Till Death Do We Part

By Sue Thornton

Jayme Barrett doesn't believe in love at first sight, but Jonah Anderson challenges that belief. What they feel for each other is so strong, it couldn't possibly happen in an instant. As visions from a long ago murder plague Jayme, Jonah must help her fight a killer before they lose each other again.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Wings ePress, Inc.
• Release date: Jul 22, 2023
• ISBN: 9781590885239

Book preview

Till Death Do We Part

by

Sue Thornton

A Wings ePress, Inc.

Paranormal Romance Novel

Edited by: Leslie Hodges

Copy Edited by: Elizabeth Struble

Senior Editor: Elizabeth Struble

Executive Editor: Lorraine Stephens

Cover Artist: Christine Poe

All rights reserved

NAMES, CHARACTERS AND incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher.

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

Wings ePress Books

Copyright © 2005 by Sue Thornton

ISBN  1-59088-527-9

Published In the United States Of America

Wings ePress Inc.

3000 N. Rock Road

Newton, KS  67114

Dedication

TO FRANK AND NICOLE for listening to me whine and complain when I think I can’t keep writing. Thank you for your constant encouragement to keep putting the words on paper. To all of my readers, may you always find you, happiness and laughter.

One

Two days after she buried her mother, Jayme Barrett legally changed her last name, and packed as many of her belongings into her car as she could get. On her way out of town, she stopped by the building housing the law firm her great grandfather founded over one hundred years earlier.

The thick burgundy carpet loomed before her as she strode down the hallway toward the conference room where the senior attorneys waited for her. The ivory parchment envelope she carried in her hand was fiery hot and heavy in her grasp. She opened the double oak doors and stopped. With slow deliberation she gazed from one attorney to the next, until she made eye contact with each of the five men and two women.

She crossed to the table in ten long steps and slid the envelope across the heavy oak. My resignation is in the envelope, along with a proposal for you to buy the firm, if you want. If you choose not to buy, I’ll sell to the highest bidder. I’ll get back in touch with you in a couple of weeks for your decision.

When she reached the door, she turned back to see several of the attorneys with their mouths gaping open in shock. With a small smile of satisfaction, she closed the door behind her and left the building. As the last of the infamous Barrett line, she could do as she wished. And she wished to be free.

Without any set destination in mind, she whipped her vehicle out into traffic and drove toward the interstate. How far would she have to run before she found freedom?

AFTER TWO LONG WEEKS of stopping to explore cities, towns, and villages along the route, the car seemed to stop of its own accord on the main street of a sleepy, college town on a bright, sunny Sunday afternoon.

There seemed to be something wrong with each new place she’d eyed as a potential new home; too many cops, not enough cops, no place to shop, or the available housing not what she dreamed of owning. She had to face the facts—more often than not, the location lacked something and, for the life of her, she couldn’t figure out what more she thought she needed.

Where could she possibly hope to get any closer to freedom than she thought she’d found in this hot, humid town in Nebraska? With a deep breath, she inhaled the aromas drifting in the air. She couldn’t remember ever smelling such a sweet, clean freshness, or seeing a sky so blue. Not even a hint of smog touched the sky’s brilliant surface.

After living in the frantic, bustling metropolis of Baltimore all of her twenty-six years, Jayme imagined her journey had led her to a whole new world. She stepped from her vehicle and wandered along the sidewalk, pausing briefly outside a busy diner before continuing. Every now and then she would stop to stare into the darkened windows of the closed shops.

As she strolled along, she resurrected the list she’d stored in the back of her mind, and checked off another accomplishment. This quiet, little town was ideal. She could feel it inside. Whatever she hadn’t sensed in the other places was right here. Something floated on the air, whispering to her. And she still couldn’t identify what her senses were saying. A tiny smile tugged at her lips as she recalled the sputtering sounds made by the family attorney when she called and left explicit instructions for the sale of the family home and distribution of the furnishings.

Jayme only wanted to retain a few items. Items, which belonged to a grandmother she wished she could remember, and an aunt she’d only heard about in whispered stories. Her father’s walnut desk and matching bookcases, which held his coveted law books, were put into storage before she left the city. She wanted nothing connected to her mother.

