Prologue

Present day

Savannah, GA

With a sigh, Kendra placed Wuthering Heights next to the cash register and spoke to a pair of lamps in her line of vision—Tiffany, she thought, although she wasn’t as knowledgeable about antiques as Mrs. Higgins. "If only a man like Heathcliff would waltz into my life."

"To whom are you speaking, dear?"

Still musing over the novel, Kendra failed to hear Mrs. Higgins’ soft footsteps creak the plank floorboards in the store. "The lamps, ma’am, er... that is, myself."

Kendra followed the elderly woman’s gaze as she glanced toward her latest library find. "Oh, my, I can’t recall the number of times I’ve read Bronte’s classic."

A bubble of excitement rose in Kendra. "You know all about Heathcliff, Cathy and their wild, passionate love affair?"

"Let’s not leave out their dangerous and destructive sides."

"But he wasn’t driven to madness until after Cathy died."

"Yes, well one would have to be quite mad to dig up their lover’s body for the sake of holding her in his arms again." Mrs. Higgins’ pale blue eyes softened. "I understand this passionate longing to meet a man like Heathcliff. I harbored the same hopes and dreams at one time." The short, silver curls framing her face bounced when she laughed. "A very long time ago, but I’m older and wiser now."

"Did you have conflicting feelings about Heathcliff when you read the book?"

"Indeed I did. I flinched when his caustic side surfaced, but who could turn away from a man as brooding and mysterious as the moors he strolled?" She paused as if choosing her words carefully. "I believe Bronte intended for us to see more, probe deep into our minds for answers."

"What kind of answers?"

"Perhaps she wanted us to examine the twisted and tempestuous plane of love. The dark fringe exists, or has the capability of manifesting if love becomes obsessive. I like to think Wuthering Heights wasn’t merely a historical account of two families, but much more."

"Written to teach us lessons you mean?"

"One could call the book a learning experience, I suppose. What if Bronte wanted us to realize that phobic emotions have the power to destroy us."

"Yes, and in Cathy and Heathcliff’s case, everything and everyone around them."

Kendra could sympathize with irrational actions, and not just from her conversation with Mrs. Higgins or from reading Wuthering Heights. She’d been pondering the direction of her life for several months, where she came from and where she was headed.

She realized during her soul-searching she’d been drifting through life for the past year, never embracing whatever tumbled onto her path. She’d been running from something, no different from an escaped convict who ran and ran until he realized the road ahead was barren and lonely. And the path behind didn’t look as grim to him now. No, she couldn’t go home. There was nothing left for her there. Her mother and father, God rest their souls, were gone, and Peter, the-two-timing-womanizer, left her standing at the altar with a bouquet of baby’s breath and wilted, white roses.

Mrs. Higgins cleared her throat, jolting Kendra from her dismal thoughts. The woman looked at her with the most perplexed expression, her wrinkled brow creased; her kind eyes inquisitive. Damn, had she missed a question? The dark side of love; that’s what they’d been talking about.

"When Cathy married Edgar," Kendra said, hoping to pick up where they left off, "she realized she’d made an irredeemable error and paid for that mistake with her life."

"As did Heathcliff in the end, and therein lies the other lesson we should learn."

"To lead with our hearts and not our pride sort of thing?"

"Precisely. One seldom finds their soul mate, but if that one-in-a-million person comes along, they must clasp the golden ring and hang on tight."

"Because it will never come again, will it?"

Mrs. Higgins sighed wistfully. "No, dear, seldom are we given second chances when it comes to true love."

A frantic scratching at the front door of the antique store drew their gazes.

"It’s Miss Calypso." Mrs. Higgins never called the flat-faced Persian Calypso but always Miss Calypso.

Kendra skirted the counter and headed for the door. "I think we should change her name to Houdini. I have no idea how she escaped my bedroom this time."

"That’s why when she showed up on my doorstep years ago, I named her Miss Calypso. It means one who conceals in Greek mythology."

When Kendra opened the door, the orange fur ball skittered past her in a blur. "The question is, exactly what is she hiding?" She met the woman’s gentle eyes. "Sort of like me, huh? I showed up at your door one day and you took me in too."

"Don’t ever think of it like that, dear. You were looking for work and I needed someone to mind the store for me now and again."

