Colt pressed his forehead to hers, and he felt so real. But he wasn’t. She’d first noticed something off about him when he removed his leather jacket. The shirt underneath should’ve been more corporeal, but she’d been so distracted by his muscles, she hadn’t connected the dots. And now, standing with the faint light from the windows in the formal living room coming in behind him, she realized she could see right through him.
Colt Jennings was a ghost. Which meant he was dead.
How can he be dead? she wondered. She hadn’t heard anything around town, and as newsworthy as his death would be, everyone would know.
She seized on an idea, pulled away from him, and yanked her phone out of her pocket. She hastily looked for the number of the hospital and dialed while he stood there watching her.
“Information desk, please,” she said when the operator answered. She waited through four agonizingly long rings. “This is Naomi Harding. I’m wondering if Colt Jennings is there,” she said, raising her eyes to meet his.
That beautiful storm crossed his face before he turned away.
“Oh, hello Miss Harding. It’s Olivia.”
“Hey, Liv. Can you tell me if Colt has been admitted there?” For the first time ever, Naomi was glad she’d grown up in Silver Hills and knew a lot of its residents.
A pause came through the line. “Yes, Colt was brought in late last night. He’s in— oh, he’s in the ICU.”
The phone slipped from Naomi’s grip. “You’re in the hospital,” she said. As she stared into his starry eyes, an ache blossomed in her chest. Of course she would fall for a guy who was one hundred percent unavailable.
She didn’t understand how he could be standing there in front of her. How he could’ve waltzed into her office and laughed at her dancing. Ridden his motorcycle out to the mansion, or fainted, or done anything he’d been doing. She only knew that he was there, in front of her, squeezing her fingers like he was alive, and well, and interested in her. Leave it to her to always attract the weirdos.
“What am I doing here, then?” he asked.
“Unfinished business?” she suggested.
He glanced at her mouth, quickly lifting his eyes back to hers. He brought a paper between them. “Jacob indicated this.”
“Let’s have a look,” Naomi said, her voice only shaking slightly.
Colt didn’t know what to think, or feel, or do. She’d just told him he was in the hospital. He wondered if anyone had called Rick. He wondered how it was possible to feel hungry if he wasn’t corporeal. How could he be standing here in the foyer of the mansion, holding her hand? Nothing made sense.
Naomi gently extracted her hand from his and took the paper he was practically strangling. Frustration pooled inside him, a feeling he wasn’t used to. He feigned confidence whenever he didn’t feel that way. But this— this situation was something foreign.
Her eyes flicked from left to right, right to left, as she read. “It’s a journal entry,” she said slowly. “Your father’s.” She glanced over her shoulder in the direction of the kitchen. “Maybe that’s why the photos of him were marked.” She held out the paper. “You need to read this.”
Colt ripped the page from her hand, still wondering how such a thing was even possible. He felt the paper in his hand, smelled the smooth coconut of Naomi’s hair, had tasted the sweetness of her lips. He couldn’t be one of the apparitions he’d grown up with.
Could he?
He stepped away from Naomi so she wouldn’t see him smash something with his bare hands. After climbing to the second floor, he took the long journey through the halls to the back staircase that led to the attic. The air grew colder and damper, but Colt pressed on until he had arrived in the secret alcove he and Rick had used as boys. No butterscotch wrappers remained, but this was a safe place.
He took a deep breath of the humid air, steeling himself to read the letter. He could barely stand to see his father’s slanted handwriting. The cursive was shaky and hard to read.
I hope one day my family will find a way to forgive me. I’m not a perfect person, and I’ve made a lot of mistakes. I want my sons to know that I love them, that I have always protected them. No one knows that I can see the seventeen miners who died over a hundred years ago. They talk to me in my nightmares and follow me around the house when I’m home.
In order to keep them away from my family, I’ve been trying to locate their remains and give them a proper send-off. I’ve been able to complete this task for sixteen of the miners. The last, a Jacob Lawson, I have never been able to find what he lacks. I’m leaving this record so my wife and sons will know why I spent so much time locked in my study, why I buried myself in my work, and why I had to drink when I came home at night.
I’m telling them this in the hopes that they can stop hating me, and move on. If possible, I hope one of them will succeed with Jacob where I failed.
Another spirit, Belle Millhouse, has been lingering these past few days. I haven’t quite figured out her story yet, but she nursed those with smallpox, and she seems concerned for Jacob. Perhaps once he is gone, she will be able to find rest also.
All my love to my wife and sons,
Augustus Jennings
Colt stared at the words, not quite believing them. He’d never mentioned the spirits to his father. And the man had died before Colt returned from boarding school. Colt hadn’t tried to see the miners, and he hadn’t noticed that they were almost all gone. He’d stayed with his mother through the last hours of her life, buried her next to his dad in the family cemetery on the hill, and left.
A sharp tug pulled at Colt’s heart, and it felt a lot like forgiveness. Or at least understanding. His father had endured the same visions, probably the same fear, the same confusion, about seeing the dead miners.
