Miracle in the Mist by Elizabeth Sinclair Page A
Authors: Elizabeth Sinclair
Tags: Romance, paranormal romance
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He rounded a large blooming lilac bush to find himself in someone's garden. Beyond the rows and rows of blooms was another cottage. Bigger than Alvin's and quite unlike it, it gave him a feeling of warmth, of acceptance, of welcome.
Looking up toward the curling smoke rising from the chimney, his gaze fastened on an image in one of the upper windows. A woman. Lit from behind, her hair seemed to glow like an iridescent, fiery veil surrounding her head and slim shoulders. She remained at the window for a long time. Frank felt her gaze on him, but he was unable to either move or divert his eyes. Instead, he drank in the sight of her. What he could see of her stole his breath. She was beautiful.
Something stirred inside him. Something that he hadn't felt in a very long time. Something painful that left him reluctant to acknowledge it. Life.
But this foreign feeling knew a very short existence. How could he stand here looking at this woman? How could he betray Sandy's memory like that? Swamped by guilt, Frank tore his gaze away.
What had he been thinking? He was not here to get involved with any woman in any way, no matter how slight. He was here to come to terms with the monster eating away at his insides.
He started back to Alvin's and found he could not resist one more glance over his shoulder. But she was gone. Though her absence gave birth to intense relief, the feelings the sight of her had evoked remained, warming cold places inside him that had known nothing except cold regret, icy guilt, and dark loss for far too long. The stinging pain of their rebirth was almost more than Frank could stand.
Chapter 5
Frozen in place and shielded by the window frame, Carrie stared into the night, unable to look away from the retreating man who had lingered beneath her window. Without being able to see his features in the waning light, she had nevertheless felt a sadness emanating from him, a sadness that seemed to connect her to him in some obscure way. That anyone could feel such overwhelming sadness wrenched at her heart, and she had to physically control the urge to dash downstairs and go after him to help him, to offer some kind of comfort.
"That's just crazy," she told herself, when he'd finally disappeared from sight and she was able to leave the window. "You have no idea who he is, what his problem is, or what you could possibly do for him. Besides, you have your own problems to sort through."
But even her self-reprimand wasn't enough to move her thoughts away from the man. She dropped onto the edge of the bed and cast another glance toward the window. Why did she feel as if an invisible thread had spun out across the distance separating them and bound them together?
"Go to bed, Carrie," she told herself. "This whole day has obviously been a mental strain, and it's thrown your imagination into high gear."
Carrie stood and began to remove her clothes. By the time she had put on the soft cotton nightgown that Clara had given her and was snuggled beneath the heavenly down comforter, she had convinced herself she'd just experienced a surge of overactive imagination. Nothing a good night's sleep couldn't bring a little logic and clarity to in the morning.
With that, she closed her eyes, and feeling the world around her blur and darken, she gave herself up to the oblivion of slumber.
***
The distinct feeling of being watched awoke Carrie. Fighting off the dregs of sleep, she slowly opened her eyes. Her breath caught in her throat. Instantly, she was fully awake.
The room was dark, lit only by the moonlight spilling through the window, but standing beside her bed, hovering over her, was the distinct silhouette of a man. Though his face was a blur, like the kind of thing they do on TV when a person wishes to conceal their identity, she had no trouble making out the fists doubled up at his sides and his stiff stance. Anger emanated from him as thick as the fog she'd seen on the footbridge.
Who
He rounded a large blooming lilac bush to find himself in someone's garden. Beyond the rows and rows of blooms was another cottage. Bigger than Alvin's and quite unlike it, it gave him a feeling of warmth, of acceptance, of welcome.
Looking up toward the curling smoke rising from the chimney, his gaze fastened on an image in one of the upper windows. A woman. Lit from behind, her hair seemed to glow like an iridescent, fiery veil surrounding her head and slim shoulders. She remained at the window for a long time. Frank felt her gaze on him, but he was unable to either move or divert his eyes. Instead, he drank in the sight of her. What he could see of her stole his breath. She was beautiful.
Something stirred inside him. Something that he hadn't felt in a very long time. Something painful that left him reluctant to acknowledge it. Life.
But this foreign feeling knew a very short existence. How could he stand here looking at this woman? How could he betray Sandy's memory like that? Swamped by guilt, Frank tore his gaze away.
What had he been thinking? He was not here to get involved with any woman in any way, no matter how slight. He was here to come to terms with the monster eating away at his insides.
He started back to Alvin's and found he could not resist one more glance over his shoulder. But she was gone. Though her absence gave birth to intense relief, the feelings the sight of her had evoked remained, warming cold places inside him that had known nothing except cold regret, icy guilt, and dark loss for far too long. The stinging pain of their rebirth was almost more than Frank could stand.
Chapter 5
Frozen in place and shielded by the window frame, Carrie stared into the night, unable to look away from the retreating man who had lingered beneath her window. Without being able to see his features in the waning light, she had nevertheless felt a sadness emanating from him, a sadness that seemed to connect her to him in some obscure way. That anyone could feel such overwhelming sadness wrenched at her heart, and she had to physically control the urge to dash downstairs and go after him to help him, to offer some kind of comfort.
"That's just crazy," she told herself, when he'd finally disappeared from sight and she was able to leave the window. "You have no idea who he is, what his problem is, or what you could possibly do for him. Besides, you have your own problems to sort through."
But even her self-reprimand wasn't enough to move her thoughts away from the man. She dropped onto the edge of the bed and cast another glance toward the window. Why did she feel as if an invisible thread had spun out across the distance separating them and bound them together?
"Go to bed, Carrie," she told herself. "This whole day has obviously been a mental strain, and it's thrown your imagination into high gear."
Carrie stood and began to remove her clothes. By the time she had put on the soft cotton nightgown that Clara had given her and was snuggled beneath the heavenly down comforter, she had convinced herself she'd just experienced a surge of overactive imagination. Nothing a good night's sleep couldn't bring a little logic and clarity to in the morning.
With that, she closed her eyes, and feeling the world around her blur and darken, she gave herself up to the oblivion of slumber.
***
The distinct feeling of being watched awoke Carrie. Fighting off the dregs of sleep, she slowly opened her eyes. Her breath caught in her throat. Instantly, she was fully awake.
The room was dark, lit only by the moonlight spilling through the window, but standing beside her bed, hovering over her, was the distinct silhouette of a man. Though his face was a blur, like the kind of thing they do on TV when a person wishes to conceal their identity, she had no trouble making out the fists doubled up at his sides and his stiff stance. Anger emanated from him as thick as the fog she'd seen on the footbridge.
Who
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