Escape from Heartland: A Contemporary Paranormal Romance, Ghost Story: A Heartland Cove County Romance

by Jacquie Gee

  I throw the car into reverse, screaming backward down the hill along the mucky, overgrown laneway, and fishtail out onto the road. Shifting it into gear, I slam my foot on the gas and we squeal away, clouds colliding as if chortling overhead.

  Chapter 8

  Jayden

  Jules brings the car to an abrupt, skull-rocking stop in front of Bates’ Baits. She ferociously yanks the emergency brake up between us. Her mascara-stained face swings around.

  "What was that?" Her eyes are enormous. They stare at me like they’re gonna take me apart. I’m not gonna lie. I’m a little afraid of her at this moment. If the term ‘mad enough to spit nails’ were literal, I’d be nailed to a cross by now.

  I don't answer at first, mostly 'cause I don't know if she's referring to the strange and creepy thing that happened between us back at the house—which I'm not entirely sure she noticed, but I sure as heck did—or the equally strange and creepy thing that happened in the yard with the keys and the car...which I can’t possibly begin to explain. Instead, I just sit there making inaudible noises that are not very becoming, I must admit.

  "You knew that was going to happen, didn’t you?” She pokes my chest. “You wanted it to!"

  "What? No!"

  She swipes a sopping wet swath of hair from her eyes and glares at me even harder. “What are you, a warlock or something? That would explain the beard,” she mutters to herself.

  Did she just accuse me of witchcraft?

  "You planned that. All of it. Didn't you? The storm. The house. The flickering lights. What happened with the keys!" She juts her chin out at me.

  "Huh?" I blink. Yeah, like I wanted to run for my life from some angry entity out into a raging lightning storm. Pfft!

  "How else do you explain what just happened?” She shakes. Her bottom lip trembles, despite her tough-as-nails exterior. She’s as freaked as I am.

  “Look,” I start and she cuts me off again.

  “Why did you bring me up there if you knew that would happen?”

  “I didn’t!”

  I’ve been in a lot of possessed houses over the last six months since my training, but not one has conjured up its own terrifying storms, let alone a storm that swirls only around its premises. As we drove away, it literally stopped raining once we’d turned the bend. Like, I’m talking sunshine and lollipops, all over the place.

  That had to be the strangest thing about all of it. And what happened with the keys.

  “Does it always do that?” I blurt.

  “Do what?” She scowls.

  “Rain only around that particular house?”

  “What? I don’t know!” she shouts. “Shouldn’t you? You caused it—”

  “What do you mean, you don’t know? I thought you said you’ve been up there before—”

  “I have, loads of times—”

  “Well, then—”

  "It's never been possessed before if that's what you're asking," she shouts, sounding distressed. "Though I've never ventured inside." Her wet lashes flutter. She's starting to crumble. Then she sets her jaw and snaps her chin up high. "Oh, no you don't." She glares across the seat. "This is all your fault. You and your ghostbusting wannabe vibes."

  “What?”

  “You heard me. You brought this on us.” She narrows her mascara-racooned eyes. “You and your wicked powers!”

  "Do you hear yourself right now?"

  “You said it yourself. What was it?” She pours on full dramatics. “‘I see things. I have a gift. I talk to ghosts.’ Or some such madness.” She sucks in a breath and falls back in her seat, exhaling noisily, her head crashing into the headrest.

  "If you're finished being crazy—"

  "Me? Crazy? " Her head springs up from the rest, her eyes wide as saucers. “I'm not the one who boasts about talking to the dead for a living!" She touches her chest.

  “Oh, so now it’s not me, it’s what I do that’s crazy.” I cross my arms. “This coming from a woman who cans worms for a living."

  "I do a lot more than just can worms,” she shouts.

  “Oh yeah? Like what?”

  “I’m not gonna tell you.”

  "Oh, that’s right, worms and grubs, forgive me," I smirk in her direction, and it feels good for about three point five seconds, and then I feel like a heel.

  She glowers at me like she's been set on fire. "Okay, you know what.” She grabs for the handle on the door. “This conversation is over." She launches the door open and sets one foot out onto the street, then recoils. “Wait a minute. This is my car. You get out!”

  "Oh. Yeah. Right," I stammer, and turn to leave, feeling horribly wounded. I don’t know why. It was just a ride, for goodness sakes. It’s not like it was a date. I’m not being rejected.

  Then why do I feel like I am?

  I turn back, flustered, watching her rummage around in her purse for what I think must be her keys, which are still in her hand—unless she’s looking for a second set—but I haven’t the guts to tell her that. She already thinks I’m a warlock. If I tell her that the keys are in her hand and she’s surprised by that, it just might seal the deal.

  "Look, I—"

  "Out." Her eyes are cold, small and mean. I get the sense I shouldn’t cross her.

  “Okay. Right.” I grab the handle of the door then hesitate again. I don't want things to end like this between us. But it doesn’t look like I’ve got a choice.

  “I’ve got worms to can, remember," she says between her teeth, as I pop open the door and drop a foot to the curb. Her lashes sputter angrily.

  I think to apologize, then close my mouth quickly. Clearly, I've said enough already.

  The woman has spoken, Jay Day. Threw your insult back in your own face. There's no making this better.

  Not like you don’t deserve it.

  Shite. This is not at all how I wanted this to work out. I glance back at her again.

