from others who were convinced she suffered a mental breakdown. Go ahead, say it. Gillian slammed the hatch shut and faced Samantha.

Say what? She shrugged, her brown eyes widening in innocence.

Oh, come on. I know you think I'm pathetic.

Not pathetic. Maybe a little confused.

I'm not confused. Gillian walked to her side of the SUV and unlocked the doors.

Samantha jumped in and turned toward her. Really, you aren't confused? I can't name anyone who calls off their wedding two days prior to the happy event.

I'm sure there is someone in the world.

Be serious, Gillian.

She gripped the steering wheel until her knuckles turned white. I should be on my honeymoon, but instead, I'm taking you.

Gee thanks.

You know what I mean, Samantha. I never canceled the hotel reservation aboard the Queen Mary. I took it as a sign that I should leave town for a few days and let the full impact of what I've done sink in.

What you've done is beyond my understanding. You shopped for the perfect dress and planned a beautiful wedding, but then you threw it all away. Why did you do this to yourself? Why did you put Jerry through it, too? He didn't deserve the embarrassment you caused.

Yeah well, the alternative could have been worse. I could have married him.

Samantha shook her head. You aren't making any sense.

I know. She sighed, but she didn't say anymore. She put the key in the ignition and roared the engine to life.

Jerry Avery worked at Hoag Hospital in Newport Beach, a successful surgeon with a bright future. The man stood six-two. He was gorgeous with his sandy-blond hair and naturally tanned good looks. He had a toned body: flat stomach, wide chest, and muscled biceps. To top it off, he couldn't be a nicer person. For this reason alone, she had to let him go.

Gillian adjusted her rearview mirror, catching a glimpse of her auburn hair that she'd trimmed and layered for the wedding. You did the right thing, she reminded herself. Gillian forced a smile in Samantha's direction. You ready?

Okay, Queen Mary, here we come. Samantha snapped the seatbelt into place.

Gillian headed toward Long Beach, deciding to take surface streets to avoid the out of town traffic on the freeway. Samantha's heavy gaze weighed down on her. She knew round two of the interrogation loomed in her future. Samantha didn't disappoint her.

I'm worried about you.

Gillian glanced at her. I'm fine.

Yeah, then tell me truthfully, just between you and me. Why did you call off your wedding?

It's complicated. She chewed on her lower lip, wishing she could justify her drastic decision, but frankly, she didn't have a good reason. At least, not one that anyone but herself would accept.

With all honesty, she did feel a connection with Jerry. They'd hit it off from the start. She considered him one of her closest friends and she loved him, but she wasn't in love with him. Someone else stood in the way. Only she hadn't met him yet. Yes, she knew the statement sounded crazy, but she couldn't dismiss the dreams.

She hadn't been brought up to believe in past lives, but sometimes she felt she had known this man before and she would find him again. All she had to do was bide her time. She dreamt about his touch, his voice that caressed her with an endearment: Grá mo chroi. She had no idea what the words meant, but she knew they were spoken from the heart. The words were precious to her, the special incantation to finding him. If only when she dreamt, she could see his face clearly, but his features escaped her once she opened her eyes.

Gillian, are you all right? Samantha asked, breaking through her reverie.

Gillian shook her head. Please understand that I had no other choice.

Okay, Samantha said carefully.

Gillian rolled down her window letting in the ocean breeze. She cranked up the volume on the radio. One of her favorite Rascal Flatts' tunes blasted through the speakers.

Samantha promptly turned it off. You can't get out of telling me what's going on that easily.

Samantha had been her friend since the first grade. They had laughed and cried on each other's shoulders; shared the joys along with the sorrows, and they had disclosed their secrets and dreams.

Gillian shifted uncomfortably in her seat, wondering why she couldn't confide in her now. You want to know, but you aren't going to like it. You'll probably laugh.

Samantha raised her hand to her chest in a mock pretense. I'm genuinely hurt.

Gillian chewed on her lower lip again, debating. Just confess. Get it all off your chest. Who knows maybe she'd feel better if she did. Do you remember the dreams I've been having? You know the one about the guy.

