The Ghost of Christmas Present

by Jenny Lykins

  The frigid air in the cabin raised goosebumps on her arms and turned her thoughts to building the fire and turning up the oil heater. With more than a little reluctance she rose from the couch, then knelt by the fireplace and stacked kindling and wood over the glowing coals.

  "I really do appreciate you keeping me warm. I don't even remember falling asleep."

  "Believe me, it was my pleasure," he said from behind her in a voice as smooth as old bourbon. "When I tried, I could almost believe we were holding each other."

  Tears, hot and choking and unexpected, surged to her eyes at his words. She blinked them back and swallowed past the tightness in her throat.

  "It almost felt like you were holding me," she agreed quietly, thinking of the warm, comforting feeling she'd awakened with. She gave the fire one more jab, then turned on the balls of her feet and looked at him with a moist smile. "We're a pair, aren't we?"

  Jared studied her, looking as miserable as she felt.

  "Yeah. A regular Romeo and Juliet."

  He jumped up from the couch and started prowling the living room. It still unnerved her to watch him pace through solid objects, but he didn't even seem aware he was pacing.

  He followed her into the kitchen and prowled while she made coffee. He followed her into the bathroom, then did an about-face and left her alone when she turned and quirked an eyebrow at him.

  Once alone, Alane took care of the necessities, brushed her teeth, dunked her face in icy water, then decided to draw a nice hot bath and soak for a while to try and get her mind off the storm of emotions buffeting her.

  While hot water filled the tub and scented steam fogged the mirror, she flopped her hair atop her head and peeled off the clothes she'd been wearing for twenty-four hours. She stepped gingerly into the tub, then sank with a sigh until the steaming water lapped at her shoulders.

  With eyes closed and muscles relaxed, she leaned back and tried to clear her mind of all the worries that had plagued her from the moment she'd realized she was falling in love. Ridiculous. Impossible. Heartbreaking. Wonderful.

  The mere thought of Jared brought a smile to her lips. A short-lived smile.

  She loved a man who was no more tangible than a dream. A man bound to his property - a property she had rented for only five more days. Five days of ecstasy and torture. Five days of trying to outwit fate. Five days before she had to leave and Jared had to stay.

  "Alane, we have a problem."

  She jerked so hard, water erupted over the sides of the clawfoot tub. She splashed more over in her attempt to cover herself with a pitifully small washcloth.

  Jared finished melting through the wall, apparently taking no notice that she was in the middle of bathing, a frown drawing his eyebrows into one straight line. He paced the length of the room once, then perched on the edge of the clothes hamper.

  "I've been thinking," he went on, as though he made it a habit to chat with her while she bathed. "How long have you rented the cabin?"

  She sank a little deeper into the tub and narrowed her eyes at him.

  "Have you been nosing around in my head again?"

  His brows dipped to a pained vee and he looked wounded that she would even suggest such a thing.

  "All right, all right." She waved away the question. "I've rented it through the twenty-sixth."

  His face mirrored her own overwhelming dread as the date sank in.

  "Five days," he stated, barely above a whisper. "You're leaving the day after Christmas."

  Alane swallowed hard, searching for words to ease the pain in his eyes, in his voice. She found none.

  "I was just thinking," she said, knowing the offering would be feeble, "that I could call the rental company and rent it longer. I know it's never booked up this time of year." She knew renting longer would be like putting a Band-Aid on a broken bone, but at least it would give them time to think of something else.

  He perked up a little at her suggestion and launched himself to his feet.

  "Excellent! Make the call now." He towered over her, as if he expected her to bound from the tub and run, dripping, to the phone. She scrunched lower in the water and batted her eyes up at him.

  "Oh," he said as realization dawned on his face. And then, for the first time since walking into the bathroom, he seemed to see her as she was - the woman he loved enjoying a nice hot bath. A lecherous little gleam sparked in his eyes, and when Alane sank until the water lapped at her chin, he rolled his eyes and threw up his hands. "Oh, very well. I'll leave you alone."

