QUEST FOR DESTINY
                     By Cara Swann

Reader Response to: authoress1@juno.com
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Rating: General, Adult

Synopsis:
Set in the picturesque, historic Cades Cove region of the Smoky Mountains, this 50,000 word romantic suspense novel centers around the theme of reincarnated lovers from the Civil War Era. The male character has been regressed by hypnosis, knows the past tragic history, and he is seeking the woman who has been reborn in this lifetime as his soul mate. When he finds her, the two begin a beautiful romance only to learn they are being plunged back into almost the same dangerous fate that once took their lives prematurely in another time and place.
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                   PROLOGUE

Adrian Alexander had known from the first moment he met her at the Indian Summer Art and Craft Show in Ashville, North Carolina -- known with absolute certainty that could only come from the overwhelming soulful connection he felt when he'd looked deep into her soft, wide brown eyes, known she was the one he'd been waiting for, hoping for, dreaming of...


Since then, he'd been watching her from afar, not yet prepared to approach her because the timing had to be perfect. He knew with all the spiritual fire in his soul that the tall, sylphlike, copper-haired young woman named Sara Colton was his soul mate -- but did she know? Did she sense the riveting connection when their eyes locked that day in October? She'd paused when he'd asked the price of her exquisite pottery, stared at him a second too long, just enough pause for her bewilderment to show, then concealed it by a lovely smile, graciously answering his question.


He thought he'd seen a moment of recognition in her wide-eyed expression, but then maybe he was only imagining it? Adrian wondered how much she knew, how much she'd allowed herself to remember? Or had she suppressed it as he'd tried unsuccessfully to do? Did she have nightmares, waking visions...the uncomprehending fleeting images that left her weak and shaken?


Adrian swung around sharply, showering snow from his skis. He stood hidden in deep woods, the massive evergreens atop the misty snow-covered mountain providing cover as he lifted binoculars to his eyes. Down in Laurel Cove, he saw the two-story rough-hewn log farmhouse, drifts of deep-piled snow banked against stone chimneys and the wide porch; leafless maples and oaks cast thin-streaked shadows over the yard, cedars heavy with snowfall.


He saw the back door open, the familiar flash of long coppery hair and then Sara emerged, heading directly for her pottery studio, a large, aged-plank barn about a quarter mile from the house.  She tramped ruggedly through the snow, her boots leaving fresh footprints as she hurried to the studio.


Before going inside, she stopped and turned to look up toward Blue Mountain, where he stood. He focused the binoculars sharply on her face, unable to avoid a quick intake of breath at her remarkable beauty. Her pale creamy skin was sprinkled with freckles across the upturned nose and high cheekbones, huge, expressive brown eyes staring as though aware of something on the mountaintop, lips opening, lightly parted as though about to speak. Then she turned abruptly, the thick, copper hair swinging below her shoulders as she shoved through the doorway.


He felt like he'd been with her, standing next to her there by the barn, and had to wrench himself away from the sight of the closed door. And the piercing ache, it came like a plunge off a sheer drop when he went down a mountainside on skis; fear and excitement, wonder and discovery...mingled with that awful, fierce longing to possess her, to love her and perhaps fulfill their destiny in this lifetime.


Adrian put the binoculars away, stood there a moment longer watching the sun lower behind a mountain, wondering again how much she sensed of their shared past lifetime? Did she instinctively find herself compelled with soulful longing to find a man she was afraid didn't exist? But that if he did, she'd know it when they met?


Somehow, some way he had to reach her, show her that theirs could be a love meant to be; that their mutual past tragic lives together might indeed grant them a future, another chance for happiness in this lifetime. He recited to himself a quote by H. Fielding Hall:

"Love does not die with the body...it lives forever and ever, through incarnation after incarnation... Love is stronger than death.  Not any dogmas of religion, not any philosophy, nothing in this world, nothing in the next, shall prevent him who loves from the certainty of rejoining some time the soul he loves."

Adrian zigzagged back along the mountaintop, skis hissing as he swung in and out between the spiraling trees; it was exhilarating to feel the sting of frigid air on his face. He braced into the driving wind as he crested the peak and bent low, soaring off the mountain, skis singing on snow. One way or another, he hoped he could help Sara Colton remember what he did -- that they had lived and loved before in another lifetime.

                           * * * * * *


Joe Compton parked near the motel, left the van idling, smoking and waiting, disgusted with the foul weather. California was sunny and warm year round, what he was used to, but winter in Gatlinburg, Tennessee made him wish to hell he'd never had this bright idea to begin with.

He saw his wife Donna look out the motel door at the end of the building, her tweezed eyebrows lifting archly; he shook his head and she disappeared. Damn woman had to learn some patience!

Lowering the window, he tossed his cigarette butt out the van window and saw Adrian round the corner, come walking along the sidewalk, pause to lean his skis against the wall as he dug keys out of his pockets, then unlock the door and go inside the room.

Joe snickered wickedly, thought again how clever his plan was, and then backed out of the lot, drove on down to their unit, parked the van. He got out, met Donna at the door and slipped into the stuffy motel room, taking off his coat and asking, "Didn't I tell you to stay put?"

"Yeah, you did...but ain't like I got nothing else to do."

"Christ, will you get off my back? This kinda thing takes time, months, I done told you." 

He pushed a pile of clothing off the bed, tumbled down and stretched out, folding his hands behind his head, staring at the ceiling. "Donna, you gotta remember you're not that hick from Texas anymore, you're my wife, babe. We been all over L.A. and Hollywood, couldn't make it as actors so now we gonna do one big score here that'll last us a lifetime."

She edged onto the bed, asked, "Adrian Alexander, huh? He's here just like you found out?"

"Yeah babe. And I been trailing him around, he's working as a ski instructor at this resort here, real weird dude. Think he's about to scope out a gal, red-headed looker. Anyways, it won't ruin our score."  He watched her pop chewing gum.

Donna grinned at him, and he said, "Christ, I wish to hell you'd get that stringy brown hair cut, lose that extra weight."

"I will soon. That bank robbery you pulled, it really gave us the money to hole up here for this job, didn't it?"

Joe looked at the suitcase of money near the TV. "Yeah, and it's gotta last for a few months."

"You sure know how to plan ahead," Donna said, as he pulled her alongside him and they began discussing the details.


                   END PROLOGUE



                    CHAPTER ONE


Sara looked fondly at the clutter in her rustic potter's studio. It was warm inside from the wood-burning heater, and even though the snow was melting rapidly outdoors, she always felt cozily isolated in her workshop whatever the weather.

She stamped the snow and mud off her boots, took off her parka and hung it on the wall hook, knotted her loose hair into a tight bun. The woodsmoke mingled with the earthen clay scent and she loved the particularly rich smell; it reminded her of being close to the earth, part of it, at one with earth, fire and water, all the elemental basics in the craft of pottery.

Surveying the large, open interior of the converted barn, Sara again felt content at the arrangement without any waste of space. Just past the doorway, she looked to her left at the warm-glowing heater; a bit of space, then the open racks of wood shelves for air-drying her pots before firing; a long counter above which hung cutting wires, a needle for testing clay thickness, fettling knives, a wire loop for trim work, brushes for glazing. The counter had small elephant ear sponges, wooden modeling tools, plaster bats, various instruments used in pottery, and a small banding wheel turntable.

She walked toward the far end, looking with pride at the wood-firing pottery kiln, which she'd had built to her specifications so that she could conjure up her visions of art as oil or electric oven-firing would never allow. It was on a concrete foundation five inches thick, occupied the entire back area, chimney going out the roof, complete with cast brick wicket door with spy holes, arched crown, firebox and fluebox with damper -- giving her a measure of control over the firing process. A stack of larch wood was nearby, which had been aged a year to get the moisture out of it, soaked in paraffin  before use in the firebox for a slower burn to warm up the kiln.

Continuing along the opposite wall, Sara got clay out of the damp box, took off the plastic, inspected it to make sure it had been wedged, no air bubbles to trip her fingers on and throw it off center, and formed it into a rounded ball at the workbench. Then she got water from the sink in a small pail, several tools, a plaster bat and moistened it, put a little slip on the wheel-head of the pottery wheel, sat down in position. She made sure the plaster bat was anchored securely with several wads of clay, then threw down the rounded ball of grapefruit-sized clay as close to center as possible, began kicking the wheel very fast, bracing her elbows on the bars and occasionally moistening her hands in the water, pushing the clay toward the center of the wheel with both hands, making it rise up gradually in a cone shape.

As always, the feel of clay beneath her hands was primitive, satisfying; she knew instinctively how to work it expertly, creatively. Sara cupped her left hand around the cone and pressed down with the flat of her right hand, forcing the clay down again and beginning to flatten the cone, repeating the motion over and over, coning up and pushing down until the clay stopped wobbling, hitting her hands evenly. She marveled at the smooth and symmetrical shape of clay now, intuitively knowing how to achieve this process quickly while others had to practice endlessly to perfect it.

She contained the revolving clay by cupping fingers of both hands around it, continuously kicking the wheel, reducing the speed somewhat, lubricating with water when necessary. Pushing her thumbs into the clay, she pressed downward to form a well, widening it by pressing thumbs into it again, pulling the clay toward the edges of the hole.

Sighing contentedly, Sara supported the clay with one hand, put the fingers of her other hand into the opening and pulled the clay out to widen the base, spreading the clay to the edges of the pot until the base reached desired width. She sponged the excess water that was collecting on the bottom, then checked the thickness of the bottom by holding the needle perpendicular to the bottom and sticking it in until she hit the bat.

"Perfect!" she said aloud.

Pulling the clay up so that it began to rise in a cylinder, Sara placed one hand inside the form, fingers touching the inside wall of the pot, her other fingers opposite the inside hand on the outside of the pot, lowering to the base, exerting even pressure with both hands until a slight ridge developed, pulling the clay upward evenly, letting the ridge rise above her fingers as she pulled. She was especially careful during this phase, making sure the pull was in one continuous motion, lifting clay from bottom to top of the cylinder to keep even wall thickness. She repeated this deliberate, concentrated work, depending on her instinct to mold the pot into a desired height and thinness, making sure the top didn't flare out. Then, studying it, she felt it was just as she'd planned, began smoothing the top of the cylinder with a damp elephant ear sponge.

And lastly, she trimmed the excess clay from the outside of the base with a wooden tool, removed excess clay from the bat to hasten drying, and to make it easier to remove the pot. She gently took the bat off the wheel-head by loosening it with a fettling knife, careful not to damage the bat.

She studied the results, let it dry to the leather-hard stage, did some minor trimming and finished the remainder of the process, took the cylinder from the bat, sponged the rim and set it on the wood rack to dry for a week or so before firing. 

As she tidied up the studio, putting away instruments, Sara was glad she'd finished the pot; it would be left to dry along with the other pieces until she returned from a two-week Christmas trip to visit her parents in Newton, Virginia. She planned to fire and glaze the pieces in January, as well as add more to the collection before April, when she opened her log farmhouse, Spring Moon Bed & Breakfast, to the public again. Tourist flocked to the Smoky Mountains in early spring, and since her property in Laurel Cove bordered the misty Appalachian Mountains of Tennessee, it was an ideal location.

Sara washed her hands, thinking again of how her mother, father and younger sister, Leala now sixteen, had thought her decision to relocate near the Smokies a mistake. They had never understood her abandoning a lucrative career as a CPA in Washington D.C., leaving the ideal home they provided just an hour outside that city --  a restored 1790s Federal period mansion which they had turned into a profitable country inn. It had been difficult to leave her childhood home, the place she'd been loved and cherished for twenty-six years, the memories all wonderful except for...

She shook her head, refused to relive the confusion of some of her unusual behavior when younger, and went to make sure the fire was banked, would die in the wood heater. Then, pulling on the parka, she flicked off the lights and stepped out into the deepening twilight.

If she lived here the rest of her life, and she intended to, Sara thought she'd never take for granted the awesome beauty of winter snow-crested mountainpeaks, the smoky-blue haze of tremendous summer evergreens -- the year-round pristine features of the natural landscape.

She stood in front of the studio, eyes lifting to the sharp snow-hazed peak of Blue Mountain shadowing her property to the east. To the west, another series of jagged mountains tapered off into the far distance. Spectacular didn't even come near the right adjective.

Staring reverently at the log farmhouse, her footprints melted now, patches of the grayish ground showing here and there, Sara thought again of how right it felt to be here for the past two years. From the moment she'd visited Cades Cove (which was only ten miles away when the road through the mountain pass wasn't closed in winter) she'd known that she was close to home here in Laurel Cove, exactly where she belonged.

Maybe no one else agreed with her, certainly not her family who felt she'd forsaken her Virginia roots. But the instant she saw Cades Cove, Sara had been compelled to come back, again and again, until at last she couldn't leave. The other peculiar feelings associated with Cades Cove, she avoided remembering... hurrying through the frigid evening to the house.

Entering the back door, she called, "Marge, I'm back!"

A middle-aged, robust lady said, "I have dinner ready, a big fire going, you ready to eat?" She wore a neat blue-denim dress, scarf at the neck, her gray-streaked hair stylishly short, complimenting her blue eyes and friendly smile.