"No, you’re not being entirely truthful. You have a soft heart for homeless creatures and lost souls, that’s why you took me in."

"You aren’t truly lost, just taking some time to sort out your life. Besides," Mrs. Higgins countered, her eyes misting over, "I’m alone too except for that torn-eared kitten. You give back tenfold what you take, dear."

"Oh, right. Then when are you going to start taking my rent?"

"Rent? For that teensy apartment above the store?" She waved a hand in the air and walked toward the archway leading to the back of the store. "Now what do we do about Miss Calypso?"

"You changed the subject again."

Ignoring Kendra’s comment, she placed her hands on her hips and called out for the cat. A clank of metal echoed in the next room. "I best track her down and haul her upstairs again."

When Mrs. Higgins glanced at her wristwatch and frowned, Kendra spoke up. "Nah, go on now. Your nephew will be worried if you’re not there to meet his plane."

"Yes, I suppose you’re right. Ryan is my worry-bug."

"Go," Kendra said more emphatically. "I’ll find Miss Calypso, make sure she doesn’t get out this time."

"Are you sure, dear? You know I don’t like her roaming around the store. The other day she jumped onto a table and broke a Handel. Aye yigh yigh." She snapped her thumb and index finger. "Just like that, five hundred dollars gone."

Kendra couldn’t stifle her laugh. If Mrs. Higgins lived another forty years, she couldn’t spend all her money. This nephew Ryan she spoke of, her one and only heir would inherit hundreds of thousands, perhaps millions. "I promise. The moment you’re out the door, I’ll track Calypso down and chain her to your kitchen table if need be."

"Oh, dear me, I don’t think―"

"Kidding, just kidding." Kendra spread her fingers and raised her hands in the air. "You called me down to watch the store, and Lord knows you need time away."

"I suppose you’re right. Well, if you have everything under control, I’ll be on my way then."

"Please, take your time, and don’t worry."

Kendra waited until Mrs. Higgins’ silver curls disappeared around the corner before she picked up her book again. Her heart thrummed as a mental image of a disconsolate Heathcliff rose behind her eyelids, all tousled midnight hair and billowing black cloak. Her cravings spiraled out of control, pitching her sex-starved libido into overdrive. Her nipples peaked and the throbbing ache between her thighs, the one that dogged her night and day, took up a frantic beat. She needed to get laid and soon.

Opening Wuthering Heights to a random page, she read aloud:

"It would degrade me to marry Heathcliff now, so he shall never know how I love him; and that, not because he’s handsome, Nelly, but because he’s more myself than I am. Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same, and Linton’s is as different as a moonbeam from lightning, or frost from fire."

"Moonbeam from lightning, frost from fire... frost from fire." When a loud bang erupted in the back of the store, Kendra nearly jumped from her skin. "Damn, Calypso, what did you break now?"

Setting the book aside, Kendra stormed into the large back room of the antique store. Organized aisles didn’t exist, but narrow paths here and there formed some type of order. At times, she had to turn sideways and maneuver around trestle tables, sideboards, vintage vanities and standing shelves of classical books. Up ahead stood another standing shelf of period Life magazines and timeless record albums featuring Ed Ames, Shirley Brown, Etta James, and a mob of singers she’d never heard of.

"Here, kitty, kitty."

Through a tunnel, Calypso spewed a feeble meow. Damn, what had the mischievous feline done now, crawled head first into a bottle? To her left, Kendra spied a large pottery crock on the floor. Above it on the wall hung a portrait of Napoleon in his red military uniform. The thick, gilded frame alone had to cost a fortune, and weigh a ton.

"Meow...meow."

"Ah, ha! You are in the urn!" Bending at the waist, Kendra peered into the opening of the Red Wing crock. "Serves you right for snooping around. I should leave you there until the kind lady foolish enough to take you in returns. Take your pick, upstairs again or in your mistress’ apartment in back." She blew a long breath of air and stuffed her hand into the crock. Above her, Bonaparte’s picture rattled. She lifted her chin and met the man’s cunning eyes. "What! Are you going to give me trouble too now?"

The portrait crashed down. Before she could deflect the blow, a sharp point of the frame grazed her temple. White lights exploded in her befuddled brain and the floor at her feet rose up.

Her vision blurred before the black void claimed her.