Spirits of the Season: Eight Haunting Holiday Romances

by Amanda DeWees

  “But you’re a famous actor.”

  He chuckled. “Famous does not always equate to being a rich world traveler. I don’t have a winter home in Miami or a ski cottage in Colorado.”

  “What do you have?”

  “I have a mortgage in California.” He leaned back again, relaxing into the deep cushions. “This is a beautiful place. How did you come to work here?”

  “I inherited it. The Beachcomber has been in my family since it was built in the mid-1800s. My great great-great-grandfather homesteaded the land.”

  He looked back at the inn. “That’s in great shape if it’s the original house.”

  “It’s not. The original house was located where the Carriage House is now, but it blew down in the great hurricane of 1921. After the storm, my grandmother and her new husband built the Main House. They did use some of the wood from the wreckage during the construction. So you could say it still has the soul of the original building.”

  He was drawn to the tender smile on her face. “It’s a beautiful property. I’m jealous.”

  “It’s just a building.”

  “I’m jealous about how deeply your family roots go in this one unique spot. I could only hope my family tree would be as rich and entertaining as yours.”

  “May I ask a personal question?”

  By the tentative-but-curious expression on her face, he had a pretty good idea of the topic, but he agreed to hear it.

  “I know it’s none of my business, but what happened between you and your fiancée?”

  He would have suspected her motives for asking such a personal question, if it weren’t for the momentary expression of embarrassment on her face before fading back into her professional mask. He could choose to keep his privacy, or he could at least give her a good story.

  He decided to give her the public version. It would be entertaining and it would give him a little more time in her company, which somehow he wanted. “It would be unfair to tell you what happened at the end without telling you how it started.”

  “It would be an incomplete story.”

  “Exactly.” Jackson drank a mouthful of beer while trying to decide the best place to start. “Picture a handsome actor. He’s talented. He’s landed the best role of his life in a popular television show which is certain to become a cult classic. He’s–”

  “Jackson? Are you going to tell your whole story in the third person?”

  “Too dramatic?”

  Hannah lifted her brows up in silent affirmation.

  He couldn’t help but laugh. “Okay, seriously. I loved my role in Dark Haven. He was a great character to play. I mean, heroes are always a great part. But to play such a flawed and emotionally scarred antagonist who redeems his soul to become a hero, that’s the part of a lifetime.” Jackson surprised himself by going off-script so early in his story. It was the first time he’d ever heard himself say it aloud. He coughed away the emotions closing up his throat. “Then there was the girl. The young and beautiful heroine of the show. The fan-turned-actress who was eager to learn – eager for a mentor. And boy, was I ready to fill those shoes.”

  He stopped to peek in Hannah’s direction. He took her knowing smile to mean she was definitely following along with his story.

  “I honestly didn’t know her eagerness had evolved into something else until one day she just leaned over our manuscripts and kissed me.”

  “This is the co-star that’s about half your age, right?”

  “Over half my age.” He tried to avoid sounding defensive. “There was a maturity difference, but we found a way to just have fun with each other. No pressure. Not until her fame grew and she became a favorite of the tabloids with their rumors, innuendo, and flat-out lies. Then the pressure was intense.”

  “That’s when it started going bad?”

  Jackson moved over to sit on the edge of the fire pit beside Hannah. “Actually, the reverse happened. For a while, it made our relationship seem strong. And for us the perfect Hollywood romance became a challenge we couldn’t refuse. We became so good at acting happy and in love that eventually we believed it ourselves. Like a self-fulfilling prophecy. Our belief made it so.”

  “Normal relationships are hard enough. I can’t imagine trying to have one under a microscope.” Hannah placed her hand on his and gave it a gentle squeeze.

  It was a simple human gesture to show empathy, but he would swear that he felt something in her touch. He wondered if she was feeling something too. She lifted her hand away from his and kept it busy with a lock of hair. She cast her eyes downward, away from his.