Sara said, "Yes, I'm starved."  And she was grateful that Marge was such an excellent cook, hostess and all-around capable lady. A widow who lived at Spring Moon from early spring until the Christmas season, when she returned with Sara to Virginia and spent the winter months with her only daughter, Marge was indispensable help with the guests. She kept things running smoothly, while adding the special touches that visitors often wrote Sara they loved at Spring Moon Bed & Breakfast. Marge's expertise was the result of many years working with Sara's mother in the family business, Colton Inn.

Sara pulled off her parka, hung it on the coat rack, undone her hair, and washed up, then joined Marge in the dining room, a fire blazing before them in the fieldstone fireplace. She never tired of the charming decor Marge had helped her design; it was pure country elegance. The log walls, the polished pine floors and open-beamed ceilings... every room graced with deceptively simple, casual ornaments that were authentic American pioneer antiques. The two-story house had four large rooms downstairs, an alcove office in the entry hallway, and a modern kitchen with a small bedroom/bath for Marge; upstairs, there were four bedrooms, each with a bathroom, three available rooms for guests.

As they ate the tasty stew Marge had cooked, chatting idly about the upcoming holidays, Sara realized she would miss the older woman's companionship during January, February and March; but Marge deserved the time with her family. And besides, Sara knew she needed the seclusion to work on pottery.

Agreeing that the weather would be suitable for traveling tomorrow, Sara went up to her bedroom to pack while Marge did likewise in her downstairs bedroom. 

Stepping into her bedroom, Sara smiled at how it contrasted with the rest of the rustic house; her room was romantic, warmly inviting, distinctly feminine. Vintage rose wallpaper complimented a brass bed with matching rose coverlet, bed ruffle and lacy pillowshams, a flowery carpet rug on the floor.

Dried rose flower arrangements were placed on the bedside Queen Anne tea table, a Sheraton dresser with mirror and a small white sugar chest; a cheval mirror was in one corner, near a large walk-in closet where she grabbed a suitcase and began selecting clothing to pack. The thought of being gone for even two weeks, naturally an enjoyable reunion with her family, still filled her with bleak emptiness. Sara chided herself harshly, feeling foolish for the inexplicable loneliness already clutching at her heart.

If she ever dwelled on it very long, Sara became frustrated, so she fought the obsession she felt for the area, tried to put it in perspective. However, she knew that her talent for pottery was in some way born of this same obsession, a driving desire that obliterated sensible rationalizing. Her instinctive talent for pottery making, her compulsion to live near Cades Cove...these were unreasonable and inexplicable, yet as necessary as breathing.

For a brief moment, Sara had a vivid flashback of the time she'd first seen the cabin in Cades cove, the overwhelming images that flooded her mind, sent her running away...her heart aching with lostness and longing.

She quickly pushed it aside, went down to join Marge for hot chocolate and conversation by the fireside. But when she went to bed, Sara couldn't  fall asleep, tossing restlessly until after midnight.

At length she dozed, then went deeper and deeper asleep...the nightmare creeping into her slumber, slipping ominously into her peaceful rest, flaring images of being in a dark place, her heart beating wildly, her feeling of sadness, her name echoing: Rebekah, Rebekah, Rebekah...footsteps coming, the fear growing... loud, shouting male voices, a gunshot, the piercing burn in her back...  Then, floating, floating in a bright swirl of light...

Awakening with a start, she sat upright, heart pounding, eyes wide, relieved by the ever-present nightlight glow. Why, why did she have these vivid recurring nightmares? Since age twelve, when they began, she'd been plagued by these shattering images, an irrational fear of the dark...and only when she'd visited Cades Cove did she come to realize that in some unfathomable way, the nightmares and Cades Cove were connected. But how? She didn't want to acknowledge it, but perhaps she was experiencing extrasensory phenomena... receiving the psychic images of a long-ago murder, of the girl Rebekah's death...?

Shuddering, Sara ran a hand through her tangled hair, deliberately forcing the harrowing nightmare out of her thoughts, resigned to live with the plaguing dreams, unable to understand or comprehend what seemed infinitely unknowable.

Pulling the quilt up, she snuggled down and tried to get some sleep for the trip tomorrow, knowing it would be exhausting and just the beginning of a long holiday until she could return to her beloved mountains.



                  END CHAPTER




                    CHAPTER TWO


Adrian spent Christmas alone, the day dragging by, even though he'd loved the festivities leading up to the day in Gatlinburg. The city buzzed with excitement, he'd learned, being told the special events following Thanksgiving were called Twelve Days of Christmas, featuring Yule-log-burnings, a parade, choral festivals and a 26 foot tall Living Christmas Tree and succession of creatively decorated trees.

But he'd been alone on Christmas, disappointed to have discovered that Sara Colton had deserted the farmhouse. He figured she went to visit family; he'd thought of doing the same thing, but it would have involved a long flight to L.A. Instead, he volunteered to work at the ski lodge during the season, and stayed busy with tourist through New Year's. 

Yet he never failed to think of Sara; he went skiing past her land almost every day, and was standing on Blue Mountain when she returned Sunday afternoon, two days after New Year's. He watched her lug the suitcase from the garage to the house, her white coat with the fur collar turned up to almost obscure her face. 

The sight of her elated him, and he focused the binoculars on her going up the steps, across the wide plank porch and then standing there, searching for her keys. He could see her gloved hands awkwardly plunge into her purse, her face anxious as she rummaged, then jerked the keys out and unlocked the door.

When she'd disappeared inside, Adrian focused on the brown Volvo by her garage; it was smudged with mud and grim from travel. He wondered where her parents lived? Obviously some distance, otherwise she'd not have been gone for two entire weeks. And what had prompted her to live here in Laurel Cove? Did she know more than he had anticipated?

As he traversed the mountainside on skis, Adrian hoped the meeting he wanted could be arranged soon...

               * * * * 

Several days later, Sara was engrossed in her pottery studio when she heard the weather forecaster on the radio give warnings for snow. The front was approaching fast from the west, and there were predictions for a foot of snowfall in the low-lying valleys, more in the mountains by Friday morning.

She hastened to complete her day's work, then did some outside chores in preparation for the frigid conditions, piling bulky hay around the porches for extra insulation against the wind, getting a shovel out of the garage. She pulled the Volvo inside the garage, and checked theMazda 4X4 making sure it was ready to be driven if necessary.

Surveying the wood pile, Sara was glad she'd had a load delivered in case the electricity went off. She took an armload inside, closing the back door behind her, heading down the hallway that bisected the four downstairs rooms.

Entering the parlor, she put the wood down on the brick hearth, stacking several pieces in the iron grate. She struck a match to the kindling, got the fire started and then went to the kitchen pantry and located the kerosene lanterns, checking to make sure each one was operational in case of power failure.

After a bowl of hot soup, she snuggled down on the overstuffed parlor sofa with an afghan Marge had given her for Christmas, and let the warm memories of her holiday visit flood her. It had been a wonderful, happy gathering; her mother was in fine form, had several anniversary and honey moon couples at the inn for Christmas dinner which featured the chef's exquisite culinary talents. Her father was well, seemingly content with his retirement from the Washington D.C. law firm where he'd spent his entire legal career. He did express an interest in her invitation for him and Leala to visit during spring break...maybe they'd both come for a week then.

Leala had spent the past two spring breaks with her. And her mother might get away from the inn sometimes next autumn, a good time for enjoying the colorful leaves and craft festivals where Sara often exhibited and sold pottery. 

Sara put on a Fleetwood Mac CD, got a paperback mystery she'd started, and curled up on the sofa. The fire blazed; the wind picked up outside, howling around the eaves of the house, and she felt utterly content. As the hours passed, she read and occasionally peeked out to see the snow swirling madly in the hard wind, beginning to thicken and pile up in drifts across the front yard. The book was good, and she lost track of time, finally falling asleep on the sofa.

A loud banging on the door awakened her, and she was startled, disorientated...then realized she'd fallen asleep on the sofa, and jumped up, feeling a pain strike in her stiff neck.

The banging started again insistently, this time a male voice calling, "Is anyone here?"

Sara was instantly on-guard. What was a man doing at her door in the middle of the night? The sign by the driveway announced the Bed & Breakfast was closed and as she glanced at the clock, she saw it was indeed near midnight.


"I need some help, my car went off in the ditch!" he yelled, pounding again at the door.


Sara tried to smooth out her wrinkled fleece sweatshirt, running a hand distractedly through her loose hair, heading into the hallway and going directly to the front door. "Yes, just a minute, please."


"I just need to use a phone."


She hesitated another moment, suddenly aware she'd forgotten to put her shoes back on and was standing in her socks. The wood floor was like ice beneath her feet, and she fidgeted back and forth on each foot, flipping on the porch light. She peeked out the narrow, oblong window, saw a male bundled up from head to foot in thick coat, toboggan, ear muffs, gloves...a puff of white breath steaming from his shadowed face.


Unlocking the door, she kept the safety chain on, asking through the tiny crack, "What happened?"


"I ran off the road out there, my Austin Healey is deep in the ditch, a real mess."

Shuffling movements, then: "I should have had better sense than to go out in such a small vehicle, but...I didn't know the road would get so bad."


"And you just need to call a wrecker? You aren't hurt?" Sara could see the small car angled dangerously in the ditch across the road. 


"No, I'm fine. I had on my seat belt, only got a few cuts."


Sara jerked open the door, exclaiming, "You're hurt!"


He looked up then, and their eyes met; Sara smothered a gasp, felt herself sinking, sinking... a swirling sensation in her mind, unable to think clearly as he stared intently from light blue eyes, almost a sky-blue in their searching gaze that held her spellbound.


Where had she met him before? Because as sure as she was standing here looking at this man, she'd been with him before...and it felt as though she knew him intimately, not just casually. That just couldn't be, she told herself, since she'd only been intimate with one other man...and it sure wasn't this handsome stranger.


Adrian held her eyes with his; it was there, he knew it would be! Somewhere deep in her subconscious, buried maybe, but even so, she recognized him...it was there as vividly in her luminous brown eyes as if she'd spoken it aloud.

He smiled, flashing his white teeth, saying, "I'm sorry, I know it's late, but if I could just use a phone?" 

Sara mumbled, "Forgive me, yes, but...are you hurt?" She stepped aside, opening the door wider.


He carefully stamped snow off his boots, dusted off his clothing, then edged inside. "No, just this nick here on my face, and I'll probably be stiff and sore tomorrow."


She saw the thin scratch on his cheekbone, and couldn't help staring at his strong, ruggedly handsome features, a cleft chin and square jawline, but his empyrean blue eyes had a dreamy, far-off quality to them, oddly incongruous with his muscular, lumberjack build and formidable masculine presence filling the narrow hallway.


"I'm glad you are okay, there's a phone in the kitchen."


He removed his toboggan, raking a gloved hand through dark blond hair that had sunstreaks through the tousled, thick strands covering his head, falling just below his ears, the most magnificent mane she'd ever seen on a man. "If you'll just follow me," she said.


Adrian followed her down the hallway, getting a glimpse of the informal parlor with fire smoldering in the grates; he noted the primitive decor, not fooled by the simplicity of authentic pioneer antiques. The room across from the parlor had shelving from floor to ceiling, two walls holding what was obviously her pottery; and two walls holding books. Small Americana touches like early lighting devices, heart utensils, baskets and dried flower arrangements made it an attractive and interesting room.


As they entered the kitchen, he said, "I sure hope I can find a wrecker to come get my car."


"In this weather, it might be difficult to get one out here quickly."


She stood by a small pine trestle table with slat-back chairs, arms folded across her chest, her long red hair falling in disarray to her shoulders, and Adrian thought he'd never seen a more beautiful woman in his life. For all he'd known, his soul mate could have been reborn as less physically appealing...but that her spirit was clothed in astounding physical beauty, was indeed fortunate.


Clearing his throat, he removed his gloves, asking, "Do you have a phone book?"


Sara got it, and as she watched him search for a wrecker to call, she wondered why he looked at her oddly, as though he could see past her outer physical appearance deep into her soul? She was compelled to stay nearby, look at him, feeling, wanting to touch him...halting her thoughts with sharp surprise. What was wrong with her? He was a complete stranger! The shock of that errant thought brought a flush to her face, and she glanced at the rack of knives over the stoves.


He saw her fear, and said quietly, "By the way, my name is Adrian Alexander; I'm really sorry to barge in on you like this, and I appreciate you letting me use your phone. In this day and age, you never can tell who to let inside your home. I'm working at Ober Gatlinburg as a ski instructor and I have some identification here."  He took out his wallet, riffled through it to find what he wanted.


Sara thought his name sounded familiar, but she couldn't remember when or where she'd heard it before. "Your credit card is about to expire," she told him, giving it a quick look.


He picked up the phone, began dialing and smiled at her. "Yeah, is this...  Right, right... I had an accident, my car's in a ditch...  What?"


She watched him grimace, then add, "I see, all the wreckers around here are busy. When can you get someone out to Laurel Cove?"


Sara shifted from one foot to the other, her feet freezing in the socks.

"You're sure, not till tomorrow? Yeah, well, buddy I sure wasn't planning on this either. No, no...that'll do. let me give you the directions." And he launched into the location and situation of his car.

Sara motioned toward the hall, and went to get her Reeboks, pulled them on and as she walked back into the kitchen, Adrian was looking out the dark, snow-flecked window. "I tried to get a cab, couldn't..."


