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LENGTH: Mid Novel
SENSUALITY: Sensual

Cover art (c) Jenny Dixon 2004
ISBN 1-58608-498-4
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Rating: Sensual content and violence.

"This complex yet moving love story is emotionally charged with the characters' past guilt being the driving force behind their present actions. Whenever they are together, the sparks are constantly flying….With each shocking turn of events that happens in the community, readers will not want to put down Ms. Marzec’s paranormal story, THE COMPANY YOU KEEP, until the stunning conclusion." Amelia Richard, eCataRomance Reviews

"Five Unicorns! Penelope Marzec showed great depth in her writing in The Company
You Keep…I thought Penelope Marzec did a wonderful job of bringing the book to its conclusion without giving away any secrets early on. I couldn’t put it down until I had read the very last page. Make sure you read The Company You Keep!!!" Kaleen, Enchanted In Romance

"Four Angels! Ms. Marzec has told an intriguing story that keeps you guessing until the end." Donna, Fallen Angel Reviews

THE COMPANY YOU KEEP

By

Penelope Marzec

© copyright July 2004, Penelope Marzec
Cover art by Jenny Dixon, © copyright July 2004
New Concepts Publishing
5202 Humphreys Rd.
Lake Park, GA 31636
www.newconceptspublishing.com

Dedicated to Rich, my very own hero

Chapter One

An icy wind blew through Jennifer Brant's soul. The portal was open. Deep in the woods on the family farm lay the strange gateway of death, and Jennifer could always sense when a spirit passed through it. Usually, it took only a moment, but tonight the bitter frost continued to grip her heart with a black chill that gave her the distinct impression her world had altered. Who had died?

She thought immediately of her sister-in-law, Terry, but if anything had happened, surely Michael would have called her right away.

Jennifer parted the gingham café curtains covering her kitchen windows and peered out at the snow-covered New Jersey landscape. She glanced toward her brother’s house, one half-mile away past the barn, but she could see only darkness in that direction. Michael was probably at the hospital with his wife right now.

A bright half moon hung over the ridge and lent an eerie shimmer to the white-layered woods in the January night. Then Jennifer saw a dim light darting between the trees. Fright swept through her as the beam glittered through the ice-coated branches.

Flinging her long, heavy braid over her shoulder, she tried to calm herself. Perhaps the light came from another one of Nathan McDugan’s spies, braving the bitter winter weather to survey the farm. She’d heard the crazy billionaire had started bidding with a contractor willing to build his concert hall here in Marlpit, even though the bank hadn’t foreclosed on her land yet.

She feared what would happen if someone discovered the portal, or if it became damaged by heavy earth moving equipment. She suspected that any change would wreak havoc in some way. Her intuition warned her that she had to keep the ominous gateway safe.

She put her hand over her heart and felt it racing. She wondered who had just died, or how many, while the icy wind continued to gnaw at her.

She frowned as the pale beacon trailed along the ridge. A frigid draught whisked through the window sash, raising goose bumps on her skin as a new suspicion came to her mind.

Could that be George, their stable hand, out there? Michael had dismissed George last night. The harsh measure was a last- ditch effort to save the farm. It would be just like George to get rip-roaring drunk, but he wouldn’t go roaming through the woods on a night like this. Or would he? What if he stumbled into a snowdrift? What if he was the one who had died?

Jennifer tried to rub some warmth back into her arms while she remained possessed by the unnatural chill. She picked up the phone and punched in Michael’s number. The answering machine switched on after the second ring. Twisting the end of her braid into a knot, she waited for the end of the message.

"Hi, Michael. Somebody’s out in the woods, along the top of the ridge. Give me a call when you get in. Maybe you could check it out. Okay?" She placed the receiver back in its cradle and wrung her hands.

What if it wasn’t George? Right now, McDugan’s spy could be hammering stakes into her property and mapping out the destruction of her land, and, unwittingly, the ruination of the entryway for the spirits of the dead.

A persistent pounding that had started in her temples suddenly turned into a blinding stab of agony that shot through her head like a knife. She winced and closed her eyes until the spasm passed. She glanced out the window again. A chill wound its way up her spine. The glimmer of light now flashed along the fence line.

Jennifer switched off the kitchen lamp for a better view and gasped. The intruder crossed the pasture with surprising ease, considering the two feet of snow that covered the ground.

