Книга - Legacy of Love

Legacy of Love
Donna Hill


Superstition and crazy stories…that's how Zoe Beaumont views the unlucky-in-love history of her family. On their thirtieth birthday, the Beaumont women are said to come into a mysterious "sixth sense." And if they choose to give themselves fully to the wrong man, they lose not just their powers, but the family's good fortune.Despite her doubts, Zoe has started having strange, intensely passionate dreams. Her fantasies feature a man who seems too perfect, too sexy, too mesmerizing to be real. Until, one rainy Atlanta evening, Zoe runs into Jackson Tremé. Their attraction is as overwhelming in person as it is in her dreams. Though all of her ancestors have tried and failed, can she overturn a legacy of heartache?








Legacy of Love





Legacy of Love


ESSENCE BESTSELLING AUTHOR




Donna Hill





www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


This book is dedicated to all my loyal fans.

Thanks for your support.




Contents


Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Epilogue




Chapter 1


Zoe struggled to concentrate. But the harder she tried the more difficult it was to focus. She could almost feel his strong hands exploring her body. Her eyelids fluttered open as a soft, longing moan escaped her lips, reluctantly pulling her back to reality. She blinked rapidly and inhaled a shuddering breath, as she took in her surroundings amidst the storage room.

Back to work. Focus, she thought. Yet every day it was becoming more and more tiring. The fantasies were becoming almost lifelike, and the episodes of arousal were no longer confined to her dreams. The images appeared unexpectedly—behind her eyelids, stirring a tingling sensation as the fabric of her clothing brushed against her skin—any time of day or night. She breathed in slowly and deeply.

Zoe knotted her shoulder-length hair atop her head and continued to carefully unwrap the thick packaging that surrounded the five-foot tall wooden fertility statues. She’d been waiting weeks for them to be delivered, by the time they arrived from South Carolina earlier that morning. She peeled away the last layer of wrapping as the air momentarily caught in her throat. Her pulse was racing so fast, it was as if she was meeting a blind date for the first time.

Awestruck, she stepped back to get a better look. The rich ebony wood was polished to a smooth, shiny finish. The intricate hand-carved details captured every feature of the figures of the man and woman, from the sword and mango that he carried in his hands to the infant that she carried in hers. There seemed to be a warm glow radiating around them. But Zoe chalked it up to her overactive imagination or more likely the sun beaming down from the skylight overhead. The pair of sculptures was on loan from the Ripley Museum in South Carolina. And as head curator at the High Museum in Atlanta, it was her responsibility to search the globe for the best works of art for the museum’s exhibits and collections. She was also responsible for ensuring their safe-keeping once the items were on display.

There were so many myths surrounding the beautifully carved totems—the most prominent being that touching the figures was an antidote to infertility. According to some of the stories, when the fertility sculptures were first put on display after having been purchased and brought to America from the Ivory Coast, within months, more than a dozen women who worked at the Ripley Museum became pregnant after touching the statues.

As with all urban legends, the story spread like wildfire and the fertility figures became the art world’s equivalent of the miracle at Lourdes.

Zoe smiled. Although she came from a long line of conjure women and a family history filled with prophecies and curses, if she didn’t believe the stories told by her Nana, her mother and her aunties, she certainly wasn’t buying into the myth of the fertility totems. She didn’t believe in all that mumbo jumbo, even if the dreams she’d been having were becoming more frequent and the hazy vision of a man was getting closer and his voice clearer, night after night.

Some mornings she’d awaken shaken and confused. She had an overwhelming feeling that if she had been able to hold on to sleep for a bit longer, the face that appeared in her dreams would materialize. It was ridiculous, of course. Yet, it was on days like today when she’d find herself scrutinizing everyone she passed on the street, secretly hoping to recognize him. She shook her head, dispelling the idea as mere silliness.

By nature she was a realist and her profession demanded that she deal in facts and what was tangible. Sure, she was going to be thirty years old in three months, and she knew that upon her thirtieth birthday the legacy of women of the Beaumont clan would be upon her. But that didn’t mean that she believed that she was the one who would break the curse that had plagued the Beaumont women for generations. Besides, if any part of the curse were true, she needed a man. And that she didn’t have. She stared at the fertility couple.

A feeling of warmth began to build inside her, starting at her feet and slowly inching its way upward through her body. A thin line of perspiration formed at her hairline and her eyesight began to get cloudy. All of a sudden, the statues seemed to vibrate.

“Zoe, there you are.”

Zoe jumped as if she’d been startled by an intruder. Her fingertips tingled and her heart raced as if she’d run a half marathon. She blinked several times to clear her vision, turned and forced herself to smile.

“Hey, Mike.”

Mike Williams was one of the assistant curators. She’d brought him on once she’d settled into her position, and there wasn’t a moment that she’d regretted her decision.

Mike was an expert in African art and antiquities dating back to the early 1800s. It was Mike who’d helped her negotiate the deal to get the fertility statues to the High Museum. And he wasn’t bad to look at, either. The girls didn’t call him “Big Mike” for no reason. With his smooth, Hershey chocolate-coated skin dripping over six-plus feet of sculpted muscle, Mike could have easily been bronzed and put on display.

“They’re real beauties,” he said, stepping up beside her.

“Hmm, yes, they are,” she murmured gradually coming back down to earth. For an instant, she wondered if it was the image of Mike that haunted her dreams. Ridiculous.

“Do you buy into the whole fertility thing?” he asked, slowly walking around the statues, admiring the finely sculpted details.

Zoe sputtered a laugh. “You’re kidding, right? You know me better than that. I believe in science and things that I can prove, not myths.” No matter that her family believed otherwise.

“Just checking,” he teased, rubbing the statue. “Why don’t you give it a rub?”

She puckered her lips. “I will, just to prove you wrong.” She ran her hand along the smooth ebony surface and a mild charge of electricity shot up her arm. She pulled her hand back. “Satisfied?” she said, a bit shaken as she spun away.

Mike’s deep laughter followed her out of the storage room. Zoe got on the freight elevator, thankful to be alone. She got off the elevator on the second floor and walked along the corridor—flanked by cool, dove gray-colored walls—to her small office, and shut the door behind her.

What was going on? She did not feel like herself today, she thought, taking a seat behind her cluttered desk piled high with exhibit catalogues and research notes. She was sure it had something to do with the dreams she’d been having, which had become more vivid in the past few weeks—so much so that they were affecting her during her waking hours. Like today. What other explanation could there be for her reaction to the statues other than the lack of a good night’s sleep?

She drew in a long calming breath. The opening of the exhibit unveiling the statues was in two weeks. She had plenty to do and no time to dwell on—well, whatever it was that was happening to her. Tonight she was determined to get some well-deserved rest and be prepared and clear-headed for the big event.

Zoe scoured through piles of research materials making notes on new finds and reading the latest news on African American museum collections across the country. She made some phone calls, and sent off a few emails. When she looked up at the clock above her door, she was stunned to see that it was past noontime. She pushed away from her desk, closed her eyes and stretched her arms high above her head. A whiff of a strongly male scent wafted toward her nose. Her eyes flew open, so sure she would find a man standing in her office. But she was completely alone.

Her gaze darted around the room, stopping in every corner. She gave a short shake of her head. Food, she needed food. She was operating on very little sleep and an empty stomach. She pulled open her bottom desk drawer and took out her purse.

Taking her suit jacket from the back of her chair she walked out of her office in search of food. Maybe she’d take a stroll over to her friend Sharlene’s office and see if she was free for lunch.

“I’m going out for a while,” she said to Mike, who was putting brochures out at the information desk. “I’ll be back in about an hour.”

“Enjoy.”

“Thanks.”

Zoe stepped out into the balmy spring afternoon. The sky was clear, and there was a crispness in the air. As usual, the streets of Atlanta were dotted with tourists and lunch-goers. She loved the city even as she missed her home and family in Louisiana.

Her mother, Mariya, had begged her to come home for a visit and she’d been putting it off with all that she had to do at work. But the urge to see her family was growing stronger every day. Maybe she could take a quick trip home for a weekend as soon as the exhibit opened, she thought as she turned down Peachtree Street in the direction of Sharlene’s office. Mike could handle things in her absence.

She stopped in front of Moore Designs and opened the glass front door. The reception area of Moore Designs looked like a page from an interior design magazine. The walls were painted in bold colors, which complemented the sleek modern furnishings. Low couches and chairs provided a comfortable seating arrangement, set off by rugs that covered the hardwood floors. Eclectic wall art covered every inch of the space behind the reception desk.