"I have a Mazda 4X4 out in the garage. I could drive you back to where you are staying."


"I don't think that's a good idea. You should see the roads, none cleared, the snow is ice-glazed...we might just end up in another accident, only worse."


Sara didn't particularly want him to stay, but what alternative was there? "I do have guest accommodations here, since this is a Bed & Breakfast."


"Yeah, that'd be great. I could stay here overnight, get my car out tomorrow... Oh, I'll pay the going rate, just put it on my credit card."  He turned from the window, smiling. "I confess I saw the sign out front, but thought you might let me have a room anyway."


"I close the business during winter months, but this is kind of an emergency." She returned his smile, forcing her eyes not to lock into his.


Adrian asked, "And your name?"


"Oh, sorry. Sara Colton."


"No husband?"


For an instant, she almost lied; what if he was dangerous? But then she looked into his blue eyes and shook her head. "No, I'm not married."


"Look, I know this is disturbing, me appearing in the night, but I assure you that I'm not a threat. Okay?" Adrian knew this was the first difficulty he had to deal with -- put her at ease, get her to trust him, not fear him. Because he had to be near her, had to be with her alone long enough to learn if she had any memory of their past lives...or if it was entirely a blank to her.


Sara said slowly, "I have guests most of the year, but there is a lady who is here with me, and there are reservations in advance. Yes, this is an odd situation, but I am aware you have had an accident, and need lodging."


Adrian trailed her down the hallway into the parlor. "Thanks, I'm grateful for your hospitality."


"I have three rooms upstairs, and you can have one of those."


He went to the fire, leaned down to warm his hands, then straightened and slipped out of his coat, looked at her sitting nervously on the edge of the sofa. God, he didn't want to scare her...that was the last thing he'd ever want to do! No, he just had to be with her, close to her and observe her long enough to see if there was even the faintest glimmer of recognition, understanding, intuition...of what he already knew about their shared past lives. If not, he'd promised himself he'd never, never harm her...not intrude on her life here and now, even if it meant he couldn't be with her in this lifetime. But he had to know...


She couldn't understand his scrutiny, the way his dreamy blue eyes gazed almost longingly at her, the gentle expression stealing across his wide, rugged face. Sara stood, said, "I'll show you to your room now."


"Okay. I never should have tried to drive tonight."


"You're lucky you didn't get killed," Sara said, heading down the hall, climbing the stairs and stopping outside a bedroom door that was on the opposite end of the hall from her room.


"I know, but I... Oh, never mind. Again, thanks for the room."


She gave him the key, and just as he took it their hands touched briefly; Sara felt a sharp surge of awareness, as though her body had suddenly been exposed to an electric shock, and thought she might be trembling from his nearness.


He politely stepped back, said warmly, "Good night Sara, nice meeting you."


"Yes...you too."

She walked unsteadily down the hallway to her room, stunned at the searing physical attraction she felt for Adrian Alexander.


Where had she heard that name before?


              END CHAPTER

                                           

               CHAPTER THREE

Sara went downstairs, adjusted the heat thermostat, made sure the fire was banked, turned out the lights and then hurried back up to her room, grateful for the sanctuary of privacy. Adrian's appearance out of the night had alarmed her, and she felt her hands shaking as she undressed and got into a flannel nightgown.


Turning down the covers, she again was struck by the feeling she'd met him before. And his name, Adrian Alexander, it was somehow vaguely familiar, as though she'd heard it repeatedly...but where, she couldn't recall.


After brushing her teeth, she started to bed, but detoured by the door and locked it. The strangeness of his dreamy gaze hadn't escaped her notice, even though perversely she felt he could be trusted. However, she was nothing if not cautious, and the turn of the lock made her relax a little.


She lay there thinking for what seemed a long time, the icy ping of sleet and snow hitting her windows.

                    * * * * * * *


Adrian looked around the spacious room, noting the genuine care given to small details...stenciled windowshades in a design matched in the muslin curtains, patch-work quilt on the bed and several handmade throw pillows. Country pine furniture, the poster bed with a handmade netted canopy, braided rug on the polished pine floor, tiny wooden chest, huge wardrobe with decorative feathered paint all combined to lend country charm to the room. And he thought the dried flower arrangements a nice touch, as well as the sparkling clean bath and scented soaps, an extra big closet and magazines/books by the bed with reading light.


When he turned down the quilt, a small piece of wrapped candy was near the pillow, a notecard with the words: Enjoy your stay! Adrian smiled, unwrapped the candy and popped it into his mouth, beginning to remove his heavy crew neck sweater, shirt and jeans, wondering about the weather.


He looked around the room, saw the radio on a desk with writing paper and pen laid out. Flicking on the radio, he lowered it and listened to the music die, an update come on requesting those not having to travel stay home. The report then included weather bulletins of a possible one-foot snowfall, the worst aspect being a sheet of ice now dangerously covering the surface, making it exceedingly treacherous to travel.


When he got into bed, Adrian felt that fate was his accomplice; the snowy weather couldn't have come at a better time. He had some time off from the lodge after his stint during the holidays, and could devote time to learning about Sara.


As he felt the exhaustion from his ordeal of ditching the Austin Healey overtaking him, Adrian had a pang of guilt; he didn't want to deceive Sara, no...he simply wanted to create a situation in which he might be able to spend time alone with her, learn if she had bad dreams, any kind of problems like he'd once experienced. Besides, he reasoned, she never had to know that he'd deliberately staged the accident...


He felt himself falling asleep, the wind at the windows the only sound in the snow-hushed landscape beyond the house.

                     * * * * * * *


A piercing scream brought Adrian wide awake! He leapt out of bed, dancing around barefoot on the cold rug, grabbing his boots and jeans, automatically pulling them on, just as the scream shattered the quiet again.


He tried the lamp; it didn't come on, which probably meant the sleet had downed treelimbs on the electric lines. Standing still, he got his bearings, eased to the window and let the shade up, a bluish-white glow from the snow outside filtering in through the naked windowpanes.


Able to see better, he crossed the room, opened his door and heard the scream again, heard it die out, then revive and finally end with an agonized sob.


He realized the unnerving screams had come from down the hall, and as he struggled into his sweater, he went quickly along the narrow hallway, groping his way in the dark. He stopped when he could hear soft sobbing, standing at a closed door, listening.


Leaning against the solid wooden door, he heard soft crying and sobbing, the unmistakable words from his past life: "Clifton, no...oh, Clifton, nooo...please, please take me with you. I love you, we can't stay here, those Rebs, they'll try to kill you."


God, he felt his heart turn over in his chest, his lips form the cherished name: "Rebekah."


Suddenly the blood-curdling scream came again, and then a sharp gasp of shock, followed by utter silence. Then muffled movement, feet hitting the floor and Sara's soft voice, "Darn, the lights are out!"


Adrian spun around, started away but he was too late; she came rushing out, ran directly into him and screamed loudly, pressing back against the hallway, holding a flashlight beam in his face, asking angrily, "What are you doing here?"


He felt himself blinking in the harsh glare of light, couldn't speak, looking at Sara's tousled long red hair, her tear-stained face, startled brown eyes and tremulous lips.


He wanted nothing so much as to take her in his arms, explain why she had the terrible nightmare, but he couldn't --not now. This was not something you messed around with; the terror of a past life's tragic death had to be handled correctly...


"I said, what are you doing out here?" She lowered the beam, still staring at him with fear in her eyes.


"I woke up, tried the lamp, saw the electricity was off..."


"There's a flashlight in your room, I forgot to tell you." She focused the beam down the hallway, said curtly, "You can go back now, I'm up and I'll get fires going, keep the house warm downstairs."


"Let me help you," he insisted, walking alongside her as she headed for the stairway.


"That's not necessary. You are a guest, and I'm certainly capable of dealing with foul weather alone." She stopped abruptly at the landing, peering at him in the shadowy darkness.


"I'm not sleepy now, what time is it?" he shivered in the coolness, commenting, "Coffee sure would be nice but..."


"It's almost daybreak, and I can offer you coffee."


"Let me build the fire then, okay?" Adrian impulsively reached for her arm as they started down the stairs, but she reflexively jerked away as though he meant to strike her, causing him the distinctly unpleasant realization that to her, he was an absolute stranger.


Sara went to the kitchen and lit the lantern, getting out an iron coffeepot, adding water and ground coffee, and thinking it was a good thing the fireplace downstairs was capable of minimal hearthside cooking. As she stood near the hearth in the kitchen, she wondered about Adrian -- why had he been outside her room?


Panic would be futile, so she forced herself to remain calm; he'd taken her by surprise, especially as she'd just come out of that nightmare in total darkness. If she hadn't put the flashlight on the tea table by her bed, she'd never been able to deal with that suffocating feeling of being trapped in darkness.


Sara heard his heavy footsteps approaching, and he came into the kitchen, had a load of wood and began building the fire. "You're lucky you have all these fireplaces. At least you can keep warm when the electric heat is off."


"Yes, and I have a wood heater in the pottery studio, so that allows me to work through the winter months." She studiously watched him, observing the wide spread of his muscular shoulders, his athletic build, a body seemingly in perfect physical condition. His longish mane of sunstreaked blond hair and the ruggedly appealing features of his face gave him an outdoorsman appearance.


He suddenly smiled up at her, asking, "How's this?"


Flames licked at the wood, a crackling, hissing sound never more welcome, and she exclaimed, "Great! Now let me set up the spider frame on the fire, fix our coffee."


"You heat it over the fire, right?"


"Of course, and even prepare a limited selection of food too...that's what these iron pots and skillets are for." She indicated the hanging iron utensils lining the kitchen fireplace. "Lots of patience involved, but it's nice at times like this."


Adrian watched her hover over the hearth, her floor-length chenille robe over flannel nightgown so like the clothing of another era... Suddenly he had a vivid flashback of Rebekah running through the deep-fallen snow toward the cantilever barn where he looked out from the loft. She was wearing a long tattered coat, her waist-length blond hair trailing behind her slender body as she ran shouting toward him, her fragile-featured face lifting to smile that familiar sad-funny smile from beneath the odd little red beret he'd given her to wear, waving and calling, "Clifton...Clifton!"


"I asked if you'd like to sit down?"


"Huh? Oh...sorry," Adrian apologized, coming out of the trancelike state with difficulty.


"Is something wrong? You look um, kinda...upset." Sara stared at his dream-glazed blue eyes, worried at the strange mood possessing him. It was truly as if he'd wandered off to a distant land, and it made her feel uneasy.


"No, well...yeah, I guess I'm just exhausted, that's all."


"If you'd like to get some more sleep, I'll be fine," she offered, sitting down in a chair at the trestle table.


He joined her, sat across the table and said, "Nah, maybe the wrecker will be here soon."


Sara shook her head, advised, "Better forget that for now. Roads won't get cleared till afternoon. Laurel Cove isn't exactly a well-traveled area, and we're last to get crews."


"That's too bad, I hate to be an imposition on you."


"No problem. I'm caught up with work, plan to fire the kiln next week, have a few free days. And I could use the rest, get away from the studio, have a tendency to work too hard here alone."


"I bought one of your pieces, back last fall at the mall in Asheville, North Carolina. It's exquisite, you have real talent."


"That must be where I met you! I knew I'd met you before, that your name sounded familiar!" Sara was flooded with relief, realizing that brief meeting explained so much she'd been feeling: The uncanny sense they'd been together before, that his name was somehow known...even recalling how deeply touched she'd been by their momentary exchange, his arresting blue eyes lingering on her for what seemed a little too long.


Adrian knew he didn't dare correct her; it would shatter the seemingly safe, comfortable explanation of her odd feeling his presence was evoking from their past lives. He'd have to wait until he could gain her complete trust and faith. That would take some time...


She made them cups of coffee, put candles on the table and lit them, brought out pastry and said, "This is a poor offering for breakfast, nothing like our usual menu."


He smiled, sipped the coffee and replied, "This is fine. Look, day is breaking outside."


Sara turned to stare out the kitchen window that faced east, saw the gradual lightening of the gloomy skyline, snow-showers still swirling lazily in the frosty air. She drank coffee, nibbling on the pastry, 

asking, "Are you expected back at the lodge today?"


"No, you see...I was on my way to visit a friend south of here. I have some time off and..."


"Lucky you don't have to get back today, this weather is typical of January. I've seen this the past two years I've been here."


"Where did you move from?" He leaned forward, eager to learn as much as possible about Sara Colton.


"Newton, Virginia," she said, launching into a short, impersonal background history, prompted by his questions...leaving out the peculiar feelings that had brought her back to the area.


He sighed, picked up his coffee cup, stood and went to lean against the kitchen counter, asking casually, "No serious relationships?"


Sara avoided his question, asked, "Where are you from?"


Adrian didn't want to lie, but this wasn't the time to tell her about his background; it would ruin what progress he'd made. The fact that she hadn't already recognized him was to his advantage and he shrugged. "Here and there..."


"You must live in Gatlinburg, since you said you are a ski instructor at Ober..."


"Actually, I do live near the ski resort...but I'm not a year-round resident." He hesitated, then added, "I was an Olympic hopeful in my teens, but didn't quite make the grade as a world-class ski competitor."

Pausing, he looked around the cozy kitchen, changed the subject, "You must get seasonal tourist here?"


