Stay The Night: Small Town Bachelor Halloween Romance (Small Town Bachelor Romance Book 5)

by Abby Knox

  “Of course, it’s local legend. That house has been sitting empty for decades. Why on earth would you buy it? I mean, don’t get me wrong. Anything is better than having it sit there like an empty eyesore in the middle of our charming downtown.”

  Boy, was Carla going to be disappointed, Misty thought.

  “Because I got a really good deal on it, I suppose that’s why I bought it,” Misty explained.

  “Oh, I know you did! My cousin Angela was your real estate agent and my brother-in-law is a title lawyer. Believe me, there’s nowhere to hide in Middleburg.”

  Misty pasted on a smile and looked around the room. Indeed, there was nowhere to hide. Everyone sitting around the school dining table looked at her like she was a limping gazelle and they were all hungry lions.

  Well, all except the man who smelled good in the denim jacket, whom she had passed on her way into the meeting while he was in the middle of an exasperating phone call.

  The one other person who appeared less like a carnivore ready to pounce was a woman across the table from her. Misty guessed she was a parent, because she didn’t recognize her from staff meetings. The woman wore a funky vintage polka-dot dress and glasses. Both she and the denim jacket guy smiled at her with genuine sympathy, recognizing that Misty was getting put in her place by Carla Phillips, booster club president and currently the biggest fish in Middleburg’s tiny pond.

  Misty, buoyed on by the faces of those two kind people, replied to Carla, “Well, from now on, I’d like everyone to refer to 666 Main Street as the Murder House. Because that’s what we all know really happened there.”

  Carla and her cronies stared at her in horror and disgust.

  The kind-looking woman in the glasses spoke up. “I’m excited to have new blood in town, am I right, people?”

  Misty sent her a grateful grin. As she did so, she felt the heat of another pair of eyes on her. She tried to resist, but she couldn’t.

  Denim Jacket Guy’s eyes were on her and they were not going to let up until she made eye contact. She did, finally, but she didn’t present him with a smile.

  She didn’t want to give him the wrong idea and she didn’t need anyone asking for her phone number. But damn, he had nice eyes. Sort of serious but also warm.

  Don’t fall for that, she told herself. You have work to do.

  Besides that, she may have been an art teacher, but she had a serious preoccupation that would surely freak out any normal eligible bachelor. If he even was eligible.

  Carla finally cut through the tension in the room. “New blood, indeed. Well then, if these strange pleasantries are over with, let’s get down to business. The fall festival is coming up and it’s the biggest fundraiser of the year. There’s been a lot of budget cuts to extracurriculars—one of them being the art club.”

  Misty perked up. “Did you say there’s an art club?”

  Carla looked at her condescendingly. “Not anymore. It’s just not in the budget. But that’s why you were hired, dear. You agreed to come here on a lower salary than the last art teacher. She had a little slip-up when it came to the club’s checkbooks and frankly, the school board overreacted, in my opinion. You’re really lucky to be here at all. And look, you don’t even have to run an art club, lucky you. Now moving on…”

  Misty barely heard the rest of the conversation because she was so embarrassed. Someone had fired an art teacher who was earning more money? And dissolved an entire club? And then turned around and hired her because she agreed to less money?

  I’m the worst, she thought. The last thing she ever wanted to do was displace anybody, let alone a teacher, and an art teacher for that matter.

  She sat quietly and let the rest of them handle the discussion about the fall festival, which she had no interest in participating in anyway.

  That is, until the time came for a subcommittee to plan the thing, and she was immediately nominated.

  “Excuse me?” Misty asked.

  “It’s the least you can do after replacing Edna Phillips, don’t you think?” Carla replied, batting her lashes at Misty.

  “What? I don’t know who that is.”

