She should find a way to decline, before she was in too deep. Then again, he knew she was leaving town eventually, and it didn’t seem to concern him. Maybe she was reading too much into his invitation.
There was no way she could say no, though…not with what was going on with the house. She needed to know what his mother had found out. And with his work schedule, she couldn’t exactly suggest a less intimate setting—like the coffee place—for the conversation.
“That would be great,” she finally said, suddenly aware she’d taken a little too long to answer.
“I have a meeting on Monday night, for a town board I’m on. Tuesday?”
She mentally ran through her work schedule for the upcoming week. She worked nights Sunday, Thursday, and Friday. “That works. Thanks, Jesse. I can’t wait to hear what your mom discovers.”
“I didn’t speak to her very long today, but she said she knew a little history and she’d ask some friends with knowledge of the family too.”
“I’ll call the church, see if I can get an appointment to talk to someone. I’m not sure I can explain my needing 60-year-old burial information because of a haunting over the phone.”
The bridge separating their property came into view, and she glanced through the trees at the back of her house. The sheeting rain and rising mist made it look especially creepy, and a shudder traveled through her.
“If you want me to come with you, see if you can make an evening appointment.”
“Thanks,” she said as they slowed at the bridge. They were on his side of the river, and the dogs turned expectantly toward their home. Benny took a moment to shake, sending a spray of water from his chocolate coat.
“Guess I’d better get them dried off and fed,” he said, tipping his chin toward his backyard. “Will you be okay?”
She glanced longingly at his house, picturing sitting with him in the same room as last night, warm and dry and with hot drinks in their hands. Stop. Arranging her features in a confident expression, she nodded. “Yes. I’m looking forward to a hot shower and hopefully a quiet night.”
“Me too.” His gaze lingered on her for a moment as the rain pattered against the leaves overhead. Then another flash of lightening illuminated the sky, breaking the spell. “Okay. Call me if you need anything, okay? I’m right here.”
“I will. Have a good night,” she added, accepting the duffle bag as he handed it to her. Then she forced her feet to turn toward her own property and carry her across the bridge. As she climbed the hill, she allowed herself one quick peek backwards. But the sheets of rain and dark woods obscured any view of him. With a heavy sigh, she put her head down and trudged the rest of the way up the hill.
9
She was relieved to find nothing amiss when she entered the house, and when Preston followed her down into the kitchen after her shower, a little bit more of the tension fraying her nerves slipped away. Maybe the ghost had exhausted itself for the time being. Manipulating things in this world had to take energy. It couldn’t pull tricks all day every day, could it? If that were the case, no one would have ever come here for vacations over the years, and she knew some of her family members had. Even she had had some peaceful nights here, although it seemed like those were few and far between now.
She poured a glass of wine, then wandered over to the sliding glass door, where Preston was perched on his cat tree. The bird feeder swayed in the wind, deserted by wildlife during the storm. The yard beyond the deck was shrouded in a veil of mist, the woods disappearing in the waning light. Sipping her wine, she scratched Preston between the ears as she watched the night fall.
A bolt of lightning charged the air, illuminating the backyard like the flash of a camera. The effect made her suddenly remember the few photos she’d managed to take before the storm hit. Before you started kissing Jesse, a sly voice whispered in her head. She blew out a breath and made her way to the front of the house, where her duffle bag sat by the door. She’d removed the wet towel to stuff it in the washer, leaving her camera on the coffee table.
The mixture of the wine and the anticipation of looking at her pictures had her feeling slightly giddy as she sank onto the couch. Swallowing another healthy sip of the crisp Sauvignon Blanc, she traded the glass for the camera and leaned back into the cushions. She put her feet on the coffee table as she pulled up today’s photos on the camera screen.
The most recent image came up, and she flipped through them in reverse order. There were a few decent ones, especially the shots from the vantage point of the top of the dunes. She studied one for a moment, chewing on her lip. That one was probably the best of them. Nodding to herself, she clicked through to the photos she’d snapped before she’d headed to the beach.
Her backyard filled the small screen, and she froze as her gaze snapped to the edge of the woods. What the hell? She blinked, pulling the camera closer to her face. A shadowy figure stood just inside the tree line, staring back at her. She sucked in a breath, nearly dropping the camera.
No one had been there, she was sure of it. It was just a trick of the light. Some strange combination of mist and overcast skies. With trembling fingers, she zoomed in on the hazy form. Her stomach lurched.
There was definitely something there, but...not quite all there. A human shape, pale and slightly out-of-focus, lurked near the entrance to the path. But the body wasn’t solid—the vague shape of low branches shone through it, like fingers behind gauze. And it was almost completely monotone, made up of smoky shades of white and gray, with dark smudges for features and long, ashen hair.
She straightened her spine so suddenly an ominous crack broke the silence, an accompanying flare of pain lancing through her upper back. It was a woman. The figure in the woods was a ghost, and it was a woman.
The revelation pushed both disappointment and excitement to the forefront of her wildly swirling emotions, nearly overtaking fear. How could this be? She’d thought she had it figured out…thought there might be a solution. But if she’d captured the ghost’s image—and it certainly appeared that way—she was dealing with a female spirit. Not Pastor John.