"Yes." She wondered why he was evasive about his personal background, if he'd been crushed by defeat, discouraged by not winning a place in the Olympics? Or was he, like herself, merely reluctant to openly discuss personal issues?


Adrian saw the concern on her face, and to divert her attention, decided to take a bold chance. "Sara, this is awkward...and this is the oldest line in the world, but I feel like I've known you forever."


Oddly, she felt exactly the same, but couldn't fathom why and had no intention of inviting this bizarre line of conversation. Abruptly she stood, avoided him as she went to gaze out the kitchen window. "Looks as if the weather hasn't improved."


Adrian told himself to slow down, go easy; alienating her was the worst possible thing he could do. He drained his coffee cup, said politely, "Thanks for the coffee, guess I'll go up to my room awhile."


Sara was relieved, but glanced at him as he went to the doorway, reluctantly advising, "It's probably colder upstairs, it'd be better to stay here until the heat has spread upstairs more."


Adrian paused in the doorway, looked back just as she sneezed, heard her say, "I shouldn't have walked on that cold floor last night practically barefoot."


"That was my fault. I'm sure I surprised you by arriving so late."


She shook her head, went to get a box of Kleenex from Marge's bedroom, which was just off the kitchen. When she returned, Adrian was sitting at the table, pouring himself another cup of coffee.


"I hope you don't mind?" He smiled, revealing even white teeth, a contrast to his tanned face.


"No, please help yourself." Sara felt a cold coming on, her head throbbing with a dull ache, sinuses beginning to get stuffy, and worried it would interfere with her work. She got a bottle of Vitamin C from the cabinet, took a couple and washed them down with a glass of water.


"I sure hope you're not getting the flu." Adrian looked closely at her flushed face, concerned she might be feverish.


"Not the flu, probably just a typical head cold from the chill last night."


"Then it is definitely my fault." He got up, went to where she stood looking out the kitchen window, asked, "Do you have a fever?"


Suddenly she felt his hand on her forehead, and flinched; he let his hand drop to her shoulder, turned her slightly toward him and said, "Let me see if you feel too warm?"


Sara succumbed to his solicitous ministrations, allowed him to place his large hand against her forehead, felt him very close to her, his tall, muscular body almost touching her...which she found comforting instead of threatening. Sighing, she said, "I hope I can prevent the worst of it."


His hand fell away, and he looked down into her brown eyes. "I think you have just a bit of temperature. Is there a thermometer in the house?"


"Yes...I believe Marge keeps it in the downstairs bathroom." She saw he was staring down at her intently, then she felt his hand move beneath her chin to tilt her head toward the light from the window. She watched his rugged face melt with tenderness and his blue eyes got a faraway gleam, as he gently let his hand smooth away a stray strand of hair from her forehead.


Adrian was moved beyond words, feeling the overpowering but indescribable joy of having been reunited with the soul he'd searched for all his adult life. How could he convey this wondrous elation to her without alarming her unduly? He wanted to embrace her, tell her they belonged together, but simply said, "I feel like I've known you forever, Sara Colton."


And with his mesmerizing gaze upon her, she heard herself admit, "Yes, I...feel we have known each other longer than just a few hours."


"Please, Sara, don't be afraid of your instincts. Let you intuition guide you where I'm concerned."


He reluctantly moved away, said distractedly, "Now about that temperature..."


Sara coughed, put the Kleenex over her mouth, and when able, said, "I'll get the thermometer," and walked into Marge's bedroom, went to the bathroom, found it and returned.


Adrian was standing near the hearth, his back to the blazing fire, and watched her pop the thermometer in her mouth, sit down at the table. He wanted to put her at ease, and said slowly, "I know it seems unbelievable, but Sara...if you will let me, I think I can help you understand why we both feel this incredible sense of knowing one another."


She stared at him warily, wondering if he was a nut case? After all, she told herself, he was a complete stranger and she was alone with him...


"I know you think I'm a bit strange, that what you feel is peculiar...but, let's forget about that for now. What's the temp?" He'd seen the fear in her eyes, the anxiety in her tense stiffness and knew he was about to ruin his chances if he'd didn't back off quickly.


"Hmm, it's only a tiny bit over normal." Sara got to her feet, avoided his hypnotic stare and crossed the kitchen, saying, "I think I'll go back to my bedroom, lie down. I have a fireplace and can..."


"Let me build you a fire, I'll get the wood."


Before she could protest, he was out the back door and left her no alternative but to wait for his return. As she watched through the kitchen window, he went to the wood pile, began searching for choice pieces, wiping snow off them and balancing the best ones in his arms. She had a sudden flash of deja vu, feeling she'd done this before with him...causing a shiver of precognition to run through her.


What was it about him that elicited this profound feeling of instant recognition, she wondered? It was scary and totally unlike anything she'd ever experienced in her life... Except, she realized with a pang, it did remind her of when she'd first seen Cades Cove and how right it felt to return, that it was where she belonged... that she'd come home at last. 


And somehow, she got that same sensation of belonging when near Adrian Alexander... But what did it mean?


               END CHAPTER

                                         

                CHAPTER FOUR

Adrian strode through the door, kicked it closed behind him and shook his thick mane of blond hair, snow-spray showering off him. "Whew! It's cold out there!"


Sara commented, "Yes, and still hasn't stopped snowing entirely."


He followed her along the hallway, up the stairs and into her room, where he stood staring at the dawn-lit windows. It was ultra-feminine decor, the sheer silky curtains filtering the pale daylight over a brass bed, coverlet of rose design still crumpled from her night's sleep. He felt a brief tug of desire at seeing the bed where Sara had slept, saying quickly, "I'll get that fire going."


She stood just inside the door, flipped on a lamp that had a scarf draped over it to mute the light, feeling somehow unprepared for his presence in her private space. And yet, as he prepared the kindling, struck a match to it, she had that odd feeling of being comfortable with him, that his being here was not an invasion of privacy...


He spoke in a quiet voice, "Sara, I'm going back downstairs, see if I can get the wrecker service on the phone. But if you need anything, just let me know. I think you should stay in here, keep warm, not invite trouble with that cold."


"Yes, I will." She walked over and sat down in one of the pink velvet armchairs near the fireplace. "Adrian, why were you outside my bedroom earlier?"


The question caught him off-guard and he replied honestly, "Your screams awakened me."


"I thought so." Sara smoothed her robe, asked, "Did it scare you?"


"No..." he hesitated, waiting for the fire to catch, staring into the erupting flames, hearing the snap and crack of wood, then stood, looked down at her sober expression. "What I'm going to say may startle you, but please don't let it frighten you, okay?" He had to risk this, had to help her if at all possible.


"I'm already afraid, scared that...you...that I..." She shook her head, confused and unable to articulate the feelings he evoked in her.


Adrian sat down in the armchair across from her, measuring his words: "Sara I can help you understand your nightmares."


She gasped, felt her heart race at his words: How did he know she was having nightmares? Then she swallowed hard, reminding herself he had merely guessed it, due to her screams.


"No, I didn't just assume you had a nightmare because I heard your screams." He paused, saw her lean back and close her eyes, lips trembling. "You've been having them a long time, haven't you?"


"God yes! And how I hate it, how I'd like to be rid of them!" She opened her eyes, stared at him blankly.


He decided to take a bold gamble, and got up, moved close to her and whispered, "Rebekah, Rebekah..."


She jerked forward, brown eyes riveted on him. "You heard me scream her name, didn't you?"


"No." He took a long moment to consider again if he should do this. He desperately wanted to tell her everything he had gone through himself... but it had happened when he was in his teens, and only through professional hypnotherapy had he been able to come to terms with the gruesome reality of their past lives. He was thirty now, and he still had occasional terrifying flashbacks.


She prompted, "Then how did you know the name?"


"Sara," he said softly, kneeling before her, looking into her frightened face. "I want you to tell me about your nightmares."


She wondered if he was a psychologist also? If not, why did he think he could help her? She stood abruptly, walking over to the window, staring out at the growing brightness of light reflected on the pristine snow, edging her finger nervously in circles on the frosty windowpane. "If you are a shrink, please just say so."


"Hardly! No, I'm...just a...ski instructor." Adrian began pacing. "Look, from the sound of your screams, it seems that you are afraid of something...or someone..."


"That's an understatement!" Sara snapped, turning to watch him pacing.


"Yes, it's more like panic, such terror and horror it's unspeakable." He stopped near her, capturing her eyes with his.


She saw the faraway veiled look of a mystic in his hypnotic gaze; it unnerved her, but she managed to say, "Yes. Um, my...nightmares, I've had them since I was twelve years old. Nothing seems to help, and I doubt you can."


"Would you like to tell me what happens in the dreams?" His soul ached to share the hard-won insight of a past life, his spiritual knowledge... but this wasn't something you suddenly sprang on an unsuspecting person.


"No, I can't. The only thing I can really say is that I...well, I fear that somehow the bad dreams are trying to prompt me to take action, try and...figure out what happened to this girl Rebekah in the past. Perhaps she was...murdered, and I'm picking up psychic images of it?"


"That's possible, since it's apparently a frightening situation, and when there's violent death often the restless spirit tries to communicate..."


"You don't think I'm crazy? I...my parents sent me to a psychiatrist when I was thirteen. It didn't go well. She, Dr. Crawford, thought...she seemed to think I might be suffering from hallucinations." Sara turned back to the window, appalled she'd revealed her personal pain, feeling the familiar stab of agony at her parents' worried state during that turmoil. She'd learned to keep her nightmares to herself, try and endure it silently, or be labeled a mental case.


"How do you feel about it? What are your spiritual beliefs?" He had to find out if her mind was closed to Eastern spiritual philosophy.


She walked back to the armchair, sat down and curled her legs beneath her. "My parents are Protestant and...I suppose I believe in Christian doctrine." But did she really, Sara wondered? She'd attended church dutifully as a child, but during college she'd had the normal doubts...sought to understand a variety of spiritual beliefs and had not settled on one particular path.


He asked quickly, "Why did you come to the Smokies to live?"


"My pottery is easier to distribute and sell among the many craft shops and the farmhouse is ideal for my workplace, as well as income."


"And that's the only reason you came here?" Adrian watched the conflicting emotions flicker over her beautiful face, seeing the truth written plainly. "It isn't, is it?"


"No...I felt oddly drawn to Cades Cove and..." She hesitated, dreading to see the look that she'd seen on her best friend, Kate's face, when she'd confided about the visions at the cabin that brought images of Rebekah.


He came to kneel in front of her, said, "Sara, I will not judge what you tell me. I already think I know what you are going to say."


"But how! How could you know? And how could you know about my nightmares, about the name Rebekah?" Her mind refused to accept all of this, this...weird situation, and she searched his face, saw no trace of mockery or insincerity, only caring and concern.


"I can't explain just yet, but...I want you to know I won't judge your experiences, simply try to understand."


"I...there's a cabin in Cades Cove, one that's been preserved from the pioneer days and when I saw it..."


He felt so helpless, powerless as she covered her face with her hands, heard her voice low and quaking, "I had this vision, so vivid and real, and I was wide awake! It was of the young girl, Rebekah, she had flowing blond hair down to her waist, she was running away with a...boy, he seemed to be wearing a uniform, dark blue, tattered and ragged...they were in danger, they...went into the woods, it was in a deep snowfall, and...she was crying, begging him to take her with him, and...someone or something was after them."


Sobering, she looked at him, stated flatly, "But this was extremely strange, because I sensed that I was this girl, Rebekah, not an observer."


Nodding his silent understanding, he felt the pain of that tragic time sink into his soul with the dead-weight of decades, wiped a hand over his chin-stubble. "If that scared you so much, why did you come back here?"


Her eyes were on him, big and wide, and she accused, "I thought you said you wouldn't judge me!"


"No, no...I'm not! I believe what you are telling me, but I wonder why you'd return to a place that caused you to have frightening visions, nightmares?" He had to force himself to stand, walk to the window, not look into her bewildered face.


"I...don't know exactly. I felt, I was compelled to come back again and again on vacation, and...I somehow felt I belonged here. Besides, I had the nightmare long before I came here...and the vision returned even when I was in my D.C. office." Sara couldn't contain the emotional outburst any longer, she let the tears come, sobbing...releasing all the pent-up fears, doubts about her sanity.


Adrian rushed over to her, knelt and took her hands in his, saying, "Shh, don't cry, please don't cry...it'll be all right, I promise it will."


She jerked her hands away, leaned back from him and took a Kleenex from her pocket, wiping her nose, sniffling and staring at him anxiously.


"Sara, Sara...we've barely met, and I know this must seem like something out of the 'Twilight Zone' to you, but I promise you I can help you. I do know how you are fearing for your sanity." He moved away, sat down in the armchair.


"But how! How do you know what I'm feeling?" She sobbed, staring at his serious expression, wondering if there was any real basis for his claims, or if he was mentally unbalanced himself?


"Because we have experienced something similar, and I have managed to understand part of it, not all...but a significant part of it. I want you to understand too, but...it will take time, time for you to trust that I'm not a crazy person for suggesting what will unravel this mystery for you."


Sara felt comforted by his calm, reassuring words, an almost eerie certainty that this stranger held the key to solving her own unending quest for understanding the mysterious obsessions that plagued her. It was, she decided, beyond reason; it was simply an intuitive knowledge that defied rationalization. She asked, "Is it that I can help solve Rebekah's murder? Is that it?"