  Carla sighed. “That would be my mother-in-law, the former art teacher. So I’d love to see you jump in and get your hands dirty by being on the subcommittee. Let’s see, Elly, why don’t you head up this committee since you’re a veteran parent. Ryan, since you’re a newbie let’s have you be the token male. There. That should do it. Surely between the three of you we can expect great things. Now. Moving on, let’s talk about the new wrestling uniforms…”

  Misty, Ryan and the mom, Elly in the vintage dress, all exchanged surprised looks.

  After the meeting, the three of them stayed and sat around the conference table alone to talk strategy.

  7

  Ryan

  “Look, I don’t know the first thing about planning shit like this, so you just tell me what you need and I’ll write a check.”

  Misty narrowed her eyes at him. “Excuse me?”

  “What?” Ryan said.

  “You’ll write a check?” Elly asked.

  “Yeah.” He could tell the women were not impressed, but he wasn’t sure why.

  “And, what? The women will do all the work?” Misty asked.

  Ryan shrugged. “Well, the planning and stuff. Yes. But I mean, I can give you whatever you need.”

  Misty looked at Elly. Elly was staring back at her, wide-eyed, shrugging. Misty leaned across the table, her black eyebrows arching at him.

  “Listen, Ryan. I don’t know how things are done in this town, but I’ll tell you one thing. I am not nor have I ever been a doormat. Elly and I are not high school nerds who are going to be stuck with all the leg work while the jocks and the slack-ass classmates get all the accolades, OK?”

  Ryan’s eyes widened at her stare. She was intense. She was not messing around. “Yes, ma’am,” he said automatically, like he was talking to his mother.

  Misty continued. “You are going to be typing up fliers, sending out emails, contacting vendors, applying for permits, just like the rest of us. I am going to delegate and you are going to do what I ask you to do. Got it?”

  “I think the ‘yes, ma’am,’ covered this,” he replied with a smirk.

  Misty nodded and sat back in her chair. “Good, then we understand each other.”

  “Uh, yep.” Ryan was simultaneously intimidated and aroused by this woman, with her lush mane of black hair and her haughty expression. If there were such a thing as a Withering Stare Contest between Misty Moon and Morticia Addams, he’d put his money on Misty.

  Oddly enough, he had briefly dated a different woman named Misty a few years back, but she was very different from this one. She had been warm and soft-spoken, and deferred to Ryan on almost everything. They got along well, but she had taken a job transfer across the country and they had said their goodbyes. He wished her the best, but they both had known their relationship would not last. Ryan needed a woman who challenged him. He’d discovered through social media that she was happily married now, and with a baby on the way, and he was genuinely happy for her.

  The Misty who was right in front of him now, with her fiery stare and attitude to match, was another creature altogether. He did his best to tame his filthy thoughts as she spoke at him, informing him they would be meeting at his house Friday after school to continue their planning session.

  “I have to go to the courthouse before the clerk of courts closes,” she said to Elly. To Ryan, she said, “On Friday at six p.m., have coffee and snacks ready to go. I’m not your cook, either, OK, Deep Pockets?”

  Ryan watched her leave the room and sat in stunned silence for a moment. He wasn’t sure what had just happened, but he liked it.

  He looked at Elly, who looked back at him with wide eyes as if she, too, wondered what had just come to pass.

  He was definitely going to like working with this feisty, black-haired beauty. He might even enjoy being told what to do by her. With
any luck, her to-do list for him would include something very, very dirty.

  “I like her,” he said.

  Elly shook her head and sighed. “I guess we’re done here.”

  8

  Misty

  Misty knocked on Principal Summers’ door on Friday that week.

  “Misty! Come in.”

  Misty hesitated, because she didn’t want to seem like she wasn’t a team player.

  She asked if she could sit down, and Daisy nodded and gestured to a chair. “I…I wonder if it’s a good idea to put me in a work group with Ryan Hitchcock.”

  Daisy smiled. “Is there a problem?”

  “Well,” Misty said. “He’s quite charming.”

  “And that’s a problem for you.”

