Haunting Savannah: 8 Dark and Seductive Tales

by Lia Davis

  “A man will be loving you,” he told her. “Last time, I used a kind of magic to bring about physically what I felt in my heart.”

  He wanted to explain why his performance was going to be a glimmer of what it was before. The last thing he wanted was to disappoint her, especially after their longer than expected separation. Jeb wanted everything to be perfect and knew it was an unattainable goal.

  “But we have a different kind of magic working for us,” Kori replied to his words and the concern reflected on his face. “Flesh and blood soul mates connecting physically for the first time. I can’t imagine anything being more perfect.”

  His mouth devoured hers with a passion those words generated within him. Their hearts, minds, physical bodies, and souls would connect this time. This was what Jenny saved him for.

  “I have one request to make of you,” Jeb said. “If we conceive a girl child this weekend, I want her named Jennifer.”

  Kori placed a hand on each side of his jaw. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  Jeb entered her slowly, feeling each sensation as he moved in inch by inch, and her body enclosed around him. Their eyes glued to each other as their bodies enjoyed another ultimate act of love.

  * * *

  The End

  About the Author

  When Evelyn Lederman retired from her career as an insurance executive, she cheerfully anticipated the freedom to finally spend as much time reading as she’d always wanted. The twist in her story came when as-of-yet unwritten characters started cropping up in her thoughts, asking her to tell their stories. Now she spends her days in Florida on the beach…with her laptop.

  She writes adult fantasy/paranormal romance and YA science fiction. The Worlds Apart series is a fantasy romance about a parallel dimension of telepathic beings, while the Nightshade Saga is a paranormal romance that takes place in a vampire multiverse. The interrelated series involve finding your soul mate and evolving. Her YA Zaratan Trilogy is about what occurs after Aliens invade our planet and demand our children. It tells the story of fourteen-year-old Kara who is ‘Selected’.

  * * *

  Follow Evelyn on social media:

  Website: http://www.evelynlederman.com

  Newsletter sign-up: http://eepurl.com/be9OJr

  Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/Evelyn.Lederman.author

  Twitter: http://twitter.com/ELedermanAuthor

  The Haunting of Bellehaven

  H.R. Boldwood

  Introduction

  Self-reliant Harper McKinnon arrives in Savannah to claim her inheritance, Bellehaven Plantation—a proud antebellum estate. But the estate’s handsome caretaker, Clay Montgomery, is used to doing things his way. Fireworks fly as they are drawn ever closer, but the plantation’s ghostly secrets threaten both their love and their lives.

  Chapter 1

  Bellehaven Plantation

  October 1850

  Mammie Odette folded linens beneath the warmth of the Savannah sun and listened to a thrasher that serenaded her from a dogwood tree. A smile touched her lips. There was beauty to be found in the bleakness of the surrounding rice fields, if you looked hard enough. Thanks be, she thought. Hope lives. She raised her head and offered a joyful noise unto the Lord. Her daughter, Ophelia, kneeling beside her at the washboard, joined in.

  The soulful strains of There Is a Balm in Gilead and the bitter tang of lye soap drifted through the air into the manor’s kitchen through an open window. Willow and Maisie, scullery maids no more than youngsters harmonized as they scoured remnants of breakfast from the wooden floor.

  Mammie’s velvet voice trailed off when a robin flew through the open window into the kitchen. An omen of death. Startled, the slave children ran outside to Mammie and clung to her skirt.

  “The bird!” Willow cried. “Is it true? Is Death coming?” Her soft brown eyes begged for an answer.

  Mammie placed her hand atop Willow’s head. “Oh, it be true as north, child,” she said. “Death will ride his pale horse into Bellehaven. He comin’ for souls. Don’t give him no foothold.”

  Mammie didn’t need an omen to foretell death. She was an Obeah woman. She knew — just as she knew that the coming death would be dark. She fingered the wooden amulet around her neck and glanced at eighteen-year-old Ophelia, young and powerful in her own right. Death would feel her presence. She must be vigilant.

