Spirits of the Season: Eight Haunting Holiday Romances

by Amanda DeWees

  “Like treasure?”

  This time her smile twisted gleefully. “We are called the Hidden Coast for a reason. There are many legends in these parts about Blackbeard, Jean Lafitte, and Black Caesar. The inlet didn’t always exist. This island was once the northern section of that one. There are stories of pirates carrying their treasure in canoes over the island and then sinking the boats in the dark waters of the cypress swamp.”

  “Clever.”

  “The granddaddy of all hurricanes in 1848 created a small inlet here. But the surge of water brought in by the 1921 hurricane that carried away the original Beachcomber house also widened the pass into a larger, more accessible channel.”

  “You have a pretty substantial marina to attest to the ease in using the channel.”

  “That is a big part of our island’s economy.”

  They grabbed the bikes and walked them along the path as it continued along the bayside shoreline. He could really see what she meant about the black water. It looked like dark tea as it lapped gently against the pale sand. Across the bay, an area dense with cypress trees was surrounded by civilization. Businesses and homes, all with private docks to take advantage of the prime waterfront.

  And yet, something was missing. “Where are all the hotels and condos? Aren’t those usually all over Florida?”

  “The Hidden Coast is very special.” Hannah slowed her pace, tiptoeing across a spongy patch of wet sand. “We have a reputation for being a refuge for those who seek privacy, and many of our ancestors were not high up in the social classes. Some of them were even considered oddities of society.”

  He remembered the weird carnival sign he’d seen on his way here. “Like circus people?”

  “That would be the politically-correct term. The truth is, they were the sideshow freaks.” She halted and pointed back toward the island to the south. “John Ringling brought his circus to winter in Florida. He bought lots of land and helped to build it up into a thriving, upscale community.”

  “But affluent people don’t want to live next to unusual people, right?”

  “Exactly. And the good families here who’d homesteaded and worked this land didn’t want to live next to judgmental rich folk. So they opened their arms and welcomed those who needed a place to feel safe and call home. Imagine being able to walk down the street without people pointing at you and laughing at features you had no control over.”

  “You’re very passionate about this.” He was intrigued by her indignation, and by the way her mouth formed a nice little pout between sentences when she was this intense. He wanted to kiss that mouth and make it pout for a wholly different reason.

  They’d reached the main road again, just in front of her property.

  “I’m proud of our history. The Beachcomber was one of the first boarding houses in the area.” Hannah stopped to gaze fondly at her home. Her chin lifted up proudly, and the wind caught the brim of her hat. It flew back towards the path, skimming along the sand.

  Jackson ran to get it, but in bringing it back to her he realized something. In moments, they would be on their bikes for a long ride around Pearl Key. He didn’t want to wait until after all that to kiss her. He wanted to kiss her now. It was an urge he needed to satisfy.

  She was holding both bike handles and looking up at him while he placed the hat back on her head. He was so tall next to her, the top of her head barely reached his chin. He leaned slowly down towards her, watching her brown eyes dilate with comprehension as their lips met. She smelled and tasted like sweet coconut.

  He’d barely sampled a kiss, and he was ready for more.

  But the rasp of a bike’s chain spinning shattered the moment, and then Hannah cried out in pain.

  Chapter 8

  Hannah realized that Jackson was leaning toward her, and in that drowsy, slow-motion moment she knew he was going to kiss her. What a strangely wonderful and then embarrassing experience.

  A few delicious seconds was all she had before the bike chain launched into a helluva back spin. Pain radiated from the front of her shin where the pedal had slammed into it. A familiar cold pressure was back, wrapping around Hannah’s neck and forcing her against her own bike.

  Losing her battle with gravity, she fell before Jackson could grab her.

  “Who the hell are you?” she whispered.

  “Hannah, I’m sorry. I must have thrown you off balance.”

  “No. No, I didn’t mean you.” It was a family tradition to not tell living guests about the spirit ones. Even if she could say what it was, she had no idea who it was. “I was referring to myself. Sometimes I’m such a klutz, I don’t recognize myself.”

  Blood dripped from a small wound just under her knee.

  “Let’s take care of that. We can finish our ride later.”

  “I have a first-aid kit in my kitchen.”

  Hannah reached up to take the scarf off her hat to use on her leg, but he stopped her.

  “No, don’t ruin that. It’s pretty.” He gave her one of his wristbands to keep the wound covered until they got inside.

  She limped through the back door and into the kitchen.

  Jackson was right behind her. “Where’s the kit?”

  Hannah pointed to a box above a hand-washing sink.

  “Exploding fire pits and psycho bikes. Do these things happen a lot in your life?” His question ended with a weirdly hopeful lift to his voice.

  “Hardly ever. How about you? Do strange things happen in your life?” She rubbed her neck, hoping to wipe away the residual feeling of cold pressure still lingering.

  “I’ve led a pretty charmed existence until recently.” He pulled out the necessary items and began implementing his first aid skills on her wound. “But every actor goes through their share of bad luck. I’ll get through it.”

  “Sorry about your wristband.” The blood was already turning the yellow fabric to a rust color.