For two years Sharlene had been the host of Moore Designs on HGTV. Although it gave her a high profile and droves of clients, the time she spent away from her design studio and from friends and family was more than she’d wanted to.

“Hi, Cynthia,” Zoe said, greeting the front desk receptionist.

“Hi, how are you?”

“I’m good.”

“How’s everything coming with the opening?”

“Right on schedule. The statues arrived this morning, actually.”

“They’re getting a lot of buzz in the art world. Congrats on acquiring them.”

“Thanks. It was definitely a team effort. Is Sharlene around?”

“Sharl is in her office. Go on back.”

“Thanks.”

Zoe walked down the hallway with its cool white walls, and turned a corner to Sharlene’s office. Her door was open.

“Hey, girl,” she said, poking her head in.

Sharlene looked up from examining a batch of fabrics. Her sandy brown eyes lit up in her golden butter-tone face. She took off her glasses and set them on the desktop. “Hey. This is a surprise. I thought you’d have your hands full with the shipment today.”

Zoe walked inside the office, which was definitely a reflection of Sharlene’s personality and taste. The office was filled with design ideas that included vibrant fabric swatches, see-through drawers filled with marble, granite and wood samples, easels for her drawings, a drafting table, decorating accessories, colored pencils and paints. Zoe lifted a stack of magazines from a club chair and plopped down, suddenly feeling exhausted.

“You look like you could use a vacation,” Sharlene said, noticing the sluggishness reflected in Zoe’s tired-looking eyes. “Still not sleeping?”

Zoe shook her head and covered her mouth as she yawned. “I wish what I was doing was sleeping, but the dreams…”

Sharlene leaned back in her Herman Miller chair. “Still the same?”

“Yes, only more intense.” Without warning her nipples hardened and the tiny bud between her thighs began to throb as images of the man who came to her in her dreams, the faceless man who made passionate love to her emerged in her mind. Her nostrils flared as her pulse quickened. She hadn’t told Sharlene everything, not the parts about the faceless seducer who left her trembling with longing.

“Are you all right? You look flushed.”

Zoe quickly shook her head. “Fine. Just tired.”

Even Sharlene, who was as open-minded as they came, would think she was losing it if Zoe told her what had been going on at night. “And hungry.” She forced a grin. “Can you get away for a bit?”

“Sure. My eyes were starting to cross looking at all these fabrics.” She stood and took her purse from the shelf behind her desk. “Want to head over to Gladys Knight’s place?”

“I was thinking the same thing. We should be able to get a table. It’s still early.”

The two friends walked out together staying on Peachtree Street to the restaurant three blocks away. The locale was famous not only because of its owner but for its mouth-watering menu, specifically the chicken and waffles, the house specialty. After a short wait, they were seated in a booth by the window and their orders were taken.

“You look like you could use a drink to go with that vacation,” Sharlene commented, once the waitress was gone. “Is something else bothering you?” She gazed steadily at Zoe.

Zoe lowered her eyes then finally focused on Sharlene. “This is going to sound totally crazy.”

“Maybe, but tell me anyway.”

Zoe leaned back, stretched her arms out in front of her and cupped her water glass. “The dreams are more than…just dreams.”

Sharlene’s perfectly arched brows rose. “Okay, so what are they?”

“They’re physical.”

“Physical?”

“Yeah.” She leaned closer. “He comes to me in my sleep,” she said under her breath.

“What?” Sharlene said in confusion.

“The image of a man… He comes to me in my sleep, and…he makes love to me.” She swallowed and realized how ridiculous it sounded.

Sharlene was quiet for a moment. “You dream about being made love to?”

“Yes.”

“By a stranger?”

“Yes, but it’s as if I know him.” Her voice was beginning to take on a desperate edge. “But I can’t see him. Not really.” She shook her head. “Forget it. It doesn’t make sense.” She took a sip of her water.

“Zoe, remember what Nana Zora said,” Sharlene reminded her gently.

Zoe’s eyes jumped, as she stared at Sharlene, whose earnest expression seemed to invite a response. Sharlene was as much a family member as any blood relation, and had been privy to Zoe’s Nana, her mother and aunts’ tale of the Beaumont women’s curse. Unlike Zoe, Sharlene was fascinated by it all, and wished that her own family history was as exotic and exciting.

“Well, come on. Your thirtieth birthday is in three months. Nana said—”

“Don’t! Don’t start. Okay.” She rolled her eyes and looked away.

Sharlene leaned across the table. “What if it’s true?” she said in a low whisper. “Wouldn’t that be too fabulous and romantic?”

The waitress appeared with their lunch. When Zoe glanced up to thank her, she caught a glimpse in the corner of her eye of the broad back of a man who was walking out the front door. Blood rushed to her temples. She jumped, knocking over the glass of water on the table. In the moments of confusion and apologies, Zoe lost sight of him.

“What in the world is the matter with you?” Sharlene asked, checking around for any more puddles of water on the table.

“I…I thought I saw him.” She shook her head. “I’m sorry. Exhaustion is getting the better of me.”

Sharlene dabbed at the last bit of water. “You saw him?” she asked with a look of confusion.

Zoe waved her hand. “Forget it. Let’s eat.”

Sharlene studied the faraway look in Zoe’s eyes and believed more than ever that the Beaumont legacy was real and her friend was simply unwilling to admit it.




Chapter 2


Jackson Treme continued on his walk back to his car with his bag of fried chicken and waffles, completely unaware of how his tall, lean figure cut a sharp outline against the busy downtown landscape, or how many admiring women’s eyes took second looks as he passed. His thoughts were elsewhere.

He’d had the strangest sensation while he was waiting on his take-out order, a kind of energy that seemed to suddenly flow through his body. He felt strong, almost invincible. Inwardly he chuckled. How crazy was that? It was probably from inhaling the spicy aroma of the food that had his senses on high alert.

He stopped in front of his car. A soft, very fem inine scent wafted by him. He turned, looked left then right. Nothing. He released a long breath. These odd feelings that he’d been experiencing had begun a few weeks ago.

At first he thought it was simply the stress of moving from New Orleans to Atlanta, finding a house and taking on a new job. But he’d never been one to be thrown off balance by stress.

He opened the car door and got in, shut the door behind him and stuck the key in the ignition. Just as he looked up, in the distance, he spotted two women emerging from the restaurant. The car suddenly filled with the same heavenly scent. That feeling of power flowed through his body. He turned the key in the ignition, but his main focus was seeing her face. The car sputtered and shut off. What the… He turned the key again, gave it some gas. The engine whined and shut off. Without thinking, he hopped out of the car and jogged down the block. By the time he reached the corner they were nowhere in sight. His broad shoulders slumped. He stood on the corner like a lost tourist as passersby walked around him. Realizing how ridiculous he was behaving, he finally walked back to his car and slid behind the wheel. He turned the key and the car hummed to life.



“I’ve been thinking of taking a quick trip home,” Zoe was saying as they walked into Pinkberry’s frozen yogurt parlor.

Sharlene got in line behind Zoe. “Flying or driving?”

Zoe glanced over her shoulder. “Why?” she asked with a grin.

“You know I’m always up for a road trip.”

Zoe twisted her lips in feigned contemplation. “Okay, road trip. Can you take Friday off?”

“Of course, my sister. That is the joy of owning your own business.” She grinned broadly, exposing the teasing gap between her pearly white front teeth.

“If we leave by six we can be there by one.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

“How can I help you?” the young woman behind the counter asked.

“Two large mangos, to go,” Zoe said and took out her Pinkberry purchase card to be stamped. The frozen yogurt place was Zoe and Sharlene’s guilty pleasure. They’d bought enough frozen yogurt to own stock in the company.

“Why do we love this stuff so much?” Sharlene cooed as she took her first lick.

“I have no idea.” Zoe swallowed the naturally sweet treat and sighed in delight.

They pushed through the doors and back out into the afternoon.

“I’m going to head back,” Zoe said and kissed Sharlene’s cheek.

“I need to make a stop first. Talk to you later.”

They waved and headed off in opposite directions.



Zoe returned to the museum and was pleased to find that foot traffic had picked up in her absence. Museums were struggling all over the country and were usually the first institutions to feel the cuts in grants and sponsorship. Part of her role was to seek out funding; the funding that not only helped to pay staff but covered the costs of installing new works and putting up shows.