Samantha's brows furrowed. The dreams with the man who speaks to you in a foreign language? Yes, I remember them and why are you bringing them up?

Gillian didn't answer, already having second thoughts about telling Samantha the truth. She never understood how important the dreams were to her. She cringed as she waited for Samantha to blast her.

Oh no. Don't tell me you called the wedding off because of those dreams! What could you be thinking? That dream-man is a fantasy you have concocted in your mind. It has nothing to do with reality.

Gillian glanced at her friend, pleading with her to understand. He's out there. I just have to find him.

And Jerry didn't have someone pick you up with a special white jacket? Good God, do you know how crazy you sound?

Thanks, and no, I didn't tell him about the dreams. I told him I had met someone else.

Why did you do a thing like that? There isn't anyone else. The dream-man doesn't count because he doesn't exist.

Gillian glared straight ahead and pursed her lips together.

Okay, at least, as far as we know, Samantha patronized her.

I'm aware he might not exist. I haven't completely lost my mind. However, if I didn't tell Jerry I had found someone else, he would have wanted to continue to wait for me. I couldn't be unfair to him. Don't you see? He deserves so much more. He deserves to have someone love him the way he should be loved. If I married him, we both would have been miserable.

Samantha's mouth dropped open with disbelief. Listen, Gillian, you need to make this right with Jerry. He's good for you. He's the real deal. Take it from me I know. I have a trail of disastrous relationships behind me with men who have treated me like dirt. So don't tell me you threw away a perfectly wonderful man for one who visits you in your dreams.

Gillian gripped the steering wheel, wishing she had just kept her big mouth shut. I shouldn't have told you.

Samantha sighed. I care so much about you, and I want you to be happy, but–

Then be happy for me. I will find the man I am looking for. I know he's out there. She took her eyes off the road to look at Samantha. He's–

Watch out! Samantha screamed.

Gillian slammed on her brakes, sliding to a halt as a dog streaked across their path to the safety of the sidewalk. The cars behind her swerved around them as they laid into their horns.

I believe, I lost a few years off my life, Samantha gasped, holding onto the dashboard.

Gillian pulled alongside a parked car and flipped on the hazard lights before she jumped out of the SUV.

Where are you going? Samantha yelled as she followed suit.

It's the dog, she called over her shoulder.

What?

Gillian halted when the dog turned and looked at her or so she thought. It's been following me and–

The dog barked, drowning out her words. The mutt looked to be a mix of some type, shaped like a basset hound, but its ears were short and the coloring a reddish-brown. The mutt barked again but didn't approach.

How strange, Samantha commented. If I didn't know better, I'd say the dog is trying to communicate with you.

Gillian nodded. The first time I saw the dog was in front of my apartment, then at school. It trotted into my classroom as if it belonged there. It took all I could to shoo the animal out and calm the kids down. The principal and one of the other teachers tried to catch it, but it managed to slip away.

You're sure it's the same dog? Samantha asked, mystified over the animal's odd behavior.

I'm sure. Gillian moved toward the barking animal. She hadn't gone very far before the dog turned, trotting off in the opposite direction. Hey, come back. Gillian started to go after it, but Samantha's words reeled her back in.

What do you think you're going to do? Chase the dog through town?

Gillian's gaze followed the animal as it weaved in and out of pedestrians. A part of her wanted to ignore Samantha and find out where the dog would lead her. It seemed imperative she catch the animal, and yet she couldn't understand her urgent need to do so. Maybe she really was suffering from a nervous breakdown after all.

She glanced at Samantha whose brown eyes were looking at her with pity. Gillian shrugged and braved a smile. You're right. What was I thinking?

***

As she turned into the parking lot, Gillian fixed her eyes on the Queen Mary permanently docked at Pier J in Long Beach, California. The old ship had started her career as a luxurious ocean liner that catered to the needs of every passenger. Chefs were brought in to prepare lavish dishes to be served in the largest dining salon ever built. During World War II, she transported over 800,000 troops as well as passengers and refugees. In her heyday, people from every walk of life sailed together, enjoying her finery.