  He wanted to kiss the innkeeper. Strange that he felt that way so quickly with her. He was probably over-tired from traveling. Or should he blame the beer for these silly romantic ideas rolling around in his head? God help him, but he started to wonder if she’d kiss him back.

  When she looked up at him again, he decided to test his theory. Slowly, he leaned in, closing the distance between them by half. She made no move to lean away and her lips parted. Both positive signs in his book.

  His own breath shuddered to a halt. He licked his lips and bent even closer to her. He was mere inches away when everything changed.

  His breath frosted in the suddenly cold air around them. Hannah’s eyes widened and her back stiffened. She was choking. Before he could move to help her, the pit erupted into a huge fireball behind them. The force of the blast knocked them both to the ground.

  “What the hell was that?” His lungs burned with a fresh coating of ash which must have blown out of the pit with the blast.

  He could hear Hannah coughing up the hot dust and he crawled over to help her stand up. She let him help her, but she wouldn’t look at him anymore. She seemed to be looking everywhere else, as if trying to find someone.

  Jackson tried to follow her gaze, but all he could see was an empty patio. Soot covered both of them and every piece of furniture near the fire pit.

  When he could finally get Hannah’s attention, she looked angry. Not shocked, like he would have expected. “Do things like this happen often here?”

  “Weird things happen in Pearl Key. That’s normal.” She pointed to the fire pit. “But that was not normal.”

  She disappeared into the house before he could ask her to explain what she meant by weird things. After all, he was the one with a spell of bad luck. What’s a fireball compared to losing the job and the girl? He tried to peek into the fire pit to see if anything looked unusual, but he couldn’t without sticking his head over the edge.

  And that wasn’t going to happen.

  Apparently, nothing was going to happen tonight except a long shower and a few hours of sleep.

  “An interesting start to your vacation, Jackson.” Only the house seemed to hear him, and the sounds it made almost resembled laughter.

  Chapter 6

  Hannah woke with sunlight reflecting on her face, which meant that she’d overslept. But instead of jumping out of bed in a panic, she rolled over and simply enjoyed the beauty outside her window. The guest rooms all had the best views of the beach, but her bedroom on the ground floor overlooked white dunes covered in sea oats. She couldn’t see the beach, but beyond the dunes she had a pretty view of the distant Gulf horizon. The balmy morning breeze floating in through the window felt a few degrees warmer than usual. Even for Florida, it was going to be a gorgeous day.

  The only shadow on her forecast was the new presence she’d sensed last night. What the hell was it? Would it make an appearance again today?

  She’d showered away the soot and ash, but nothing could clean her mind of the memory. She’d never experienced a spirit with such deep negative emotions. Hannah had a few vague memories of her grandmother dealing with a dark soul, but nothing clear enough to work with.

  At the first drop in temperature last night, Hannah had naturally stiffened and prepared herself for Tom Sawyer to do something silly in an effort to gain the new guest’s attention. However, the feeling quickly soured a
nd darkened. Frigid energy had wrapped around her neck, stealing Hannah’s breath and her ability to move. And then, the blast of fire and anger that physically knocked her and Jackson feet away from where they’d been sitting.

  Power. Hannah had never sensed it so strongly before, and it absolutely wasn’t Tom Sawyer, Mr. Darcy or the lady ghost in the hallway mirror. It was someone – something – entirely new to her home. But where had it come from? Had it arrived with Jackson Moore, or was the timing just a coincidence?

  Hannah would have to think about it later. The sound of men arguing out front needed priority attention. She slid quickly into her robe, swished a capful of mouthwash and ran her fingers through her hair before running out the front door.

  She arrived in time to see Jackson holding a man by his dirty collar.

  “Jackson, it’s okay. Please let him go.”

  “He was stealing all the change from the gumball machine in front of your door.” Jackson sounded more surprised than angry, and he quickly let the man go.