  Even so, Mammie’s heart swelled with pride. She was no longer the only Obeah woman on the plantation. Together we will battle the reaper, she told herself that bright Savannah day beneath the blazing sun when birds sang and evil seemed so far away.

  But in the dark of night when truths refuse to be silenced and hearts accept what the mind cannot, she knew that murder would strike Bellehaven. From that day forward, evil would fester inside the bones of the plantation.

  Until one day, far into the future, when a woman was destined to arrive; a woman who would uncover the truth — and whose duty it would be to vanquish the evil at Bellehaven.

  Mammie crossed herself and whispered, “God be with her.”

  * * *

  Savannah

  Present DayHarper McKinnon pulled her ’03 Mustang through the wrought iron gates and idled on the tree-lined drive to double-check the address.

  7601 Middle Marsh Road.

  She turned to her passenger. “This is amazing. There must be some mistake.”

  Pluto, her black Bombay cat, peered through the bars of his carrier and fixed her in his emerald stare. It was his haughty, ‘stupid human’ look.

  She tossed the directions back into her purse. “Fine, then,” she said. “Next time you drive.”

  She coasted down the winding lane and looked up through the open convertible top, catching the scent of gardenia and glimpses of the blue September sky as it danced above the massive oaks. The autumn sun warmed her shoulders. Spanish moss dripped from the trees, and magpies chattered overhead like a gaggle of old crones, drawing more than a passing interest from Pluto.

  It was a heady mix that lulled her, almost called her. Eyes heavy, nearly closed, she stirred at the sight of the manor around a bend up ahead. It was massive, with tall white columns, formal gardens, and a captain’s walk. At the front of the house, a man worked on the porch ceiling, his ladder leaning against the stark white brick.

  She parked in the semi-circle drive by the front steps and called to him.

  “Excuse me? Is this the Bellehaven Plantation?”

  The man pivoted toward her, bracing himself with one hand against the gutter. Harper’s eyes refused to blink. He was tall, at least six-two, with wavy, dark brown hair that was too long and swept beneath a backward ball cap. He had the face of a god; a face covered in a day’s stubble, with a strong jaw and an aquiline nose that had a small jagged scar beside it. But his eyes were what held her captive — dark, thick-lashed, and sexy. Her eyes wandered to his tanned, muscular arms. What would it feel like to lie in them — to feel him...

  She realized she’d been staring and turned away with a blush. He smiled and a set of perfect white teeth flashed between his lips. His eyes slowly travelled from her head to her toes and back again. When his smile settled into a lazy grin, she thought that perhaps, he’d been doing some daydreaming of his own.

  “Come again?” he asked in a slow southern drawl.

  Come a what? What the ... huh? She cleared her throat and looked away like an awkward seventh grader. “I’m sorry. What was that?”

  He grinned. “I said, I didn’t hear you.”

  She turned back and studied him. She’d known hot guys like him before. They used you up and spit you out without a second thought. At 23, she’d been orphaned for four years and knew how to take care of her herself. She’d been burned more than once, though. The latest, in a long line of losers, stole money from her checking account. Flirting was not an option, neither were relationships or sex. So Beefcake Bubba could just take it down the road.

  “I asked if this is the Bellehaven Pla
ntation,” she said. “I’m here to meet with Larry Crosley, an attorney with Beale, Hennessey, and Howell.” Her tone was snarky.

  “Sure is,” he said, turning back to his work.

  Did he just dismiss me? Harper noticed the paint can and brush propped on the ladder, and the half-painted porch ceiling. “What’re you’re doing?”

  He picked up the wet brush. “Painting. I’m pretty sure they do this north of the Mason-Dixon Line.”

  “I meant who told you to paint the ceiling blue?”

  He laid the brush back down and studied her over his shoulder “And just what color would you paint a porch ceiling?” he asked.

  “What’s wrong with white, like the rest of the exterior?”

  He laughed, infuriating her more. Her cheeks blazed.

  “You’re not from around here, are you, sweetheart?”

  They were interrupted by the sound of a car pulling into the driveway. The driver scrambled out, briefcase tucked under one arm, his opposite hand extended to Harper.

