by Vivi Andrews
“Karma,” Beth sniffed. “I should have known she’d be involved.”
“She is my boss and she owns the company,” Jo said wryly. “If it has to do with Karmic Consultants, it has to do with her.”
Beth huffed and snipped, sending long locks of sticky black hair sliding to the floor. “She’s the Pied Piper of crackpots,” Beth grumbled, snipping more aggressively now. “You were normal before you started working for her.”
Jo snorted, but was careful to keep her head perfectly still. She trusted her sister to turn the gummy mass of her hair into something salvageable, but she didn’t want to end up with a bald spot because she hadn’t been able to contain her irritation with her family for five minutes. “I was never normal, Beth. Karma just gave me permission to be myself by showing me there were others like me.”
“Be yourself? Dressing all in black, dying your hair, and spending your nights in graveyards? That’s who you really are?”
“I don’t spend my nights in graveyards and I happen to like the color black.”
“Black isn’t a color. It’s a denial of life.”
“Then I guess it suits me since I work with the dead.”
Beth huffed, the sheers flying fast now. “I may have to accept that Karma woman into the family because Lucy is in love with Jake, but I don’t have to like it. She’s made you weird.”
“Damn it, Bethie! She hasn’t made me anything. If anyone made me weird, it was you guys telling me over and over again that ghosts aren’t normal. If I had been allowed to be a normal girl who just happens to talk to ghosts, do you think I would have turned into Goth Girl and started hanging out with bikers in order to find someone who could accept me?”
Beth’s hands paused above her hair. Jo watched her sister in the mirror, but Beth wouldn’t meet her eyes. “And have you found them?” she asked hesitantly, focusing intently on Jo’s hair to avoid looking at her. “These people who would accept you?”
Jo gave a short humorless laugh. “Not really. Would you believe I’m not dark enough for them? Too normal to fit in there, not normal enough here. I just can’t win. I guess it’s just as well that I’m losing my hair.” She fingered a matted, foot-long swatch of black that had fallen into her lap. “Goodbye Goth Girl.”
Wyatt was being ordered around by a four year old. On the plus side, it was a living four year old.
As soon as he stepped out onto the back patio, he knew why they had chosen to have a backyard brunch engagement party. The yard was twice as big as the house and landscaped to within an inch of its life. A wide stone terrace descended down three shallow steps to a neatly clipped lawn, where round tables had been artistically scattered. At the far edge of the lawn was a white gazebo, nestled among a grove of old-growth oak trees. To his left, where the house curved away toward the front, there was a small swimming pool flanked by long buffet tables groaning under the weight of covered catering platters.
Between the complex floral arrangements and the air of panicked excitement, he might have thought he had walked into preparations for an actual wedding, rather than the casual backyard BBQ-style engagement party that Jo had described.
He didn’t have much time to dwell on that—or his completely unsuitable attire—for long. As soon as the ringleader—a peppy, thirty-something cheerleader dictator who could only be Jo’s other sister, Kim—saw him standing there, she promptly put him to work.
He was fairly certain he saw at least half a dozen different little blonde girls fetching and carrying for Kim, but it was hard to count them since they all looked so damned similar and bounced past him so quickly. The one assigned to run herd on him had introduced herself with a sweet little smile and a lisp as Shelby and then proceeded to channel a drill sergeant for the next half hour, ordering him around with her hands imperiously planted on non-existent four-year-old hips.
Wyatt, cowed by residual guilt over what he’d allowed to happen to Jo’s hair, obeyed each demand to the letter, even when those demands involved climbing up and dangling from a tree branch in order to get the “Congratulations!” banner to hang straight.
By the time Jo emerged from the house, Wyatt was at least twice as grubby as he had been upon arrival and completely unfit for polite company, but all thoughts of his own appearance vanished as soon as he caught sight of Jo’s.
The bubble gum was gone, along with most of her hair, but instead of leaving her looking like she had been scalped by an inexperienced Indian, which he had half-expected, she looked like she could have stepped off the runway of a chic fashion show—provided runway models ever grew breasts.