  “Yes, kind of.” She felt herself blush. Her chest broke out in a flush that she feared was quite obvious against her skin, and the self-consciousness made her even more embarrassed. “I fear that he’s going to try to pass off the lion’s share of the work for the festival on Elly, the other parent assigned to the subcommittee.”

  Daisy thought about this for a moment. “Well, if you would like me to ask another parent to be involved to balance out the membership, I’d be happy to. I’m sure Carla Phillips can pitch in. She’s very involved.”

  Working with more people was the opposite of Misty’s intention with this meeting; she’d been hoping to be relieved of her duties rather than be saddled with having to get acquainted with yet more people. And Carla Phillips! That was the last person she wanted to see more of.

  “No, ma’am, I mean, Daisy. That won’t be necessary. I’ll make it work.”

  Daisy stepped around her desk and plopped in the chair next to Misty. It was the end of the work week and the principal was showing her real stripes by taking off her shoes and rubbing her ankles. Wow, even the supermodel-looking principal gets tired feet, she noted.

  “I hope you will, Misty. I’m going to level with you. Ryan Hitchcock has just come in to a load of money. A shit ton, if you’ll excuse my language. He is potentially the single biggest donor to the booster club this year, and his son, Elliot, is our star baseball athlete. If Ryan offers to pay for anything, let him. He looks like a bad boy, and sure, a lot of the other single teachers and parents have their eyes on him. But he has a good heart. His ex-wife, Remy, never says a bad word about him, and Elliot is a fantastic kid. Ryan must be doing something right. So what I’m saying is…you don’t have to let him off the hook, but also, maybe don’t make him want to quit. OK?”

  Misty bit her lip. She had a feeling Ryan would not be quitting even if she tried to fire him from the committee. “Not a problem. Thanks, Daisy.”

  She stood to leave, but Daisy stopped her. “How’s it going for you, by the way? Being the new person in town and all?”

  Misty squared her shoulders and nodded. She thought about the elderly ladies who had stopped by with banana bread to invite her to church. And the retired county sheriff who had been “out for a stroll” and stopped by to welcome her to the town. That had all seemed friendly enough.

  “Fine. Absolutely fine. Everyone is very nice. A little too nice.”

  Daisy laughed. “Everybody up in your business, in other words?”

  “Something like that,” Misty said. “But I’ll manage.”

  It was a Friday night and Misty was looking forward to finally getting some real work done at the town library before heading over for the planning meeting with Ryan and Elly.

  At the library, she scoped out the information desk and zeroed in on the youngest-looking librarian. She had no problem with seasoned ones, it’s just that she preferred to pick someone to help her who would not have any memory of the town at the time of the murder. Or, as the rest of them called it, the “suicide.”

  She remembered her frustration at the clerk of courts’ office the other day. When she had asked to see birth certificates, death certificates, marriage licenses and property titles from 1983, the clerk had given her the run-around.

  “Young lady, that’s going to take some time and it’s going to cost you a hefty research fee,” he had said.

  “Oh!” she’d said brightly, “then I can just go back there in the stacks and do the research myself. I mean, it is all public record.”

  “That’s not how it works,” the man said, shaking his bald head at her.

  She looked at the name on his tag. It said, “Owens.”

  She had smiled at him and ladled on the Southern accent. “Clerks of courts are elected around here, yes?”

  “Why, yes,” he had stated proudly, puffing up his chest.

  “Bless your heart. I do hope there are term limits,” she’d muttered.

  He didn’t take kindly to that and told her to come back in a month “or so,” and he would have the documents ready for her.

  Later that night, after her encounter with the clerk of courts, a strange thing had happened at her house.

  When she had arrived home and pulled the Cadillac in the driveway, she had thought she’d seen a shadowy figure darting off across the backyard. It was hard to tell because of the twilight casting strange shadows everywhere. But as she got out of the car, she reached into her bag put a hand on her Glock. She stalked the backyard but saw nothing.

