Chapter Three

Alison sat on the bottom step of the stairway while she tried to make sense out of what just happened. Her body was still calming down from the overwhelming sensation of ecstasy that consumed it during the magical kiss she’d just experienced. She’d read about women responded to kisses in such a way. She’d thought it was purely fiction.  Until now.

Part of her wanted to rush after Nick and throw herself into his arms again so that she could re-experience that wonderful sensation, while another part of her wanted to run for safety.  Kisses and responses of that nature between perfect strangers couldn’t be right. 

Her mind raced as she remembered the trip she took to New Orleans during Marti Gras with a few friends a year earlier.  They thought it would be a blast to go visit a local psychic. The woman had to be the scariest person on the planet; not only in the way she dressed or decorated her place, but by the things she said.  Alison could still see the woman’s thick hair that was as black as night.  It billowed around her weathered face to the point it was difficult to distinguish her features. The only thing Alison was clearly able to see were the psychic’s piercing black eyes.     They  had  a  glittering,  faraway  look  as  she  foretold their future.

Alison hadn’t given the creepy psychic’s predictions much thought, until then.  Looking back over the last few years, she realized that a great deal of what she said happened.   It may not have happened in the exact manner as she told it, but, in some way it did happen.  Right down to Alison inheriting a big beautiful plantation home and meeting a tall, dark, and handsome stranger who would steal her heart.  Of course, Nick hadn’t stolen her heart, but he did knock her socks off with a dynamite kiss that she would probably remember forever.

Alison watched Wilma approach with steady footsteps and then stand before her, expectantly, with her arms folded over her chest. “What happened between you and Nick?”

Memories of her childhood when Wilma would catch her stealing cookies or cupcakes from the kitchen that she claimed were to share with her imaginary friends floated through Alison’s mind.   Wilma was never shy about stepping in for her mother, Madeline, whose mind weakened shortly after Alison was born.  Madeline’s mind wasn’t so far gone as to require she be institutionalized, but it was far from stable enough to properly raise a child.  Most of that responsibility fell on her father, Joseph’s, shoulders.

Alison looked at Wilma with an expression that showed her confusion. “I don’t know, exactly.”

“He seemed pretty upset,” Wilma added.

“I didn’t kiss him.  He kissed me,” Alison said defensively.  “If anyone should be upset, it should be me.”

“Nick kissed you?” Wilma repeated incredulously.  “That type of behavior is so unlike him.”

Alison took a deep breath and squared her shoulders as she focused on clearing her head and coming back out of the clouds. “How long have you known him?”

“He started out by helping Henry about five years ago, and then took on the job full time three years ago,” Wilma said thoughtfully.  “In all those years, I never saw him behave in an unseemly manner.” 

“I was here a few years ago.  I never saw him,” Alison said accusingly.

“He was around,” Wilma replied.  “He kept in the background whenever your parents and you came to visit.  Your great aunts requested it.”

“I just don’t understand any of this,” Alison moaned.  “If my aunts wanted to hide him from us, then why did they hire him on?  Better yet, why does their Will insist he stays on?”

 “I really can’t say,” the housekeeper said thoughtfully. “Nick is a quiet sort of fella.  He sticks to himself, does his work, and stays out of trouble.  I never questioned things.”  She looked at Alison accusingly.  “Why did he kiss you?”

“I couldn’t say,” Alison replied as she buried her face in her hands. “I slipped on the stairs, he caught me and then kissed me.”

Something deep inside Alison warned her against mentioning the speed in which Nick moved when he caught her.  Perhaps it was because she still didn’t understand it or perhaps she imagined it. Whatever the reason, she didn’t feel comfortable discussing it.

Wilma emitted a deep throated chuckle. “Your pheromones must have clicked with his.”

“Excuse me?” Alison said as she lowered her hands from her face and stared at Wilma as if she had three heads.

“Pheromones,” Wilma said.  “They’re hormonal scents that…”

“I know what pheromones are,” Alison snapped.

Wilma threw her hands in the air and started for the front door. “Don’t bite my head off.  I didn’t kiss you.   I’m going to check the mail.”

“Take an umbrella,” Alison suggested.  “It’s still raining. We’ll have to build an arc soon.”

Wilma shot her a warm smile, grabbed her raincoat from the brass and mahogany coat tree near the door, and slipped out of the front door.  Alison stared at the closed door for a while; until she felt as if eyes were watching her. Expecting -or maybe even wanting- to see Nick standing in the parlor archway, she turned to look, but there was no one there.  Involuntary chills traveled her body as she shuddered and rubbed her upper arms.  She didn’t care how grand the old estate house was.  To her, it was creepy and probably would remain so.  The year couldn’t pass by fast enough.