"Sort of, but in the process, you can also help yourself more, learn why you have the nightmares, overcome them...finally be at peace."


"Are you at peace?" she queried, studying his face as a muscle clenched in his jaw, his hand going through his hair, then over his chin absently.


"No, I wasn't...and still cannot be, even though having met you is, I feel, the first step in attaining peace for us both. And as absurd as it may sound, fate must have brought us together for a purpose. It is our destiny to work out some kind of shared past trouble, which ties into your nightmares, your visions of Rebekah..."


"I...um, feel like I'm dreaming, like I'm in a bizarre scene for a supernatural film...or in a horror novel by Stephen King!" Sara said, suddenly smiling through her tears at the outrageous statement and the absurdity of their conversation.


Glad for her light-heartedness, Adrian grinned and agreed, "Yes, it does have elements of the fantastic and unbelievable." He hummed the 'Twilight Zone' theme music, and made a wavy gesture with his hand.


She laughed outright, but it brought on a fit of sneezing that left her weak and shaky, but she asked, "So...Adrian Alexander, what's the solution to our twisted fate?"


"Hmm, some of it I can guess at, but other aspects we'll just have to let time and destiny work out. Right now, I want you to get in bed, stay warm and I'll fix you some hot cocoa, bring it up and..."


"Do you have any idea why I have the nightmares," she persisted, needing to know what he could reveal, if anything.


"Sara, Sara...not right now. Let's take our time, go slow and get to know one another."


She stood up on trembling legs, and he saw her weakness, got up and put his hands on her shoulders to steady her...bringing them face-to-face, very close. Sara stared up into his charismatic blue eyes, feeling the sensation of falling, falling...of being helpless to prevent what was occurring between them, as though it were, as he'd said, destiny. But she agreed with him, "We do need some time, need to know each other better. Um, I don't accept all this, don't even begin to understand. Besides, I don't know anything about you, your background, your past..."


"It's unimportant, but I'll tell you everything eventually." He took a small card from his wallet, handed it to her. "This is the number where you can reach me at Ober Gatlinburg. Keep it, in case you should need it. For now, I'll get that hot cocoa."


Sara let him help her to the bed, slipped underneath the covers as he tucked them neatly around her, and then watched him leave. She felt confusion and weakness from the cold, her thoughts fuzzy, and closed her eyes, weary from lack of sleep, gradually drifting off into slumber.

              * * * *


When Adrian returned with the drink, Sara was fast asleep, and he didn't want to wake her, so he went back downstairs, made sure the fires were burning slowly, would keep the house warm, and then called the wrecker service.


It was around ten when the electricity came on; by noon, the sun was out, the temperature climbing, and by one, a snowplow was clearing the roads as Adrian stood watching from Sara's bedroom window. He studied her quietly, saw she was sleeping peacefully, tried to memorize her lovely face, peaceful in sleep, then heard a horn outside, saw the wrecker pulling up beside his ditched car.


Just then though, Sara murmured, turned slightly, began to awaken, yawning and squinting up at him as he bent down, whispering, "I'm going now, the wrecker is here."


She started, flinched as he pulled the covers up to her chin. "You stay in bed, the electricity is back on, so you'll be warm."


"I'm...I feel better. Maybe I'll be able to head off the worst of the cold." But she shivered with a chill, and snuggled down into the bed, remembering their earlier conversation, wondering if she'd dreamed it all?


"Look, I would stay longer, but the wrecker..."


The horn blared impatiently again, and he reluctantly stood, looked out the window. "If you need me, just call that number, okay?"


"Sure."


Adrian started to the door, but turned back to ask, "I was wondering, how about I come by tomorrow evening?"


Sara couldn't stifle a yawn, but mumbled drowsily, "S'kay with me, may...be lousy company..."


He grinned. "I'll be the judge of that. See you then, and take good care of yourself."


Sara nodded, already starting to doze again... but once he was gone, the door closed behind him, she had a fleeting fear she was losing her mind, that this was the ultimate end to all those peculiar experiences that started when she was twelve. Surely this man couldn't be the answer to her inexplicable obsessions and compulsions? And she had to be crazy to even imagine he could be!


                     END CHAPTER



                        CHAPTER FIVE


Adrian helped Mac, the wrecker driver, and they had the car out faster than he'd thought; he rode into Gatlinburg with Mac, and they deposited his Austin Healey at the garage. He told Mac he'd pick it up when the dent was fixed -- a minor, insignificant price to pay for the time it had given him with Sara.


Mac gave Adrian a ride to his mountain chalet, which he'd finally been able to rent for the duration of his job in Gatlinburg. He was exhausted, and decided sleep was the only remedy, went to lower the blinds in the spacious great room, knock out the glaring brilliance of snow and sun.


Just as he pulled the cord on the blind, he glimpsed a familiar van pulling to a stop down the road, parking. Adrian stood there, looking out at the brown Ford van, the windows tinted just enough that he couldn't make out the driver.


Damn! He told himself this couldn't, wouldn't happen again -- not when he was thousands of miles from L.A and Hollywood, not when he had so carefully dodged the tabloid press for six months!


Wearily, he dropped the blinds and with a groan of disgust, mounted the stairs to the bedroom, hoping against hope they'd give up on the stakeout and find another unlucky sucker to track down, harass and write lies about.


                      * * * * 

Inside the van, Joe smoked and cursed about the hazardous snowfall. Even though it was melting fast as the day had warmed, late afternoon temperatures would fall, tonight would bring another hard freeze and his spying would be impossible.


If he could move faster, he would; but the master plan demanded patience, meticulous attention to detail...and the way his luck was going, it'd be another month at least before he was ready to make his move.


Joe crushed his cigarette in the overflowing dashboard ashtray, thought angrily about Donna back at the remote, ramshackle house they'd managed to rent. It was located between Pigeon Forge and Sevierville, but isolated, away from the tourist areas. Christ, Donna was bitching every day and night, never could stand to be cooped up and alone, nothing to do.


He lit another cigarette, sighing and thinking that now he'd tracked down the chalet where Adrian was staying, it would be easier to keep tabs on him. But the guy had been in an accident, and Joe wouldn't have known it if he hadn't been in Gatlinburg, seen the wrecker haul Adrian's car into the garage. Jesus, that's all they needed -- for Adrian to get hurt before they got to him! Joe was afraid Adrian had seen the van several times, would be suspicious. No sweat though, Joe figured, since he could switch vehicles if necessary.


It looked as if the guy was holing up for the day, so Joe started the van, hearing the clank and click of tire chains rattling as he circled around in the road, heading back down the mountain. Again, he wondered why Adrian was so hot for that red-headed broad? She was a nobody! Go figure!


                        * * * *

Sara spent Friday afternoon in a daze; she repeatedly went over the strangeness of her experience with Adrian. There were moments when she thought about his physical appeal, but mostly she couldn't fathom the quirky sixth sense they both seemed to share of having been together before. In fact, lying in bed she wondered why she didn't feel alarmed about confiding her personal difficulties of the past to him; after all, he was a stranger. Yet, deep down Sara felt instinctively he was not a threat in any way to her well-being.


By dark, she was feeling better, and thought the day in bed had helped prevent the cold worsening. When she awoke to a crystal clear sky Saturday morning, Sara realized with a shock she'd not had the nightmare! It was the first time she hadn't had the bad dream since she was twelve years old!


Elated, she reached for the beside phone, picked up Adrian's card, dialed the numbers but before the phone rang, she hung up. Now wasn't the time to share this news with him; she needed time to think, prepare herself for his visit tonight.


Feeling much improved physically, Sara puttered around in her studio during the early morning hours, got a few things accomplished, then returned to make preparations for the evening. She got the Rock Cornish hens ready, put the dish in the oven, set out the ingredients for the white wine sauce, and whipped up hors d'oeuvres, got the side dishes for the meal ready and then left the kitchen.


She took a long, leisurely bubble-bath, still pondering on the mysterious Adrian Alexander. The name had a familiar ring to it, and not just from their past meeting in the Autumn. Where had she heard that name?


At her bedroom dresser, she applied a touch of makeup, then blow-dried her hair, using the curling iron to weave thick strands into long, trailing coppery waves down past her shoulders.

Searching through her closet, she chose a formal outfit of pearl-colored silk blouse with notched collar and french cuffs, and a dark brown suede mid-calf length skirt. When dressed, she inspected herself in the mirror, noting how the long, fitted skirt exposed a flash of leg when she walked, the slit at the side a bit provocative. But she didn't want to be seductive -- no, she wanted this to be a strictly formal date and almost changed, but decided the flat-heeled suede shoes gave some balance to her outfit.

By the time Sara was in the dining room, setting out candles and china, she heard a car coming along the highway, slowing. She hurried into the parlor, looked out the window to see the tiny blue Austin Healey plowing up the snowy drive.


She saw the snow had melted somewhat, but there would be high drifts for quite a while. Slowly, she savored the lovely twilight  landscape, the western mountainpeaks outlined in the afterglow of fading sunset, purplish shadows a prelude to night.


Adrian got out of the Austin Healey, his tall, muscular body dwarfing the small car as he straightened up, and she realized he must be at least six-five. And as he headed toward the house, she saw he'd dressed as formally as she -- his long unbuttoned overcoat revealed a double-breasted gray suit underneath.


At the door, she hesitated, wondering if she was losing her mind? Surely, if she told anyone about this strange interlude, they'd think she'd gone mad! And yet, the lure of Adrian's attraction was just like she'd always known it would be -- when she met the right man, the man who would come out of nowhere to claim her as his destiny. Smiling, she knew it sounded ridiculous, like a young girl's daydreams of an old-fashioned fairy tale come true.


The knock was firm, loud and startled her out of reflection to open the door and see him standing there, a hand in his overcoat pocket. His blue eyes were shining with the otherworldly light and he said softly, "Sara...how are you?"

She stepped back, allowed him to enter, his vibrant energy seeming to electrify the air, fill the hallway his with masculine presence. Her voice came out in a stammer: "I...I'm...glad you could come. I am feeling...better, think I've avoided the cold. Um, I felt well enough to...prepare dinner for us." Seeing his smile, she added, "You haven't eaten, have you?"

"No. And something sure smells delicious." Adrian took a long, thirsty look at her, drinking in her beauty hungrily, his eyes meeting hers, unable to resist the impulsive touch of his hand to her wavy, soft hair. "You do look better, no feverish flush."

Sara loved the intensity of his gaze, the rapt attention with which he regarded her -- totally focused on her and nothing else. Such all-consuming attention was rare, and she was not immune to the potent effect it had on her. "Um...I almost phoned you this morning," she heard herself blurt out, instantly wondering why she'd told him that.


"Oh?" He moved away, shed his coat and hung it on the rack inside the hallway.


She was impressed by his sense of style: He knew how to dress --presenting the consummate image of a ruggedly virile man tempered by a conservative, tailored suit. His longish sunstreaked hair was combed back off his wide forehead, tucked neatly behind his ears, giving him a decidedly more serious look.


"Um, last night...it was the first time I haven't had the nightmare."


"That's great! I hoped our visit would help you." He stared at her intently, asked, "And do you feel that what we discussed is part of the reason you didn't have the dream?"


She gave a little shake of her head, led him into the parlor where a fire blazed, the hors d'oeuvres, wine and cheese already on the wagon wheel cocktail table. "I don't know...I...am still unsure, not able to...comprehend or believe all this."


He stood near the sofa, watching her nervously pacing by the fireside. "But you've had these nightmares for years, and now suddenly they stop. Doesn't that indicate our meeting had something to do with it?"


Serving the platter of appetizers, she invited, "Please sit down, get comfortable, have one of these." Stalling, she didn't know how to tell him that maybe not having the nightmare last night was just a fluke, that it would return...


"You think last night was only once, that the nightmare will return..." Adrian watched her face flush, knew he'd shocked her by his interpretation of her thoughts. Quickly, he sat down, took an offered treat and said, "Delicious," sipping the wine she'd poured.


"I don't mean to um, avoid the subject...but, can't we at least have a normal meal together? Try to get better...acquainted?" Sara took an hors d'oeuvres and nibbled it, staring at him.


"Fine. What do you want to know about me?" He leaned back, throwing one arm over the sofa back, smiling and thinking he had to be cautions, not scare her off.


"I...seem to feel I've heard your name before, even prior to the time you bought some of my pottery."


This was his greatest fear, that she'd recognize his name; he knew he'd been fortunate she hadn't identified him at first sight. Yet he wanted to prevent her knowing him through the nasty press as long as possible -- so he said, "I told you, we do share another, deeper connection. It is perhaps that which makes me familiar to you."


Sara turned away, disappointed. He wouldn't explain just now, but she had a distinctly uneasy feeling about him -- his name had a nagging familiarity, one of those you know is floating around in your memory somewhere but you can't quite call up on demand. Curtly she said, "If you are ready, we'll eat now."


Adrian, relieved she'd dropped the inquisition, followed her down the hall into the formal dining room across from the kitchen. He looked around with admiration at the antique pine furniture, a round pedestal table with lacy tablecloth set with fine china, silver and candles, arrowback chairs, hutch cabinet  -- and in front of a wide wood-shuttered window, a deacon's bench.