Her hair had been cut off just beyond where her roots had grown out, leaving her with black-tipped blonde spikes, artfully arranged around her face in a funky, sexy style that was insanely hot and extremely Jo.
It also didn’t help his equilibrium that she had traded her day-old Black Sabbath tee for a scoop-necked scarlet blouse that must have belonged to her sister, because it was at least two sizes too small across the chest.
Wyatt tried not to swallow his tongue as he took in the brand new Jo. And he’d thought she was fuckable before. All thoughts of steering clear of her vanished. They didn’t have to have a relationship—at least not a public one—but he was getting her into bed with him if it was the last thing he did. Wyatt thought he might just be in love with those ghosts for getting rid of her god-awful hair and turning her into this sex-goddess.
“You look—” Wyatt stopped himself, realizing belatedly that edible was not a compliment he could issue in front of the rotating cast of short, blonde people who were rushing past him. “Good. You look good.”
She smiled self-deprecatingly. “I’m sorry I was such a raging harpy this morning. Beth says you can use one of their bathrooms to freshen up and borrow a shirt from her husband Mike for the party. He’s a little bigger than you, but I thought you’d prefer to have something clean.”
“I would. Thanks.” He started toward the house where Beth was waiting for him, but turned before he had gone more than three feet. “Jo, I’m sorry about falling asleep on you last night, but your hair really does look great. You look great.”
Jo beamed. “Be careful today, Mr. Haines. Banks family get-togethers are minefields of smiling faces and unspoken criticism.”
“I can take it,” he bragged, loving the way her smile lit her face as she shook her head fondly at his arrogance. He turned and continued toward the house, wondering when he had become such a softy, grinning like an idiot from one of Jo’s smiles.
Chapter Sixteen: It’s My Party and I’ll Commune with the Dead If I Want To
“Wyatt, isn’t it? Did you know you have a pair of ghosts in your elbow?”
Wyatt looked down at the petite, dimpled blonde batting her baby blues up at him. He had been trying to avoid drawing attention to himself as the backyard filled with laughing and smiling guests. Jo had been recruited to help her sisters play hostess and Wyatt had taken to hiding near the big oak tree he had nearly cracked his skull falling out of earlier. He thought he had been doing an admirable job of pretending to be invisible until the slim blonde woman separated herself from the crowd and approached him.
“Yes, I did actually.”
“I’m Lucy.” Shirley Temple’s big sister redirected her smile toward his elbow. “Aren’t they just adorable? Where did you get them? I never get kids. I mostly get horny dweebs. Jake hates it. Says they don’t respect boundaries. Ghosts don’t. Respect boundaries, that is. But maybe he wouldn’t mind if they were cute. Yours are just darling.”
Wyatt couldn’t figure out which part of her monologue he was supposed to respond to, so he stated the obvious. “You’re the bride.”
“Guilty as charged.” Lucy flashed her dimples at him again. “You’re here with Jo, aren’t you? I’m so glad she found someone who isn’t wigged out by the ghost thing. She does not have a healthy relationship with her spirits, in my opinion. Being involved with a man who has ghosts of his own is the best th
ing for her. Although, I’m just dying to ask, why do you keep them in your elbow? Sort of an odd place, isn’t it?”
“I don’t keep them. I can’t get them out.” When she just blinked at him uncomprehendingly, he clarified. “I’m not a ghost person.”
Lucy’s open, sunshine-and-roses expression closed and darkened in the blink of an eye. “You aren’t? What are you?”
“I’m a businessman.”
Her face twisted with distaste. “Oh.” Then she took a deep breath and her good cheer returned, albeit with visible effort. “Well, that’s just peachy. My cousin Kim is married to an investment banker. You should talk to him. Come on.”
Before he could protest that he would really rather stay hidden in the trees for the rest of his natural life, Lucy latched onto his arm and dragged him through the mass of guests toward the pool, chattering brightly the entire way.