She glanced into a window of a closed antique store then gazed around the town square with a brilliant white gazebo built in the middle. Divided by the sidewalks that met at the gazebo, the thick, lush lawn and several benches beckoned people to come sit and enjoy. The setting reminded her of a Norman Rockwell painting. A storybook picture of peace, quiet, and happiness.

Some distant memory tugged at her heart and whispered that this place would nourish and heal her severed roots. Somewhere far from the rigid high society she’d left behind her. Somewhere where no one would recognize the prominent face displayed on the society page, the daughter of the late Honorable Judge Winston Bartholomew Barrett, Supreme Court Judge, and the well-known socialite, Mrs. Eleanor Barrett. The daughter who went to an Ivy League school and graduated at the top of her class—because nothing less would be accepted. The daughter who became a topnotch corporate attorney in the family firm—because for her to do anything else would be mutinous. The daughter who was expected to marry the son of the head of a competing law firm—so the two companies could merge into a successful partnership. The daughter who, unfailingly, never met with her mother’s approval.

A child’s laugh drifted across the square toward her and she turned her attention to the small boy racing through the grass to climb the steps of the gazebo. A couple strolled hand in hand while keeping an eye on the boy. Back home in Baltimore, parents would never allow their children more than five feet away from them. Jayme snorted. Over three-fourths of the parents she knew would never take a leisurely walk in a park with their child. That’s why they hired nannies.

Excuse me, miss, can I help you find something? a man behind her asked.

Startled, Jayme jerked around to face a man walking the fine line between middle age and elderly. As she grew older the line seemed to become smaller. His full head of white hair glowed in the bright sunlight.

Her attorney’s instinct honed in on the man before her. She took an instant liking to him and smiled. No, thank you. I find your town fascinating. I thought I might visit for a while. It seems like a nice place to gather your thoughts and dreams close to you.

He bobbed his head and returned her smile. Well, we’d sure like to have you. I reckon you’ll be needing a place to stay for a spell, won’t you?

I saw a motel on the outskirts of town, she stated, and waved down the bricked road, hopefully in the right direction.

A feather light touch from his warm laugh tickled her spine. You won’t want to stay there. The place is mostly for truckers who are in and out at all hours. Filled with wisdom only the elderly possessed, he nodded. And a few of the unsavory type, if you know what I mean. You’ll want something a little more homey and appealing, don’t you think?

He turned away, but not before she spotted the twinkle in his eye. I’ve got just the place for you. Miss Brodie runs a clean little place. She’s got a couple of rooms she rents out to nice young folks who come to town. And she’ll make sure you get yourself plenty to eat, too. Why don’t you let me show you the way to her place, introduce you, then you can decide what you want to do.

That sounds very nice, Jayme stated and held out her hand. My name is Jayme... she paused, conscious of her new name. Jayme Bartlett.

Well, Jayme Bartlett, I’m pleased to make your acquaintance. I’m Lucas Anderson. If you’ve got a car close by, I’ll take you to Miss Brodie’s.

He followed her to the shiny car parked along the curb. While she drove, he directed her along the streets until they came to a brick house. The driveway ran the length of the house, sloped into a gentle hill, then led around to the back of the house.

Jayme’s smile turned into a grin. I believe you are my knight in shining armor, Mr. Anderson. I’m truly honored to make your acquaintance, she stated after he’d jumped from the parked car and hurried to open the door for her.

He squinted against the bright sun. And how did I manage that?

You saved me from a night filled with neon lights and noise. Her breath caught in her throat at the sight of the explosion of flowers along the fence and porch. She followed Lucas up the walkway toward the front door. A slight movement drew her attention to where a woman worked in one of the flowerbeds, at the base of the incline.

Is that Miss Brodie? she asked, and pointed in the direction of the back yard.

Nope, that’s Miss Brodie’s other tenant, Carlita. She’s from Cuba and turns seventy years old next month. Miss Brodie will be ninety-five come September, but you’d never know it.

Amazed, Jayme nodded and took in the condition of the home she placed as being built in the early 1900’s. In college, she’d loved taking architecture and design classes, and had earned a second bachelor’s degree in design. She glanced around the beautiful front yard before following Lucas toward the house.

Geraniums mingled next to roses, delphinium, larkspur, little white daisies, and huge painted daisies filled the immaculate beds along the sidewalk. Jayme itched to investigate the riotous color she could see at the driveway’s end.