Once inside, Samantha headed for the restroom, while Gillian signed the registry. The girl, named Tara according to her nametag, looked up from her computer. Hmm, I'll need to check with my manager about this. I'll be right back with your key.

A few minutes later, Tara returned with the hotel manager, a short, balding man named Mr. Sommers. He straightened his tie and cleared his throat three times before he spoke. Miss Metcalf, I don't know how to say this. Mr. Sommers frowned at Tara before looking at her again. There's been a mix-up with your room. We have the Scottish Society this weekend and all our staterooms seem to be booked, except for … well … uh …

Really, it doesn't matter, Gillian hurried to say. She couldn't believe it. After they had called her to confirm the reservation, now it wasn't available.

Is something wrong? Samantha had returned from the restroom to join her.

The manager and the receptionist exchanged an uneasy glance. Do you believe in ghosts? Mr. Sommers asked.

Pardon me? Gillian chuckled.

Did you say ghosts? Samantha piped in.

Yes. I wouldn't even mention it, but it is hotel policy to do so. You see the only stateroom unoccupied is the one that is allegedly haunted.

Gillian knew they offered ghost tours, but she hadn't thought anyone believed they were true accounts. Seemed a little extreme, but maybe this was all part of the fun.

Tara decided to help her manager explain. Gillian had the impression he wished she hadn't. Did you know that the psychic Mable Fortescue-Harrison predicted the Queen Mary would know its greatest fame when she no longer sailed? It's true. The ship is now listed on the National Register of Historic Places. It contains the Hotel Queen Mary with 365 restored original First Class staterooms, and … She leaned close for this as if she feared they would miss her words. She flipped her dark hair over her shoulder. Her bright blue eyes widened for the effect and her voice lowered to a hushed whisper. She's considered haunted.

Mr. Sommers cleared his throat. Of course we will automatically include the haunted encounter tickets, dinner and the ghostly cocktail in the observation bar, at no additional cost.

Gillian and Samantha stared at the two Queen Mary employees, wondering if they were serious. When no one laughed, Gillian realized this wasn't a joke. Sure, that will be fine. She took the key from the manager and his expression relaxed. Am I guaranteed to see a ghost? she joked.

Tara took the question seriously. Absolutely, there are artifacts from this riverboat, the Ida Belle and ever since we received the items this cute little– the manager nudged her and she fell silent.

It's all in fun, the manager chuckled.

Right. Gillian looked to the manager then to Tara who shrugged.

As they headed for the stairs, Gillian turned toward Samantha. Did you find their behavior odd?

You think? They just told us the Queen Mary is haunted and if I didn't know better, I would say they believed it.

She laughed. Give me a break. They're just promoting their ghost tours.

You're not scared are you?

Well yeah, Gillian claimed. And you would be wise not to make fun of the dead.

I'll keep that in mind. I don't know about you, but I could use a drink. Let's get rid of our bags and head over to the observation bar.

***

The ghostly cocktail proved to be potent on an empty stomach. Gillian felt a little woozy. She leaned near Samantha, who was talking to a couple they met from Canada. They'd been on the ghost tour before and told them what to expect. The whole theatrical endeavor spooked her, but Samantha seemed excited over the prospect of seeing an apparition.

I'm going to go back to the room. I want to change into something a little more comfortable. Gillian had worn her blue sundress and cute sandals to match but thought it might be wiser if she wore her tennis shoes for the excursion. After dinner, a paranormal host would show them where the vortex was located. Supposedly, they detected ghostly activity there.

Do you want me to go back to the room with you? Samantha asked.

No, I'm fine. Stay here, I'll be right back.

Sure.

Gillian changed into her designer sweats: The midnight black one with lace trim. It flattered her slim figure, hugging all the right curves. The top had rhinestone buttons and a lace collar. The hem of the top hit right at the bellybutton and the material was soft, lightweight and comfortable. It was a great workout outfit, but fancy enough to wear out. She slipped on her Nikes and was ready to go.