"This is usually where guests who stay overnight dine. Marge and I eat in the kitchen when we're here alone," Sara explained, showing him to a chair and going to get the Rock Cornish hens, vegetables, bread and drinks.


He asked if he could help, but she insisted on serving him and the meal was enjoyed in companionable small talk, him occasionally quizzing her on her family, her craft and the business end of the bed-and-breakfast enterprise.


Since Sara rarely got to discuss her expertise in accounting matters, she expounded at length on the financial aspects of her businesses, the selling of pottery and running Spring Moon smoothly during the tourist season.


Adrian was impressed: she as not only talented, creative and genuinely warm, caring, but very intelligent and highly educated as well. She dazzled him with her head for numbers, rattling off the figures of debits and credits like an adding machine, rocketing back and forth between lectures on profits and losses, how to avoid financial disaster, how to handle the small details with income taxes, how to keep afloat during lean recession years.


When the meal was finished, and they'd retired to the parlor, he felt a bit in awe of her mathematical genius. Finance was never his strong suit, but he admired a woman with such skills; and her great intelligence was a definite plus -- she would learn quickly, absorb complex material easily.


"Did I bore you?" Sara asked, having noticed his eyes glazing over during her elaborate financial discourse.


He laughed, shook his head, the blond hair escaping from behind his ears. "No, but you did amaze me with your accounting skills."


"It's so odd, really. I mean, I've always been an analytical, practical-minded person, someone who has been called down-to-earth and sensible. So when I chucked it all aside, left a high-paying career in D.C.....well, it shook everyone up."


"Yes, I imagine it did." He leaned forward on the sofa, eyes locking with hers. "Why did you do that?"


"I...told you. I felt my pottery would sell well here, that the bed-and-breakfast would be profitable and..."


"But you 'had' to come back, didn't you?"


She couldn't take her eyes away from his; they seemed to penetrate her like a piercing shaft of blue flame, melting her doubts, her fears. "Yes, as I told you...I felt compelled to live here, that there was something here for me, something I could only find by being here all the time. And I'd been waiting, expecting... feeling that whatever it was would seek me out....that I'd know it when it happened."



"And when you looked at me that first time, at the craft show, you sensed it had arrived, didn't you?" He had to plunge in now, seize the moment.


"Yes...I did. I thought about it for a long time, trying to convince myself it was nuts, tried to dismiss it. You see, the only peculiar chink in my sensible armor was this weird obsession I had that...one day a man would...come along, and I'd instinctively know him, know he was meant for me." She rolled her eyes, threw up her hands up in defeat. "My mother thought I was foolish, that I was too choosy about men, would never marry if I didn't stop being so hopelessly romantic, an unacceptable flaw in my otherwise practical nature."


"Do you feel I am that man?" Adrian held his breath, afraid she'd dash his hopes.


Sara ran a finger over her lower lip, hesitated a long moment, studying him raptly, the complete stranger on her sofa, yet the intimate familiarity she couldn't deny when he was near -- as though they'd been together forever. "Yes, reluctantly, I admit I do -- but for no rational reason I can determine."


He wanted to cross the short space between them, hold her in his arms and spill out the whole tragic past...but he refrained, clenching his jaw tightly and saying, "That's the first step, allowing yourself to open your mind to something other than objective reality. Feelings, inner feelings and a certain intuitive 'knowing' that defies reason, this is important. You have to let go, Sara, open your mind and let the light of other spiritual possibilities enter your awareness."


She felt that he spoke from the depth of his being; his words resonated deep within her, in a place she had never dared touch or acknowledge. "I'm listening."


"I have some books, out in the car. I want to leave them with you. I want you to read them, read them all, as many as possible during the next week. Don't judge, and don't condemn the material...just read it and absorb it open-mindedly."


Sara nodded mutely, feeling as if she was being led down the yellow brick road willingly...blindly....



He went out into the frigid night, retrieved the books, brought them inside and handed her the one on top of the stack, watching her face closely.


Her hands shook as she looked down at the book, realizing it was a publication dealing with reincarnation. She felt something deep down inside her respond to the title, and looked up to see him coming closer, his voice low and serious, "This is very, very important, Sara. Don't take it lightly and don't close your mind to the information, okay?"


"If you say so," she said, unable to tear her eyes away from his magnetic, probing gaze.


"Sara, Sara..." His voice caught in his throat; he wanted to kiss her, wanted to hold her in his arms, show her how physically attracted he was to her.  Yet he was afraid such a bold move would scare her away, make her suspicious, lose the small amount of trust he'd gained.



Sara didn't know what to do. She stood looking at his face, how the conflicting emotions wrinkled his brow, how he couldn't quite hide the desire burning in his blue eyes. But she knew nothing about him...not really, and stepped back, put the books on the nearby cocktail table.


He suddenly said, "I'm going to leave now, even though it's early. I enjoyed the meal, and I'm very glad you didn't come down with a cold. Anyhow, Sara, you need to have some time to read, reflect and then tell me what you think about the material."


When he looked at her, she moved a little closer, and in spite of his resolve, his hunger to hold her, just once after the long, lonely search, made him reckless.

Adrian took her in his arms, and when she leaned against him, he tilted her chin up, kissed her slowly, tenderly...felt her respond to his passionate questing....


Sara let the kiss happen, felt drawn to him beyond resistance; she melted against his muscular body, felt the powerful arms surround her and then, when they broke apart, she looked into his eyes and experienced that strong sensation of drowning in a sea of surrender, helpless to verbalize the feeling of belonging she felt in his arms, the feeling they'd kissed before...it was so natural, so effortless between them.



He stepped back, released her and apologized, "I'm sorry, I don't want to confuse you.  I...yes, I'm very attracted to you, Sara. But I promise that won't happen again until we are both more prepared."



She was speechless, still puzzled by the odd familiarity of their gentle, yet deeply soulful kiss.


He went quickly into the hall, said, "Please call me when you've read the books."


She followed him, forcing herself not to mention how the kiss had affected her. Instead she asked, "And if I disagree with the philosophy in these books?"



"That's your choice, but it's something you need to delve into with an open mind and with an eye to what you have been experiencing. As Buddha stated: "Do not believe in a thing said merely because it is said; nor in traditions because they have been handed down from antiquity; nor in rumors, as such, nor in writings by sages, merely because sages wrote them....nor on mere authority of your own teachers and masters. But we are to believe 'when' the writing, doctrine, or saying is 'corroborated' by our own reason and consciousness.'"



"Fine. I will try to keep an open mind."


He got his coat, hating to leave her, but knowing it was the only way: She was an intelligent, independent woman and only through her own insight, her own spiritual exploration into this unorthodox realm... could she come to accept what she'd been experiencing personally. However, he cautioned, "Don't try any techniques for self-hypnosis or... other methods mentioned in any of that material. You must be with someone more enlightened when and if you open a pathway of spiritual understanding into the past."


"Yes, I understand."

"Promise me?" He stepped over to her, kissed her again softly, his lips barely brushing hers. "If you need me, just call. I will answer any questions, discuss the material....any time."



And then he was gone again, walking through the doorway and out into the moonlight as suddenly as he'd appeared the other night, which now seemed long ago to Sara.


She heard his car start, the engine race, then tires crunching over the icy driveway, motor fading as he drove away.


Sara looked at the stack of esoteric books, shook her head and muttered aloud, "Reincarnation!"



                     END CHAPTER




                   CHAPTER SIX

Sara spent Sunday reading in bed, absorbed by the fascinating, complex esoteric material, yet unable to stop her Protestant upbringing from whispering in the back of her mind that this was occult, evil.


However, the more she read, the more she was aware that almost all the information about reincarnation was supplying valid reasons for her compulsions and obsessions, her odd behavior regarding Cades Cove, the sinister nightmares, the immediate belonging she felt with Adrian...


When the phone rang late that afternoon, Sara was rudely pulled out of her absorption into a conversation with her mother that left her feeling guilty and somewhat ridiculous. She could not bring up the topic, nor could she mention meeting Adrian Alexander, and this alone made her realize what thin ice she was skating between two worlds -- that which was real and that which might be only imaginary.


As the week passed, she still read at night, but spent her days diligently engaged in the craft of pottery. The pieces she'd air-dried, some even fired at low temperatures and glazed, were now ready, and she decided to prepare the kiln for a final firing.


Friday morning she was delighted by the unseasonable weather; it was predicted to be clear, reach a high of fifty, and she dressed in the drab-green army pants and shirt she'd bought at a discount military store, pulling on boots and tucking her hair up under a baseball cap. In the kitchen, she prepared cereal, coffee and then made a couple meals to carry along with her to the studio; firing could take all day and night -- or longer, depending on how it went.


Walking to the barn, Sara had a funny feeling that someone was watching her; she paused at the door, looked around in the fog-drenched dawn, peering upward toward Blue Mountain, the peak obscured by morning mist. She then looked back at the house, could glimpse the highway beyond, the sharp curve where Adrian's car had gone off in the ditch. A brown van was pulled off near her driveway, but suddenly roared to life and sped away down the highway.


Shrugging, Sara went into the cold studio, feeling as though she'd seen that van somewhere...but then, vans were commonplace these days. She shivered, hurried to the kiln, and selected the larch wood to burn, putting it in a stack by the fire mouth. She got the pyrometric cones she needed to test the heat of the fire, a process that prevented ruining the pottery later.


Since the wood burned in two distinct stages, Sara began her usual routine to attain the right temperature for firing the pieces, carefully considering the charring temperature as being below the ignition temperature.


The first stage she watched and gaged, knowing that the combustion of volatile gas caused by resin content of the wood added to the heat given off, then moving up into the chamber before being fully ignited where there was enough free oxygen to allow it to burn.


As the second stage progressed, she was attentive to the combustible charcoal, which had a higher calorific value than wood since the hydrogen and oxygen had already burnt off. It needed oxygen to burn efficiently and unless the secondary air was correctly administered, a heap of choking coals would build up in the firebox. She'd learned that localized heat given off by the burning charcoal was often the reason for badly warped fire bars and fire mouth breakdown.


Sara remembered how it had taken her a long time to learn the technique of firing by wood, much diligent practice of trial and error. Fortunately she'd had a teacher in Yorkstown, Virginia where she'd served an apprenticeship with kilns; the pottery skill itself she'd never taken lessons for, it came naturally.


Wood firing demanded all the potter's time, and any distraction could cause a disastrous drop in temperature, she knew, so her willingness and ability to give the kiln her undivided attention during a long firing was important.


Sara knew in order to gain the climb in temperature required, the fire mouth had to be fed at a steady rate or loss of heat would negate the climb; over-stoking would fill and choke the firebox, but steady, judicious stoking would bring about a good rise in temperature within the chamber; understanding when the flames had developed within the confines of the firebox, throat arch and chamber was essential. It was demanding, but the many unique and unpredictable bonuses of delicate flashes from the flames as they brushed the pots leaving deposits of fly ash, glazing the body, were aesthetically appealing, and gave her an intimacy with the final act of producing pots that no other firing method could.


Once the cones had proven the correct results, Sara loaded the pottery pieces with delicate attention to placement in the chamber. Then she got comfortable near the firemouth, sat in her old battered easy chair where she could reach the wood easily, thinking what a humbling experience it was to stand beside the wood kiln when it reached white heat, hearing the roar of initial stages of firing settling down to a deep-throated rumble, with tongues of flame licking holes and iridescent heat glowing through expansion cracks. She'd often thought the kiln seemed to have a life of its own, and enjoyed seeing the white and cherry-red incandescent heat, the sparks and flames all combining in the final act of her craft.


The entire experience was somehow mysterious to Sara, and as the hours passed pleasantly, she reflected that a potter firing with wood was like an ancient alchemist. Having made her pots, she then set them in the kiln and relied on the elements of earth, fire and water, plus judgment, to conjure up the end results. And while many potters preferred electric kilns, she thought they were more nearly like chemist who mixed the ingredients with a much greater degree of control over the end result.


By dark, she was exhausted; the constant stoking and feeding of the fire had been draining. However, the results, this time around, were looking better than she'd dared hope. Near ten, Sara was able to end the vigil, allow the kiln to cool off, which could take at least as long as the process of firing, before she could remove the pottery.


Back in her room, weary and tired, she took a quick shower wondering if her talent for pottery was linked to a past life, amazed at how the material Adrian provided was changing her thinking pattern. But falling into bed, she dismissed any further thought of it, sleep overtaking her quickly.


                            * * * * 

Sharp ringing of the beside phone brought Sara awake, and she groped around for it, still drowsy. "Hello."


"Did I wake you?"


Adrian's husky voice filled Sara with instant longing; she squinted against the bright morning sun flooding her bedroom, noticing she'd forgotten to close the windowshades. "Yes, but it looks like I've overslept."


"Only nine, not that late yet."


Stifling a yawn, she said, "I fired the kiln yesterday; it was a long, tiring day."


Hesitation on the other end, Sara hearing his even breathing, then finally, "I don't want to rush you... but, I was wondering if you've read any of the books?"


"Yes...but...I suppose I'm reluctant to discuss it yet."


"I see. Well, no hurry." He sighed. "I'll let you go..."


"No. I mean, I...when can we get together?" she blurted out, surprised at her unwillingness to end their connection.


"I'm free tonight."


"What about tomorrow? Would you like to come for the day, we could discuss the material then."