A woman with dark brown hair highlighted with gray strands walked up the driveway to meet them. Hello, Lucas, you’ve brought us a visitor.

What a beautiful garden, Jayme spoke in earnest. She had loved to dabble in the gardens with the gardener when she returned home on school vacations, but had been careful not to let her mother catch her consorting with the help. She sighed. Or playing in the dirt. That is for common children. And the Barrett’s are not of common stock. You need to remember your place in life. Her mother’s bitter, angry voice echoed in Jayme’s head.

Carlita’s husky accented voice jerked Jayme back to the present. Oh, this isn’t mine. The garden belongs to God, the woman stated in a no-nonsense, matter-of-fact tone. He blessed me with this small piece of land to keep safe and allow to grow.

Unable to think of a suitable reply, Jayme pasted a smile on her face, and nodded. She glanced at Lucas when he touched her arm.

We need to get going, Carlita, Miss Brodie’s waiting for us.

It was nice meeting you, Jayme spoke.

I keep a couple of chairs over there. Carlita swung her hand to point back to the end of the driveway. If you ever want to come and sit, you’re more than welcome.

Thank you for sharing the garden with me.

Lucas tugged on her arm and led her to the house. You’ll like Miss Brodie. She’s full of wonderful stories from the past. If you want to know anything about the history of our town, she’s the one to ask.

The aroma of fresh baked bread reached Jayme’s nose before Miss Brodie opened the screen door. A smile lit the fine wrinkles of the woman’s face, and Jayme doubted Lucas’s statement. Miss Brodie couldn’t be as old as he claimed. Neither of the women appeared any where close to the ages he’d mentioned.

Lucas, you’re in time for a slice of bread and some homemade jam. Oh, how wonderful, you brought me a visitor, Miss Brodie chirped in a soft, melodic voice. I love company. The visits help keep me young.

Jayme decided in the short span of time she stood at the entrance that she definitely liked the perky woman. She gazed around the bright front hall and into the living room to scrutinize the knickknacks and furniture accumulated there. The majority of bric-a-brac had to have come from the early part of the century. The rooms enveloped her in a nice, homey comfort. Not unlike the Barrett’s housekeeper, Grandma Gubser’s, room back home. A place where Jayme found welcome solace.

Well, come on in. Miss Brodie gestured and turned down a narrow hallway that led past the staircase. The kitchen walls were painted a bright cheery yellow, while the windows along the back wall brought in plenty of sunlight and fresh air. Pots of green plants crowded the wide windowsills. A fat, gray cat rose from a chair cushion and stretched, its back muscles rippling like water on the lake.

Before we sit down and introduce ourselves, would you care for a cup of coffee or an iced drink? Miss Brodie paused.

Shocked by her own lack of manners, and Miss Brodie’s gentle rebuke, Jayme’s face grew hot. I apologize, Miss Brodie. I know your name from Mr. Anderson, but I’ve put myself to shame with my poor manners. I’m Jayme Bartlett. Mr. Anderson thought you might be able to rent me a room for a few days, until I can find someplace to call home.

Miss Brodie lifted a coffee cup toward Jayme, who smiled. Only a drop of cream, please, Jayme replied.

Lucas sliced into the loaf of bread Miss Brodie placed on the table, and retrieved the butter bowl and jam from the refrigerator. Looks like plum, he announced solemnly, and licked his lips in anticipation.

Miss Brodie grinned. Carlita took me out, and we picked wild plums on one of her days off late last summer. The crop couldn’t have been any better. I put up about eighteen pints of jam, and canned another twenty pints.

Jayme glanced down at the thick slice of bread Lucas placed on her plate. Where do you find plums?

Oh, along the country roads, if you know where to look. We went mushrooming a few weeks ago. I sliced and froze several bags. I sure do like mushrooms in my eggs. Once upon a time I could have chickens here in town, but everything grew up around me so fast, now I buy my eggs at the town grocery like everybody else.

I saw several farms on my way into town, Jayme stated, before she bit into the warm, tasty bread that melted in her mouth like the butter Lucas had slathered over the surface.

Nebraska is known for our beef production, Lucas said proudly, before his face turned sad. Too many farmers are going under. For over one hundred years their families worked their land. Now they can’t hold on any longer. With at least six auctions a month, families are being cleaned out, when they should still be working the soil. It’s not right, you know, seeing your friends packing up the little they have left, and moving away.