The hopelessness of the situation punched her in the gut. She was back to square one. Unless…maybe the ghost was Martha. But what did she want? Lark squinted at the camera screen again, checking the other shots of the backyard. The filmy figure appeared in each one that contained the woods. There was no doubt it was a woman…aside from the long hair, Lark could make out the blurred edges of a white dress.
She moaned, setting the camera on a cushion and clutching her stomach as she hunched forward. This was too much. She squeezed her eyes shut, rocking forward and back on the edge of the couch.
Something creaked overhead, and she whipped her head back to look up. “Please, no,” she whispered, still hugging herself as she scanned the ceiling. “I can’t handle anymore.” A shudder crept up her spine as she realized what room was directly above her. The guest bedroom with the window overlooking the driveway. The one she’d had to check on her first day.
A soft tune seeped through the upstairs floorboards, and her blood turned to ice. Someone—something—was singing, the words low and muffled, intoned by the high pitch of a female voice. The lilting melody rose and fell in a repetitive rhythm that felt familiar. Recognition twisted through her in a sickening rush. A lullaby. Oh, God.
She dragged her gaze toward the staircase, rising slowly, as though some invisible force was now in control of her movements. Fear coursed through her veins, but still she drifted toward the stairs, compelled to follow the tune, to search out the disembodied voice. What choice did she have?
Run! A panicked inner voice responded. But where would she go? There was nowhere she could run to. This was her home now, and she had to deal with this herself. And Preston was here. She wouldn’t abandon him.
She felt like a ghost herself as she climbed the stairs…insubstantial, untethered, alone. Despite her terror, she ascended each step as though under a spell. Turning left a
t the landing, she continued down the hallway, pulled by an unrelenting tide.
The door to the front bedroom loomed ahead, closed, just as she always left it. As she approached, the singing grew slightly louder, although the words remained indistinct. The tune was unmistakable, however—Rock-a-bye Baby.
She gripped the knob, every inch of her flesh covered in goosebumps. If something happens to me, Jesse will make sure Preston’s okay. He was a vet. He would find him a good home. Or maybe adopt Preston himself.
The eerie melody was going to drive her mad. Before she could change her mind, she shoved the door open. A wall of cold crashed into her, and she gasped, slapping at the light switch.
A figure sat on the far bed, facing away, toward the rain-spattered window. Long hair woven into a braid fell down the back of a white dress.
The scream lodged in Lark’s throat tore from her lips, and she reeled backwards. As her cry split the air, the specter vanished, the hushed lyrics of the lullaby fading with it.
She caught her balance and stared into the room, blinking. Despite seeing the woman in the photograph, some part of her brain still scrambled to blame her imagination. Had she really just seen a ghost? Her gaze lingered on the now-empty bed, then dropped to the comforter. The material along the edge of the bed now bunched into a faint depression, as if to prove someone had been sitting there moments before.
Nausea swirled through her like acid as she backed away, pulling the door closed. That was it. There would be no sleeping for her tonight. She could sleep tomorrow…maybe on the beach.
With a shuddering sigh, she backed down the hallway, keeping the closed door in view until the last possible minute. Then she hurried into the bathroom and scooped up a few things, taking a quick moment to check that Preston’s bowls were filled. She’d make sure the ones in the kitchen were full as well, just in case he had reservations about coming up here tonight. She knew she wasn’t returning to the top floor. An entire opera could play out and she still wasn’t going to venture back upstairs until the sun was out.
Shut up, she hissed at the inner voice reminding her that strange things had happened during the daylight hours as well. Right now she just had to focus on making it through the night. Another voice played out in her head—the reassuring memory of her father’s unwavering confidence in her abilities. He’d been fierce in his belief that she learn to rely on herself, but always kind and supportive with his message. Okay. She was a grown-up. Anyone would be frightened in this situation—any sane person, that was—but she could handle fear.
A pang of grief tightened her chest as she remembered, once again, that the only way she’d ever hear his words from now on was in her own mind. She stopped short by the couch, wrinkling her brow. If this ghost could appear to her, why couldn’t her father? Or her mother, for that matter?
This ghost needs something from you. She chewed her lip, glancing up toward the ceiling, and a slender thread of sympathy twisted itself into the knot of tangled emotions. What if one of her parents needed something from a living person? Lark would want that person to help, if they could.
She scrubbed her face. If this ghost was Martha, that was her great aunt. A relative, however distant. Exhaling, she sank onto the couch, picking up her abandoned wine. At least thinking about this whole thing in more practical terms made her feel slightly better.
The urge to call Jesse was nearly overwhelming, and she fought to shut the thought down as she dragged her gaze away from her cell phone. He was not her protector, no matter how kind he was. Being around him was risky, especially after what had happened only hours earlier. So far, she’d been okay in this house, despite the haunting. She would probably survive a ghost.
She would not survive another heartbreak.
She curled her knees into her chest as she leaned into the cushions, gazing out the window. Rain continued to slide down the panes, but the thunder and lightning had passed. Hopefully the sun would return in the morning, and a peaceful nap on the beach would be possible. Because at the moment, she couldn’t imagine her heartrate slowing to a rhythm compatible with sleep, and she certainly didn’t think she would be able to avoid seeing the image of the phantom woman if her eyes closed.