She pulled him to a stop beside one of the buffet tables in front of a balding man in a bright blue polo shirt with one of the small blonde people clinging to his leg. “Scott!” she exclaimed, absently reaching out to tweak the little blonde girl’s nose. “This is Jo’s, um, well, this is Wyatt. He’s a businessman. Try the scones. I made them myself.”
Lucy then released his arm and dove back into the crowd where she could be heard asking everyone she passed if they had seen Jo.
Scott gave an easy laugh and extended his hand for Wyatt to shake. “Don’t mind Lucy. All of the Banks and Cartwright girls are more energetic than logical.” Retrieving his hand, he ruffled the curls of the blonde hanging onto his hip. “You get used to it. What kind of business did Lucy say you were in?”
“She didn’t,” Wyatt replied, wondering exactly how Jo fit into the energetic, illogical mold Scott described. “I’m in hospitality. Haines Hideaways.”
Scott’s eyebrows flew up and he gave a nod of respect. “Impressive growth portfolio. I own a few shares myself. What do you do for them?”
Everything. Or at least he had, before he’d been infected with Jo’s ghost insanity. He didn’t even know how the stock had closed yesterday. “This and that. Overseeing renovations, paperwork, the odd ceremonial ribbon-cutting. I’m Wyatt Haines.”
Scott gave another, deeper nod of respect. He opened his mouth, doubtless to say something about dividends or profit margins that would make more sense to Wyatt than anything he’d heard in the last thirty-six hours, but the small blonde person attached to his leg chose that moment to interrupt.
“Daddy, can I go swimming yet?”
Scott made a show of looking at his watch and held up a hand with all of his fingers outstretched. “Five more minutes.”
Kids made about as much sense to him as ghosts did, so Wyatt quickly brought the conversation back to an understandable footing. “I have a ribbon-cutting on Monday, in fact. The Orchard Hollow Hideaway.”
“Will there be candy?”
Wyatt frowned down at the little girl. “Why would there be candy?” Business was serious. No candy involved.
“It’s Halloween. You have to have candy. I’m going to be a fairy princess. My wings are purple.”
“Good for you,” Wyatt responded brusquely.
He turned his attention back to the father who gave his daughter a pat on the shoulder, sending her toward the pool. “You can swim now, but no big splashes. Auntie Beth would have my hide if I let you drench her catering efforts.”
As Wyatt waited for Scott to finish watching his daughter bounce off to collect her swimming buddies, his eyes suddenly felt heavy and his thoughts sluggish. He’d spent most of the night trying to stay awake without much success. Not the most restful way to sleep. Wyatt tried to shake away his sudden exhaustion, and then turned to Scott with a weary smile. “Buy you a cup of coffee?”
Scott laughed. “Tell you what, since it’s free, the coffee’s on me.”
“Jo Ellen Regina Banks, what kind of person wears jeans to a social function?”
“Hello, Mother.”
The elder Elizabeth Banks, “Betsy to my friends”, did nothing so demonstrative as frown disapprovingly at her youngest child, although the subtle hint of martyrdom tainted her features. “I suppose this new hairstyle is your latest rebellion.”
Jo smiled cheekily. “Do you like it? Bethie cut it.”
Her mother pursed her lips for only a second, barely long enough to crease the frown lines around her mouth. “Bethie is so busy with her life. Poor dear, she is out of practice. Although I suppose it could be worse.”
The “though I can’t imagine how” hung in the air unspoken between them. Jo always marveled that her mother could include so many searing non-verbal indictments into an everyday conversation—and this was a variation on a conversation they had every day. At least every day they saw each other. The my-daughter-is-ruining-my-reputation-by-turning-herself-into-a-freak-woe-is-me conversation.
And, as always, despite her best intentions to the contrary, Jo heard herself explaining herself to her mother, looking, as always, for that illusive hint of approval. Or at least a lessening of the disapprobation. “I had a work emergency and couldn’t go home to change before the party,” she explained. “I thought Lucy wouldn’t mind if I went a little casual as long as I’m here.”
“Of course she wouldn’t say so,” Betsy Banks said. “Lucy was brought up right and a well-brought-up young lady would never be so gauche as to tell you that your attire was beneath acceptable standards.”