  Before she could blink, he vanished into thin air, but his voice filtered in from nowhere.

  "Party pooper."

  *******

  He didn't like the sound of the one-sided conversation, nor the sickly look creeping over Alane's features.

  "A buyer?" Her face paled. "I didn't realize it was for sale."

  For sale? It couldn't be for sale. The same family had owned the place for fifty years.

  "Today? I'm afraid not. They'll have to wait until I've left to come and measure." She glanced up at Jared with a look of panic.

  His stomach churned, and for the first time in two centuries he felt queasy.

  "I'm sorry, but I'm working. They'll have to wait until after the twenty-sixth. No, I know you wouldn't have asked. Yes. Well, thanks anyway."

  Alane dropped the receiver from her ear and let it dangle from her fingers, forgotten.

  "They're selling the cabin," she said as she brought her eyes up to meet his. "The owner died last summer and the heirs have a buyer for it." She shook her head, denying the words. "And the buyers had the nerve to want to come out here today and measure for curtains and carpet and to see if their big screen TV will fit through the door."

  A muted, obnoxious beep sounded from the telephone receiver and Alane blindly fumbled it into its cradle. She rose from the couch and roamed aimlessly around the living room, touching things, stopping and staring out a window.

  "What do we do now?" She turned and met his gaze.

  He cursed himself and Katherine's mother for not being able to wrap her in his arms and comfort her.

  But he could. For her, he could. He lifted his arms and focused, willing to give up everything in order to soothe her.

  "Don't you dare!" She stepped back and blinked teary eyes when she realized his intent. "Yes, I want to be held. I want to feel your touch so badly I ache for it. But I'd never forgive myself if I caused your death."

  He started to point out that he was already dead, but levity would only make things worse right now. He dropped his hands and shook his head before he spoke.

  "I'll tell you what we're going to do. We're going to take one day at a time. One minute at a time. And we're not going to waste even a split second mourning the future."

  "But there is no future! If they sell this cabin, how will we be able to see each other again?"

  Jared stepped up to her and traced his hands along the length of her arms. When she shivered he brought his lips to brush across hers.

  "We'll not mourn the future," he repeated. "We'll live a lifetime in these next five days, and when they're over, we'll worry about the future then."

  She stared up at him with shimmery beads of tears hovering on her lower lashes. He wanted to rail against the fates for giving him what he could never have, like a man dying of thirst with a lake of cool, fresh water just beyond his reach. Instead he forced his best boyish grin and tried to make his voice sound light.

  "Starting now. Let's see. What shall we do?" He paced the floor, then spun back around to point at her. "I know! I want to see you paint. That's what you came here for, isn't it? Yes. That's it. Can I watch you paint?"

  She sniffed and rubbed the tip of her nose with the back of her hand.

  "That should be about as interesting as watching someone fish."

  He forced another grin and ushered her toward her paints and the canvas by the window.

  "Let me be the judge of that. Now, what have you been working
on?"

  Alane picked up a tube of paint and fumbled with the palette.

  "Nothing, really. I...I can't seem to find the passion. I just feel stale."

  He draped himself across the leather recliner.

  "Then paint me."

  Alane blinked and cocked an ear toward him.

  "Do what?"

  "Why not? I'm better than a bowl of fruit."

  She studied him for a minute, then shrugged with a smile.

  "All right. Get comfortable. This could take a while."

  Jared shifted to a slightly more dignified position and watched quietly as she prepared her paints.

  "Do you talk while you work, or do I have to keep my mouth shut?"

  She didn't even look up from her preparations.

  "Absolute silence. I don't even play music."

  "Okay. I can deal with that. I mean, I've gone years at a time without talking, so a few hours here and there will seem like nothing. Unless, of course, you want to try something different, which, in that case - "

  "Ahem!"

  He snapped his mouth shut and grinned as her brow furrowed in concentration.

  She worked quietly for hours while Jared tried to behave himself. It was harder than he'd imagined, keeping his mouth shut and sitting still.

