"Ah ... thanks." The flush of her cheeks would show, Taylor knew.

Sherrill tugged with Taylor's hand still between hers. "Come, Ian. Come. Come. Come."

Taylor turned her head toward him and tilted her head. A chuckle broke with Ian's smile. They walked through a two-story foyer and into a great room with camel-colored, suede couches and a giant TV paused on a talk show guest's face in full relief.

Sherrill took a spot on the couch, pulling Taylor next to her. Ian lowered to a seat opposite. Between them, a cardboard banker's box sat with its top open. Photos scattered across the coffee table. Some in color. Others in black and white.

"How was your trip up?" Sherrill held a pack of photos still in a plastic sheathing in her hands.

"Uneventful," Ian said.

"Good, good." She patted Taylor's arm. "Emma said you wanted to see my grandparent's old photos, right?"

Ian shifted to the edge of the chair, leaned his elbows on his knees and clasped his hands together. "Lexi thinks she saw a photo of Taylor and me when she did her mumbo jumbo mind-finding thing."

Taylor didn't understand how Lexi could know or see a photograph someone else owned, but figured she must have seen it before, though, even in her mind, that didn't sit well.

"It was a black and white. Would have been about a hundred years old, maybe more," Ian said.

Sherrill reached for the box and pulled a six-inch alb.u.m from within it. "I've been looking through all these today. They're all the ones that held the photos from the walls. I set aside this box because I thought you might be interested in it most." She laid one book on her lap. A flip of the front cover showed perfectly placed, fully archived photos on the inside. "Where did Lexi see it in their house again?"

"On the wall by the fireplace," Ian said.

Sherrill's head bobbed up and down as she rifled through the pages. "Then, this is the right batch. All those went into a box my mom had when they died. I had them professionally preserved last year." She turned a page over, revealing more photos. "Some were yellowing from the chemicals in the framing materials." Another flip of the page. "Others were crackling from the temperature change over so many years. Some are in perfect condition." A deep breath escaped from Sherrill. "Here." Her finger tapped against an image. She nudged the alb.u.m closer to Taylor.

The two staring back could be none other than herself and Ian, though the image didn't make sense. He wore overalls-which by the looks of him, he'd never touch, and she donned a bonnet and long dress that covered every bit of her body. Again, an outfit she'd never use in her line of work. They stood three or more feet apart with an old wagon behind them. His subtle look to her and her shy smile away said it all, yet if anyone asked, they might mistake her smile for the small child in the foreground.

"Would you say that looks like you?" Sherrill asked.

Taylor nodded, toying with the ring on her right hand. "Yup. Totally us. I don't know what to say about this. I mean, I guess these are some sort of ancestor to me then, right?"

Sherrill smiled. "Perhaps."

"Why do you have these?" Taylor asked.

Ian leaned over Taylor's shoulder. "Sherrill is the granddaughter of George and Marge Fergs-the people Lexi and Tripp bought the farmhouse from."

That meant little to nothing except that Taylor had remodeled their house.

Sherrill's smile reached across her face. "My grandparents helped Lexi and Tripp solve their, let's call it, relationship issues, so they could have a future together."

"Um ... okay." From Taylor's perspective, everyone had relationship issues.

Sherrill flipped the page and patted the alb.u.m box. "If Lexi saw a photo my grandparents had, and that pointed you here? You're connected to my Grandparents. In some way."

Taylor's head whipped from Sherrill to Ian and back. "What? What does that mean?"

Ian's cell buzzed. He pulled it from his pocket. "This is Tripp. Can we take two minutes?"

"Absolutely," Sherrill said. "Would you care to join me for some lemonade, Taylor?"

As Ian moved to the front door, Taylor stood and followed Sherrill, all the while wondering how her face-her spitting image as her mother liked to say-could be in a picture, in an alb.u.m, in a house, owned by a woman she'd never met, and no one seemed even remotely wigged out by it.

a a a The afternoon sun brought life to the earth. Fragrance from the various flowering shrubs and plants. .h.i.t Ian until three sneezes came out in quick succession. "s.h.i.t. Sorry." He pinched his nostrils shut to stem the oncoming tickle that pulsed high up in his sinuses. "What's up?"

Tripp chuckled through the phone. "Riley stopped by."

Ian's entire body tensed. "Why?"

"To check on Taylor, of course."

"And?" Ian trusted Tripp not to give away any of their excursion.

"He's a very astute guy."

Ian walked the length of the path as two cars pa.s.sed on the road. "What'd he say?"

"It's what he didn't say," Tripp said. "I told him you and Taylor were *out' de-stressing. His jaw clenched quite a few times before he said to tell you thanks."

"Thanks for what?" Ian meandered back toward the house.

"For being where he can't be for Taylor. I think he really does see her as a sister."

"That's it?" Ian stopped at the stoop.

"No. He also said that if we were to provide any information to him, on her behalf, he might be persuaded to ensure its safekeeping or get it into the right hands."

Ian's cheek muscles pulled up his lips. "Not just astute but stellar."

"Exactly."

"You think he came over just for that?"

"No." Tripp's single word came out serious. "He needed to tell me that there was some disturbance at Taylor's house. The ground got pretty messed up overnight. Not that it wasn't already, but apparently, the scientists that showed up this morning mentioned it."

"Hmmm," Ian said.

"Seems a bunch of animals must have traipsed through the site. Deer. Maybe dog or coyote. The thunderstorm did a d.a.m.n good job of flattening everything out, but left those footprints."

"Well, then." Ian kept his inner worry contained. "We found the photos."

"Yeah? And?"

"Sherrill was just about to tell us more about them when you interrupted."

"Well, why the h.e.l.l did you answer the phone then?"