  “Don’t be. It’s like an old soldier. It’s seen a lot of blood and sweat.” He finished up the wound care with a bandage. “There. Very cute.”

  She inspected his handiwork and the pink Band-Aid. “Thank you.”

  “Do you get a lot of families here?”

  “Rarely.”

  “Then you must have a thing for Hello Kitty.”

  “It’s just something I inherited from my grandmother. She hated to see people in pain. She would draw on their bandages. Of course, when I was growing up the manufacturers started putting cartoon characters on them. No matter how old or young you are, they make you smile. Since I can’t draw, this is how I carry on her tradition.”

  “You inherited this place from your grandmother?”

  “Yes. And she inherited it from her mother.” Hannah hobbled over to a stool by the counter. “My mother hated it here. She moved away a long time ago.”

  “Where are all the fathers and grandfathers in this family tree?”

  Hannah shrugged. “Outlived by their better halves.” A rumble from his belly brought her back to her feet and ready to take care of her guest. “Guess you worked off that burrito already.”

  It was his turn to shrug. “I’m blessed with a fast metabolism.”

  “I’m sure I have something in here I can whip up.”

  She loved the gleam in his eyes. Like the anticipation before some special moment you’ve been waiting for. “It’s too nice a day to eat inside. Would you like to have a picnic with me?”

  She nodded, already opening cabinets in her hunt for the picnic basket. “Where would we go?”

  “I saw a little gazebo behind your property. Meet me there in a half hour?”

  She hesitated only slightly before agreeing. It was a beautiful gazebo with a stunning view, which was why it would have been the very spot Jackson would have married his bride.

  In exactly thirty minutes, Hannah arrived at the picnic with a basket full of food. Her chef would be pleased to see the leftovers from the last guests would be enjoyed and not thrown away.

&n
bsp; Jackson had arranged a cocktail table and chairs from the pool deck to make a nice dining spot with a view of the Gulf. She noticed a sketchbook and pencils on the table.

  He’d also showered and changed into a pair of casual pants and a white button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up above his elbows.

  The breeze brought her the scent of the vanilla and cedarwood body soap she stocked in the rooms. “How in the world did you shower, change and set all this up so fast?”

  He frowned as he watched her lay out the food and bottled water from her basket. “And how in the world did you have time to whip up a gourmet meal?”

  “I can’t cook. All compliments go to my chef.”

  Jackson’s eyelids drooped after the first bite and he moaned with satisfaction. “That’s delicious. He definitely gets my compliments.”

  “I’ll pass them along to her.”

  His brows lifted and his blue eyes filled with curiosity. “I’m detecting an interesting trend here. You, your grandmothers, the locksmith, the marina boss, the chef. A lot of strong independent women around here.”

  Hannah graced him with a coy smile. “I have a story about that.”

  “Wait, hold it right there. I mean your face…don’t change it at all. You get this wonderful expression when you tell an old story.” He grabbed his sketchbook and the pencil flew around it like a machine. “Now, continue. Tell your story.”

  She felt a little intimidated when he stared at her with such intensity. Like every line and curve of her face was being analyzed and catalogued. She waited for him to look down again. “Okay. It’s more of a legend than a story, really.”

  “Legends are cool. Is this one about pirates or Indians?”

  “Pirates. There are plenty of legends around here, but this one is about a pirate’s captives. We all know that pirates loved to collect treasure, but one pirate collected more than gold and jewelry.”

  “Women.”

  “Yes. He collected women, but they weren’t slaves.” She waited for Jackson to look back down again. “He brought them here and loved each one like she was the only pearl in the oyster bed.”

  Jackson’s eyes lifted up from his sketchpad and locked with hers. “Harem? Impressive.”

  “Hardly. They were free to come and go as they pleased, but all of them chose to stay rather than go back to whatever life they had before. Some were rumored to have become female pirates. They created their own private community here, which allowed the pirate to return often and continue to use the island as his refuge.”

  “Damn lucky pirate.” He turned his sketchpad around and Hannah drew in her breath. “Look what you inspired.”

  He’d drawn her face with incredible realism, but he’d transformed the rest of her into a female pirate posed like a superhero.

  “Wow. I can’t believe I’m jealous of a drawing.”

  “You have absolutely nothing to be jealous of.”

  “You’ve exaggerated the length of my legs and I would kill for a chest that stunning.” To prove her point, she held her hands briefly under her normal-sized chest, which was not bursting seams or straining buttons.

  “I’ll hide it so you don’t have to feel jealous.” He started to put his book away.

  “No, don’t do that. Sign it and I’ll hang it in my office for inspiration.”

  He nodded, and his expression filled with awe. “You are so easy to be around. How are you not married by now?” He looked slightly embarrassed, as if he hadn’t meant to say it aloud.

  By now. A reference to her age, perhaps? Or to the idea that most women are married by now. No matter. She had a ready answer for this one. “It’s a small town. Not a lot of marriageable bachelors live around here. And I love what I do too much to move anywhere else.”

  He sipped from his water with an unsatisfied look on his face. “So, you’ve never been married?”

  She couldn’t lie. “I was engaged once.”

