CHAPTER FOUR
Dawn came hours before.
He drew a gentle line from the top of her burnished bare shoulder down to the curve of her smooth elbow. Cinnamon's lovely, pale, unblemished back was open to him, the sheet and coverlet pulled up over her splendid breasts as her tousled head of hair lay on the pillow next to his own.
Last night hadn't started the way it ended.
The spectral heart-broken sobs diminishing, Cinnamon and Rollin recovered from the initial shock of what they heard. A ghost. It was not possible, they thought. The couple searched the kitchen and common area for hidden speakers. They had been agents far too long not to press for the rational rather than believe they were actually the eye and ear witnesses to something paranormal. Even their experience in New York so many years ago could be explained. Perhaps not as clearly as they might have liked but the rationalization they received still made more sense than a spook!
Unfortunately, they found nothing. However, the quiet of the rest of the night had eased their trepidation and they could now at least smile at one another and shrug. Neither was tired, too tense to sleep, so Cinnamon suggested they open another bottle of wine and try to relax. Rollin tossed a new log into the fireplace and they watched it blaze.
The couple then sat on the sofa and leaned back, deep in thought.
Cinnamon twirled her Merlot in the wine glass then broke the thoughtful silence with a gentle clearing of her throat, "I shouldn't have over-reacted, Rollin. I'm sorry."
He looked at her, confused. "When?"
"Earlier." She reminded, "Before I decided to go to sleep."
"Oh." He nodded, "Sorry I brought up Jim. That was ridiculous and unfunny." Then he added, "But I'm not sorry I told you I love you." he paused, "Because I do."
They both stared at the fire.
Cinnamon whispered, "I love you too."
The silence for a count of five was nearly deafening.
"So … what do we do about it?" she added.
It was the question of the hour.
This might have been a perfect moment for both to look lovingly into each other's eyes and speak words of affection but instead they continued to sit and sip their wine, staring into the fire.
Soon, both grew groggy and languid. It was two o'clock in the morning. They got up, placing their glasses on side tables and slowly walked to their bedrooms. Both hesitated outside the doors, thoughtful and irresolute.
Cinnamon turned to look at him, "Rollin, I don't want to be alone." she hesitated in her honesty, "But I'm not ready for …"
Wordlessly, Rollin lifted a hand and mimed her to join him.
Mindful, he kept his robe on when he crawled into bed, not wanting to scare her away. Cinnamon fell easily into his embrace as he held her, feeling her head on his shoulder and a slender hand resting against his chest.
'What were they going to do?' Rollin thought the answer would be simple but it really was not. In love they might be but that was hardly conducive to being top-notch secret agents. Their work with the IMF had made both of them wealthy and Rollin had been considering leaving for months. But Cinnamon … Was it ego that made him believe she would want the same thing as himself?
They slept deeply for two hours. He awoke to the feeling of caresses; a gentle touch on his neck and cheek and realized she was kissing him, soft swipes with her perfect rose colored lips. "Cinnamon?"
She answered him, their eyes meeting in the dim light from the moon as its illumination peaked through the bedroom window's curtain. "Take me to places I've never been ..."
Suddenly, it was as if they were back in New York – but better. They had the experience of years. No longer were they an intense artiste, a young temperamental man pressing too hard to make the intimate encounter memorable for his cherished but innocent partner. She was no longer a twenty year old virgin, allowing him to guide their love-making because she was genuinely adrift, but not in her passion and adoration for him …
Rollin felt Cinnamon push the robe from his body as he groped blindly to pull the nightdress up over her head.
Cinnamon turned over, realizing sunlight was now streaming into the small room and having felt his touch on her arm. "What time is it?" she whispered.
Rollin loved her throaty murmur and smiled gently, laying on his side, held slightly upward on his elbow. "Nine thirty… AM."
It wasn't an unreasonable hour considering they had barely slept during the night.
She rolled over and looked up at him. Cinnamon then returned the silly grin that said so much without saying a word. Despite probable poltergeist activity, last night had been magnificent. "Proud of yourself?" she asked with humor.
Instead of answering her outright he replied, "I can make breakfast." Rollin spoke low, stroking her hair. "What would you like?"
"Lunch." She replied, and pulled him down to kiss enthusiastically.
They drove into the village and decided to see Sheriff Moore. They needed to report what had happened but were both still too jaded to believe the cabin was being haunted.
Rollin was convinced they were the victim of a practical joke, although he noted Cinnamon was not quite as convinced as himself. Something odd was going on, she agreed, but perhaps it had more to do with vivid imaginations rather than mischievous town folk. Cinnamon remembered the man near the waterfall and also seeing him out in the woods. She was working on a theory but could not quite pull it together in her mind.
There was a good crowd about the village, consisting of sightseers and small-game hunters. Now that the weekend had arrived everyone wanted a piece of the quaint village.
It took a while but they finally found parking outside a bait and tackle shop. From there they walked to the Sheriff's office.
"And you say all of this happened last night?" Sheriff Moore asked, appearing troubled. He sat at his desk, leaning heavily back in his chair. His twenty years as a law enforcement officer in Seattle were tested with this new information.
"The night we arrived we heard a loud noise, as if someone had thrown something heavy against the outside of the cabin. When we went outside to investigate we heard voices." Rollin explained.
The Sheriff met Rollin's eyes in a 'Really?' expression.