  On her way back toward the front door, she was startled by a stray black cat that was sitting in the middle of the driveway, staring at her. It meowed once. Misty took a step toward it, but it bolted away.

  That night, as she had lay in bed, she told herself the shadowy movements had only been that of the stray black cat.

  She wished she could convince herself of this enough to fall asleep.

  Although tired and dragging the next day after the driveway incident, Misty had resolved to continue her mission after school instead of crawling back into bed after a day’s work.

  At the public library, she targeted a younger person who would likely be less suspicious of her motives, unlike that Owens character at the courthouse.

  She was right.

  The young librarian showed her where to access all the old microfiche from 1983. She didn’t seem to bat an eye at the request. The young girl even offered to help her run the machine, but Misty was well versed in these things.

  She scanned through all the local newspapers at the time, but found no articles pertaining to her particular search.

  There was an article about Roy Winthrop, the county sheriff, who was throwing his hat into the ring to run for the state legislature. That article took up most of the front page.

  And then inside, below the fold, there was a tiny obituary. No mention of a funeral home. No mention of survivors. No mention of where she was even buried. Just a name, date of birth, date of death. Misty gasped.

  “Eliza Moon, b. Dec. 15 1960; died suddenly in her home at 666 Main Street, Middleburg, on Oct. 31, 1983 of undisclosed causes. A private burial will take place on November 3. No memorial service is planned.”

  “That’s her,” she said to no one in particular. “Aunt Eliza.”

  Misty was running late, so she would have to do more digging later. On her hand, she wrote down with Sharpie the date of the newspaper in which the obituary had appeared.

  Misty made her way to Ryan’s house while her thoughts were lost on Aunt Eliza. Why were no details included in the obituary? Who would have the answers to this?

  She barely registered the fact that the house she was driving up to was massive.

  Ryan’s house had a long driveway from the highway, passing acres of fields before cresting a hill that revealed a splendid, well-kept farmhouse with a wrap-around porch, straight out of Fixer-Upper. In one nook of the porch was a huge swing bed, anchored into the ceiling.

  “Holy shit,” she breathed, wondering how many women Ryan had bedded on that thing.

  When Ryan answered the door in a flannel shirt that hugged his beefy shoulders, Misty had to swallow before she spoke. Her mouth was watering.

  “Hey, come on in.” I
n sweatpants and woolen socks, he was dressed much more casual than the last time she’d seen him. He looked like a giant teddy bear ready to cuddle. She had expected a butler to answer the door to a house this size.

  Ryan caught her looking around his foyer with astonishment.

  “Yeah, I’m sure you’ve heard. But what’s money all about if I can’t entertain my friends?” he asked.

  He talked about the house and the property as he led her through to foyer, down the hall and into the kitchen. “I bought this place off a retiring hog farmer who liked to live large. He was quick to sell as he was running into some financial trouble due to some shady shit. Lots of environmental fines, lawyers to pay. I think I heard there might even be criminal charges for not doing things properly. The house is great but there’s all kinds of damage to the soil. I’m working with some companies to clean up what’s left from the waste lagoons. I thought it would be a good thing to do. Put people to work and clean up the land at the same time. He sold off the hogs before I came along to buy up the property, or I would’ve tried to find a humane farm for them as well.”

  Misty could not believe what she was hearing. Coming from anyone else, it might sound like he was bragging. But she could tell he was simply genuinely excited to find a positive use for his money, and genuinely excited to share his plans with her.

  9

  Misty

  “Could you be a little less perfect, please? Your halo is blinding,” she joked.

  He chuckled and turned to look at her. His eyes met hers with a sincere gaze. “I’m just excited to have you in my house. You thinking I’m perfect is a bonus.”

  Ryan was forcing her to be the first to break eye contact or say something. God, she thought, why does he still smell so good? She moved on down the hallway toward the kitchen before he could see her blush.

  The large kitchen island was laden with, oddly, kid food. Aside from the beer and wine, there were mini pizzas, bagel bites and Bugles.