"I thought it might be important!" Ian stomped up the steps. "Next time you call, I'm gonna ignore you." Laughter came through until Ian hovered his finger over the off b.u.t.ton.

"One more update."

"Oh?" Ian leaned against the frame of the house.

"Your source in Alabama called and said Tanner Meadows died in a bar fight in Tennessee three years ago."

"Son of a b.i.t.c.h. I was hoping he'd have his fingerprints all over this somehow, and we'd be done with it."

"I know." A sigh came through the line. "The mystery continues."

15.

Ian followed voices until he found Taylor and Sherrill in her kitchen along with the alb.u.m they'd searched through before. Unlike his apartment in New York and Lexi's homestyle, modern but cozy place in North Carolina, Sherrill's kitchen screamed commercial. Stainless steel appliances and sleek, silver pots mixed with black granite and marble counters.

"Nice place you got here." Ian took a stool as had Taylor and Sherrill.

"Everything okay?" Taylor sipped from a tall, frosted gla.s.s.

Sherrill slid a third in Ian's direction.

"Thanks." Fresh-squeezed lemonade moved across his tongue-not too sugary and not too tart all at once. "Nothing major. Just checking in."

Taylor gave him a small nod.

"So, what'd I miss?"

"Nothing yet," Sherrill said. "We just got the drinks ready."

Ian took another swig of the fresh beverage.

Taylor's fingers circled her drink, but she didn't bring it to her lips. A few blinks. A click of her nails. "Who're those people in that picture, Sherrill? The real ones."

Sherrill failed to hide the smirk behind her own gla.s.s, but set it down and opened the alb.u.m again. "The man was a farmer who worked my great-grandparent's land-Marge's parent's land."

Ian dropped the gla.s.s to the counter with a thud. "You're not telling me he was a slave, are you?"

Sherrill held up a hand. "Oh, no. Not at all. My great-grandparents were very progressive-thinking. Back then, they rented out their lands. To anyone. They had a whole slew of farmers working them, according to the records I've found. They paid rent, helped feed the family, and the farmers reaped the rewards of owning their own businesses. It was a very modern way of working."

The air Ian held gushed from him. A farmer working his lands. A farmhouse. "Why do I sense some sort of ..."

Sherrill's grin spread. "Relationship? Tryst, perhaps?"

Ian nodded.

"The story my grandmother told is that her mother and father found the two together once, under one of the biggest oaks at the edge of the lands-right where its roots would meet the small pond at the back of their property. They begged them to keep their secret." Sherrill sipped some more. "They did, of course. Though my great-grandparents liked to keep an eye on them after that. They said the two shared glances, small waves and h.e.l.los, but outside of those, no one knew. Of course, no one in their right mind would have dared attempt a relationship like that back then. So, these two were either crazy, or they must have shared a love that went beyond their time." She tapped the Taylor-looking person in the photo. "We live in a different world today-one not bound by cultural, racial and ethnic rules."

"What happened to them?" Taylor scratched at her right ring finger.

Ian's own itched each time she did it.

"My grandmother never said."

"Who photographed them?" Taylor asked.

"My great-grandmother. Cameras had just come out back then, for commercial use, that is, and her father had been asked to work with it. She tracked his footsteps as much as possible, I believe." Sherrill took the alb.u.m back, thumbed through until she returned it, another page of sketches appearing. "The other thing my great-grandmother was fond of was inks. She loved making them from plants and made a semi-sort of ballpoint pen shaft for herself that she could fill with her inks."

"Very inventive," Taylor said.

"Yes, indeed." The images Sherrill showed off had a deep blue-grey tone to them.

"Why haven't these faded?" Taylor asked.

"I wish I knew. I only attribute it to my great-grandmother's own form of magic. She was a very, very unique woman. She used to say, and mind you, this was when she was in her upper nineties, and I was less than eight-so my memory could be off. But she'd say: If people knew who they once were, they'd have had a heck of an easier time dealing with who they are." She turned farther into the alb.u.m and sighed. "This is my great-grandmother's self portrait."

"Ooh!" Taylor shifted forward, her fingers scratching her ring again. "What's that on her hand?"

Ian peered closer. In the ink of the image, on the woman's right hand, a design had been etched. Like his tattoo. And Taylor's. Only completely different.

"Ah, that's her tattoo. A self made one, supposedly, because no white woman of prosperity would be branded openly like this back then." Sherrill chuckled. "So again, you can see just how unique she was."

Ian raised an eyebrow, noting Taylor continued to twist at the band on her finger. That she didn't stare down at it suggested to him that the action was more habit than anything, but he didn't remember her doing so during any of the last few days. His own itched, but he forced himself to ignore it.

Sherrill turned to the back of the alb.u.m.

A small, envelope-like folder attached to the inner back. Her fingers slid inside, and when they came out, she had a photo in between her fingers. "I took the liberty of making copies of all the images before we heirloomed them ... you know, just in case I wanted to reframe them." She slid two toward Taylor. "You can have one if you'd like."

Taylor held it. She stared at it. A flip brought the other side over. In the lower corner, words waited to be read in an old handwriting: My Dearest. Remember me.

"What's this?" Taylor's voice carried at just above a whisper.

Sherrill's shoulders rose and fell, though with a slight incline toward Taylor. "I don't know. Almost all the photos have writing on them. It was customary early on to help date them."

Taylor's nails made no sound against her skin as she scratched at her finger again.

"You okay, there?" Ian asked. "You been digging at that the whole time."

"Sorry. It's itchy." She pulled off the ring.

"Oh, wow," Sherrill said.

a a a Taylor rubbed at her right ring finger and wiped it on her pants leg. "I must have gotten a bug bite." She looked up to Ian and wiggled her hand. "Sometimes it does this."