"Are you sure you're ready? If you need more time..."


"I do have some questions."


"Fine, what time tomorrow?"


Sara sat up, pulling the coverlet off, standing and twisting the phone cord in her fingers as she tried to decide. "Noon?"


"I'll be there. Sara, I've missed you."


"Me too, see you tomorrow," she said, glad he'd called, but stunned at how moved she'd been by just the sound of his voice.


                   * * * *

By Sunday Adrian was relieved he'd not seen the van in several days; maybe they'd called off the chase for now. He knew if they ever picked up on his interest in Sara it'd be quick tabloid copy and possibly ruin his chances with her.


As he drove through the rain-slick streets of Gatlinburg, Adrian kept an eye out for the van, relieved it was not around. As he wound through the countryside, the metallic sky spewed cold sheets of rain, his wipers barely clearing the windshield to see.


The twisting, curving two-lane kept him alert, and he drove carefully, thinking how the rain would hurt business at the lodge. He only had this job until March, but it had been sufficient during his time here, something to earn wages while also enjoying his passion for skiing.


As he rounded the last sharp curve, Adrian saw Sara's log house come into view, smoke curling from chimneys, lights glowing from windows through the foggy mist. It looked inviting, welcoming but he knew his reaction was based more on who was inside than the country appeal of a log dwelling nestled in a valley, blue-hazed mountains draped around it like magnificent geological guardians.


Pulling into the driveway, he came to a stop near the garage, got out and hurried across the yard, bounding up the steps and over the porch to knock briskly on the door.


Once he was looking into Sara's big brown eyes, he felt the same gut reaction he'd had the first time he looked at her: sweet yesterday mingled with instant recognition of loss, longing and love, desire and destiny staring back at him in a face so dear and familiar he wanted to crush her to him, hold on forever...


"Adrian, hi. This rain is terrible, isn't it?" She moved aside, and he wiped his shoes on the mat, then went inside to the inviting warmth of her home.


He gave her an appreciative once-over, seeing how the tight jeans and ruffled white cotton blouse emphasized her alluring figure. Yet when he met her eyes, she was blushing so he didn't comment on her appearance, instead taking off his rain slicker, hanging it on the rack.


Sara was flattered by his appreciative gaze, but wished she'd worn something less form-fitting but saw he was dressed casually too -- plaid flannel shirt and stonewashed jeans, which made him look like a rugged outdoorsman. She told him, "I've got a fire in the parlor; we an relax first, then have some lunch. Do you like chili?"


"Yeah, it'll hit the spot today." He followed her into the cozy parlor, noticing again how the rustic decor had been softened by indirect lighting, a woven rug on the pine floor, low-backed cushioned sofa and armchairs more modern but offset by the wagon-wheel cocktail table, spool-turned tables and copper-and-brass antique tea kettle, candlesticks.


Sara sat down in a chair, watched him go to the fireplace and study a brass bed warmer hanging there, his eyes becoming dreamy and faraway as he asked, "Where did you find this?"


"It was auctioned at an antique sale, offered from one of the original Cades Cove families."


"And you were drawn to it, weren't you? 'Had' to buy it?" He pivoted, knowing eyes on her.


"Yes, and...at the time, it was far too expensive for me, certainly more than I should have spent on a decorative item." Sara recalled how she'd bid higher and higher, feeling she must own the bed warmer at any price.


"This is...part of the proof." He gently touched the floral design, a finger probing the small nicks and dents on the pan, his hand going along the thin handle, an uncanny tremor passing through him.


She saw him shudder, and remembered having the same reaction when she'd first touched it, as though lightning had struck her. "Part of the proof?"


Adrian forced himself away from the powerful vision of the past, walked to the sofa, dropped down and stretched out his legs, urging, "Let's discuss your reading."



"I...have some reservations. I suppose the one thing I cannot reconcile with my own religious background is the fear of the occult, the evil or wickedness most Western belief associates with certain metaphysical concepts such as witchcraft, black magic, Satanism."


He knew this would be a barrier, and asked, "Did you take a course in comparative religion in college?"


"Yes, and it left me confused, doubting if any organized religion could ever espouse the truth, because each has its own rigid doctrine, rhetoric and isn't open to criticism. Since then, well, I do believe in spirituality, the soul..."


"What about Theosophy -- an esoteric synthesis of known religions and philosophies which is much more open to inquiry and questing?"



"And it embraces reincarnation," she stated, holding up a book she'd read only last night on the topic.


"Sara, reincarnation isn't incompatible with the Bible. There are many passages that seem to refer to it, such as 'For verily I say unto you, till heaven and earth pass, one jot or one tittle shall in no wise pass from the law, till all be fulfilled.  --Matthew V,19'"


He saw this had penetrated, and continued, "Or how about this passage, more of Matthew: 'Why then do our teachers say that Elijah must come first? He replied, Yes, Elijah will come and set everything right. But I tell you that Elijah has already come, and they failed to recognize him, and worked their will upon him... Then the disciples understood that He meant John the Baptist.'"


"You have a point, and I know that many learned, intelligent people, even Benjamin Franklin, some creative artists, poets and writers in the past, and more recently Edgar Cayce, the New Age Movement, the actress Shirley MacClain... believe in it."


He had to conceal his distress at the mention of the New Age Movement, and his mother's acquaintance, Shirley MacClain; neither had really helped him in his darkest hours. But... the fact that more open attitudes in recent years had eventually led to his own hypnotherapy was an improvement over the fear and skepticism of the past. "That's true, but...what I want you to do Sara, is not be inhibited by what others feel or think, including myself. Rather, judge what you read by instinct and your own unique insight and experiences."


"In that case, I have to admit that reading about recurrent dreams, terror from a past life, unfinished business in a previous incarnation...soul mates...it seems to explain so much of what...I've...been going through."


"No more nightmares?"


"None. And that alone has me wondering...if...maybe it could be possible...if I could accept reincarnation?"


He went to her, knelt down and held her hands. "You don't have to accept any other aspect of the metaphysical, not the so-called black arts like witchcraft, although that can be good or bad, depending on the individuals involved. No moral persona would defend Satanism or black magic, for it is evil. Nor do you have to accept spirit possession, paranormal phenomena, astrology..."


Pausing, he looked at her puzzled frown and continued: "All you have to accept is that it is possible to live, die and live again, not so different to the Western religious belief of being reborn in spirit...just that a soul is reborn again and again into human life until wisdom and ultimate fulfillment of its talents, its abilities have attained perfection. And this can take many lifetimes or only a few."


"I have tried to convince myself that deja'vu, maybe even psychic images of an unsolved murder, ESP, were to blame for my strange behavior, the compulsions and obsessions. Reincarnation did enter my mind, but I...dismissed it because, well, somehow it's associated with weirdness, labeling one a flaky nut, not taken seriously."


Adrian swallowed hard, knowing if she ever linked his name to the tabloids, he'd be in deep trouble. He almost told her then, the words were right on the tip of his tongue, but she leaned forward and kissed him lightly, saying, "Because of you, because of what you and I have... felt, shared together...I now am able to admit that reincarnation is in the realm of possibility."


How could he shatter her newfound awareness, especially just when she'd overcome the terrifying nightmares? He couldn't, wouldn't do it, so he stood, took her in his arms and said, "I know so much more about our past life, and if you are willing, you can learn this knowledge too. But I cannot tell you...no, you must find it for yourself, and only through professional guidance."


"I want to, I do...but promise you won't leave me? You'll help guide me, stand beside me as I try to discover what happened?"


She looked up at him with a trusting, hopeful expression and he heard himself say, "Never, I could never leave you Sara, not in this life, not when we've found each other again."


And Sara knew he was being honest, sincere...but wondered if she could survive learning the truth about what she feared was a devastating, tragic past life?

                    END CHAPTER



                   CHAPTER SEVEN


The past two weeks had been near idyllic, Sara reflected, looking out the kitchen window as fat, fluffy snowflakes fell on the first day of February. Earlier Friday morning she'd talked with Adrian, and he'd apologized for being tied up at the lodge for the upcoming weekend; the anticipated snowfall would bring a rash of skiers, and he'd taken so much time off lately to be with her that he had to remain at work.


She looked at the white-capped mountains to the east, the lower regions beginning to gather a cloak of dusty white, high mountain fir and spruce bowing beneath the hefty burden. It would be an icy-white wonderland by Saturday morning, and Sara feared she wouldn't see Adrian for days.


Taking a cup of hot cocoa to the table, she sat down and let her memory roam back to that Sunday afternoon she'd accepted the possibility of reincarnation. Adrian had been earnestly devoted in allowing her time to plumb the depths of that philosophy, his only stipulation being that they not allow physical attraction cloud their thinking. He'd said it might taint the spiritual bond they must reaffirm and validate first.


Of course, he'd told her the physical attraction was inevitable; that when true soul mates first met in another incarnation, as they had with instant emotional recognition and ardent physical reunion, the inevitable was bound to happen: Their physical senses might have overwhelmed them, resulting in the act of bonding their bodies in remembered ecstasy, sensual hunger demanding expression. But they had carefully avoided letting that happen.


Though they'd discussed much about reincarnation, Sara had become aware of only a few, vague details of her past life as Rebekah in Cades Cove; the full revelation was in the future through hypnosis. The long, lingering discussions they'd had, specific, documented reincarnation cases that Adrian had told her about...it was a very real awakening of spiritual awareness.


And those true-life cases remained with her even now, especially the ones who'd not been regressed by hypnosis: An elderly Tlingit Indian of Alaska who predicted before his death he'd be reborn in a niece's unborn child, and the baby would have two marks on its body to match those on the old man, which did happen.


Or another intriguing case she pondered about: Rivar Shankar, an Indian boy age two in 1953 who talked about his former life in a neighboring district, describing previous life toys, a wooden elephant, a ball on an elastic string, a toy pistol and a ring he kept in a desk. He even identified his murderers by name and occupation, recalled he'd been eating guavas just before he was killed, said the slayers cut his throat.


What amazed Sara about this case was that later, when the boy was four, a man who had heard the stories came to him, told of his son, a six-year-old, who'd been killed six months before Rivar's birth in the 'exact' way Ravar described, and the killers he identified were the same ones related to the victim, who had been after his inheritance.


Particularly noteworthy, she had thought, was that as a child, Ravar experienced a phobia about knives and razors, afraid to go near the place he was killed; and he had an eerie scar on his neck, like that of a cut throat.

When Adrian had finished telling of this case, she'd immediately told him about a strange scar on her back; and to her utter amazement, he'd revealed a similar scar on his back!


However, what she didn't reveal to him was her stunning realization of how being afraid of the dark must tie into a past life -- and of the journal her mother had kept in which she related Sara's childhood antics, phobias and peculiar demands to take her 'home', back to where her 'real' mommy lived -- in a pretty valley. A place where they rang the church bell when people died; and when she was missing, it rang seventeen rings for her age...


Coming out of the reverie, Sara looked down into her cup of cold cocoa, shuddering. What had happened to Rebekah in Cades Cove? If she allowed herself to be hypnotized, could she endure reliving such a potentially traumatic event?


And how did Adrian fit into that past life? In her nightmares, Sara could only get fleeting impressions of a man because the terror was so devastating, she could never remember much about him upon awakening. Adrian had refused to reveal what his regression therapy had uncovered, only giving singular details here and there, enough to confirm that indeed, in that previous life he was the man who had loved and adored Rebekah.


In the material they read, Sara discovered that proof of some sort would be the final, conclusive evidence of their previous life together. The bed warmer, Adrian said, was one piece of evidence; but he thought they could document their past existence by doing research into Cades Cove history, even perhaps locating their relatives' names on tombstones in a graveyard.


Sara stood, emptied the cup in the sink, then stared dreamily out the kitchen window at the dazzling snowy, windswept landscape, wondering if she could cope with such knowledge?


But recalling the long drives along steep mountain roads with Adrian in the Austin Healey, their hearts healing, their souls communing in silent, intuitive understanding...their laughter, their mutual artistic talents -- his for art, hers for pottery -- their shared interests and lack of desire for excessive materialistic wealth...she felt she had to explore that past life as Rebekah, learn what connected her and Adrian so deeply that Fate had decreed they come together again, resolve something left unfinished in that dim, distant past. Something that had caused Sara to always sense Adrian's presence like a shadow hovering on the edge of her consciousness, alarming when he was unknown, untouchable.


But now, now that they had met, he haunted her with his melancholy for the past; he'd become a wind blowing wildly through her heart and she knew she would have to enter the whirlwind so that she and Adrian could fulfill their destiny in this lifetime.

                         * * * * 

Adrian spent the weekend busy with tourist; he gave ski lessons in the morning, and had to take over a couple of hours in the afternoon as well, since the instructor who handled that time had been sick with flu.


Normally, he enjoyed the experience of teaching beginners the thrill of learning to ski, but unfortunately there were some people who could not master the sport.


And then there were the hopeless lonely-hearts, the older women who tried to seduce; or the teens who came on shamelessly. One teenage girl in particular had tried his patience to the limit by insisting he accompany her on the run, even after she'd proven her ability as a competent skier. She'd flirted outrageously, and he'd had to avoid her deliberate pursuit all weekend --not only on the slopes but in the lodge.