Jayme sipped at the hot coffee Miss Brodie placed in front of her. What about the jobs around here? Can people find work?

The city’s only about twenty minutes away. A large majority of our town folk drive in to work there, Miss Brodie said. Our college is private and the students are limited in numbers, but a few jobs can be found there. Money flows freely when school’s in session, but during the summer, business slows down. The big city folks come out here and shop the antique stores once the weather turns warm. The shops keep our little town surviving.

Do they stay overnight in Union City when they shop, or do they only come for a one day trip? Jayme asked.

Oh, there aren’t any hotels in our area, except the one, or two motels out on the highway, Lucas spoke around a bread chunk. The only decent place burned down last year.

Jayme ran her tongue across her lips and a tiny smile twitched at the corners of her mouth. An idea started formulating in her head as she took a small bite of the oatmeal bread. This is excellent, she admitted after licking at the sweet jam clinging to her lips. Miss Brodie, would you rent me a room for a short time until I can decide where I want to unpack my bags for good?

The old woman grinned and bobbed her head of white hair. I think you’re the change this old group of people needs. You might brighten the dullness in the town with your ideas. I think I can see one germinating now.

The couple relaxing at the table joined in Jayme’s laughter. And I think you might be able to teach me a thing or two, Miss Brodie.

You can call me Jessie, Jayme Bartlett. I think we’re going to be great friends.

Miss Brodie rose from her chair and tugged Jayme into a hug. You’re a good girl. I can feel it in my bones. I’ll be happy to have you stay with me and Carlita until you find yourself. She stepped back and peered at Jayme, her eyes magnified behind her thick lenses. You’re looking to buy a place?

You know, I do believe I am. Jayme straightened in her chair. I would love for Carlita to teach me everything she knows about gardening. As a kid I loved to tinker in the dirt, but unfortunately, I never learned much. At least not enough to help me do anything as beautiful as what she does.

Ah, Carlita’s thumb is a nice green one. She can work miracles with any living thing, no matter how close to death it is. Miss Brodie sank back onto her chair. Where are you from, Jayme?

A flicker of terror wavered on the breeze that the elderly woman would recognize her face, and know she lied about her name. Not one to tell a lie, Jayme didn’t want to get caught up in the game of remembering which one she’d told. She bit her bottom lip before deciding to tell the truth. Back east, Maryland and D.C. area, ma’am.

I never wanted to see the noise and business of such a place, but I know the history there needs to be studied. I would like to see Abraham Lincoln’s Memorial, but it’s too late for me now. Save that trip for someone else, I reckon, Miss Brodie stated as she stared into her empty cup.

THE LARGE ROOM MISS Brodie assigned Jayme overlooked the street. At the back of the house, Carlita and Miss Brodie’s rooms looked down on Carlita’s garden. Jayme paused to study the large cabbage roses decorating the wallpaper. Chintz curtains covered the windows, and a matching comforter lay neatly across the mattress of the cannonball bed. The large area rug in green and blues, along with the warmth of the polished wood furniture, and brass lamps pulled everything together and kept the room from being overpowered with the flowery blooms.

After placing her few boxes on the floor of the closet and putting away her clothes, Jayme located the phone in the hallway of the upper floor then searched the yellow pages of the phone book for a real estate company. She didn’t have too much trouble finding the only one in town. A smile touched her face. Living in a small town could be a plus, or a minus, when it came to the variety of available services. She wanted to settle down in Union City. She could feel it in her bones. Her brain screamed, This is the place. Finally, she’d found where she belonged—almost as if she’d lived here at some point. Impossible, she knew, but the strong sensation overwhelmed her. She’d never lived anywhere, except the big house in Maryland, the house that had belonged in the Barrett family for over two hundred years.

She dialed the number and waited for someone to answer the phone. Pleasure churned in her chest when a cheery voice responded.

Hello, my name is Jayme Bartlett. I’m looking to purchase a home in the area. She smiled. Yes, I can come right over. Where are you located? Her smile broadened when she discovered the office was three blocks away. I’ll be there in about ten minutes.

A bit of the pressure weighing on her shoulders lifted a little with the phone call. Once she moved into her own place, she would feel much better. She bounced down the stairs and stopped in the doorway of the sitting room where Miss Brodie settled after Lucas left.