  “You okay, Willie?” Hannah spoke in a calm voice. She tried to smooth a few of the wrinkles in the coat hanging limply over the man’s shoulders. “You can go.”

  Willie gave her a dirty grin and exited quickly. The evidence of Jackson’s claim jingled loudly from his coat pockets.

  Jackson eyed her strangely. “You know?” His expression shifted from shock to confusion when she nodded. “Why do you let him do that?”

  “We call him Wandering Willie.” She pointed to her own eye for emphasis. “He’s homeless.”

  “That’s apparent. But you let him raid your vending machines?”

  “This is a small community – no homeless shelters or services. This is the only way we can give him money. He’s a proud man. He doesn’t want charity.”

  “He’d rather be a thief? Who’s ‘we’?”

  “The local business owners. He used to break into restaurants at night and jimmy the machines open. Cops called him the Gumball Bandit. Willie liked that name. But we didn’t like cleaning up after him or paying to have the machines fixed. So we fill them with quarters, leave them unlocked, and put them outside our doors. He thinks he’s being sneaky and clever, but we see it as creative donation.”

  “Sounds like the locksmith is the one who loses out on this deal.”

  “She has a gumball machine in front of her office too.”

  “Fascinating.” The hint of scruff on his face couldn’t hide the dimple that appeared again on his cheek. “Are there a lot of other, equally fascinating people on Pearl Key?”

  “No.” She watched his smile fade a little. “The people of Pearl Key and the whole Hidden Coast area tend to be far weirder than Wandering Willie is.”

  Excitement reappeared across Jackson’s face. “As a born-and-bred local, I’m betting you know all their stories.”

  Hannah nodded. “Are you hungry?”

  “Starving, but you’re not cooking for me.” Jackson turned her around and pushed her gently toward her bedroom. “You’re coming with me.”

  “Where?”

  “Everywhere. You’re officially on vacation too.” He put his hand up when she started to protest. “And if you can’t accept that, then I’m on vacation and as your guest I want you to be my tour guide.”

  The smile was apparently contagious. Hannah could feel a huge one on her own face.

  It wasn’t a date, but the nervous flutter in her stomach made it feel like one. And it hadn’t escaped her notice the way his blue eyes lit up when he demanded that she go with him. That was a good sign, wasn’t it?

  Something good had to come from last night’s interrupted moment. She’d watched him lean in like a slow motion scene from a movie. He was going to kiss her, and she was going to kiss him back. She remembered the feeling of heat and need that swelled inside her body, right before a fiery blast scorched it from the outside.

  Damn you, Nellie Pearle!

  Nellie had to be the one behind all this. Hannah swore that her life was fine just the way it was, but maybe it was okay to live a little – to enjoy a few moments of flirting and kissing with a gorgeous guy.

  An ache grew in her chest. Was Hannah was ready to admit that she was lonely? Maybe Nellie was right about that too.

  Five years was a long time to go without the touch of someone special. Her last relationship had ended more than just badly. She’d had to end it the night before their wedding. It was the right decision, but she’d always felt a little bit guilty about it.

  Chapter 7

  Jackson couldn’t remember ever having as relaxing or entertaining a breakfast as this one. Hannah brought him to a food truck parked at the marina, selling huge breakfast burritos. From a bench on the dock, they had a ringside seat for the morning rush. Large and small boats formed a watery traffic jam in a rush to get out to sea.

  It was comical, the way the boaters scurried around with supply carts loaded down for a long day. One less-experienced boater pushed his heavy cart a bit too fast. It missed a turn and fell into the water. Beer and soda cans spread across the water like bobbers. A flurry of water swirled and bubbled around the bait-fish bucket until it overturned. And the dock master stood over on her balcony, shaking her head and writing something down on her clipboard.

  “That poor guy.” Jackson shook his head in sympathy, but his eyes were watering from holding back the laughter.