Monday he was free in the morning, but had the afternoon lessons, so when he got back to the chalet around six, Adrian ate a quick bite and prepared for his yoga session. He'd taken it up years ago, right after the hypnotherapy; the disciplined exercises reduced tension, helped him stay healthy and physically fit, as well as aiding in meditation and getting in touch with his subconscious.


Standing before the rock fireplace, he did his warm-up, then sat down in front of the wide window that faced the mountainside, glittering lights from the lodge and ski slopes lighting up the darkened skyline.


Adrian folded his body into the classic yoga posture, asana, and began his routine with concentration on the Suryanamaskar, or Sun Salutation, his breathing regulated in each movement. He then proceeded slowly through eighty-seven basic asanas, all suggested in the Yoga Shastras. Sometimes only a few asanas would relax him, but tonight he was stressed out from the work, and went through the entire routine, deciding to end with the yoga mudra, which was an aid to meditation.


He inhaled deeply, tilted his head slightly back, lightly closing ears with middle fingers, and gently pressing together his upper and lower lips with the remaining two fingers.


Now in the quietness, the darkness, Adrian concentrated on visualizing a light behind his eyes, while hearing the sound current within, his own mantra being a soft, soothing oommuaa, om, oommuaa, which he chanted, his mind emptying of all thought, becoming peaceful nothingness like a placid lake without ripples.


At length, he swam up from the depths of his inner being, lit a candle on the table, and practiced the gazing exercise known as tratakam. His eyes focused on the flicker of the flame, staring fixedly at it, unblinking as long as possible, then resting his eyes, and resuming the penetrating stare.


Gradually he felt the stimulating effects begin to work their magic, and the candle flicker wavered, burst into bright light, his visual imagery coming fast and vividly, scenes flashing from his past life as Clifton Kane like a film in motion: First, the bloody battle scenes, then the rickety train ride along the base of the Blue Ridge Mountains, the short time spent in Libby Prison at Richmond, Virginia; now the daring escape from a train near Augusta, Georgia on the way to Andersonville Prison...a treacherous trek back through that state, into Tennessee, finally getting lost in the Smoky Mountains, ending up in Cades Cove, harbored by the Slater family, Union sympathizers.


Slow-motion images drifted before him of his meeting Rebekah, a shy young beauty, her caring for him, tending his wounds, hiding him in the cantilever barn, coming to him in the dead of night through the snowfall to bring a bed warmer for his comfort, his seduction of her, his growing awareness that he was falling in love with Rebekah...vaguely aware she seemed familiar, that he could not live without this girl in his life... Fade to black, utter darkness and then the rapid scenes of danger, quickened pulses, fights and shouts, cursing and the void opening up, a gaping pit that was consuming them, his fury and futility at being  unable to prevent what was unfolding...a piercing burn in his back...


A groan of agony pulled Adrian back into the present, and he blinked, seeing only the golden candle glow in front of him now. He sagged against the sofa, stretched out his legs and arms, ran a hand wearily through his hair. Could Sara cope with the shattering images of their death that filled his mind? Even after years of reliving it in his self-induced trances, Adrian had not been able to rid himself of the horror; it always left him feeling nauseous and disturbed, sometimes angry about being cheated out of life, love and happiness.


He got to his feet, pulled on a robe, went into the small bedroom and looked at the sketch he'd been working on for the past month. It was more explicit than the other work, which was still in California at his Big Sur home. This portrait depicted passionate lovemaking -- that one brief, stolen night Clifton and Rebekah had shared in the barn loft.


As he stood looking at the two young lovers he'd portrayed, Adrian knew he'd captured something inexpressible in words...more an essence of heartbreak, a wrenching poignancy in their embrace, every line, every link between them like an exquisite torture of forbidden ecstasy, naked bodies partly revealed beneath a patchwork quilt, something riveting in their faces as they looked up, startled by what was glimpsed beyond where they lay together, eyes sad and knowing, old before their time, dying even as they were in the throes of life's sweetest bliss.

He turned away, overcome by what he saw, feeling the familiar piercing pain and hollow emptiness. Wandering back into the living area, he stopped at the window, glancing out at the road. The brown van was parked not far away, and he cursed aloud, furious that the tabloids tracked him like a wanted felon!


But there was nothing he could do right now about that, so he sprawled lazily on the sofa, reached for the phone and called Sara. He felt it was time for her to see the portrait, get her reaction, before he contacted the hypnotherapist in L.A.


                       END CHAPTER



                      CHAPTER EIGHT

Valentine's Day dawned blustery, cold, but by late afternoon that Sunday, the sun broke through the overcast skies and Sara felt her heart lift as she prepared for Adrian's arrival. Their phone conversations that past week had been thought-provoking and filled her with anticipation for their date.


Selecting a two-piece black dinner suit, Sara pulled on the short, tight skirt, zipped it up, then slipped into the tapered jacket, snapping closed the large goldtone buttons. She posed before the cheval mirror, seeing her legs outlined in the dark hose, her figure defined by the severe black form-fitting suit. Her hair was twisted up atop her head in a classic style, revealing the contours and planes of her face.


Gold jewelry, black pumps and matching handbag rounded out her ensemble, and she hurried downstairs just as Adrian's Austin Healey roared up the driveway. She got into her wool coat, threw a scarf around her neck and went out the door, locked it and crossed the porch, stood looking at Adrian leaning casually against the car, his eyes riveted on her. He had on a brown suede jacket over a button-down shirt with tie, gabardine dress slacks, and she thought he looked exceptionally handsome this evening.


He called, "Are you ready?"


"Yes, you are right on time!" As usual, she thought.


He waited while she came to the car, went around and opened the door for her, smiling and whispering close to her ear, "I've missed you Sara."


His husky voice warmed her, and his hand lingered on hers a long moment as he said softly, "I have a special Valentine's gift for you, but I'll wait until we return from the restaurant to give it to you."


When he'd settled himself into the driver's seat, Sara said, "I have something for you too, so we'll exchange gifts later."


"I hope you'll like this restaurant, it has delicious mountain trout, and is located in a secluded wooded hillside area. Very private and...cozy."


"I'm sure I'll love it, sounds...um, romantic," Sara replied, feeling intimately close to him in the small confines of the car she'd become fond of. The tiny Saxon Austin Healey was a 3000 Mark III with classic continental styling -- red leather interior, comfortably plush. It purred along the narrow, twisting roads as Adrian handled the car expertly.


When they arrived at the log hunting lodge, twilight was casting long, deep shadows through the thick woods, and as Adrian escorted her into the restaurant, Sara noticed a brown van pull into the parking lot.


Adrian saw it at the same moment, and frowned; he had not seen the van since last Monday, and now it was here! Tempted to have it out with whoever was tailing him, Adrian paused and stared hard at the vehicle, but knew if he created a scene they would find it even hotter copy. The last thing he wanted was for his and Sara's photo to be plastered across the front page of a tabloid with a headline that screamed a blatant, provocative lie.


Sara asked, "Isn't that... I think I've seen that van before."


"Where?" Adrian led her into the restaurant, feeling uneasy.


"It...no, I guess I'm wrong. I thought I'd seen it near my house one day, but there's so many vans these days, they all look alike to me."


Adrian took off his jacket, helped Sara remove her coat and knew he should do something about those sleazy spies, but when he saw Sara's black outfit, the way it defined her shapely figure, he decided to let the issue drop for now. Her face was alight with warmth and joy, and he didn't wish to spoil the evening.


As they dined in the intimate setting, a corner table with candlelight, the cozy atmosphere of the restaurant relaxed them, and they chatted about the past week. Sara had finished several more pieces of pottery, had it all air-drying, and planned on firing the kiln again soon, which she enthusiastically told him about.


Adrian told her of his ski lessons, unable to keep the edge of irritation out of his voice as he mentioned the hassles of some tourist who couldn't seem to accept that they were not capable of learning to ski.


She put her hand lightly on his arm, said sympathetically, "It sounds like you had a hard week. I was wondering... do you ever think of competing again?"


Her question caught him by surprise, and he felt the old familiar pang of loss, but was grateful for her intuitive understanding that he might miss competitive skiing. "Sometimes I...think about it, yes. I miss the sport, the challenges. In fact, I did compete a few years ago in downhill racing, nothing international, just local stuff in Colorado."


"And how did it go?" Sara asked, studying the displeasure on his face, wondering if he knew how much his distress showed?


"Not bad...but..." He put down his fork, took her hand in his, entwining their fingers. "Sara, don't get me wrong, I loved competition. It was...exhilarating, a great opportunity when I was younger. I started skiing when I was about six, at Mammonth Mountain in California, and...it...I put a lot of energy and time into it. When I didn't make the Olympic team at eighteen, I was disappointed, but I accepted it. Truthfully, I like skiing as a kind of hobby now, something I do with pleasure -- and occasionally, I can teach others who will enjoy it too."


Sara nodded, glad he'd shared this much of his past with her. His reluctance to discuss his background puzzled her, and she sometimes wondered if she really knew him at all?


"It's...nothing I can't do without. My heart isn't in it anymore. No, what I hope to accomplish in this life will be through my art."


"Painting you mean?" Sara leaned forward, adding, "I'd like to see your work."


"You will soon, I have a painting in the car, the gift I'm giving you for Valentine's."


"Oh, I...that's wonderful!"


When they drove back along the winding moonlit mountain road, they both knew this night would be special; they were not as caught up in the past so much as living in the present moment as Sara Colton and Adrian Alexander -- a woman and man in love.


It had been difficult for Sara to accept it, and she'd spent her nights and days in emotional turmoil, denial and acceptance warring within her heart. Yet now as they came into Laurel Cove, Adrian's voice was tight with forced control as he told her of his love, his fear of allowing physical desire to overwhelm him -- and she realized she'd fallen in love with him too.


Once inside, he started toward the parlor to build a fire and Sara got a thick afghan, and tossed it down by the hearth, then they stretched out in front of the blazing flames. She gazed into his blue eyes, seeing them burn with heated passion as he stared back at her.


He continued to stare at her, willing himself not to touch her, knowing the feel of her soft, pale skin would be unbearably tempting. But the past began to slip away, and his mind filled with Sara Colton...the lovely woman now beside him, her big brown eyes simmering with unspoken ardor, unspoken love; he could see it, even if she wouldn't admit it aloud.


She broke the tension by touching his face gently with a fingertip, asking, "Do you want me?"


"God Sara, you know I do! I've struggled to control myself, but being with you...it makes me want you all that much more." He caught her hand against his face, let his lips nibble at her fingertips, kissing her palm and saying seriously, "But if we make love, it might be too much too soon."


She knew he was hesitant, that even though his need was great, he'd restrain himself out of respect for their soulful bond if she didn't take the initiative. And suddenly Sara didn't want to hold back, didn't wish to deny their physical attraction.


With the firelight a backdrop, Sara stood and began removing her clothes, watching him as he gave a brief nod, and then studying her when she was naked, no trace of hesitation in his appreciative, welcoming embrace when she lay back down beside him.


It seemed as if time stood still, that their loving one another was the most natural, most spiritual act either of them had ever experienced; each touch, each caress was like a remembered togetherness, and they flowed like warm honey into the melting surrender of passionate lovemaking. It was something born out of sadness, a slow, sensual, joyous reunion -- not a first sexual encounter: tender, true and so beautiful it felt like physical ecstasy only bonded their souls into Oneness, a Wholeness; they became, indeed, as ONE.


Afterward, Sara felt gloriously alive yet serenely satisfied, and she smiled at him, whispering, "I never dreamed it could be like this, so exquisite it almost seems impossible to describe."


He lifted her into his arms, wrapping the afghan around her, and then pulling on his pants, went to get the painting from the hall where he'd left it. "I want you to see this now."



Sara sat down on the sofa, then leaned forward expectantly, running a hand through her hair. "Your gift is on the hall table, the small wrapped package."


He got it too, came back to the parlor and flicked on a lamp. As he tore open the gift, he saw a triangular earthenware object with an exotic design on it, obviously one of her creative efforts. "It's very unusual, distinctive. Thank you, I'll treasure it always."


"I'm compelled to create similar pieces from time to time, although I'm at a loss to explain what it is; the design just comes to me unbidden."


"You know...these scrolls, curling lines...it looks like an ancient writing of some sort."


"Others have remarked on that too." She shrugged, said, "Now let me see the painting."


He helped her unwrap his painting, stood it up so that she could see it in the lamplight, turning to watch her reaction, surprised to see tears glistening in her eyes.


"Adrian...if I had any doubts before, I don't now. The girl, her face, her...eyes, hair...that's the Rebekah of my nightmares." Sara studied it with awed fascination, a growing fear and sense of helplessness; she felt like a victim of fate, destiny...unable to lay claim to her own life, her own actions.


"I have more paintings of that time; I have been obsessed with depicting the tragedy, the...events, everything. Some of the paintings are of the rugged, war-torn landscape, bloody battles and other personal situations during that time, but this one only came after I'd met you. I did it during my free time, and it's..."


"Hauntingly poignant, the very essence of a bittersweet love, two lovers...their faces are...glowing with love, yet so sad and somehow lost-looking, even as they lie together making passionate love." She noted every detail, the face of the man oddly familiar, his tousled red hair, and his startlingly blue eyes -- a vivid resemblance to Adrian's.


She studied the patchwork quilt the lovers shared, having a sudden flashback of sitting in a cabin with ol