At times it was difficult. But the High Museum was more fortunate than most, and at least for now she could continue to look for those rare pieces that would attract crowds.

She crossed the expanse of the main exhibit floor, took the first right turn and walked down the empty corridor that echoed her footsteps to her office at the end of the hallway. If she was planning to take off on Friday, she needed to make sure that everything was in order. Even though Mike was more than capable of handling any problems in her absence, she’d rather not leave anything to chance. As she was settling down behind her desk, her body suddenly grew warm and a heady, manly scent drifted under her nose. Her heart thumped in her chest. She felt light-headed as if she’d stood up too quickly.

“Hey, how was lunch?”

Zoe blinked, gripped the armrests of her chair and forced herself to focus.

Mike stepped in. A frown drew a line between his brows. “You, okay? You looked frightened.”

Zoe swallowed and ran her tongue across her dry lips. “Yeah, I’m fine.” She made herself smile. “Frightened?” She sputtered a laugh and turned on her computer. “Of what, you?” she teased.

Mike checked her out for a moment more. “Yeah, okay.” He shrugged. “I signed off on the schedule for next week and Linda has a problem with it. Linda always has a problem. If it’s not the schedule, it’s taking inventory or whatever it is she’s supposed to be doing. If I say something to her to then I’m a bully. So maybe you want to talk to her. If it were up to me, she’d be pounding the pavement.”

He leaned against the door frame, looking too enticing for words.

Zoe cleared her throat. She knew Linda’s real motive. Linda had a thing for Mike and rather than be upfront about it, she used her energy to give him a hard time. Very junior high school as far as Zoe was concerned, but it wasn’t her place to say anything to Mike about Linda. But her behavior was affecting her work, and that was a problem. “I’ll have a talk with her before I leave. And speaking of leaving, I’m taking Friday off. I’m driving down to see my family.”

“Cool. For how long?”

“Just the weekend. I’ll be back on Monday. Sharlene is going with me.”

Mike nodded. He pushed away from the door. “Please talk to your girl.”

“I will. I promise.”

“See you later.” He turned and walked away.

Zoe folded her hands on top of her desk. Could it be Mike? she wondered. She shook her head. Now she was starting to think like her crazy family and her even crazier best friend. But as much as she tried, it was getting harder to ignore the feelings.



Jackson returned to his two-bedroom town house following his early evening run and went straight to the living room to turn on his 52-inch flat-screen television. It was his biggest purchase since moving into his new space. How many mornings had he awakened on the used leather couch, having fallen asleep in front of the flat screen?

There was a time falling asleep on the couch would have never happened. Instead of being eager to settle down in front of the television with a stack of papers to grade, he would look forward to undressing Carla and loving every inch of her body.

He pointed the remote at the television, kicked off his sneakers and stretched out on the couch. Carla was in his rearview mirror. It had been more than two years since they’d seen or spoken to each other. “It was him, not her,” he’d said to the woman he’d thought he would marry. He’d tried to explain, to erase the look of hurt and disbelief from her eyes. The truth was he couldn’t explain it to himself.

In the months leading up to their breakup, he’d felt himself pulling away from Carla as if drawn by some unseen force—the same force that brought him to Atlanta. The same force that filled his dreams at night, clouded his thoughts during the day and the scent that wafted under his nostrils when he least expected it. Like today.

He surfed through the channels and finally settled on MSNBC. He was still bummed by the changing lineup, but it was still one of the best cable news channels on the air. He crossed his feet at the ankles, but instead of concentrating on the latest developments in the Middle East, his thoughts segued to the strange feelings he’d experienced at the restaurant and the brief glimpse of that woman. He exhaled a deep breath. The woman he thought he had to see. He pressed his fingers over his eyes. Whatever was going on with him seemed to have escalated in the past few weeks. But in the midst of all the weirdness, he knew somehow this was where he was meant to be. For what, he wasn’t sure. At some point it would all work itself out.

He was between dozing and half listening to Rachel Maddow when the vibrations of his cell phone broke into the lazy rhythm that was lulling him to sleep. Groaning, he turned to his side and dug his cell phone out of his sweatpants pocket. He held the iPhone up in front of him. His sister’s name and number were lit up on the screen.

“Hey, sis.”

“Did I wake you?”

“No. Just watching a little TV. Whatsup?” He stifled a yawn.

Michelle chuckled. “You were always such a bad liar. But since I woke you up, how are you?”

He tucked his hand behind his head. “Aw, now why do we have to start off with the name-calling?” he teased. His twin sister was more than a sibling. They were best friends. Jackson often felt bad that he didn’t have that same level of connection with their older brother, Franklin. But Franklin was fifteen years older than his twin brother and sister and they were as much a surprise to him—upsetting his status as the only child—as their arrival was to their stunned parents. In their years growing up, Franklin was more of a father, rather than an older brother. Long before they were out of grade school, Franklin was off to college, and then marriage with children of his own.

“It’s true,” she volleyed back. “You can pretend with everyone except me. Those are the rules. Anyway, you’ve been on my mind all day. Is everything cool?”

Jackson stared up at the ceiling for a moment. Before he’d left New Orleans for Atlanta, he’d confessed to his sister about the strange pull he’d been feeling, and that somehow his destiny was in Atlanta.

“It’s getting stronger,” he finally said.

Michelle was quiet for a moment. “Anything new…different?”

“I thought I saw her today.”

“What? Really? What did she look like?”

“Whoa, hold on.” He chuckled. “I mean I didn’t actually see her. I kind of thought I might have caught a glimpse of her.” As soon as the words were out of his mouth he knew how ridiculous they sounded.

“Hmm, like an impression,” Michelle deduced.

Jackson grinned. If anyone could understand it would be Michelle. “Exactly.” He went on to explain what had transpired earlier in the day.

“You made the right decision, Jackson, about everything. Keep opening yourself and the answers will come. I firmly believe that.”

“So do I, sis.”

They talked for a while longer about the family, their respective jobs and then Michelle revealed the other reason for her call. “Carla is getting married. The announcement was in the Time-Picayune last weekend.”

The news barely stirred him. He was only mildly surprised that he didn’t feel something more. “I’m happy for her. I wasn’t the one.”

“I want you to be happy, too. And my sixth sense tells me that it’s only a matter of time.”

“I’m going to hold you to that.”

“You do that. I haven’t been wrong yet. Listen, gotta run. We’ll talk soon. Okay?”

“Yep. Tell Travis hello and give my niece a kiss for me.”

“Will do. Love ya.”

“Back at you.”

Jackson placed the phone on the coffee table. Michelle was right. Her intuition was always on point. How it was going to finally play out, however, was anyone’s guess.




Chapter 3


Zoe decided to forego the ten-minute drive to work and opted to walk instead, making up for her missed visits to the gym over the past week. She strolled, her mind and spirit lifted by the warmth of the morning sun and the soft breeze that carried the scent of blooming flowers and the secret aroma of the South—rich, lush, troubled, ever changing…and something burning. She quickened her pace.

The sound of screaming sirens drew closer and when she reached the corner she saw grey smoke billowing out of one of the buildings on the street. A crowd began to gather even as the fireman urged them back.

Zoe’s hand flew to the center of her chest. “Oh, no.” Slowly she approached the growing crowd. The hair on her arms and at the back of her neck seemed to rise. Her heart pounded. For a moment she felt light-headed and swayed where she stood. The scene in front of her started to recede.

“Are you all right?”

A strong arm gripped her around the waist, keeping her from sinking to her knees. Her rescuer guided her across the street and helped her to sit down on a bench.

Zoe sucked in long breaths of air trying to clear her head.

“Smoke must have gotten to you,” the voice was saying.

She shook her head to clear it and looked into the most incredible pair of dark eyes that were staring at her with concern. She knew those eyes, that voice. But that was not possible. She didn’t know this man. Fear crept through her body. She wanted to run, but she couldn’t make her body move.

“Sit right here, I’m going to get you some water.”

She watched him rise and tower above her, the same image that came to her in her dreams. Her stomach dipped and rose and dipped again. She gripped the arm of the bench.

He hurried down the crowded street, weaving his way around the clutch of bodies, trucks and fire hoses.

Another fire truck screamed onto the street. Flames leaped from one building to the next. Shouts rang out from the crowd as they were urged back by fireman and now the police. News vans pulled onto the street.

Zoe got to her feet and was suddenly caught up in the crowd that was being pushed back by the police.