Of course not. That’s what mothers are for, Jo thought wryly. “I’m not going to go home and change, Mom.”
“I should hope not. What would be the point? You’ve already made the impression you’re going to make.”
Jo gritted her teeth and tried to think non-matricidal thoughts. She loved her mother. She did. Really.
“Jo!”
Thank God. Lucy.
“I just left your Wyatt. Did you know he’s a businessman?”
Jo smiled in spite of herself. She adored her cousin. Lucy was the one person in the world who accepted her exactly as she was. It was heavenly to feel normal for a while. “I did know that, believe it or not. How did you find out?”
“He told me!” Lucy exclaimed, as if Wyatt had spontaneously confessed to being a serial killer. “Where did you find him?”
“You’re here with a businessman?” her mother asked, her ears pricking up at such normalcy.
Jo felt a stab of irritation. She knew it was spiteful and ridiculous to be annoyed by how well Wyatt fit in at Bethie’s suburban utopia, but she couldn’t help it. He had her mother’s automatic approval because he was so obviously normal. Her own mother thought Jo was a crackpot, but Wyatt might as well have been the son she’d never had.
“Jo Ellen, why didn’t you say anything?” Mama Banks asked, smiling delightedly at her youngest child. “A businessman!”
Jo gritted her teeth. She didn’t want her mother to accept her just because Wyatt was normal enough for the both of them. If anything, that made her feel even more like the crazy one. She was tempted to tell her mother about the ghosts in Wyatt’s elbow just to wipe the satisfied smirk off her face. Then Lucy saved her the trouble.
“I didn’t think he was your type, but then I saw the ghosts. They are just the most adorable things ever!” Lucy gushed. “Where did he get them?”
And just like that Mama Banks’ hopes were dashed.
“Haunted house,” Jo said. “He owns this really cool old Victorian that’s filled to the rafters. You could talk yourself hoarse and not transcend half of them.”
Lucy turned and stretched up on her tiptoes to see through the crowd to where Wyatt and Scott were talking near the pool. “Even considering the adorable ghosts, I have to admit I’m surprised you brought him here. Though I suppose he is hot, in an anal yuppie sort of way.”
“Who’s hot?”
Jake Cox appeared at Lucy’s side with a mock-jealous growl and Jo found herself wallowing in jealousy of her own. Not because she wanted Jake for h
erself—although he was undeniably gorgeous with a bad-boy chic style that was much more to her taste than Yuppie Boy—but because he looked at Lucy like she was the only woman in the world. Jo could practically see Lucy’s insteps melting under the heat in Jake’s eyes.
Wyatt would never look at me like that.
When Jo realized what she’d just thought, she could have kicked herself for the stupid sentimentality of it. The last thing she needed was her subconscious deciding Wyatt Haines was her go-to-guy for mushy romantic fantasies. She needed to keep her distance, keep her cool, and keep her pants on. He made her feel crazy—and not in a good way.
Lucy didn’t seem to notice Jo’s latest Wyatt-related internal crisis. She tucked herself up against Jake’s side and answered him. “Jo’s new boy toy is a cutie.”
Jo groaned. “Luce, he’s a client.”
“So was Jake,” Lucy said with a dimpled grin. “A little business, a little pleasure…”
“He’s a client?” her mother exclaimed in horror. “You brought a client to a family event?”
Jo rolled her eyes. “Lucy doesn’t mind. Do you, Luce?”
“’Course not. His ghosts are adorable. You have to see his ghosts, Jake. You’ll love them.”
“Somehow I doubt that,” he muttered.
“No, really, they’re very—”
Whatever Lucy thought they were was cut off by a startled male shout and a splash. They all spun in the direction of the pool.
“Scott!” Kimmie screamed, rushing toward the figure flailing in the pool.
Jo couldn’t take her eyes off of the figure standing at the edge of the pool, calmly sipping a cup of coffee. “Oh, no. Wyatt.”
“That isn’t Wyatt,” Lucy corrected. She grabbed Jo’s arm as they both sprinted toward the pool and the ghostly party crashers.
