Mercury Rising. Christine Rimmer

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      “Right. I know Aaron’s helping out, hiring the bands for it. But I still don’t know if he and Celia are planning to be here for it—and how about you? Will you come this year?”

      “Yeah. I could probably be here. I’ll let you know.”

      The next morning, Jillian slept in.

      Jane had to open the store at ten, so she was up at eight. She sat at her kitchen table with the morning sun pouring in the bay window and sipped her coffee and told herself that life was good.

      And maybe Cade would stay away for weeks this time, the way he used to, back before his house was finished.

      She smiled a sad little smile and sipped more coffee. Yes, that would be good for her. It really would. But whether he stayed away or not, she would get over this impossible, unhealthy attraction. No doubt about it. It was only a matter of time.

      Jillian left early Sunday morning.

      And Jane’s mother called. “Hi, dear. How about church?”

      “I’d love it.”

      “Why don’t we just meet there?” Virginia suggested. “I’m running a little late.”

      When Jane left the house, she saw Cade’s powerful green car parked at the curb next door.

      He was back.

      Her heart felt like something was squeezing it. Then it started beating way too fast.

      Get over it, she told herself as she got in her van and started it up. He lives here and he’s going to be here a lot of the time. Accept it.

      And forget him.

      “How about a sandwich and some iced tea at my house?” Jane offered, as she and Virginia walked down the church steps toward the cars waiting at the curb.

      “Wonderful,” said Virginia.

      Her mother followed her home.

      The first thing Jane noticed when she turned onto her street was that the green Porsche was gone again. Good. She got out of her van and waited for Virginia to park.

      They started up the walk together.

      Jane saw the object on the porch—on the mat, right in front of the door—at about the same time her mother did.

      “Jane. What is that?”

      Jane didn’t answer. She walked a little faster. Soon enough, they both stood on the porch, looking down at it.

      Virginia said, “Why, it’s so beautiful. It looks like an antique.”

      “It is an antique,” Jane said softly, staring down at the gorgeous thing. “I’m almost certain of it. An antique mercury glass gazing ball and vase, in one.” The silvery-gold ball sat on a central glass platform, with a clever little trough all around it where the flowers would go.

      “A gazing ball? Like the ones in your garden?”

      “Not quite,” Jane said dryly. “My guess is that this is the real thing.”

      “The real thing. How so?”

      Jane gestured toward the gazing balls that gleamed among the cosmos along her front walk. “Those you can find in just about any garden shop. They’re made of a single layer of glass treated with some sort of transparent opalescent paint.”

      “And this?”

      “It’s an old technique. They would flow real mercury between two layers of glass. They don’t make them like that anymore, though. They haven’t in decades.” Jane had read about such treasures in the various books on rare glassware she kept in her store. She couldn’t resist. She had to know for certain. “Here. Hold these a minute, will you?” She handed her mother her keys and her small purse. Then she knelt and oh-so-carefully slipped her fingers beneath the vase.

      “Yes.” She grinned.

      “Yes, what?” Virginia demanded.

      “I can feel the stopper underneath. They would have to use a stopper, to hold in the mercury.” She lifted it. “And it’s heavy. Mercury is heavy. That means it still has its original filling.”

      Her mother was frowning at her. “It’s filled with real mercury?”

      “That’s right. And that’s very rare. Most of the old pieces like this have been drained, with reflective paint injected in the mercury’s place.”

      “Better not drop it,” her mother said warily. “Just what we need. Mercury all over the place.”

      “I’m not going to drop it.” So beautiful, Jane thought. She stood again, carefully, cradling the precious vase close to her body.

      “Who could have left it here, do you think?” Virginia was intrigued—and suspicious, too.

      Jane shrugged and made a noncommittal noise, evading her mother’s question, coming perilously close to telling a lie.

      Because she knew very well who had left it there. If she closed her eyes, she could see him now, walking backward down the walk, the sun gleaming golden in his hair, reaching out to brush those long fingers across one of the shining globes tucked among the flowers.

      “Jane?” her mother prompted. “I asked who would leave something like this on your front porch.”

      Jane considered telling her mother the truth. But it would only be inviting more questions—not to mention an excess of outraged noises at the very idea that Cade Bravo would dare to offer expensive gifts to Virginia Elliott’s only daughter.

      She settled for shrugging again. “Open the door, Mom. Let’s go inside and I’ll make our lunch.”

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