I’m off to talk to your local real estate agent, she stated. Is there anything I can get for you while I’m out?

Miss Brodie chuckled. If you can find anything open other than the local grocers, you’ll be lucky. Thank you for offering, my dear. Be careful and try not to get lost. Dinner is at five.

The walk to the office took her along another route of the town she had yet to explore. Antique shops and malls started on the corner of the main street and lined both sides of the brick paved road. Offices were tucked above the shops or, like the real estate company, between two larger shops. A restaurant, filled with families out for their Sunday meal, occupied one of the corners of the town square. As she passed the restaurant, Jayme cast a glance in one of the windows. She started when she met the intense gaze of a dark, curly haired man. A faded blue bandana covered his shoulder length hair. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up and her skin tingled, as if newly awakened. Silently, she admonished herself for staring at him, and hurried on her way.

The wood and glass door opened easily at Jayme’s touch and she entered the high-ceilinged office. She instantly recognized the tin pressed ceiling tiles and her heart thumped in excitement. Every chance she could find, starting during her teenage years until she’d run from Baltimore, Jayme would wander through open houses, historic buildings open to the public and home tours, just to see what the market offered, or for glimpses of the past. She swallowed the lump in her throat and rued the day she’d informed her parents that she wanted to make a career in the historical renovation of old buildings.

A middle-aged woman hurried from behind the desk, with her hand extended in greeting.

Hello, I’m Angie. You must be Jayme Bartlett.

Jayme took Angie’s hand, and tried to shake off the memory that should have remained pleasant. Yes. I wasn’t sure you would be open today.

Usually I’m out showing a house, but I forgot some papers and had to come back to get them.

Instantly apologetic, Jayme stepped back. I’m sorry, I can make an appointment and come back later.

Angie laughed. I tell you what, why don’t you take my book of listings, and come back tomorrow morning at eleven o’clock. You can tell me then what you’re looking for, and I’ll try to find it for you.

She lifted a notebook from the desk and handed it over to Jayme. Will eleven work for you?

With a nod, Jayme clutched the three-ring binder to her chest. Thank you, Angie, I’ll see you then.

Angie walked out with Jayme, and locked the door behind them. I know we can find something that suits you.

The carefree attitude caught Jayme off guard as she strode happily back towards Miss Brodie’s house. She’d never experienced such a sense of freedom before. Glancing around, Jayme spotted a coffee shop nestled in between an Archery store and an architectural firm. Anxious to look over the available houses, Jayme stepped inside and ordered a hot, spicy soy tea, called ‘chai’ and a cinnamon scone.

The coffee house occupied what she assumed used to be an old warehouse. Water pipes criss-crossed the high ceilings, and light fixtures dangled from wires hanging from the rafters. The floorboards were slightly warped and the brick walls had lightened with age. She smiled at the rush of comfort she met when she stepped through the door. Here she could be herself, unpretentious, unimportant, and relaxed. Here she could pass as one of the other citizens in the small town and not the beloved daughter of a Supreme Court judge.

After claiming one of the small wooden tables next to the big picture window, she sat down and flipped open the cover of the large black notebook. With care, she turned each page of the descriptive photographs, watching for the number of bedrooms and the size of the kitchen.

Everything depended on the kitchen. She loved to cook and bake. Not that she’d ever told anyone but her closest friends back home. The man her mother had chosen for her to marry didn’t even know she was a gourmet cook. She enjoyed cooking for people, but she wanted it to be people of her choice.

A sigh escaped before she could prevent it. She closed her eyes and shoved her fingers through her shoulder length hair. How she hated her mother for pushing Nathaniel Lamont at her. Not to mention that Eleanor Barrett had expected Jayme to marry him. There could never be anything more than a platonic relationship between her and Nathaniel. Simply a marriage of convenience. And Eleanor Barrett would continue to control Jayme’s life. Just another way for Eleanor to climb one more rung on the social ladder. A ladder Jayme didn’t care two hoots about.

YOU DON’T NEED TO LOVE him, dear, just get a long with him. Eventually he will grow on you. You need a strong man in your life. You won’t be practicing law forever. You’ll stay at home with the children once they come. Nathaniel will be an asset to the firm, someone to take over once you get married. How her mother’s words echoed in her head.

We don’t live in the dark ages any more, Mother, Jayme had shouted before she slammed the