"That’s definitely not George," she muttered to herself. The fifty-two-year-old man had arthritic knees. Then, rounding the shed, the light came toward the house in a mad rush. Terror seized her. Nothing human could move that quickly in the snow.

With her heart slamming against her rib cage, she dashed to the broom closet for the shotgun. Her fingers shook as they closed around the cold metal of the barrel. Maybe all the stress had finally gotten to her. Maybe she was losing her mind!

No! She swallowed hard and blinked her eyes several times. It could be just some kid who decided to use his sled on their hill.

She inched along the wall before cautiously peeking out from the corner of the window. What she saw dashed away any hope of a reasonable solution. She clutched at the sill to steady herself as dark fear threatened to swallow her up. In the glow of the moonlight, the hazy outline of a figure glided over the snow. The form stopped right outside the kitchen door, holding high a punched-tin lantern with a dim, flickering light. By its eerie beam she saw a woman wearing a flowing calico dress and clutching a shawl tightly around her shoulders.

"Abigail Sutton," Jennifer breathed as her heart froze. With quivering fingers, she made the sign of the cross. The specter did not vanish.

Unsteady, and feeling light-headed, she wove her fingers through her plaited hair to search for the old scar on her scalp as the memories came rushing back. She set the shotgun down in the corner.

The ghostly figure beckoned in earnest.

Come with me!

The words rang in Jennifer’s own head. Her mouth went dry.

She turned around and tried to calm her wild pulse with several deep breaths. Her knuckles went white as she gripped the counter top.

Bring your light!

Jennifer choked back a cry as the words burst into her mind. For a moment, she didn’t move. Then she touched the old wound behind her ear and slowly faced the phantom once more.

Hurry! Abigail gave an unearthly cry of alarm. The piercing sound sent another shooting pain through Jennifer's head.

Then, the flickering lantern swung at her side as Abigail Sutton rushed off, her last desperate entreaty fading away while she floated smoothly back up toward the ridge.

Jennifer gasped, hoping the torment in her head would subside. Twenty-two years ago, that old-fashioned apparition had saved her life. Seized by a strange urgency, she grabbed her battery lantern and dashed out into the snowy field behind her house, without thinking to put on her coat or boots despite the bitter weather.

"Abigail!" she called as she stumbled in a drift. Only a dim glimmer of the ghost's lantern remained visible in the night.

The snow had crusted over two days ago when sleet had covered everything with an icy glaze. With slippers on her feet, Jennifer broke through the hard coating and sank into the soft snow beneath.

The sharp sting of the frozen crystals on her skin did not stop her from scrambling after the disappearing spirit. She caught a glimpse of the lantern's glow waiting by the gnarled maple at the edge of the woods. Fear prickled along her neck, but an odd compulsion propelled her forward.

The light dipped, swayed, and moved on into the woods until the gleam became feeble and indistinct. By the time Jennifer leaned up against the twisted trunk of the old maple, the light had disappeared altogether, and she did not have the strength to go further. Her own battery lantern flickered and went dark.

Her lungs hurt as she panted in the cutting air. The wind had swept the snow away from the base of the tree and Jennifer slid down to sit on one of the tree’s bulging roots while a wave of desolation washed over her. Surprisingly, as suddenly as it began, the bitter chill in her soul ended. The opening to the portal must have closed.

She shivered violently. In the stillness, clouds of vapor from her breath trailed high in the air. She found she couldn’t stop shaking. She knew she should keep moving, but wracked by the dreadful trembling, she remained huddled at the foot of the ancient tree.

Suddenly, loud barking caught her attention. Against the background of the moonlit snow, she saw a large dog bounding toward her. Within moments, the animal’s warm, raspy tongue slobbered against her cheek. It felt good.

"H-hi, m-mutt," she managed to stutter. Jennifer buried her hands in his thick, shining coat and heard the jingle of dog tags. The dog wagged his entire rear end and barked joyfully.

"I-I’m glad to see y-you, t-too." She leaned her head against him. He was real and alive, not a fuzzy apparition. Delicious heat shimmered out from his body. She closed her eyes and smiled.

The dog cocked his head and barked again, then turned and whimpered. The snap of a branch sounded close at hand but Jennifer paid no attention to it as she luxuriated in the soft fur of the animal.

* * * *

Nathan frowned when he saw the woman clutching his dog. When he aimed the flashlight at her face, shock rippled through him. He tramped closer, trying to hold the beam steady in his hand.