  He watched her face change from concentration to frustration. She chewed on her lower lip, squinted first at him, then the canvas, frowned, sighed. When she pinched the bridge of her nose and shook her head, he decided to break his silence.

  "You want to know what I think?"

  She raised her head and looked around as though she'd forgotten she wasn't alone. "I think you're trying too hard."

  "How can someone try too hard at something?" She frowned and dabbed the brush against the canvas.

  "When you suck all the enjoyment and spontaneity out of something, you're trying too hard." He got up and circled around behind her as she continued to make improvements on her work.

  What she'd done was good. Very good. But Xavier Travis's daughter could do better. She'd painted a very good, two dimensional portrait, but Jared knew she had the talent to make him come to life on the canvas.

  "If you'll lift your ban on my roaming around in your head, maybe I can help."

  She turned and gave him a suspicious look.

  "Oh, come on. What do you have to lose?"

  She chewed on the end of her brush for a minute, crinkled up her nose and sighed.

  "Why not? At this point I'm ready to try anything." She sat back on her stool and looked up at him. "What do I have to do?"

  "Nothing," he said as he melted into her. He heard her gasp, then felt her tense up.

  Relax, he told her silently. Relax and trust me.

  She loosened up a little. "This is so weird. I heard you and you didn't even speak."

  I can hear you, too. Now open your mind.

  He felt her open to him, and he nudged his thoughts into her consciousness. He fed her some of his memories. Happy, carefree, funny memories. He sent them swirling through her like an ever-changing kaleidoscope. She giggled at some of the bits and pieces. He felt her heart tug when he remembered seeing her father's work.

  All right. You've relaxed a little. Now pick up the brush and paint what you feel. Don't try to make it perfect. There's no such thing.

  She dabbed the brush against the palette, then hesitantly applied it to the canvas.

  Stop trying so hard.

  She took a deep breath and rocked her head back and forth on her shoulders, popping her neck and loosening her muscles. He cringed at the sound, so reminiscent of those he heard while falling down the steps behind Katherine.

  This time she approached the canvas without hesitation. She applied the strokes with confidence, and each sweep of the brush was pure genius.

  Beautiful! That's exactly what I mean!

  Alane was in her own world, focused on her painting as Jared focused when he touched something. He slipped from her body, fighting the emptiness he felt when he did, then watched in awe as she brought him to life on canvas. She spoke only once, to order him back into the chair. He obliged her and managed to sit quietly while he drank in the sight of her.

  Did she have any hint as to how irresistible she looked, with a pale blue smudge on her cheek and her hair still flopped atop her head in a wobbly ponytail?

  He closed his eyes and fought the pain. No mourning. Not yet. He had an eternity to mourn when she was gone.

  Her deep sigh and the creak of the stool as she sat back caught his attention. He opened his eyes to the sight of Alane staring at the painting.

  At her side in an instant, he too could only stare at the life she'd breathed into the portrait.

  "Magnificent. Perfect," he said, his voice almost reverent.

  She turned her head and looked at him, then looked back at the painting.

  "You said there's no such thing as perfect," she stated, her awe equaling his.

  "I lied."

  They stared at the portrait, then at each other. Jared's world shifted as she thanked him with her eyes. He studied her face, so full of want and need, love and pain, and he contemplated touching her again. As he raised his hand, the sound of a car's tires crunching in the snow drew his attention to the window.

  He dropped his hand with a curse.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  A brown station wagon rolled to a stop behind Alane's car. Jared groaned at the sight of the two people getting out.

  "What is it? Do you know these people?" Alane pulled the curtain farther back and peered out the window at the couple getting out of the car.

  "Chuck and Dot Hamlin, if memory serves." He watched Chuck haul his girth from the car, looking like a whale in his gray suede overcoat. Dot emerged from the other side in Spandex pants, cowboy boots and a mink stroller. A cigarette dangled from fuchsia lips, her helmet-like titian curls wreathed in smoke.