  “Ms. McKinnon, I’m Larry Crosley. Pleased to meet you. I take it you’ve met Clay Montgomery, the plantation’s handyman. Clay lives in the old slave quarters out back.”

  Clay took his time coming down the ladder. He raised his paint-covered hands and nodded his introduction. “Ms. McKinnon? You must be William’s granddaughter.”

  “That’s right, Clay,” said Crosley. “Harper came all the way here from Mason, Ohio to sign these papers. As soon as I hand her the keys, she’ll be the new mistress of Bellehaven, lock, stock, and barrel, right down to the furniture.”

  Clay’s smile was paper thin. “Welcome, ma’am.”

  His reaction hadn’t escaped Harper. Crosley fidgeted, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, and jiggled his keys.

  “It’s such a pretty day, folks. We don’t have to go inside. Why don’t you sign right here, Ms. McKinnon, on the hood of my car, and I’ll be on my way.”

  She scribbled her name and took the keys from his hand, making a mental note to find a new handyman. No doubt about it, Clay Montgomery and his attitude problem had to go.

  Crosley reached into the front seat of his car and pulled out a small silver gift bag. “Almost forgot. The wife put this together for you. Welcome to Bellehaven, dear.”

  “Well, isn’t that sweet.” Harper reached inside and found a loaf of homemade bread and a salt shaker.

  “That’s her blue ribbon cheese bread. You’re in for a treat,” he said, climbing back into his car. Harper leaned down, salt shaker in hand.

  “What’s this for?”

  “That? Oh, it’s just a silly southern superstition. You sprinkle salt on your doorstep once you get inside.”

  Harper chuckled. “Why?”

  His smile was tight. “It keeps the evil spirits away, if you believe such things.”

  Harper watched Crosley turn onto the oak-covered lane, squealing his tires on the way out. What a strange ranger.

  She turned toward the manor and tried to imagine the hustle and bustle of plantation life, the back-bending work in the rice fields, and the lives of the slaves her ancestors had owned. On closer inspection, she thought perhaps the manor itself hadn’t changed so much with its brilliant gardens and white-washed brick exterior. For an instant, she thought she saw the silhouette of a woman peering out from behind a curtain in one of the upstairs windows. But then she blinked and the silhouette was gone.

  Chapter 2

  No two ways about it, Harper McKinnon was a snooty Yankee bitch. She was hot all right, but the woman’s nose was stuck so high in the air she’d drown in a rainstorm.

  Clay glanced at the U-Haul hitched to the back of the woman’s banged-up Mustang and fought the urge to let the spoiled little princess unload it herself. But that wasn’t how he was raised. Without a word he sauntered over, yanked up the door, and began pulling her entire life out onto the driveway.

  “Hey!” Harper scrambled over to the trailer. “Thanks, but I don’t need your help.”

  He shook his head and sighed. “Where I come from, the proper response would have been thank you.” Then he looked down into the softest, blue-violet eyes he’d ever seen, watching the breeze play with her long copper-colored hair, and his irritation faded. “Look, the sun’s going down. Pretty soon, you’re going to be out of light, so even though I know, being the strong, self-reliant woman that you are, you’re fully capable of unloading this trailer by yourself, please just let me help you.”

  In spite of herself, Harper smiled. “Well, all right then — on one condition.” She picked up a box marked ‘kitchen staples.’ “While you unload, I’ll make some tea. And when we’re finished cooling off, we’ll both carry the stuff inside.”

  “Yes ma’am.”

  It didn’t take Clay long to empty the trailer. Something about that stuck in his craw. He was 25. She looked roughly his age. It would have taken him and his buddies most of the afternoon to relocate his endless horde of crap. Harper had one tiny little U-Haul with room left to spare. Either she didn’t have much of a life — or very little worth remembering.

  Harper returned with their tea. He took a glass and eased himself down onto the front steps.

  “How did you end up the handyman at Bellehaven?” she asked.

  “Hell, I’ve known your grandpa since I was twelve. He was like a second daddy to me.” Memories of Will brought a smile to Clay’s face, but Harper flinched like she’d just been slapped. She turned away. Was she crying?

