by Jen Talty
“He’s such a spoil sport, isn’t he?” Courtney felt the floor shake. Either he was fast approaching, or pacing. “See you all later.” She dumped a few more pieces of candy in each bag, and then closed the door behind her. “You know, having all the kids here keeps them out of trouble.”
“No, it doesn’t.” He reached in her bowl and yanked out a Kit Kat bar. “It gives them ideas.”
“About what? How to use a scary story to feel a girl’s boob?”
He had the gall to laugh. “That, among other things.” After scrunching up the foil wrapper, he popped the entire candy bar into his mouth and chewed.
She stared at his hard features, but she could have sworn there was something playful in his eyes.
Go for it! the voice whispered.
Don’t think now is the right time. She wanted to scream at her grandmother but refrained since Owen was currently licking a chocolate spot off his upper lip. “Why don’t you let me?”
He leaned in, inches from her face. “I’ll let you if you call off the witch pow-wow.”
Immediately, she recoiled. “That was uncalled for.”
Why was he smiling? This shouldn’t be fun for him. She took a step back when he reached out toward her.
“What’s the matter?” he asked, still with a playful gleam to his gaze.
“You have to ask?”
“You look as though you’ve seen a ghost.” He touched her chin with his thumb. “Don’t like getting called on your own game, do you?”
She shoved his hand away. “I’m not playing games with you. Not this time, anyway.”
“Really.” He stepped away from her, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I’ve got a hard time believing that. You probably even knew which classes I was speaking in today.”
“Oh my God. You’re an asshole.” She reached in her bowl, grabbed a handful of candy, and tossed it at him.
“Just tell me what you want,” he said, dodging a few stray lollipops. “Be up front with me and maybe, just maybe, I’ll come back tonight.”
“Maybe I don’t want you to come back.”
“Maybe? Yes? Or is it no?” He shook his head. “See, you can’t even give me a straight answer.”
“Ugh! You’re twisting everything around.” She wanted to douse the man in ice cubes.
“I’m only playing the game by your rules.”
“You know, up until five minutes ago, I knew exactly what I wanted, but now, well, my eyes have been opened—wide open.”
He pinched his brow as if he were confused by her statement. She had half a mind to clarify what she meant, but then thought better of it. Things were so messed up, she wondered if they were fixable.
“Sorry,” she muttered. “I’m sorry I tricked you yesterday, but this isn’t a trick and don’t use that stupid cry wolf story because that is not what I’m doing.”
“It’s hard to believe considering what you did.”
“Won’t happen again. My mistake. Now if you don’t mind, I have things to do.” She pointed to the door, all the while blocking out her grandmother’s voice giving her a mental whipping for not being able to see his side. His side! Please.
No. I told you to talk to him. You’re the one who decided to play games. I was just trying to help make sure it worked.
Yeah, well, it didn’t.
“I have to file a report,” he said with a scowl.
“On what? A break-in you don’t believe happened? Please. Can’t you just go back to your office and tell them what you really think, that I’m a whack job?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to.”
Just then, the doorbell rang again. “You should go do your cop thing,” she said.
“I’ll see you later,” he said, stepping through the front door. He didn’t look back, just strode along the brick sidewalk toward the driveway with his head held high.
Well, crud. Being a bitch wasn’t going to help her land her man, but he was being a pigheaded idiot. She had half a mind to ask her grandmother what to do, but at the moment, dear grandma was yapping in her ear about how to be a lady and how to properly treat a man.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Whatever.” She dropped a few candy bars into the kids’ bags, then closed the door.
But when she looked out the window and watched his patrol car roll down the street, she realized she needed to fix this. Soon. Tonight.
But how?
5
Owen patrolled around in the neighborhoods for the next hour, constantly glancing at his watch. The closer it got to eight, the faster his heart raced. He kept telling himself going back to her place wasn’t about her, but about keeping an eye out for the older kids who showed up, the ones who would take the stories and use them to do Lord only knew what. Besides, he was still really ticked. He couldn’t believe she’d stoop to turning over her own furniture like that. Hell, he would have come over. Hadn’t it been obvious he’d enjoyed himself last night? Hadn’t he told her he’d come by? What was she thinking?
What was he thinking?
It wasn’t her this time, and you know it. It was others. What happened to your gut instincts?
They’re confused with my head.
No, they’re not. Just stop fighting it.
Maybe.
He rolled his vehicle to a stop at the end of Courtney’s driveway. A group of people already gathered in her garage. The grown-ups stood around a small table covered with Courtney’s creations and cups holding some steamy liquid.
His mouth watered, assuming it was Lilly’s homemade hot apple cider, but did he dare be a hypocrite and go hang out with everyone who wanted to hear stories of dead people wandering the halls? He opted to linger under the large oak tree in the backyard. Besides, his gut told him something was going to happen, and he suspected it was something bad.
You should be over there, sitting next to her. Laughing with her. Sharing with her. Remembering with her.
“I know, I’m a big oaf,” he whispered.
He could hear Lilly laughing.
He missed her. That’s all this was. Lilly had always been like a grandma to him, and he loved her, no denying that.
