Tangled Threat. Heather Graham

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      “She was dragged there and hanged, so yes, I’m sure it was torture,” Maura said. “But it was the History Tree long before a plantation was built here, years and years ago,” Maura said. “That was the Native American name for it—the Timucua were here years before the Spanish came. They called it the History Tree, because even back then, the old oak had grown together with a palm, and it’s been that way since. Anyway, we’ll be seeing the History Tree soon enough,” she said softly. “The tree that first welcomed terror when the beautiful Gyselle was tormented and hanged from the tree until dead. And where, so they say, the hauntings and horrors of the History Tree began.”

      Maura saw more than one of her audience members glance back over the area of sweeping, manicured lawn and toward the ranch, as if assuring themselves that more than the night and the spooky, draped trees existed, that there was light and safety not far away.

      The new buildings Donald Glass had erected were elegant and beautiful. With St. Augustine just an hour and a half in one direction and Disney and Universal and other theme parks just an hour and half to the south—not to mention a nice proximity to the beaches and racetrack at Daytona and the wonder of Cape Kennedy being an hour or so away, as well—Frampton Ranch and Resort was becoming a must-see location.

      Still, the ranch had become renowned for offering Campfire Ghost Histories. Not stories, but histories—everything said was history and fact...to a point.

      The listeners could hear what people claimed to have happened, and they could believe—or not. And then they’d walk the trails where history had occurred.

      “You see, Gyselle had been a lovely lost waif, raised by the Seminole tribe after they found her wandering near the battlefield at the end of the Second Seminole War. She was ‘rescued’ by Spanish missionaries at the beginning of the Third Seminole War, though, at that point, she probably didn’t want or need rescuing, having been with a Seminole family for years. But ‘saved’ and then set adrift, she found work at the old Frampton plantation, and there she caught the eye of the heir, and despite his arranged marriage to socialite Julie LeBlanc, the young Richard Frampton fell head over heels in love with Gyselle. They were known to escape into the woods where they both professed their love, despite all the odds against them—and Richard’s wife, Julie. Knowing of her husband’s infidelity, Julie LeBlanc arranged to poison her father-in-law—and let the blame fall on Gyselle. Gyselle was hunted down as a murderous witch, supposedly practicing a shaman’s magic or a form of voodoo—it was easy to blame it on traditions the plantation workers didn’t really understand—and she was hanged there, from what was once a lover’s tree where she had met with Richard, her love, who had promised to protect her...”

      She let her voice trail. Then she finished.

      “Here, in these woods, Gyselle loved, not wisely, but deeply. And here she died. And so they say, when the moon has risen high and full in the night sky—as it is now—those who walk the trails by night can hear her singing softly ‘The Last Rose of Summer’ with a lovely Irish lilt to her voice.”

      “What about the curse?” a boy cried out.

      “Yeah, the curse! That she spoke before she died—swearing that her tormenters would choke on their own blood! You just said that she cursed everyone, and there are more stories, right?” Mark—never one to be silent long—asked eagerly.

      Maura felt—rather than saw—Brock McGovern at her side. He was amused. Barely eighteen, he’d nevertheless been given the position of stage manager for events such as the campfire history tour. He’d been standing to one side just behind her as she told her tale with just the right dramatic emphasis—or so she believed.

      He stepped forward, just a shade closer, nearly touching her.

      “Choking on their own blood? Kind of a standard curse, huh?” he teased softly and for her ears alone.

      Maura ignored him, trying not to smile, and still, even here, now, felt the rush she always did when Brock was around.

      Brock was always ready to tease—but also to encourage and support whatever she was doing. He had that ability and the amazing tendency to exude an easy confidence that stretched far beyond his years. But he was that sure of himself. He was about to leave for the service, and when he returned, he planned to go to college to study criminology. Barely an adult, he knew what he wanted in life. She was sure he was going to work hard during basic training; he’d work hard through the college or university of his choice. And then he’d make up his mind just where he wanted to serve—FBI, US Marshals, perhaps even Homeland Security or the Secret Service.

      He shook his head, smiling at her with his unusual eyes—a shade so dark that they didn’t appear brown at times, but rather black. His shaggy hair—soon to become a buzz cut—was as dark as his eyes, and it framed a face that was, in Maura’s mind, pure enchantment. He had already had a fine, steady chin—the kind most often seen on more mature men. His cheekbones were broad, and his skin was continually bronzed. He was, in her mind, beautiful.

      He’d often told the tales himself, and he did so very well. He had a deep, rich voice that could rise and fall at just the right moments—a voice that, on its own, could awaken every sense in Maura’s body. They had known each other for three years now, laughed and joked together, ridden old trails, worked together...always flirting, nearly touching at first, but always aware that, when summer ended, he would head back down to Key West and she would return to West Palm Beach—about 233 miles apart, just a little too far for a high school romance.

      But this summer...

      Things had changed.

      She had liked him from the time she had met him; she had compared any other young man she met to him, and in her mind, all others fell short. He’d been given a management job that summer, probably because he was always willing to pitch in himself, whether it came to working in the restaurant when tables needed bussing or hauling in boxes when deliveries arrived. He’d gained a lean and muscular physique from hard work as much as from time in the gym, and he had a quick mind and a quicker wit, cared for people, was generous with his time, and was just...

      Perfect. She’d never find anyone so perfect in life again, Maura was certain, even though she knew that her mother and father smiled indulgently when she talked about him in glowing terms—she was, after all, just eighteen, with college days and so much more ahead of her.

      This summer they’d become a true couple. In every way.

      A very passionate couple.

      They’d had sex, in her mind, the most amazing sex ever, more meaningful than any sex had ever been before.

      Just the thought brought a rush of blood to her face.

      But...she believed that they would go on even through their separation, no matter the distance, no matter what. People would think, of course, that she was just a teenager, that she couldn’t be as madly in love as she believed she was. So she was determined that no one would really realize just how insanely fully she did love him.

      She turned to Brock. He was smiling at her. Something of a secret smile, charming, sexy...a smile that seemed to hint that they always shared something unique, something special.

      She grinned in return.

      Yep. He had become her world.

      “Take it away,” she told him.

      “The curse!” he said, stepping in with a tremor in his СКАЧАТЬ