“Move it back! Move it back!”

Zoe merged with the throng, swept along with the wave of bodies until she was ushered off of the street. The farther she moved from the scene the clearer her thoughts became. She tried to spot him, convince herself that he was real and not some trick of her imagination. He was gone, as if he never existed. He probably didn’t, she told herself as she took an alternate route to the museum.

By the time she arrived she felt exhausted, drained as if she hadn’t slept and then worked all day. Yet, it was barely nine o’clock, and for the first time in weeks she’d actually slept through the night.

Zoe greeted the security guard, swiped her ID card through the slot and proceeded to her office. Once inside she slipped out of her suit jacket and just as she was about to hang it up on the hook, that familiar scent filled her senses. She pulled the jacket to her nose. Instead of hints of smoke and soot from the fire it smelled like…him.

Her hands shook and the jacket fell from her fingers.

The phone on her desk rang and she jumped a half inch off the floor.

Exhaling deeply, she returned to her desk and picked up the phone. “Zoe Beaumont.” Slowly she lowered herself into her seat.

“Zoe, it’s Mama.”

Zoe sat straight up. Her mother never called her at work. They saved their long, often giggly conversations for Sunday afternoons.

“Mama, what is it?”

“Your grandmother’s been asking for you.”

“Is Nana all right? What’s wrong?”

“I…I don’t know. She’s getting more distant everyday. Most days she thinks it’s fifty years ago. The only thing that makes sense is her asking for you. You have to come, baby.”

“I was planning to come this weekend. But if you think I need to leave earlier I will. Sharlene is driving down with me.” She could feel her mother’s relief seep through the phone.

“Good. I’ll fix up the guest room. Thank you, baby.”

“Ma, you don’t have to thank me. Please. You take it easy. Where are Aunt Flo and Aunt Fern?”

“Taking turns looking after your grandmother. She hardly notices…” Her voice cracked. “Just come as soon as you can.”

“I will. I promise. Give my love to Nana.”

Zoe replaced the phone in the cradle. She’d heard the anxiety and fear in her mother’s voice. Miraya Beaumont was as reliable as the North Star. Nothing threw her off course. So to hear uncertainty in her mother’s voice completely unnerved Zoe.

She swiveled her chair toward her computer, and powered it up, intent on finding a flight out of Atlanta that wouldn’t bankrupt her. Just as the search engine got her to the website, Mike came in.

“Hey. Good morning. What’s up?”

“Morning. Did you hear about the big fire up on 9th?”

“I was there.”

Mike frowned. “What?”

“I mean, I decided to walk today and literally walked right into it. Awful.” She shook her head at the memory. “It looked like the whole block was going to go up in flames.” A little shiver went through her as the image of the man of her dreams invaded her senses.

“It’s been on all the news channels, but it looks like they finally got it under control.”

“Thank goodness. I hope no one got hurt.”

“Yeah.” He came around to the side of her desk. “Here are the bills for last month’s shipments.”

“Just leave them. I’ll take care of it.” The Delta Air Lines home page filled her computer screen.

Mike dropped the folders on her desk and spied the page. “Vacation?”

“Not really. I need to get home in a hurry.”

“Everything cool?”

“It’s my grandmother.” She keyed in her information. “I was planning on driving down this weekend, but my mom called just a little while ago and she sounded…” Her fingers flew across the keys. She sniffed, pulled open her desk drawer to get her purse. She took out her wallet and flipped through the compartments for her Visa card, keyed in the numbers and waited.

“I think it’s best that I don’t wait.” She swallowed the knot in her throat.

“Hey, do what you have to do. Family first. I got this. Don’t worry about it.”

Zoe forced a smile. “Thanks.”

The screen flashed her confirmation number and the button to print her itinerary and boarding pass. She pressed Print.

Mike placed a large comforting hand on her shoulder. She tilted her head toward him and blinked back the tears burning in her eyes.

“Need a lift to the airport?”

“No. My flight is at 6:00 a.m. I wouldn’t do that to anyone,” she said, only half joking.

“It’s not a problem.” He stepped back. “Just let me know.”

She bobbed her head. “Thanks.”

Mike strolled out.

Mike really was a great guy. He was intelligent, hard working, fun, sexy. He definitely had it all. She sighed. But even with all that she couldn’t take her mind off of what had happened to her less than an hour earlier. The impression of him, his scent, the look in his eyes, the arch of his cheekbones, the curve of his bottom lip.

Her heart raced as the image of her night stalker come to life replayed in her mind. Yet her pulse didn’t race with fear or trepidation, but rather with anticipation and curiosity. Who was he really and why did he have that kind of effect on her? Was he really the man of her dreams? She logged off of the Delta site and laughed lightly to herself. There you go being ridiculous. If that were true, then it meant that she really was buying into all that foolishness that her mother, aunts and grandmother had been saying for as long as she could remember. Ridiculous.

Her grandmother. Nana Zora was the thread that held the fabric of her family together. She couldn’t imagine her family without Nana Zora. Growing up, Nana had been more of a mother to her than her own mother, Miraya, had ever been. Her mother was an aspiring singer and spent most of Zoe’s youth and young adulthood traveling the country, moving from one nightclub or lounge to the other. One disappointment too many and a cigarette short of losing her voice altogether, Miraya returned to her hometown of New Orleans and tried to put her life back together and bond with a daughter she barely knew.

It was Nana Zora who encouraged Zoe to pursue her love of the arts, which she insisted Zoe had inherited from her mother. Zoe believed differently. It was her Nana who nurtured her passion for art and painting and her interest in history and other cultures. By the time Miraya Beaumont returned to New Orleans, Zoe had traveled and studied and mapped out her future—without the help or guidance of her mother. It took time and a lot of patience, forgiveness and a lot of coaxing from Nana but they’d finally found their way to each other.

It was also her grandmother who firmly believed in the legacy of the Beaumont women. As much as she didn’t want to buy into the old wives’ tale and family lore, everything that her grandmother, her mother and her aunts had said was slowly coming to pass.

She picked up the phone to call Sharlene and let her know about her change of plans and wondered what her grandmother would say about the inexplicable events that had made their way into her life.



“Tomorrow morning?”

“I don’t want to wait until the weekend. My mother sounded scared and she never sounds scared.”

“Let me rearranged my schedule. Give me your flight number and I’ll book my ticket as well.”

“Sharl, that’s too much. You don’t have to—”

“I know that. I want to. She’s my Nana, too. And you’re my sister. I’ll call you back in a few.”

Zoe squeezed the receiver in her hand and briefly shut her eyes. She wouldn’t admit to Sharlene just how much she needed her. She didn’t have to. Sharlene already knew.




Chapter 4


Jackson shut the door of his Explorer and walked across the parking lot of Clark-Atlanta University. The acrid scent of smoke still lingered in his nostrils and the image of the woman in his mind. When he’d literally stumbled upon her he couldn’t believe it at first. He was certain she was the same woman he’d spotted the other day. He could kick himself for leaving her even for a second before he found out who she was.

He cut across the lot and entered the campus grounds, followed the path to the humanities building and tugged open the ornate wood door.

“Mornin’ Professor Treme,” said a young man in a freshly pressed white shirt with an armload of books.

“Have a productive day, Mahlik,” Jackson offered before turning the corner toward his office. His first class wasn’t for another twenty minutes. “Hey, Jackson!”

Jackson glanced over his shoulder. It was his colleague Levi Fortune hurrying toward him.

“I wanted to talk with you about something,” he said, coming to a stop alongside Jackson.

“Levi, if it’s about taking over one of your classes again, the answer is no.” He stuck the key into the lock of his office door.

“Aw, come on man. Just one more time. I’ve got to put the finishing touches on my dissertation. I have to defend it in three weeks.”

“You should have taken a sabbatical.” Jackson shook his head in a combination of dismay and annoyance. He could only imagine the stress that Levi was under trying to teach three classes and get his second doctorate degree. The man was no dummy, but he was going to kill himself in the process. Jackson turned to him and grinned.

“Okay. You know I will.” He pushed open the office door. “Take a load off.” Jackson walked in and dropped his soft brown leather satchel on top of his desk then walked around his desk to open the window blinds.

Levi dropped down into the lone chair in the tight space and stretched out his long legs. “You know I owe you.”

“Big time. I’ll think of something. So how’s the work coming?”

Levi linked his fingers together. “Man, if I survive this, I’m done. For real.” He chuckled lightly. “I don’t remember it being this hard.”