The children gathered around Courtney as she held up a book. He couldn’t see what it was, but all the kids leaned in, and the parents pretended as if they weren’t interested. Owen craned his neck trying to hear her voice over the ahhs of the little voices, but he couldn’t make out the words, or see the book.
A figure broke from the crowd, and a moment later Pat stood in front of Owen, handing him a cup of steaming hot cider. “Why are you hiding?”
“Not hiding. Observing.” Owen inhaled the cloudy smoke coming from the brown liquid before he blew and took a sip. Best damn cider he’d ever had.
“Have you ever seen that book?”
“What book?” Owen peered toward the garage, and he felt like he’d just been checked into the boards at a hockey game.
Courtney stole his breath.
And his heart.
“The one she’s reading,” Pat said. “It’s a collection of stories Lilly put together. It’s pretty amazing.”
“Ghost stories,” Owen mumbled.
“It should be published. It’s a great collection.”
“You know what I don’t get?” Owen ran his free hand over his jaw. “Half of these people used to say Lilly was off her rocker and believed Courtney wasn’t far behind.”
“That’s not entirely true. Maybe they don’t believe in the afterlife, but they all thought Lilly had some really great stories. They’d rather have their kids hang over here on Halloween listening to stories of love and admiration, even if it was with a ghost, than papering the neighbors’ yards.” Pat leaned against the tree. “Courtney hasn’t been around for a while, and maybe she’s laid it on too thick. But I think it’s all harmless fun.”
“You realize she believes her own shit.”
So do you, you big oaf! Lilly’s voice echoed in his ears lou
d and clear.
“So what? You think the world is evil,” Pat said with a smidgen of venom.
“Do not.” Owen finished off his cider, wishing he had some of those powered donuts he knew were on that table. Her grandmother made them every year, and he suspected Courtney would follow that tradition. What would Halloween be without them?
“Go over there and make nice.”
“You know she did it again.” Owen rested his shoulder against the tree next to Pat. “She set up some ridiculous break-in, this time called the dispatcher, and had me come over to check it out. I could bring her in for that.”
“She wouldn’t call 9-1-1 if she just wanted to get you to the house, would she?”
“She did.”
No, she didn’t, and you know it. Stop holding on to things because you’re afraid she’s going to leave you again.
What? Not going to call me an oaf again?
Why call the kettle black?
“You don’t know that. Granted, she’s done some pretty crazy stuff to get your attention, but you haven’t made it easy for her. Remember the Fourth of July picnic?”
Owen smiled. Courtney had shown up with a date. The guy was a moron, and they got into a fight in the middle of the picnic.
“You think she staged that argument?” Owen asked. He’d always wondered, but at the time, Owen had been dating the town clerk and he didn’t know why. The day Courtney moved back, he asked Sue out and regretted it from the moment she screeched yes. Nice girl, but too needy, clingy, and not…not Courtney.
Starting to see the light?
He wanted to tell the voice to go to hell, but that wouldn’t be very gentlemanly.
“The fight?” his brother asked. “Doubtful. I think the dork really liked her, so I can’t imagine he’d go along with anything like that. I don’t think she showed up with him to make you jealous.”
“I’m too old for this.”
“Then put an end to it.”
Owen opened his mouth to say something, but no words came to mind. Without a word, Pat meandered back to the party and about an hour later, no one but Courtney, he, and the tree were left.
She glanced his way a few times but didn’t acknowledge his existence.
“Oh, hell,” he muttered and stomped his way toward her garage. “So? Things went well, huh?”
“Yep,” she said, still basically ignoring him.
He supposed he deserved it in a way. “Pat said you read from a book that had some cool stories.”
“It’s over there.” She nodded toward the table. “I found it in one of the boxes my grandma left behind with my name on it.”
Owen lifted the book in his trembling hand and stared at a hand-drawn picture of two children, with fingers clasped together, running down the street with a shadow looking over them. It wasn’t ominous or anything. It looked as if the shadow’s sole purpose had been to protect the children. Children who looked hauntingly like him and Courtney. “Did she do this herself?’
“I think so. And there are more.”
“Really?” He thumbed through the pages of stories. Most he’d heard before. Most of them referred to the others that watched over their loved ones. “This is amazing.”
“She was amazing.”
“I miss her.” He put the book down on the table and slowly turned toward the woman he knew he’d always wanted. A sense of freedom filled his heart. “I don’t like being manipulated.”
“I know.” She set aside the sweeper in her hands but made no attempt to close the gap. “I didn’t manipulate you this evening. I have no idea how my furniture got turned over, and that makes me damn nervous.”
He didn’t think she’d make this easy for him. “I want to believe you. I’m hoping that last night was the only time you crossed that line.”
“I’ll admit what I did with Jake might have been a little over the top.”
He arched a brow and took two small steps forward.
“Okay, it was over the top.”
He let the corners of his mouth tip upward. “Can we start over?”
“We can talk about it.”
He cringed, feeling his pager go off. “Shit. I’ve got to answer this.” He never liked seeing the word emergency on his pager. “I’ll come over when I get off duty?”