He folded the letter carefully and tucked it into his pocket. Rick would want to see it. Colt didn’t know if it would change how his brother felt about his father, but it had shifted something inside Colt.
A scream echoed from downstairs, followed by the terrifying sound of glass shattering.
In less than a second, Colt was on his feet and sprinting down the narrow steps to the second floor.
His fingers tingled as he ducked his head into the study.
Empty.
Library.
Empty.
Once down the hall, he saw Naomi’s bare feet and legs sticking out from behind the kitchen counter. He found her lying in various puddles of greens, browns, and yellows. The poultices and pastes mixed with her blood. Shards of glass lay scattered everywhere.
Colt knelt next to her, feeling nothing as his knees came down on sharp edges. He swiped her hair off her forehead to find a long gash just above her hairline. Her eyes fluttered, open and closed. “Colt…”
“Stay with me, sweetheart,” he said, the endearment much more genuine this time. His hands came away slick with herbs and blood. “Don’t go to sleep, okay? Stay awake.”
“She… wants the… peppermint.” Naomi managed to raise one hand, her finger pointed over his shoulder. “I think they… need it to… find rest.”
He turned to find Belle Millhouse standing over him, a bottle raised over her head. She flung it at the ground, where the clear liquid contents splashed his pants as well as Naomi’s chest and face. The glass sluiced through him without damage, but Naomi’s arms didn’t fare so well.
He slowly straightened and held up his hands. “Okay, the peppermint.”
Belle gestured angrily toward the cupboard. Colt cast another look at Naomi, whose eyes had closed. He detected the faint rise and fall of her chest as he stepped to the cabinet. He had no idea what peppermint looked like, and none of the bottles bore labels.
He began by uncapping the first bottle and smelling. Definitely not peppermint. He tried another. This yellow liquid smelled like lemons. A third bottle got taken down. This one seemed to have bits of twigs mixed in with what smelled like grass.
Bottle after bottle came out of th
e cupboard; Colt smelled each one. None of them were remotely close to peppermint. He turned back to Belle. “There’s no peppermint here.”
That was clearly not the answer she wanted. She dove to the floor and selected a particularly large piece of glass. Before he could fathom what she was doing, she pressed it against Naomi’s neck.
Colt held up his hands. “Okay, okay. I’ll keep looking.”
Belle bared her teeth, and Colt headed to the only other room where he’d seen bottles of liquids. His father’s study. He noticed that the scent of tobacco had faded considerably. Or maybe his nose was full of so many smells, he couldn’t separate them.
Colt went to the shelves behind the desk, noting that it had started snowing, casting the dusk into a pearly gray. The first decanter he pulled down smelled like alcohol. So did the next. And the next. Each had something floating near the bottom, but none gave him the impression of peppermint.
He picked up the last bottle, a mere speck wafting around in the clear liquid. Maybe a fiber of clothing or a fingernail. A chill coiled through Colt as a line from his father’s journal did.
I’ve been trying to locate their remains and give them a proper send-off.
No sooner had Colt uncapped the stopper than did he inhale a lungful of clearly peppermint air. He held it like it was precious as he went back to the kitchen.
“I found it.”
Belle stood, the glass shard dropping from her fingers as she reached for the bottle. Gone was her demonic snarl, vanished were her flat eyes without differentiation from iris to pupil. Jacob appeared beside her, and she handed the bottle to him. He swirled the contents, smelled the liquid, and shrugged.
Colt suddenly understood. These spirits couldn’t detect scent. Since he wasn’t quite dead yet, he supposed he still could. Just like he could still feel hunger, still taste, still feel.
Even as he thought it, he realized he didn’t feel hungry anymore. No emptiness in his stomach, no growling. Nothing.
His condition must be getting worse. Maybe he would die. Would he be destined to wander the mountain at Millhouse mansion like Belle and Jacob?
Jacob stepped up to him, tears glistening in his eyes. He raised the bottle as if saying farewell and faded from sight. Colt felt certain it would be the last time he saw him. He looked around for Belle, but she had already gone too.
He hurried to Naomi’s side, relieved when her shallow breathing disturbed a lock of her hair. Still, she wasn’t going to survive long in her condition. He slid his hands under her body, noting that he could no longer feel her warmth or the texture of her clothes.
Neither one of them was going to make it.
Still, he had to try. He fished her keys from her purse and strode down the hall to the wide front doors. Snow and wind greeted him on the porch, but he felt neither their sting nor their chill.
He laid Naomi in the backseat of her car, got in the driver’s seat, and drove like he’d never driven before.
Chapter Seven
Naomi woke in the hospital, the sterile warmth the first thing she noticed. Second was the scent of antiseptic. For a moment, she thought she’d gone to her mother’s nursing home. But there were too many beeping machines in this place.
She struggled to open her eyes, squinting into very bright lights. A woman sat in the chair beside her, her knitting needles flying as she hummed to herself.
“Edith,” Naomi croaked, her throat cracking. She needed a drink like a fish needed water.
The elderly woman abandoned her knitting and put both hands over Naomi’s. “Hello, dear.”
“What happened?” Naomi tried to make sense of the cloudy images in her head, but she didn’t recognize anything.