  Jesus, he thought, you’re such an idiot.

  He rubbed his face with his hand. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking. ‘Ole Will, he wanted to get to know you. He really did. He told me so. It’s just he had that fight with your mom and dad, and so...that never happened. Then, when they died, you were full-grown. He figured it was too late — that you wouldn’t want to see him.”

  “He could have tried.”

  Clay paused. “To be fair, you could have, too. He said he never heard from you, either. The door swings both ways.”

  An awkward silence settled in. They let it be and listened to the call of the crickets as the sun slipped toward the horizon.

  Clay took a sip of his tea and gagged. “There isn’t any sugar in this."

  “No, there isn’t. I probably have some in that box I brought in. Want me to get it?”

  “It’s not the same,” he said, setting the glass down on the steps. “Around here, we drink sweet tea.”

  They carried her belongings into the house and placed the labeled boxes in their respective rooms. Pluto took an instant liking to him, purring and rubbing himself against Clay’s legs. When he got underfoot, he even let Clay scoop him up and tuck him back into his carrier.

  “Can’t have you running off, little one. Your momma’d snatch me bald.”

  Harper’s eyebrows raised. “He hates that carrier. Even I have a hard time getting him in there.”

  Clay threw her an irresistible grin. “You just gotta use a little finesse, is all.”

  There were some things he needed to tell her about this place, important things if she were going to stay here. But chances were the hardheaded city girl would never believe him — until it was too late. The sun was almost gone. It was now or never. He offered Harper his arm and feigned a horrible English accent.

  “Would madam care to take a turn around her new estate before we lose the light?”

  While Pluto napped peacefully in his carrier, Clay strolled Harper around the garden in late summer bloom with its begonias, chrysanthemums, and sprawling alyssum, their sweet scents teasing her nose. He showed her the towering pine grove, strong and dense like a fortress. Then they ambled around the back of the manor, well beyond the manicured lawn where he showed her the old icehouse, the stables, the empty hen house and pigpen. He was running out of sights to show her, but try as he might, he couldn’t find a way to ease into the conversation he needed to have with her. When the sun reached the horizon, they started back to the manor. />
  Harper stopped mid-stride. “Do you hear that?”

  “Hear what?”

  She motioned for Clay to stop, then after a moment, she shrugged.

  “Nothing, I guess.”

  They walked on but soon she stopped again.

  “There! Don’t you hear that? Someone’s singing.”

  A soulful voice whirred inside her ear. “Listen!” She grabbed hold of his arm and paused, then quietly began to sing:

  ‘There is a balm in Gilead

  To make the wounded whole.’

  Her brows raised. “Surely, you hear that.”

  Clay shrugged and shook his head but picked up his pace toward the house.

  “Maybe the wind is carrying choir practice from The First Church of the Redeemer. Dark comes on quick here. Best be getting back now.”

  Harper closed her eyes and swayed to the music only she could hear, singing louder and with more fervor. Clay took her hand and pulled her across the lawn toward the house, though it seemed she barely noticed. She flopped along behind him like a rag doll. Then he heard the ghostly contralto voice for himself and stopped in his tracks to listen.

  Harper collapsed and fell to the ground, eyes rolled back and body limp.

  Clay scooped her into his arms and broke into a run toward the manor. His foot landed in a chuck hole and he fell, dumping them both into a muddy swale near the old pigpen. As he stood back up, a mist appeared before him that ebbed and flowed before settling into the shape of a beautiful young mulatto woman. She looked at Clay with sad, accusing eyes, then she raised her finger and pointed toward Harper.

  “You leave her be, Ophelia,” he said. “Just leave her be.”

  He ran past the ghostly apparition and glanced down at the woman in his arms, stricken with her beauty. Holding her tighter to his chest, he buried his face in her long red hair, inhaling her coconut-scented shampoo. Then he whispered in her ear, “Pretty lady, you’re not going to remember this when you wake up, but we need to talk. There’s some things you need to know about this place.”