“If the light over the garage is on, I’m up.”
He had to get to his patrol car and find out what the hell happened to warrant the emergency page, but before he did, he had to touch her just one last time. “Lock all the doors, but keep the light on regardless. I’ve got the key your grandmother gave me. I’ll let myself in.” Quickly, he scooped her up in his arms, and kissed her good, hard, and wet. “See ya.” He wished he could let the kiss linger, but his pager continued to buzz.
“Chief McNally. Heading to my patrol car,” he said into the mic on his uniform.
“What if I don’t want you to let yourself in?” she asked.
He glanced over his shoulder. “Then wait up for me.”
Be safe.
I will.
He jogged to his patrol car feeling like his life was about to change once again, but this time for the better—as soon as he dealt with whatever Halloween just tossed his way. The engine to his patrol car sputtered to life as he reached for the microphone. “Chief McNally here. What’s the emergency?”
“Hey, Chief. Got a burglary at the Gilmore residence.”
Shit. “On my way.”
“Becky Hicks is already at the scene.”
“Any suspects?” he asked, already knowing the answer. So far, there were no clues left behind in any of the cases. Someone had targeted his neck of the woods, and he planned on putting an end to it once and for all.
“Nope. But we’re running the plates on a car that appears to be abandoned at the corner of Hanover and Willsport. Mr. Gilmore says the suspect fled on foot. We’re thinking into the woods by the park. State’s got a team over there now.”
Double shit. He yanked the gearshift into drive, turned on the siren, and put his foot on the gas pedal. The car was just a neighborhood away.
And those woods backed up to Courtney’s place.
Watch over her. She belongs to you now.
Courtney held her hand over the light for a good five minutes before she flicked it off, then on again. She knew him well enough that if she did indeed turn the light off, he wouldn’t just let himself in.
Don’t shut him out.
Why? He doesn’t believe we are meant to be together. Hell, I don’t even think he likes me.
He kissed you. That should say something.
Sure, he’s horny, and I’ve already given it to him. Easy lay. Courtney let out a long sigh.
Go make something with powdered sugar. It’s his favorite.
She wandered to the kitchen, trying desperately to figure out a way to make this right and it wasn’t through Owen’s stomach.
Nor through tricks. She’d finally learned. However, he did enjoy a good snickerdoodle, so she started baking. Besides, she needed something to do while she waited.
He loves you for you.
Right, Grandma. I wish I believed that.
You will. Make sure the doors are locked. He has a key.
While waiting for her cookies to come out of the oven, she raced through the house making sure all her doors and windows were shut tight and locked. Entering the kitchen, she checked the clock on the wall. “Well, I’m not waiting up all night for you.” She pulled out the last batch of cookies, slammed the oven door shut, and tossed the cookie sheet on the counter. Sure, the guy had a job to do, and his doohickey had gone off, so it must have been important, but that was hours ago. She closed her eyes, forcing the negative thoughts of something bad happening to him from her mind.
She put a kettle of water on the stove and turned up the gas. Green tea would make her feel better. Calm her nerves. Keep her awake until the big oaf showed up.
A nice, long hot bath certainly would feel good against her s
kin.
What if he didn’t have a key? Maybe he’d remember where her grandmother left the spare one. “He’s a smart man.” She smiled, feeling the heat flush to her cheeks as she opened the sliders to the back patio and checked under the third pot to the right. Yep, key’s still there.
So, she snagged her tea and headed up the stairs. Time for a nice, hot bath with loads of bubbles and a damn hot romance novel.
The mixture of hot steam and vanilla candles eased her mind and soul. The tingling of the bubbles against her skin soothed her body. She’d barely gotten settled when she heard the clickity clack of the back door. “Thank you, God.” Be careful, dear.
Since when do you tell me to take it slow when it comes to Owen.
Silence. Sometimes her grandmother really got on her nerves. Or maybe, she was just going to give them some time alone.
Feeling a tad lightheaded from the anticipation of wrapping her arms and legs around the only man who could properly love her, she barely dried her skin before slipping her arms through her robe.
Visions of an all-night lovemaking session filled her mind like moving pictures. Thoughts of a future with long, leisurely walks around the neighborhood sent a warm tingle up her spine. No more games. No more tricks. From this moment on, she’d be up front with him.
I love him, she thought to herself, pausing briefly at the top of the stairs. Love him? She did. She always had.
A thud echoed in her ears. He must have bumped into something in the dark, but why didn’t he turn the lights on? “Owen?” she called, racing down the stairs. Once at the bottom, she reached for the light switch.
Don’t turn on the lights. Go back upstairs.
Too late. She blinked, adjusting to the brightness of the room when she saw the gun pointed at her and the figure holding it.
“Ow….you’re not Owen.” She gasped. “What do you want?” she asked the stranger, clutching at her robe. Her pulse thumped in her throat.
The stranger held the gun steady, but his gaze darted around the room.
Clamping down on her fear, she tried to figure out how to get a hold of Owen.
Grandma, can you help me with this one?