  He looked intrigued. “Something we have in common. Go on.”

  “There really isn’t a story.”

  “There’s always a story. You know mine. It’s time to tell yours.” He leaned toward her expectantly.

  She knew she wasn’t obligated to tell him just because he had shared part of his own story. She’d talked about it enough five years ago. To her it was pretty dull and maybe a bit cliché. “He and his family came to Pearl Key in the summers. Typical rich people. They owned the largest boat in the marina and bragged about it all the time. But I thought he was different. He never seemed to care about money or status – at first.”

  “He changed?”

  “I think it just took me a while to see the truth of him. He was a bully. But he had an ability to make me feel like I needed him.”

  “You don’t want to feel needy?”

  She waved that away. “That’s not exactly it. Throughout our relationship, he controlled everything. He would appear to listen to what I wanted, but then he would subtly change it to what he wanted. And he would do it so sweetly that I’d give in to him. I wanted a small and romantic wedding. He was planning huge and splashy. I wanted to keep running the Beachcomber. He was planning to hire a manager to give me more free time.”

  “Free time is a good thing.” Jackson’s tone started to change slightly.

  Hannah didn’t like the shift in the conversation. She’d just been telling her story when she started feel the prickle of her emotional defenses building. “I don’t want or need free time. I love what I do. This is me.” She pointed to the main house.

  “Maybe he just wanted to give you the best. Can you blame a guy for trying to impress you?” Now his voice was fully defensive. But why?

  “I can absolutely blame him for trying to make me into what his family wanted me to be. In the beginning, he liked me because I was different – because I was laid back and carefree. I think he wanted to be that way too. But he couldn’t maintain it. I don’t blame him for that.”

  “When did you finally realize that he wasn’t right for you?” The sudden calmness in his voice sent a warning shiver up her spine.

  Maybe she should have heeded the signal, but she’d never backed down from a fight. That was an odd realization in itself – that they were having their first argument and their relationship was barely one kiss old. Hannah knew she had to give him an honest answer, knowing he might hate her for basically doing to her fiancé the same thing Becky had done to him.

  But at least she would know that she was being honest with him. “The night before our wedding. He–”

  “You left him at the altar?” Hannah didn’t like the hurt tone that threaded through Jackson’s voice. Although he’d seemed resigned to the fate of his own relationship, he must still feel the pain of it.

  “Technically, no. We called it off the night before.”

  Silently, Jackson put his sketchpad down and walked away.

  She watched him pace along the beach and realized that she wanted him to hear the full story. She’d only known Jackson for less than a day, but somehow it was important that he know. And she wasn’t going to let a misunderstanding fester like in some silly Hallmark movie.

  She grabbed the sketchbook and flipped to a blank page. With crude movements, she quickly drew a tall building sticking out of a tiny island.

  He’d moved knee-deep into the surf and stood staring into the far horizon. Hannah joined him in the water and waited for him to acknowledge her presence. He wouldn’t look at her, so she had a good view of the muscles tensing behind his clenched jaw. Impatient with him, she held up her picture within his view until his muscles relaxed and his brows arched.

  “You can’t draw. You can’t cook. You left a guy at the altar.” He drew in a large breath and held it for a long time. “And yet, I like you.”

  Hannah couldn’t help it. She grinned. Then, laughter bubbled up and wouldn’t stop until he joined in.

  “What the hell is that?” He took the sketchbook.

  “It’s why I knew he
wasn’t the guy for me. The night before our wedding, he brought me a portfolio filled with drawings of a fancy resort hotel. He was more excited about the resort than the wedding. He wanted to knock down my Beachcomber to build it. That made it easy for me to call off the wedding and send him packing.”

  Jackson finally looked in her eyes again. “I think I can understand that.”

  “You were really getting defensive. It made me realize that you never truly answered my question last night.” Hannah fought to stay upright when a stronger wave swept around her legs. “What happened between you and Becky?”

  He swallowed hard before speaking. “I guess my bad luck streak wasn’t limited to my career. When the producers decided to kill off my character, it was like they killed off everything. Becky spent more of her time on set and less of it with me. Understandable, since she’s the star of the show.” He wiped away a bit of moisture in his eyes. “When you told your story, I could feel that loss of control again. I remembered how it felt to have the joys in my life slipping away from me. And I didn’t know why or how to fix it. I tried too hard and managed to push her farther away. I reacted badly. Jealousy is an evil, destructive bitch.”

  Hannah put her hand on Jackson’s arm, a comforting touch.

  But he didn’t seem satisfied with a small gesture. He swung his arm around her and pulled her tight against him. “I’m sorry.”

  Instinctively, she wrapped her arms around his waist. His body felt warm and safe and wonderful.

  She silently thanked Nellie Pearle.

  “Is it awful for me to be thankful that he was a jerk and totally wrong for you?” His voice sounded even deeper.

  “If it is, I would be wrong for the very same reason.”

  He hugged her closer, and she could feel the vibrations of his laughter against her cheek.

  Another unusually strong wave smacked against her back, drenching her clothes. The wind picked up and she shivered from a suddenly cool breeze off the water.