“Ancient languages are no joke, man.” He lowered himself into his squeaky leather chair. “So, when you get your degree I have to call you Dr. Dr. Fortune or what?”

“You can just call me doctor. The rest of them can call me Double D.”

They broke out laughing and exchanged a pound.

“What’s your day looking like?”

“Not too bad. I have one class this morning and one right after lunch,” Jackson said. “How about you?”

“Two before lunch. Department meeting this afternoon and then I’m done. Wanna grab a beer or something later?”

“Yeah, yeah sure. Meet you around five?”

“Cool.” He got up from the chair. “And thanks again for standing in for me.”

“We gotta help each other out.”

“So I’ll see you around five. Over at Smitty’s?” Levi said on his way out.

“Yeah. I’ll be there and the beers are on you.”

“No doubt. Later, man.”

Jackson unsnapped his satchel and took out a folder stuffed with graded papers, notes and the lesson plan for his upcoming class. He checked his watch. He had about ten minutes. He leaned back in his seat and went over his notes, making sure that he had plenty of material to cover during the ninety-minute session. Some days his class arrived fully prepared and were totally engaged. Other times, it was like talking to comatose patients. He hoped today wasn’t one of those days. He wasn’t up for it. It was taking all of his concentration to stay focused on what he needed to do and not what had happened earlier.

He expelled a long, slow breath, dropped the folder on the desk and swiveled his chair around so that it faced the window.

She was out there. The tug of a smile arched his lips. All the circumstances that had led him to leave Louisiana and move to Atlanta weren’t coincidences at all. Did she know? Did she believe as he did that they were destined to be together?

He pushed back from his chair and stood. Totally crazy, he thought as he shoved his papers back in his satchel and snapped it shut. Had someone told him he’d give up everything that was familiar and move to a new city in search of a woman he’d never seen before, he would have had them committed. But here he was.

Jackson opened the door and stepped out into the now busy corridor, teeming with eager young men and women bent on making a difference in the world. It was only a matter of time, he thought, before the two of them would meet again. He felt it in the marrow of his bones.

Just as he approached the entrance to his classroom, his teaching assistant, Victoria Rush, stopped him. Victoria was a doctoral student whose dissertation was on ancient and African art—his passion. She’d campaigned hard for the position and beat out several other candidates. Victoria was good. She was thorough and professional, but it was becoming clear to Jackson that Veronica spent a little too much time trying to prove herself to him. She always offered much more than the assignment called for, needing just a “few minutes” of his time a bit too often, even asking if there were any errands that he needed her to run.

On the surface it was all pretty harmless, but he was beginning to get an uncomfortable feeling. He hoped that this relationship wouldn’t become a problem. Besides, one would think that her schedule would be pretty full without having to add his agenda to hers.

“Hey, Victoria, class is about to start.”

“I know. I was hoping that I could talk to you after your class.”

That uncomfortable feeling began with a tightness in his insides. “Is it the research paper?”

“Actually—” she lowered the books she was holding to her chest to reveal a low cut top “—it’s personal.”

“Personal? Victoria—Ms. Rush, if this has nothing to do with the course…”

“I know this may seem inappropriate, professor. But I don’t know who else I can talk to.” She blinked away the water that began to well in her eyes.

Aw, man. The last thing he needed was a crying grad student. “Okay, after class. Meet me in the cafeteria.” At least the cafeteria was public.

She beamed a smile, flashing deep dimples in a nut-brown face. “Thank you.” She turned and hurried away.

Jackson lowered his head for a second and blew out a frustrated breath then opened the classroom door. Hopefully his students would be awake, otherwise this was going to be a long hour and a half.



The ninety-minute Art History class wound down on an up note. The scheduled trip to the High Museum for the unveiling of the fertility statues was all set. The students actually seemed excited. Jackson left the class feeling good until he remembered his meeting with Victoria. Reluctantly he walked through the corridors until he reached the cafeteria. He couldn’t imagine what Victoria could want or better, what he could do about it.

The tables were dotted with students huddled over textbooks and Styrofoam containers of French fries and half-eaten sandwiches. Jackson surveyed the brightly lit room and didn’t see Victoria.

Deciding whether to duck out before she turned up, he started to leave and ran smack into her. Her books tumbled to the floor.

“I’ll get that.” Jackson bent down and so did Victoria, leaning provocatively over the tumble of books and loose papers.

“It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have walked up behind you like that,” she said, gathering her papers into a neat pile.

Jackson picked up the two textbooks and stood. “Sorry about that.” He looked around then back at her. “I’ve got to make this quick. I have another class.”

“I know. It won’t take long. Can we sit down for a minute?’

“Um, sure.” He lifted his chin in the direction of an available table. “Over there.”

“Great.” She sauntered toward the table and sat down.

“So what did you want to talk about?” he asked, cutting to the chase. He set his briefcase on the floor near his feet.

“I know I’ve only been working with you for a short time, professor. And the experience has been wonderful. I enjoy the work and all the research.” She paused. “But I’m going to have to give up my position,” she blurted in one long breath.

Jackson didn’t know if he should be relieved or annoyed. Victoria had practically begged her way into the position, one that didn’t come easily to many grad students, especially women. With some urging from the search committee, he’d passed over several other equally qualified male prospects and finally settled on her.

“I see. Would you care to share your reason?”

She lowered her head for a moment. “It’s personal.” She reached across the table and covered his hand with hers with a beseeching look in her eyes right out of the soap operas. “Believe me, I don’t want to go, but it’s best.” She pushed out a breath. “I’ll finish up the project that I was working on for you and hand over all the notes.”

“Victoria, are you sure you don’t want to talk about it? Maybe I can help.”

He watched her throat move and the words come up and then get swallowed. She pushed back from the table and stood. Then without another word she turned and nearly ran away. Several heads turned in her direction and then his. Questions hung in their eyes before they turned back to what they were doing.

Jackson sat there, not sure what had just happened. There was a part of him that was relieved but another part that left him with a bad feeling. Her entire demeanor had shifted in a little more than an hour. She hadn’t given him any idea that she was planning to leave her position.

He shook it off, grabbed his briefcase and started out. Whatever her reason, he concluded, pushing through the glass door, it was probably for the best.

That last scene in the cafeteria was a little too dramatic for his taste. Meanwhile, he was going to have to find another assistant. He’d speak to the dean in the morning. Next time he was going to stick with his gut and get a guy.



Zoe hung up the phone with Sharlene. She’d booked her flight and said she was leaving her office early to do some shopping and go home and pack. They were all set to leave in the morning.

Zoe turned on her computer and reviewed the schedule. Mike would handle everything in her absence and assured her to take as much time as she needed. But the opening was in a week. She’d worked so hard to make it all happen and she wanted to be there. But if Nana Zora… Her mind wandered. She wouldn’t think about that. Nana was going to be fine.

“Just hold on ’til I get there, Nana,” she whispered.




Chapter 5


“Did you talk to your mom again?” Sharlene asked as they took their seats.

“I called last night. She said Nana was resting, still asking for me.” She stuck her carry-on into the overhead compartment and slid into her window seat.

Sharlene followed suit. She grabbed Zoe’s hand. “It’s gonna be fine. Nana Zora is as tough as they come.” She offered a reassuring smile.

“I know. My heart says that Nana will outlive us all. But reality is a different story, Sharl. She’s been getting weaker year after year. She’s ninety.”

“Keep positive thoughts. Don’t let your imagination run wild.”

The pilot’s easy drawl floated over the public address system. “Good morning. Welcome to Flight 1109 to New Orleans. I’m Captain Harris and I’ll be your pilot today. The temperature in The Big Easy is a sultry 98 degrees.” He chuckled. “And it’s still early folks. We’re third in line for takeoff, so sit back and relax and we’ll be up in the air and back down again before you know it. Attendants, please prepare the cabin for takeoff.”

Two blonde flight attendants strolled down the aisle, checking seat belts and telling passengers to put their seat backs upright. Moments later they were coasting down the runway then up in the air.

Zoe settled back and glanced out of the window watching the city of Atlanta grow smaller in the distance until the plane rose above the clouds and the earth disappeared.

“Speaking of imagination. I saw him,” Zoe said.

“Huh?”

She turned in her seat. “I saw him. Actually saw him. Yesterday.”

“What? Him, him? The him? Where? And why didn’t you tell me?”

“It was yesterday morning and—”

“Yesterday!”