"Ms. Brant?" The sound of his own voice echoing in the tranquil woods made him uneasy.

Jennifer Brant lifted her head and squinted at the light.

"A-abigail?"

The word held a note of panic and seeing her dazed look shook his composure. Something had to be very wrong. This could not be the Jennifer Brant he knew, the invincible Iron Lady of Marlpit. He could swear a cold metal band tightened around his chest.

Swallowing hard, he lifted the flashlight to his own face and heard her cry of alarm.

"Nathan McDugan," he corrected. "What are you doing out here without a coat, or gloves--my God, you have slippers on your feet--on the coldest night of the winter."

She didn't answer. Her eyes, usually as hard as steel, appeared more like silver in the weakening beam of his flashlight.

He bent down and peered at her. Lifting her hands away from the dog’s soft fur, he turned them over, gently probing the flesh. His stomach made a sickening lurch. Her hands appeared as pale as a ghost’s fleshless skin.

"This is the beginning of frostbite." He released her hands and studied her face. She lowered her eyes. Staring at her, he could almost believe she was nothing more than a gentle woodland nymph. What had happened to his sworn enemy--the one who had rallied the whole town against him and his plans?

His dog licked her frozen hands and face, then whined, obviously imploring his master to do something. With an oath, Nathan whipped off his coat and threw it over Ms. Brant’s shoulders. When he picked her up, she didn’t protest, but he felt the shudder run through her. Carrying her in his arms, he was surprised to find that she weighed little more than an armful of kindling wood.

"You’ve probably frozen your feet, too," he growled. "I’d have thought that the Iron Lady of Marlpit would know better."

He gazed down at the long lashes fanning her cheeks. He’d never been alone with her until now. He’d never gotten within four feet of her at any of their previous meetings. Why hadn’t he ever noticed her haunting beauty?

He set off with her across the fields, grimly considering the fact that he was saving the one person in Marlpit who would most enjoy seeing him run out of town.

"So who’s Abigail?" he asked as he plodded through the snow. She didn’t answer again. She shivered in his arms and turned her head toward his chest. Automatically, he gathered her closer to him--close enough so that her perfume drifted into his nostrils, teasing his memory. What scent was that?

He recalled it almost immediately. Fresh peaches, like the ones he had picked in an orchard on a tour. Warm peaches, ripened in the summer sun. His mouth watered at the thought of the dripping fruit he had tasted while the juice ran down his arm.

He sniffed once more as he passed the barn, but instead of the tangy sweetness of peaches, the stench of manure filled the air. It brought him back to his senses.

He swore and snorted at the irony of the situation. He despised this woman and her followers for blocking his efforts to buy land in the backward town. He intended to build Pamela’s concert hall here, whether the townspeople liked the idea or not. He owned the biggest food conglomerate in the world, and didn’t doubt that if he had promised to build a food processing plant in the town, they would have had a parade in his honor. However, they fought against his cultural memorial with the tenacity of ignorant ruffians.

At last, he reached the backdoor of Ms. Brant’s house and trudged heavily up the steps. Shoving the door open, he heard the jingle of dog tags and knew that his mutt had followed along. He nudged the light switch with his elbow.

"Nice, very nice." He nodded his approval as he kicked the door shut with his foot. "Not at all what I expected from someone as unbending as you usually are."

When he glanced down at her, he noticed that her lips had turned a ghastly shade and her face appeared deathly white. The sight sent a curl of fear trailing up his spine.

He settled her gently in a large chair. He found a quilt on the couch in the next room. Returning, he tucked it around her. He frowned. Was she slipping out of consciousness? He took her face in his hands.

"Jennifer, can you hear me?"

Her eyes rolled beneath the lids as if she lay in the depths of a nightmare. His stomach knotted. Had he been too late in finding her?

"Jennifer!" He shook her slightly. His fingers wound through some loose tendrils of her rich, chestnut hair. Then he traced the perfect arch of one brow. Her high cheekbones with the gentle hollows beneath them gave her a delicate appearance. Strange. For until now, he had believed her to be invincible.

Her eyes fluttered open. She blinked at him. A spark of awareness jolted through him and he dropped his hands.

"We better tend to your hands and feet right away," he said with deliberate gruffness. He went over to the sink, switched on the faucet, and began searching in the cabinet.