It was going to be another long, sleepless night. With a sigh of acceptance, she reached for the television remote.
10
Both dogs lifted their heads in unison, noses turning toward the woods. Jesse glanced up from the grill and caught a flash of movement between the trees. A moment later, Lark appeared on the path, and the dogs took off across the lawn to greet her. She returned his wave and bent to pet the dogs, their happy barks mixing with her laughter as they climbed the hill.
“Hey,” she called as she approached, a smile lighting up her face. The sleeveless copper blouse she wore highlighted the dark fire of her hair and the soft glow of her creamy skin. Tiny black shorts revealed her shapely legs, and a delicate gold chain adorned one ankle.
His body stirred as he stared at her, and he had to resist the urge to pull her into an embrace. They weren’t there yet, despite Saturday’s kiss. If anything, she’d seemed desperate to create distance between them—both physically and emotionally—after it had happened. But during…well, he definitely hadn’t imagined the heat and chemistry between them. She’d kissed him back with a fierceness that surprised him, her desire matching his, sexy sounds escaping her throat as she clung to him.
He pushed the memory away before the warmth surging through his blood had a chance to betray his thoughts. “Hi. I hope the welcoming crew behaved appropriately.”
She giggled, scratching the top of Benny’s brown head. “There were a few rogue sniffs, but overall, I’ll give them a ten out of ten for enthusiasm.”
Laughing with her, he flipped the burgers on the grill. The flames flared, mixing with the heavy evening air, and he drew an arm across his forehead. “There’s no question they’re glad you’re here.” He glanced back up. “We all are.”
She flushed, the pink stain darkening the faint freckles along her cheekbones. “Thanks for the invite. Can I do anything to help?” Unhooking a bag from her shoulder, she set it on the stone pavers of the patio.
“Nope. These shouldn’t take too long, and the salad’s already put together. Can I get you something to drink? Beer or wine?” He gestured with his own half-empty bottle of beer. “A local brew, if you want to try it. IPA.”
“Sure, I’ll try it. But let me get it while you’re doing that.”
“Right here in the cooler,” he said, setting down the long spatula and walking over to the back door. Opening the cooler, he dug a bottle from the bed of ice and twisted it open for her. “Cheers,” he added, handing it to her.
She raised the bottle in answer to his toast before taking a sip, then nodded. “It’s really good. And the burgers smell amazing.”
“Thanks. I’m not much of a cook, but I can manage this much.”
“Oh! I baked something.” Reaching into her tote bag, she pulled out a plastic-wrapped loaf. “I hope you like banana bread.”
“Wow, thank you.” Their hands touched as he accepted the bread, and their eyes locked. She bit her lower lip, lifting one shoulder in a small half-shrug, and his gaze slid down to her mouth. He wanted to kiss those lips, badly. Control yourself. A loaf of banana bread was not an invitation to ravish her.
She swallowed. “It’s the least I could do.”
“It wasn’t necessary, but I’m glad you did. I love banana bread. My mom used to make it.”
“Mine too,” she said, her voice catching. A shadow of grief flashed across her face before it was replaced with a small smile. “Did you have a nice dinner with your mom the other night?”
His chest tightened as he remembered she had no family left. Once again, he wanted to wrap his arms around her, this time as a comfort. All his training, both military and medical, had molded him into the role of protector, and feeling powerless to help was difficult. But she had already moved the co
nversation on, and he sensed any sympathy might make her feel too vulnerable.
“I did, thanks. And she did tell me a few things she learned about your relatives.” At least that information, however sparse, might help Lark in some small way.
Hope lit up her green eyes. “Really?”
Nodding, he held up a package of cheese slices as he lifted his brows in a silent question.
“Yes, please. And I’m anxious to hear what you found out.”
“I don’t know how helpful it’s going to be, but I can fill you in while we eat, unless you’d rather wait until after dinner.”
“No need to wait. I live with a ghost, so not much fazes me these days.” The corner of her mouth scrunched into a weary sideways grin as she lifted the beer bottle to her lips.
That sense of humor. Even if they were only destined to be friends, he would miss her if she moved.
When she moved, a firm inner voice reminded him as he slid the burgers onto a platter. They fixed their plates and sat at the patio table, the dogs positioning themselves beside their chairs in the hopes of catching any dropped pieces of food.
After he made sure she had everything she needed and asked about how Preston was doing, he pulled his cell from the back pocket of his shorts and set it on the table. “Sorry,” he said, tilting his chin toward the phone as he tapped on the notes app. “I just want to make sure I don’t forget anything.”
“No worries. I’m glad you wrote it down.” She lifted her cheeseburger to her lips, adding, “These are really good.” Beside her, Benny shifted his weight to sit up taller, his soulful eyes trained on her movements.
“Thanks.” He had to admit, they were pretty good. With an exasperated sigh, he nodded toward Benny. “Let me know if he’s being too annoying.”
Ghost Moon (Haunting Romance) Page 8