“Would you keep your voice down?” she hissed from between her teeth.

Sharlene looked around. “Why didn’t you tell me?” she hissed right back.

“There was so much going on and I guess I forgot.” But she hadn’t forgotten. Between worrying about her grandmother and preparing for her trip, her mind was on the man she’d met on 9th Street. She’d tried to convince herself that it was the stress of the moment, her feeling light-headed from the smoke. But her spirit told her differently and so did the dream she’d had. This time, her suitor, her lover was not a faceless man who teased and taunted her. It was him.

“So are you going to tell me what the hell happened or sit there staring with that silly grin on your face?”

Zoe blinked away the images and her gaze settled on Sharlene’s face, with her lemon-puckered lips.

“Yesterday,” she began. “I decided to walk to work…”

When she’d finished they both stared at each other in silence.

“Are you starting to believe, even just a little?” Sharlene asked.

Zoe breathed deeply. “I don’t know what to believe. I mean, it’s all so crazy, you know?” She gave a little laugh. “Destiny and legacy, and the man of your dreams come to life. Crazy.” She reclined in her seat and stared out at the clouds. She propped her elbow on the armrest and pressed her fist to her mouth. “Crazy,” she whispered.



Barely an hour later, flight 1109 was taxiing on the tarmac at Louis Armstrong International Airport.

“My mother said she’d meet us at baggage claim,” Zoe said as they rode the escalator to the lower level.

“Mom still driving that big old Caddie?” Sharlene teased.

Zoe laughed. “You know she’s not letting that thing go.”

“How much gas do you think that bus guzzles?”

“Enough to pay off the national debt, especially at these prices.”

“I know that’s right.”

“There she is. Ma!” Zoe called out and waved catching Miraya’s attention.

At fifty-two, Miraya Beaumont was a stunning woman. She’d been mistaken for Lena Horne more times than she could count and still carried herself like the star she longed to be. Miraya had a string of suitors a mile long. And although she wasn’t touring the country like she once did, she still sang in the lounges in the French Quarter.

Miraya took off her dark glasses and waved back.

Zoe instantly saw the heaviness in her mother’s wide eyes and the waning of her smile. Her heart raced.

“Mom.” She embraced her mother and realized for the first time how petite her mother was, fragile almost. Had she always been this thin? When had she seen her last—five, six months? She held her a moment longer then kissed her cheek. She stepped back and held her mother at arms length, searched her eyes. “Nana?”

Miraya’s smile was tight. “She’s hanging on.” She took Sharlene’s hand. “Good to see you, Sharl. It’s been too long.” She pulled her into an embrace. “How did you manage to get on a flight with such short notice?”

“I heard my family needed me,” she said with a smile.

“Thanks for coming,” she said softly. “Well, come on. Let’s get you girls to the house and fix some breakfast. I know they didn’t feed you on the plane.”

They walked through the terminal to the airport garage arm in arm.

The short ride from the airport was spent in light conversation, and on the slow progress of rebuilding the Lower Ninth Ward. Much of the area had still not been rebuilt, as many residents had moved away along with their hopes of returning slowly fading.

Miraya pulled onto their street in the Garden District. Even in the early morning heat, neighbors were out and about, sweeping front porches or doing yard work, mostly because it was too hot to work as the day progressed.

“There’s Ms. Ella,” Zoe said, pointing to the octogenarian who knew everything about everybody on the street.

“The whole neighborhood will know you’re home before the clock strikes nine,” Sharlene teased.

“Be nice, girls,” Miraya playfully warned as she pulled up and parked in front of the house.

The trio got out and Zoe and Sharlene took their bags from the trunk. “’Morning, Ms. Ella,” they chorused and waved.

Ms. Ella pretended that she hadn’t spotted them from the moment the big blue caddy came onto the street and craned her neck. She gave a delicate wave. “That you, Zoe?”

“Yes, ma’am,” she called out.

“That Sharlene you got with you?”

“It’s me, Ms. Ella.”

She bobbed her wobbly head. “Zora’s waiting for you,” she said, her simple declaration carrying the weight they all held in their hearts.

The door of the row house on Sixth Street opened up and Zoe’s aunts Flo and Fern stood in the doorway all dolled up in flowing, bright, floral-print caftans. The sisters were variations of the same face in shades of sandy brown to milk chocolate. It was the unpredictability of the genes, Nana Zora always said of her daughters.

Zoe’s heart suddenly overflowed with emotion. The strain of caring for their ailing mother had taken its toll on her mother and aunts. Zoe could see it in their eyes. Yet, they still appeared formidable standing side by side against come what may. Zoe hurried toward them, embracing both of them in her arms.

“Auntie,” she whispered in each ear and against butter-soft cheeks.

“Welcome home, chile,” Flo whispered.

“Come inside,” Fern urged. She reached out her hand to Sharlene. “I knew you’d come.”

The Beaumont women and their surrogate daughter went inside to see Nana.

From the front door of the two-story house, you could see straight through to the backyard, which was in full bloom thanks to the loving hands of Aunt Fern. Long, narrow windows with sheer white curtains filtered in the morning sunlight that reflected off of the oak floors. The furniture hadn’t changed since the sisters were in their teens. Lovingly worn overstuffed armchairs were upholstered in a sea-green, brocade fabric, and antique, maple side tables with white doilies dotted the room. In the chair near the window, Nana Zora dozed as the rays of morning light warmed her face. Her lids fluttered and slowly opened. She turned her head. A slow smile spread across her face. “Zoe.”

Zoe hurried across the room. She dropped her bag on the floor and knelt down beside her grandmother. She took her hands. “Nana.”

“I knew you would come.” Her eyes sparkled. She glanced around Zoe and saw Sharlene. “Come here and let me see you.”

Sharlene did as she was told and knelt on the other side of the chair. “How are you doing, Nana?”

“Fine now that my Zoe is here.” She patted Zoe’s cheek. “And you, too, sugah,” she said to Sharlene.

“Breakfast is ready,” Aunt Flo called out.

“I’ll bring your plate, Nana,” Zoe said.

“Oh, no, you won’t! I’m not an invalid,” Zora insisted, as she seemed to regain her old strength in her voice. She reached for the cane propped up against her chair. Zoe grabbed her grandmother’s elbow and helped her to her feet.

The three sisters moved back and forth between the stove and the round kitchen table bringing plates of fluffy eggs, fruit, sausage, bacon and grits.

“Let me help,” Zoe insisted, taking a platter from her aunt Fern and bringing it to the table.

“Sharl, sweetie, would you get the juice from the fridge?” Miraya asked.

“Sure.”

Finally, when everyone was settled at the table, the food was passed around and the plates were filled. They joined hands, bowed their heads and Nana Zora blessed the food.

“Thank you for this food and bless the hands that made it. Thank you for my family and for bringing Zoe home. Watch over her in the coming months, give her guidance and open her heart and her spirit to what will happen in the months to come. Amen.”

Zoe opened her eyes and looked surreptitiously at her family.

“Amen,” they chorused.

“How long can you stay?” Aunt Flo asked, directing her amber eyes at Zoe.

“As long as I need to.”

“This will be a short visit,” Nana said. “You have things to do.”

“Nothing is more important than you, Nana Zora. Work can wait.”

Nana waved a thin hand. “Yes, but not work in the way you mean. Rather the kind of work you need to do and you can’t do it here.”

All eyes turned to Zoe.

“I… I don’t know what you mean.”

“You will,” said Aunt Fern.

“Let’s eat, and leave that talk for later,” interrupted Miraya. “You know how Zoe is about all that.” She flashed her daughter a quick look of understanding.

“So what have I been missing around here? Are you ladies staying out of trouble?” Sharlene asked, changing the subject.

The sisters alternated telling stories about their neighbors, their new aches and pains and the changes in the world around them.

Nana Zora sat at the head of the table, observing her family like a queen on the throne. There wasn’t a lot of time, she thought. She had so much to tell her granddaughter. Zoe needed to be prepared. Her own dreams were becoming stronger and she knew Zoe’s were as well.

Her daughters were worried about her, about her health and her mental state. She wasn’t slipping. Some days she simply preferred to live in the past, at the moment when things could have almost been different had she only used her gift. But she didn’t. Now it was up to Zoe and the man who awaited her.

The glass of juice slid from her hand and onto the floor.

Everyone jumped up, practically tripping over each other, cleaning and wiping and checking on Nana.

“I’m tired,” Nana said, her voice frayed and worn like an old housedress washed too many times.