  "They stayed here a couple of years ago and I thought I would go mad. They watched twenty-four hours of professional wrestling. And when they weren't cheering on Mad Monster Max, they were bickering about everything from which log to put on the fire to who closed the curtains last."

  The couple slipped and slid their way onto the porch. When they knocked, Jared cloaked himself so he wouldn't be seen.

  Alane opened the door and a gust of cigarette smoke wafted across her face.

  "Can I help you?" she asked after a delicate cough that got her point across. Dot took one last drag, blew it out the side of her mouth, then flicked the cigarette into the snow with the tip of a gold, dagger-length fingernail.

  "Dot and Chuck Hamlin. We're here to measure the cabin for curtains and carpets."

  Alane cocked her head and tapped her fingers irritatedly against the door.

  "You're the buyers?"

  "Yep," Chuck spoke up.

  Jared moaned. The odd couple's eyes widened and they craned their necks to look past Alane into the living room.

  "I specifically told the rental agency that today wasn't convenient. I'm sorry but you'll-"

  "We just knew you wouldn't mind, since we were out here anyway. It'll only take us a sec." The screendoor whined as Dot pulled it open and marched past Alane into the living room.

  Chuck waddled in behind her, wheezing with each labored breath.

  "Dot, I don't think this lady wants to be bothered. I told you-"

  "Hush. It'll only take a second. You don't mind, do you, sweetie?" She rummaged around in a gold lamé purse the size of a suitcase and finally fished out a tape measure, ignoring any answer Alane might have given.

  Jared hovered behind Alane and whispered in her ear.

  "Have you any idea how long I had to wander the limits of my boundaries when these two started making up from one of their arguments? In front of the fireplace, no less?"

  Alane's laugh sounded more like a strangled choke.

  "Hurry up, Dot. We're bothering the lady." Chuck turned to Alane. "Hey, you don't mind if I turn on the ma
tch, do you?"

  Before she could answer, the TV flared on and an announcer screamed about the body slam just delivered.

  "Jared, get these people out of here," Alane whispered through clenched teeth. "We can't let them buy this place! You'll be figuring out a way to kill yourself all over again!"

  As if to drive her words home, Chuck bellowed at the television, belched, then threw his hands in the air and dropped to the couch. The unfortunate furniture creaked and popped as he bounced to the edge.

  "I'll see what I can do. Play along."

  Rumbling from deep within his chest, Jared gave forth with his best blood-curdling moan. Dot and Chuck both froze, their wide eyes turned to Alane.

  "What was that?" Dot barked.

  "What was what?"

  "You didn't hear that gawdawful sound?"

  Alane shrugged and shook her head. "No. It was probably the house settling. It does that a lot."

  They both studied her for a moment, then Chuck grunted and turned his attention back to yelling at the TV. Dot shrugged and went back to her measuring. Jared walked over in front of Dot, focused his energy, then grabbed a window blind, pulled it down and let it fly back up to rattle at the top of the window. Dot yelped and jumped away, and Chuck cowered in the corner of the couch.

  The clock on the wall chimed three o'clock, and Jared moved the hand backward, groaning while the Hamlins gaped at the clock suddenly running counter-clockwise.

  "Hey! What's going on here?" Dot rasped when she finally found her voice.

  Alane looked at the clock and pursed her lips.

  "Might be the resident ghost."

  "Ghost?" Chuck squeaked. Dot suddenly developed a hacking cough.

  "Yes. Sometimes he misbehaves. Takes a dislike to some people and just-"

  The floor upstairs creaked and groaned as Jared stomped across it.

  "Is someone else staying here?" he heard Dot ask with panic in her voice.

  "No. Just me. Why do you ask?"

  "You don't hear that racket upstairs?"

  "Why, no. I don't hear any-"

  For the coup de grace, Jared made himself visible, removed his head from his shoulders and tossed it down the tiny, narrow stairway. As his head bounced down the steps, Dot went rigid, screaming, and Chuck nearly stuffed himself inside the couch. Alane's eyes widened momentarily before she fixed a look of inquisitive confusion on her face.