Cinnamon said, "Just because you told us the locals think the cabin is haunted does not mean it is. We do not believe in such things."
"You aren't the first to come here saying they've heard these things." Sheriff Moore reminded.
"Which makes us believe that there is someone out there playing an odd joke." Rollin insisted, "We are just worried about it becoming ridiculous. It's already annoying."
"Anything else?" the Sheriff ask, not impolite.
"Yes," Cinnamon recalled, "I've seen a man with a beard. "I saw him once at the falls and again when Rollin and I were walking through the woods."
"You think he might be behind it all?"
"I don't know." Cinnamon spoke coolly as Rollin shrugged. "But it's a very odd coincidence."
The Sheriff nodded, "I'll make some enquiries. We are having a special visitor this afternoon so I may not get back to you until late. Are you two leaving Monday morning?"
"Depends if we have another visit tonight. We may leave Sunday afternoon."
"I have to give you credit. You've lasted longer than a lot of other couples that have rented that cabin." He then tapped his desk with nervous fingers and sat up a bit straighter, "The offer is still open. If you would like another cabin I'm sure I can find something."
"No." Cinnamon said quickly, "We like the cabin, it's cozy and comfortable. Besides, from the look of those clouds out there it might start to rain or snow soon and we don't want to move all of our things out in the middle of a storm."
Hearing that their phone was in working order, the Sheriff gave the couple his home phone number and told them to call if something happened again that evening. He also promised to call them if he discovered new information or something unusual about their problem.
Satisfied, Rollin and Cinnamon left his office.
They decided to go to the local grocers and pick up an elegant cake. Neither were heavy sweet-eaters but they wanted something special to go along with the skillet fish over creamy polenta Rollin intended to make that evening. Cinnamon was surprised by his culinary skills and she told Rollin he would make some fine woman a great husband one day. Rollin nodded his head slightly and inwardly hoped she was right.
The rest of the day was devoted to visiting the famous falls again, walking about the area, enjoying each other's company, and finding odd markings on many of the stones near the river. They were told by locals they were marks left during the days of gold-panning; marking territory. Many were made by Native Americans, a last ditch effort to keep what was theirs until they were finally pushed off their land or murdered.
"For such a lovely place it has such a sad and violent history." Cinnamon commented before they left for the car. She watched as Rollin rolled the top over the convertible. The sky was growing dark and, hearing a low rumble of thunder, both knew a storm was coming.
They made it inside the cabin with their cake just before the rain started.
Rollin immediately began to prepare supper and Cinnamon left him to freshen up and get comfortable.
She came out about forty minutes later wearing am elegant crushed-velvet lounging outfit, the top tied at the back of her neck like a halter. It was cut somewhat low in font and the back was bare and tantalizing! Her hair was brushed away from her face and she smelled wonderful, having applied just the right amount of perfume to be alluring but not over-powering.
Rollin also saw that she was wearing the bracelet he bought her.
Catching her cue, he put the meal on simmer then left the room to wash-up and change. When he returned, wearing comfortable but stylish slacks and a sophisticated pull-over dress shirt, Cinnamon had set their table, poured drinks and she had placed tiered candles on their small table. She lit them as he watched. It was very romantic.
They ate, looking at one another through the flames and Cinnamon told him everything was delicious. Even their store-bought cake was creamy and divine.
When they were done, Rollin took Cinnamon by the hand and he led her over to the sofa. They sat, once again looking at the dreamy fire, and she leaned into his embrace, holding one another as they thought languidly about their time together and futures.
"I need you in my life, Cinnamon." He murmured, "I don't want this to be the last of such weekends together."
"What are you saying exactly?" she asked, gently caressing his hand as it lay across her shoulder. "Do you want us to be exclusive?"
"I want to marry you." He felt her shoulder stiffen somewhat under his arm, "I know as long as we are with the IMF that makes little sense. But we won't always be agents, flying from country to country to stop injustice."
The last was said with a slightly lilting air that Cinnamon could appreciate. As agents they took the moral high-ground but they had done a few things that neither could feel altogether proud of. Their jobs often required an "end justifies the means" approach. Still, their work was very important and both would miss it should the day come when they would no longer be needed.
Rollin inwardly sighed when she hesitated, not verbally answering him right away. He could see she was struggling and wished Cinnamon could see things the way he did, without reluctance or over-thinking an already too shadowy future. He had known she was the woman for him since the first moment he saw her. Did she really not feel the same chemistry?
"Okay. Yes. I will marry you."
This time it was Rollin who froze a little, stunned by what he just heard. He was about to say something insightful then kiss her passionately when a loud knock came from their front door. Both turned to look at it, offended and frightened. "I don't believe this." Rollin growled. Pranks at a time like this? He was up and halfway to the door when they heard a shouting voice.
"Open up! There's been an accident. We need help!"
Rollin looked at Cinnamon and motioned to the fireplace, where the poker was positioned.
She understood, stood, and grasped it.
The rain was coming down heavily now.
He opened the door and in stumbled two men, both wearing hunters gear. One had a rifle strapped to his back and the other appeared to be bleeding from a chest wound.
"I shot my friend here. Please, he needs help!"
Cinnamon gasped. The hunter speaking was the same man she saw in the woods and near the waterfall!
CHAPTER FIVE - possibly the final chapter - WILL BE UP SOON.