Zoe’s pulse leaped. “I’ll take you to your room, Nana.” She wrapped her arm around her grandmother’s narrow waist and let her lean her nearly waiflike body against her own.

Zora’s bedroom was on the first floor in the back of the house overlooking the garden. Zoe opened the bedroom door and led her grandmother across the room with the intention of putting her in bed.

“No, I want to sit by the window.” With surprising strength she shook loose of Zoe’s hold and walked unaided to the chair by the window. “Come sit near me,” Nana said, patting the window seat next to her. “Close the door first. Don’t want those nosy daughters of mine listening to what I need to tell you.”

Zoe crossed the room, which always smelled of baby powder, and closed the door. She came back and sat down on the window seat.

“Your birthday is soon.”

“Yes. Three months.”

“Seventy-eight days.”

Zoe lowered her head and laughed. Only her grandmother knew exactly how many days until her thirtieth birthday. “Okay, seventy-eight days.” She tucked her feet under her and let her gaze travel slowly over the history of her grandmother’s face—from the thick silvery hair that hung in two braids down her back, her high forehead, thin arching brows, her wide, almond-shaped, all-knowing eyes, to the aquiline nose, high cheekbones and full lips. Zora Beaumont was still a stunning woman.

“You don’t have much time. He’s already here.”

Zoe’s pulse began to race.

“Isn’t he?” Zora leaned forward.

“I…”

“You’ve seen him in your dreams.” She smiled and looked off toward the garden. “It’s how it begins you know. It happened with my mother and with me. It skipped right over my girls. But not you,” she said, her voice taking on an air of storytelling. “You are the one. The one, Zoe.”

Zoe leaned forward and clasped her grandmother’s hands. “The one to do what, Nana?”

“Fulfill the legacy, Zoe. Bring happiness back to the Beaumont women. He’s been searching for you, too.”

A shiver ran through her and the fine hairs on her arms tingled. “What do you mean he’s been searching for me?” Her breath quickened.

Zora smiled. “I want you to open your mind and listen to me.”

Zoe slowly nodded her head.



Zoe gently closed the bedroom door so as not to disturb her grandmother. She had been numbed by everything she’d heard. Although the story of the Beaumont women and the family legacy was something that had been talked about while she was growing up, she’d never really heard the story. She had listened to the tales of love between her great-great-grandparents who’d been torn apart and swore to find each other again. Zoe had always dismissed the stories as simply a romantic tragedy, one of many that happened during slavery. But she’d heard it this time, saw it in her mind, understood it and felt it in her heart in a way that changed her.

She felt light-headed and tired as if she’d been on a long journey. Maybe she had, she thought as she walked past her aunts in a daze. Her mother’s and Sharlene’s curious gazes followed her as she walked out the front door and sat on the porch steps.

She looked off, above the treetops that stood guard at the entrance to the house where her family lived.

The rational, analytic side of her, the part of her brain that dealt with facts and science, still struggled with the Beaumont part of her—the side that wanted to embrace the possibility of something spiritual. And maybe if she did, love would finally fill her life.

“Hey, you okay?”

Zoe glanced behind her. Sharlene stood in the doorway.

She gave a short mirthless laugh. “I don’t know. I guess so.”

Sharlene stepped out and sat beside Zoe. She put her arm around her friend’s shoulder. “Did you at least have a good talk with Nana?”

“Nana did all the talking and she told me to go home and get ready.” She twisted the end of her hair between her fingers. “This time I listened.” She sighed. “I want to believe that there is someone out there that’s just for me. But at the same time, I don’t want to be the one responsible for my family’s happiness. I don’t want to have their future in my hands. I’ve seen what relationships have done to my family. Every one of them has loved and lost, tragically. Knowing that and witnessing their pain, I don’t want it to be me.” She looked at Sharlene, hoping to find understanding in her eyes.

Sharlene rested her head against Zoe’s. “It won’t be you, girl,” she softly assured.

“Promise.”

Sharlene pursed her lips and wished that she could promise happiness for her friend.




Chapter 6


Jackson strode out of Dean McRae’s office more annoyed than when he’d walked in. The dean was a hundred years old if he was a day. He was hard of hearing and always wanted to talk about everything that was completely unrelated to the issue at hand. Jackson had spent the past half hour listening to Dean MacRae ramble on about growing up in Mississippi instead of what he’d come to discuss—getting a new teaching assistant.

“Hey, Jackson. What’s up, man?”

Jackson slowed as Levi caught up with him in the hallway. “Hey. Just left McRae’s office.”

“Don’t tell me. He told you the story of how he walked five miles to school each way, up a hill and barefoot,” Levi said, chuckling.

Jackson grumbled. “Might as well have for all the good the conversation did me.”

Levi clapped him on the shoulder. “Go talk to his assistant, Frank Miller. He’s really the man behind the dean with the real power. McRae is a relic steeped in the college’s past who they refuse to get rid of.” He paused a moment. “Victoria ever say why she had to leave?”

“No. Just that it was personal.”

“You did say she was making you a little nervous,” Levi said as they walked into the teacher’s lounge. “Probably the best thing that could’ve happened.”

“Yeah,” he muttered and poured a cup of coffee.

“You okay, man? You seem a little out of it.” Levi reached for the milk.

“Mmm. A little tired. Didn’t get much sleep last night.”

Levi muttered knowingly. “Oh, I see.”

Jackson gave him a look. “It’s not what you think.”

“You trying to tell me that you didn’t sleep last night and it wasn’t because a beautiful, sexy woman was keeping you up?”

“Right.” Jackson started pouring sugar in his coffee. It was only partially true, he thought as he took a sip. It was a woman that kept him up—the woman from the day of the fire. Since he’d seen her and lost sight of her, he’d been driving himself crazy imagining that he saw her on every corner and in the faces of every woman who crossed his path in Atlanta. It had been a week and she was nowhere to be found.

“Got any plans for the weekend?” Levi leaned against the counter and sipped his coffee.

“I’m taking two of my classes to the opening at the High Museum tonight. Remember?”

Levi snapped his fingers. “Yeah, right. I’ve been so bogged down with this dissertation that I totally forgot. Mind if I tag along?”

Jackson grinned. “Nah, Not at all. We plan to meet in front of the humanities building at six, and then head over.”

Levi nodded. “If I’m not out front, I’ll meet you there. Maybe I’ll get lucky and bring a date.” He took another sip of his coffee. “I heard it’s supposed to be a big opening, reporters, a fancy reception—the works.” He tossed back the last of his coffee.

“It’s kind of a big deal to finally get those statues here. I’m anxious to see them up close myself.” He put his empty cup in the sink.

“You believe in all that mumbo jumbo about the statues?”

Jackson’s brows flickered. “You mean all that fertility stuff?”

Levi nodded. “Yeah.”

Jackson shrugged. “Who knows? I guess people can be convinced of anything if you tell the same story often enough.” Like he was becoming convinced about his destiny, he thought. Not so much by the things he had been told, but by the visions, the dreams and the inexplicable reasons that brought him to Atlanta. “Anything is possible,” he murmured.



The museum was closed for the day in preparation for the exhibit opening and reception later that evening. The maintenance crew was in full force polishing and shining every surface in the massive building.

“Right, three cases,” Zoe replied, as she held the phone. She massaged her temples. Her head was pounding. She hadn’t slept a wink and exhaustion weighed heavily on her lids. “Yes, I need them here no later than noon. They should have been here yesterday. Thank you. Noon.” She hung up the phone and rested her head in her hands.

Dealing with the wine delivery was only the third thing on her list of more than a dozen things on her checklist to take care of in the next few hours. The caterer had delivered the wrong tables and set-up and had to return them to the catering hall and deliver the right set-up and food in only a few hours. Two of her staff had called in sick with the flu, and Mike and Linda had gotten into a shouting match in the inventory room. She’d had to send Linda out on a break and have a heart-to-heart with Mike.

She’d never felt so unnerved and rattled before. Everything seemed to be making her jumpy, taking on mammoth proportions. She’d hosted plenty of museum opening receptions before, so that wasn’t it. Drawing in a deep breath she could actually feel her insides flutter.

It had been like that for the entire week since she’d returned from New Orleans. She couldn’t shake off her thoughts about the things her grandmother had confided in her. If anything, her feelings about what she’d been told about her family and her own future had only intensified.