  Hannah laughed. “You can feel sorry for him for being clumsy, but not for being poor. He owns a dozen of the rental houses on the island and comes to check on them personally every Christmas.”

  Jackson liked the sound of Hannah’s voice. It was soft and confident. Actually, everything about her gave off a naturally confident vibe, like she was completely happy and settled with her life. He envied that. When was the last time he had felt truly confident and content?

  If you believed the tabloids, there was a stereotype to the women he typically dated. Hollywood types. But that was the world Jackson lived in. He socialized with cast mates or he met women through his agent.

  Maybe Hannah just seemed unique because she wasn’t a California girl or an aspiring actress. She was pretty in a quiet, small town way, with wavy brown hair, light brown eyes and a free spirit. “You are really interesting.” By her surprised expression, he knew he’d caught her off guard. He liked being unexpected.

  “You just think I’m interesting because I’m different. I’m not a fan-turned-actress.”

  He wanted to respond to that, but she hurried on with a new topic.

  “How about a bike ride around the island? You’re already dressed for it.”

  “Yeah, I ran a few miles this morning.” He’d just come back from a run when he’d found Wandering Willie breaking into the gumball machine. “But I still have steam left for a ride. Gotta work off the burrito.”

  They climbed into Jackson’s rental and headed back to the inn.

  “I’ve never enjoyed running. What’s the appeal?”

  “There’s this euphoria I can’t seem to get out of any other sport.”

  “You must love it.”

  “No, I actually hate it. Well, I hate it before I run, because I know the pain is coming. But the runner’s high makes up for it.” Jackson never gave in to the aches and pains. He welcomed them as a reminder that good things came with great effort.

  Back at the inn, he followed her to the carriage house. The garages on the ground floor held a treasure trove of outdoor gear. Kayaks hung on the walls. Beach stuff was piled in the corner. Hannah pulled out two bikes and Jackson immediately felt overdressed.

  Sitting on a light green, fat-tired beach bike while dressed like a triathlete was awkward. In contrast, Hannah looked in harmony with the world: big sunglasses, swingy blue skirt, white blouse and a large-brimmed hat.

  Do I even know how to look that relaxed?

  “Maybe I should change into something less athletic.”

  “Don’t be silly. Nobody here cares what you wear.” Hannah paused
to rub sunblock on her bare arms. “Seriously, you could go naked on the island and the only people who might gawk at you would be other tourists.”

  He tried to turn down her offer of lotion.

  “Jackson, it may be December, but this is Florida.”

  He accepted the bottle. “Sounds like you locals have seen it all.”

  “And then some. Come on. Time for your personally-guided tour.” She smiled and his stomach quivered.

  Instead of heading north on the main island road, she turned south toward a preserve marked with signs prohibiting trespassers. He followed her down a long sandy path until they reached the end. The actual end of the island. She parked her bike and urged him to climb up on the tallest dune. It wasn’t very high at all, but the view was still amazing.

  Looking back up the coastline, he could just make out the roof of her house before the beach curved out of sight. The Gulf of Mexico stretched westward, gleaming dark blue and eventually forming a seam against the bright cloudless sky.

  Another island lay to the south, about a tenth of a mile away. Water funneled through the small inlet and blended in lazy swirls with the dark water of the bay.

  “This is Devil’s Eye Pass,” she said.

  “That sounds dramatic.”

  Her sunglasses were light enough for him to see her wink. “Wait until you hear the whole story.”

  “Okay.”

  “Blackwater Bay.” She pointed to the calm waters on the east side of the island.

  “This is going to be a pirate story, isn’t it?”

  “Do you want to hear it or are you going to keep interrupting me?”

  “Go on.”

  “Blackwater Bay was a great spot for those who wanted to hide. Pirates, conquistadors, rum runners, Confederate troops, Cuban fishermen. You name it. The bay water flows through the cypress swamps so slowly that it turns blackish from the minerals, hence the name. Dark water hides many secrets.”