“You were injured out at the Millhouse mansion.” Edith showered her with grandmotherly love, her hands like weathered paper against Naomi’s. “Something didn’t feel right, so I contacted the police after you called. I can’t believe you went out there alone, dear.”
Naomi frowned. “I wasn’t alone. I was with…” But no name came to mind. Wispy images of a rugged face, a warm mouth, a kind voice. There, then gone. A yellowed coat floated by, then the flat eyes of a woman who wore two long braids in her hair.
Then more pain in her skull than Naomi had borne before. She screamed, distinctly remembering doing that at the Millhouse mansion. The name running through her head was Colt! Colt! Colt!
Colt paced outside a patient’s room, wondering how long until he could go in. Fine, paced was a strong term, as he was in a wheelchair, one leg broken above the knee, one below. His brother pushed him back and forth, back and forth, at Colt’s insistence.
“Who is she?” Rick asked, and Colt wished he could provide an answer. He didn’t know Naomi Harding beyond the fact that she restored antiques and decorated homes. He hadn’t been in Silver Hills for months, yet this room number had been in his head when he’d awakened in the hospital last night.
He’d been reckless, stupid, on his motorcycle. Three broken fingers, two ribs, and both legs. The helmet had saved his limited brain function and his good looks, as Rick had been joking for two days. Colt was glad someone could. He’d woken after only a day of unconsciousness, a sign the doctor seemed to think indicated Colt would make a full recovery.
But he was going insane. He had a picture of a woman in his head, a room number, and the inexplicable urge to make sure she was okay.
Finally, the door opened, and the nurse exited. “You can go in now. She’s awake, but barely. And she’s been medicated, so she’ll be going to sleep soon.”
Colt nodded, already wheeling himself into the room despite his injured fingers.
“I got it,” Rick said, a touch of impatience in his voice.
Colt was grateful he was there, but he didn’t care if Rick was put out over this impromptu visit. He had to see her, this Naomi Harding.
Even seated in his wheelchair, he was tall enough to see over the railings on the hospital bed. “Hey,” he said, surprised at the softness in his voice. The gentleness. The inkling of love.
“Colt.” She said his name like he was her savior, her breath of fresh air after a long time underwater.
He brushed her hair away from her forehead to find the gash he knew was there. How he knew was a mystery to him. He just did. The wound had been stitched together, but not covered. He blinked, saw a ghostly woman— Belle— with the glass shard pressed against Naomi’s throat.
He sucked in a breath when an angry welt on her neck matched what he’d just remembered.
“You’re in full color now,” she said, her voice little more than a rasp. Her eyes drank him in, glowing with a muted light because of the meds she’d been given.
Memories flooded Colt’s mind with her words. Taking her out to the mansion to look at a rocking horse. Finding out she could see ghosts, too. Telling her about his father and brother. Kissing her. Freeing Jacob and hopefully Belle. Saving the woman he was pretty sure he was falling in love with as she bled out in his arms.
“You’re really pretty,” he said, this time saying it because he felt it, not because he was in intense pain and about to pass out.
Beside him, Rick chuckled. “Smooth line, brother.”
“You saved me,” she said. “Thank you.”
Colt didn’t know what she could remember and what she couldn’t. He pressed his lips to her temple, wishing he could tell her everything now. But her eyelids drooped, and with Rick so close, now wasn’t a good time.
“I think you saved me,” he said. And she had. She’d given him a glimpse of what a real life could be. Not the half-life he lived camping next to rivers and streams during the summer and hiding in his prison of a house in the winter. With her, he wouldn’t be alone to obsess over why he was crazy, why his dad had hated him, and why his mother never disturbed anything in the mansion.
He lifted Naomi’s fingers to his lips and kissed them.
“Do I still get the job?” she asked as she smiled at him.
&nbs
p; Colt laughed, the sound fixing him. Healing him more than he ever thought was needed. “Yes, sweetheart. You got the job. I want the whole house restored, from top to bottom.”
Her head tilted to the side as her eyes drifted all the way closed. “Can I live there with you?” she whispered.
“I wish you would,” he said.
Click on the covers to visit Elana’s Amazon Author Page:
Elana Johnson’s work, including Possession, Surrender, Abandon, and Regret, published by Simon Pulse (Simon & Schuster), is available now everywhere books are sold. Her popular ebook, From the Query to the Call, is also available for download, as well as a Possession short story, Resist.
Her self-published novels include two YA contemporary novels-in-verse, Elevated and Something About Love, as well as a YA/NA futuristic fantasy series, which includes Elemental Rush, Elemental Hunger, and Elemental Release. Her next two novels, a YA time travel thriller and an adult contemporary romance, will be released in 2016 from two different publishers. She is represented by Marisa Corvisiero of the Corvisiero Literary Agency.
School teacher by day, Query Ninja by night, you can find her online at her personal blog, Facebook, or Twitter. She also co-founded the Query Tracker blog and WriteOnCon, and contributes to the League of Extraordinary Writers. She lives in Utah with her husband and two children.
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Dear Timeless Romance Anthology Reader,
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