She could almost say his name now. It hung on the tip of her tongue, but was always just out of reach. His scent often teased her, surprising her with its suddenness, especially in strange places like when she opened her closet door or walked into an empty room, or leafed through the pages of a novel.

He’s already here. The prophecy echoed in her ear and Zoe could no longer deny it. One of the few things she was certain of, was that the man she saw on the day of the fire was her destiny—the key that would unlock the past and free the Beaumont family from generations of heartache. Why hadn’t she asked him his name? How would she ever find him again?

The short rap on her partially opened door pulled her back to reality. Mike stood in the doorway.

Zoe pushed out a breath. “Yes?”

“Mind if I come in?”

“Actually, I do, but come in anyway.”

At least he had the decency to look sheepish, she thought and wondered if she should have taken an Aleve for her headache before it got much worse. “What’s up?”

Mike pulled up a chair and sat down. There was no denying it, Mike Williams was a gorgeous man and she could see why Linda made herself so crazy. However, he wouldn’t give her the time of day.

“I wanted to apologize again about what happened this morning. I shouldn’t have let it get that far.”

Zoe leaned back a bit in her chair and looked him straight in the eye. “No, you shouldn’t have. We’ve been down this road before, Mike. I rely on you when I’m not here. And when I’m not, I can’t be concerned that World War Three is going to break out.” She shook her head in frustration. “You’re going to have to find a way to work it out, Mike. Both of you are important members of this team.”

“Believe me I’ve tried. Some days things are fine and then others…turn out like this morning.” He lowered his head momentarily. “I don’t get it.” He looked up at Zoe.

I do, she thought but refrained from saying. Linda was in love with him. You could see it in her eyes and the way her whole body lit up when he walked into a room. Sometimes she wondered what that was like, to feel that strongly about someone. But then again, look at what it got Linda—nothing but heartache and frustration. That’s not what she wanted in her life. Every example she’d had in life had proven over and over again that love hurt.

Mike stood up from his seat, snapping Zoe back to attention. “I’ll make it work. Maybe I should take her to lunch and have a talk.”

“Hmm, I don’t know if that would be a good move. You don’t want her to get the wrong idea. Maybe coffee in the employee lounge or something?”

“Yeah, that makes sense.” He shoved his hands into his pockets. “Ready for tonight?”

“Pretty much. If I can just get these vendors to make their deliveries, I’d be fine.”

“Let me know if you need anything.”

“I will. Oh, if you can call the security company and make sure that everything is taken care of, confirm how many people they are giving us, and if they can cover the front of the building as well. We’re expecting a big crowd this evening and I don’t want any mishaps.”

“No problem.”

“Thanks.”

Linda appeared at the door just as Mike turned to leave.

They muttered their apologies and made a mess of stepping around each other. Zoe tried not to laugh. Those two just needed to get together and call it a day.

“Yes, Linda.”

Linda Gilmore was what her aunties would call “bright-skinned.” Back in the day she could have probably passed. Her light brown eyes were sometimes green depending on the weather and her mood. Her sleek hair hung in light waves around her shoulders framing a nearly perfectly oval face. She was a Pilates devotee and it showed in her long, lean body. And she was smart. Linda was definitely the whole package. Too bad Mike didn’t see it.

“There’s a reporter here from one of the local papers. He wants to speak with you.”

“This early? The museum isn’t even open.”

“Guess he wanted to get a scoop. What do you want me to tell him?”

“I’ll come out and talk to him. Thanks.”

They exited Zoe’s office and walked down the corridor together.

“You feeling a little better?” Zoe asked.

Linda’s cheeks flushed. “I’m good.” She gave a tight-lipped smiled.

Zoe stopped and gently clasped Linda’s arm. “Listen, whatever it is that is going on or not going on between you and Mike has got to stop. It’s interfering with work, with scheduling, other staff members and I can’t have that. We’re all adults here and this can’t be the place for drama. I don’t want some other staffers to complain to human resources. Then we will really have a problem and it’ll be out of my hands.”

Linda started to protest. Zoe held up her hand.

“I’m not saying it’s all you. I’ve told Mike pretty much the same thing, too. Both of you are important members of this team. But I’m going to have to think of some other alternative if we can’t find a compromise.”

Linda’s lips pinched and her eyes filled with water. “You know what it’s like to love someone and they don’t even see you?” she blurted out then turned her head away. “I’m sorry.” Linda pulled away and walked off.

Zoe stood there for several moments. This whole love thing was totally overrated, she thought. Is this what was in store for her? If so, she didn’t want any parts of it—legacy or not. She turned down the corridor toward the entrance to meet the reporter.

Her heels clicked with precision against the marble floors. The young reporter was seated on a bench under a piece of art from Ghana, Zoe’s ancestor’s homeland. It was one of her favorites, with its vibrant colorful beading depicting a small village at night set against the backdrop of towering mountains and greenery. She extended her hand as she approached.

“I’m Zoe Beaumont. How can I help you?”

The young man stood. He couldn’t have been more than twenty-five, Zoe surmised. He shook her hand.

“Gabe Weston from The Eagle. Thank you for seeing me.”

“You do know that the exhibit doesn’t open until tonight.”

“Yes, but I was hoping to get a jump on the competition,” he said, flashing a killer smile.

Zoe’s right brow arched. She held back a grin. “Really? Well, other than the catalogues that everyone else is getting, I’m not sure what I can offer you.”

“I was hoping you would allow me to ask a few questions.”

“You want to interview me?”

“Yes. It will only take five minutes. I promise.”

Zoe looked around then focused back on him. “Sure. Five minutes.” She sat down on the bench and he pulled out a tape recorder and sat beside her.

“I have what I need about the statues. What I want to know from you is why was it important to bring them here?”

“As a curator you are always searching for pieces that will bring in visitors and provide them with the opportunity to experience treasures from around the world. I spend a great deal of my time looking for pieces of art and sculptures. Of course it brings a great deal of prestige and exposure to the museum to house one-of-a-kind pieces and artifacts.”

“And how do you make your decisions?”

She smiled. “My passion, and the budget.”

He laughed.

“Speaking of budgets, the arts are always hit hardest during any economic downturns. How has the economy affected the museum?”

Zoe blew out a breath. “It’s certainly been difficult. Part of what I do is write grants, try to get corporate sponsors and museum patrons to help, and tonight’s event is also a fundraiser. Those things help to offset some of the costs, but not all of them.”

“What do you want readers to know?”

She was thoughtful for a moment. “Museums are home to countless treasures. They are not only a source of entertainment and knowledge, but also enlightenment about culture and art. They tell so many stories that would be otherwise lost. They are places where the average person can travel to any corner of the world and learn its history.”

“How long did it take you to get the statues here?”

“It was a long process. Almost two years.”

“Do you believe the stories about the statues?”

“It’s not for me to believe or disbelieve, just to present and let the visitors decide for themselves. Everyone who comes here or to any museum takes away something.”

“Well, if there is a mini baby-boom in the next year, I guess Atlanta might have you to thank. If you believe in that kind of stuff.”

Zoe stood. “I really have to get back to work. I have a full day.”

He turned off the tape recorder and stood. “Thank you for your time, Ms. Beaumont.”

“Will you be here tonight?”

“Absolutely.”

“I’ll make sure you get some good photos.”

“Thanks. I’d really appreciate that.”

“Security will see you out.”

“Thanks again.”

Zoe nodded, turned away and headed back toward her office. About halfway there, she took a detour and took the elevator downstairs to where the statues were still under wraps.

Several members of the maintenance team were unloading crates when she came in. She walked through the cavernous space among the paintings and sculptures, boxes and crates until she reached the room where the statues were being held. She punched in the security code on the panel and the door buzzed open.

The instant she walked in the room, her skin began to tingle and the scent—his scent wrapped around her. She drew in a long, deep breath and her heart began to race. She gripped the head of the female statue to keep from falling and what seemed like a spark of electricity shot through her arm. She jerked her hand away and backed out of the room, practically running all the way to her office.




Chapter 7


After his last class, Jackson went home to shower and change, and grab a quick bite to eat. He’d been to his share of receptions, and food wasn’t high on the list of reasons to attend. He barely had two hours to get ready and back to campus. He pulled up in front of his building and noticed someone sitting on his front steps. Victoria. What the… Something told him to keep on driving, but time was not on his side. He had a bad feeling.

He pulled into his driveway, shut off the engine and willed himself to be calm. How did she even know where he lived? Reluctantly he got out and slowly approached. Victoria stood.





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