As she turned on the light near the bed, she glanced up at the framed photograph on the wall. It depicted a family standing in front of a riverboat, but the family wasn't what had caught her attention. The dog. It can't be. It was uncanny how similar the markings were: Short-eared, squat basset hound appearance. She leaned closer looking for something, which might identify the date of the black and white print, but she could detect nothing. Judging by the clothing the family wore, it had to be about the mid to late 1800's. Obviously, the dog in the photo couldn't possibly be her mutt. She stared at the photo a moment longer. An inkling of recognition hit her. I know this picture. She couldn't place why. She'd have Samantha take a look at it and see if she had any ideas.

Gillian grabbed her room key and purse before she opened the door to her cabin. She took a step only to jump back in surprise. What in the world. She stood face to snout with the mutt who'd been following her. It sat there on its haunches as if it had been waiting for her. Gillian's gaze riveted to the photo half expecting the mutt to be missing from the picture.

The mutt stood and barked, drawing her attention. It wagged its reddish-brown tail before turning and trotting down the corridor. She took a step to follow, but then the unbelievable happened. The mutt disappeared, simply vanished as if some invisible force had swallowed it whole. She stood frozen in disbelief. The little hairs on the back of her neck rose and she started to hyperventilate. The temperature plummeted, making her breath look like small puffs of smoke. She stumbled back into her room. The lights dimmed and crackled. She closed her eyes. The cocktail sure did a number on me. Her eyes snapped open when the stateroom door slammed shut.

The bark behind her made her whirl around. The dog stood there, tilting its head to the side. A scream choked in her throat, making it impossible for any sound to escape. She made a dash for the door, desperate to get out, but her feet tangled beneath her and she fell hard to the floor. The mutt leaned close and sniffed her. She lifted her hand to cover her face but not before the mutt's slobbery tongue licked her cheek. What do you want? What are you? She didn't anticipate an answer, but the questions slipped out anyway. She jumped when the dog barked at her. It turned and ran toward the cabin door and disappeared right through it. Omigod, this is not happening. Her vision blurred and darkened. She blinked rapidly. Oh, please don't pass out, she commanded herself, but her body didn't listen.

***

Gillian fell into a deep sleep, allowing the dream to resurface and take her back. She was on a ship, but not the Queen Mary. Before her stood a fog-like hallway. It looked eerie with the lamplights hanging on the walls. She forced her herself not to be afraid. The man she loved was waiting for her. She felt him near and she had to go to him before it was too late.

The dog was there, too. The mutt looked up at her before it turned and headed down the corridor at a trot. Gillian followed.

CHAPTER TWO

June 1870

Zachary Creighton finished his third game of poker aboard the riverboat, Ida Belle. He had won over two thousand dollars, and to his pleasure, most of it was from his rival, Cyrus Locke. He pushed back his chair and stood. Well gentleman, I believe I shall call it a night.

Now! Cyrus bellowed and pounded the table. He narrowed his eyes and his chubby face turned bright red. Zachary always waited to see if steam would explode from his ears, but the man always disappointed him.

Yes, now. It's late… He pulled out his pocket watch and glanced at the time. Or should I say early. He snapped the watch closed again, returning it to his pocket. I for one would like a few hours sleep before we dock. He placed his hat on his head with a nod of farewell. Until we meet again.

Why you– Cyrus stormed to his feet, but the other men held him back.

Zachary turned away with a smile. He loved to get under the man's skin and he had succeeded tonight.

He whistled all the way to his room. He locked the door behind him and put the key in his trouser pocket. He took off his boots throwing them down where he stood. Next, he peeled off his clothes and neatly arranged them over the back of the chair by the door. He then placed his colt on the nightstand and his trusty knife under his pillow. Gambling had become a dangerous business. He found a man lived longer if he was well armed. He never knew when he would come up against a sore loser.

He pulled back the covers and plopped himself into bed, falling asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.

***

Gillian grabbed her head as she came out of her drugged-like sleep. The veins at her temples pounded in time with her heartbeat. She forced her eyes open and stared at the ceiling. For a moment, she couldn't understand why the ceiling didn't resemble the smooth plaster one in her bedroom, or why she felt like she was swaying back and forth, when she knew she hadn't moved. Turning her head to the right of her, her vision latched onto a hairy arm dangling over, what she assumed was the edge of her bed. Why was Jerry in her bed and why was she lying on the floor? She frowned. Hadn't she broken up with Jerry? For one awful, horrible moment, she thought maybe she had really gone through with the wedding after all. She rubbed her eyes as her muddled thoughts began to organize. Then she remembered: Her conversation with Samantha, the Queen Mary, and then the vanishing mutt. I passed out. I dreamt the dog led me … It was a dream, wasn't it? Where was she? She sat up abruptly, more confused than ever. Again, she felt the swaying. If she didn't know better, she'd think the ship was afloat, but that was impossible since the Queen Mary lacked the capability of going out to sea.

The person on the bed stirred, bringing her attention back to him. She crawled to her feet. She looked down at the man's face, which was turned toward her in slumber. Gillian swallowed with some difficulty as her gaze locked onto the most gorgeous man she had ever seen. He had jet-black hair, a strong chiseled face with a slight cleft in his chin. He looked like he hadn't shaved for a few days, making him look a little scruffy, but this did nothing to sway her opinion. Her eyes took in the rest of him. Long-limbed, his feet hung over the edge of the bed. He wore faded red colored … she supposed they were long johns. She frowned. Strange attire, but she had to say he filled them out rather nicely. But, who was he? How in the world did she end up in a room with him? She didn't condone casual flings. She glanced down at herself relieved she still wore what she had on last night. Perhaps this meant nothing happened. Maybe they were simply two fools who had too much to drink. She scratched her head. She only remembered the one cocktail. And where was Samantha?

She needed to go back to her room and now before the guy woke up. She had no intentions of making this awkward situation even worse.

She grabbed her purse off the floor and tiptoed toward the door. She glanced back to see if the man stirred. She tripped and cursed as she stumbled and fell to the floor with a thud. At the same moment, she felt something whiz by her ear, slamming into the door above her head. She slid her gaze up, her eyes widened in alarm when she saw the end of a knife sticking out of the wood. The gorgeous man had tried to kill her! She whipped around to see him jump out of the bed. She picked up the boot she had tripped over and threw it. A perfect shot, the boot slammed into the side of his head. She scrambled to her feet and lunged for the door. The doorknob didn't budge. It appeared to be locked from the inside and she needed a key to open it.

This couldn't be happening.

She whirled around to face her attacker, praying the boot had somehow miraculously knocked him out. Her shoulders sagged when she found him standing there. His shockingly blue eyes narrowed, pinning her down. She swallowed the lump in the back of her throat.

Zachary's mouth dropped open and he stared at the woman before him. If it hadn't been for the boot slamming against his skull, he might have thought he dreamt up this alluringly beautiful image before him. Her hair was long and deep auburn, almost the color of autumn leaves with all its gold, brown, and orange blending to perfection. She had it pulled high above her head with some kind of bow that constricted it from falling down. His gaze lingered over her face, mesmerized by her clear sun-kissed skin with just a hint of freckles sprinkled across her nose. Features of an angel, but her attire would tempt a saint to do wicked things. His eyes rested on her dark garment, which hugged her in all the right places. He felt his body respond to every luscious curve revealed to him.

Where did this intriguing woman come from and how did she happen to be in his room? He'd locked the door before he went to bed last night, and he must still have the key in his possession, or else the woman would have fled by now. Who are you?

Who am I? she sputtered. Who are you?

She was a defiant little chit. Under other circumstances, he would have admired her spunk. He crossed his arms against his chest. Since this is my room and I hold the key to your freedom, I suggest–

The woman let out a deafening scream and charged toward him. Hell and damnation. Before he could react, she grabbed his arm and flipped him, slamming him to the floor in one fluid motion. His six feet, one hundred and eighty-pound frame lay there like a rag doll. He stared up at the ceiling with what he knew could only be a stunned expression plastered to his face. How in the world did this little slip of a woman flip him over her shoulder?

It really worked! The self-defense class really paid off. The woman spoke, her voice laced with amazement over her accomplishment.

He turned his head and leveled his gaze at her. Who are you?

She didn't have a chance to answer. The cabin door burst open and two men carrying revolvers rushed in. They ran over to him and hauled him off the floor.

Unhand me. He struggled to be free.

The woman stepped back. She looked as if she wanted to fade into the woodwork. Too late for that now, Zachary mumbled under his breath. If things couldn't be any worse, Cyrus Locke walked in looking like the pompous ass that he was dressed in his finery, pocket watch and all. His overweight wife, Josephine, who stuck her nose in everyone's affairs, came in behind him.

Josephine's expression changed from fright to pity as her eyes rested on the woman, who had thrown him over her shoulder. Josephine bustled over to her with a motherly, protective stance as if the woman needed protecting with the moves she possessed.

You poor, poor dear, Josephine cooed as she put her arms around the woman's shoulders. She then turned and glared at him. Zachary Creighton, you should be ashamed of yourself for taking advantage of this poor young lady.

I assure you, Madame Locke, she is no lady! Zachary seethed between clenched teeth. That woman nearly killed me! The room fell silent as a tomb. Their gazes riveting to Gillian then back to Zachary in disbelief.

Own up to your mistakes, Zachary, Cyrus spoke up. How in the world could this petite young woman hurt you?

She…she… Well, she… He pursed his lips together refusing to say more.

Cyrus's thin-lipped mouth slid into a smile. Zachary knew he was enjoying his discomfort.

This situation didn't bode well for him. He didn't know how, but he had a hunch Cyrus Locke was somehow responsible. This must be his idea of revenge for all the money he'd lost last night, and for the many other nights before this. Cyrus would like nothing more than to get even with him, and this unfortunate situation handed him the opportunity. Cyrus had the upper hand here. He knew Zachary tried very hard to make people believe he wasn't like his father. The drunken fool had gambled away the family estate, and the manor, which now belonged to Cyrus. Zachary's father had not only lost his home, he'd also lost his self-respect. He ended up taking his last breath as a lonely and broken man.

Zachary had been a child then, but he still paid for the damage his father had done to the Creighton name. Respect and an unblemished reputation were all Zachary had until he could win back Creighton Manor.

Cyrus' grin widened.

Zachary had a hunch the smile meant his life was about to change and he would bet it wouldn't be for the better.

Well, the only way to rectify this little misunderstanding is to find the captain and have him perform the ceremony, Cyrus smugly stated. This young lady cannot leave this establishment without being properly married.

Married! Zachary and Gillian both shouted at the same time. Zachary glared at her and she glared back. Brazen wench. Now listen, Cyrus, Zachary continued in a calm voice. I have no intentions of marrying this woman. I don't even know who she is, or how she managed to find her way into my cabin.

Cyrus wouldn't let this go. We cannot help that you had too much to drink last night, and decided to kidnap this poor girl. You have to be held accountable for ravishing a young, defenseless woman.

I haven't touched her! Zachary tried to wiggle his way free from the two men who held him captive, but he couldn't shake free.

You expect us to believe you. Look how she's dressed. Cyrus pointed to Gillian. Zachary didn't have to look. He knew the woman wore next to nothing. Cyrus' grin widened. And look how you are dressed.

Now wait one cotton-picking minute. Zachary looked at Gillian, beseeching her to help with the situation. Tell them. Tell them now that I did not touch you. One look at the way she stared as if in shock, he wished he hadn't asked her to speak up … too late.

He threw a knife at me, she told them.

Damn the woman for making this worse.

Josephine gasped in horror. A knife! Oh dear. How could you? She pointed her finger at Zachary.

She startled me out of my slumber, he stammered. I thought she was a man trying to steal my winnings from last night. As those words tumbled out of his mouth, he