  Why do you always blow these things, dude? Every time you meet a nice girl the next thing you know you’ve turned her into your enemy.

  I wish I had the time to explain things further. Then again, who would believe this crazy quest I’m on? I don’t believe it either.

  "Do you mind?" She blows the air from her lungs, all but throwing me out of the car with a flash of her eyes.

  I’ve really blown it this time, haven’t I?

  You know what? It doesn’t matter. It was only a ride. A lift from one stranger to another. Don’t be such a dreamer.

  "I'm sorry," I manage to mumble as I'm about to leave when a knock at her window has us both jumping in our seats. My head whips around to find a tall blonde woman in extremely high heels and a tight, tight skirt peering into Jules' window. Her hands are suspended in the air, shielding her eyes as she glares in. "Hey, you!" Her voice is light and cheery. "Where have you been?” She addresses Jules at first, not realizing there’s a second person present. “Oh my gosh, you’re soaking wet.”

  "Up to the house, you were supposed to be at." Jules turns down her window and levels her with a glare.

  Anna gaze reverts to me. “Is that—?" She points with her hand, then pulls it to her heart. "Oh, my gosh, you must be him.” She touches her chest ever-so-tenderly. "Jules, what are you doing with my client?" Her expression hardens as she swings her gaze back onto Jules.

  “I was delivering him up to the house, where you were supposed to be. He was lost, so I crazily thought I'd help out." Jules toggles her head. Her voice is tense, curt, angry. Sarcasm drips from her every line. Her eyes drag a scathing look from her friend to me and back again. If looks could evaporate, I’d be gone.

  "You were delivering him for me." She grins. “How sweet. Hi, I’m Anna French.” She sticks a hand out in front of Jules’s face for me to shake. “I’m so sorry we didn’t connect.” She brims with a semi-fake realtor smile.

  Reluctantly, I take her hand and shake it. "Charmed," I say.

  "So sorry about that little snafu of not showing up.” She tosses a hand in
the air as if to rub her mistake away. Jules rolls her eyes and huffs loudly.

  “I did go up to the house but for some strange reason I couldn't get in." Anna fishes a key out of her purse and twirls it in the air. "The key wouldn't work in the door. So I came back down here to see if there was another one, thinking maybe I’d picked up the wrong one or something. But then it started to rain like cats and dogs, and well…" She primps her hair. “Rain and I don’t get along.” She chuckles. “So I decided to wait for it to clear.”

  “So, it did rain here then?”

  “Oh, yes, quite a bit.”

  Jules and I share a strained look. I don't exactly hear the rest of what Anna says because I'm distracted and staring into Jules' face. I don't think Jules hears anything more either because we're both stuck on the part about the key not working in the door.

  Not to mention the part about the storm.

  Jules’ head swings back, her mouth agape. "What do you mean, the key wouldn’t work?" she accosts her friend.

  "Just what I said. The key wouldn't turn." Anna twirls the old skeleton key in her fingers again. "It was the strangest thing. I turned and turned it. But the door just would not open. It's such a relic; it's no wonder." She scoffs at the thing. “I’m surprised they haven’t changed the lock to something more modern after all these years. Anyway, no bother." She stuffs the key back in her purse. “Apparently you two got in.” She glances at our stunned faces through the window. "What?”

  “How did you know we got in?” Jules asks.

  “Well, you said you got in and I wasn’t there.”

  Did we? I try to remember.

  Jules and I share a brief fear-filled glance.

  “Anyway, semantics. Shall we go?”

  “But the door was unlocked when we got there," Jules whispers across the seat to me, low.

  "What?" Anna’s brow tents.

  "You’re right, you just pushed the door open. I remember that.”

  Jules breath becomes uneven. She glances worriedly over at me as if to say, we did just throw it open, didn’t we? I’m not crazy. "It was like someone was already inside. We thought it was you." Jules turns her frozen stare back on her friend.

  I look over at Anna who glowers at me, her eyes darting confused-like between the two of us. "Hmmm,” she presses her lips together. “That’s certainly strange—I mean, odd,” she stammers, “not strange.” She nervously laughs.

  She pauses, sharing a quick, stilted grin, then fans herself like she’s overheating, and swallows hard. "Maybe it did unlock and I didn't notice," she suggests, weakly, strangling the handles of her purse.

  Yeah right. Jules palms just hit that door and it burst open wide. There was no key involved.

  Jules mouth falls open.

  “Now that that's all settled." Anna smooths down the moment, "and we know the door is open." She softens her anxious gaze. "How's about we go back up there and take a peek? Hmmm?" Anna brings her hands together like an overzealous church lady, pushing charity lemonade. "I'll just get in the back seat." She tosses me an inviting smile, her eyelashes batting and reaches for the handle.

  “Oh, no you won’t!” Jules croaks, looking crazed. "I'm not going back up to that place.” Her voice is unsteady, edged with fear. “Besides,” she digresses, her cheeks tinged with embarrassment. “I've got too much work to do here—my worms are waiting.” She emphasizes the word ‘worm’ then grits her teeth at me.

  That was a good jab. Straight through my heart.

  Again, why do I care what this girl thinks?

  "You're sure?" Anna asks, trying to make amends.

  "More than positive," Jules snaps, staring out the windshield.

  "All right then,” Anna sings, stepping back from the car. “If you just wanna…” She rolls her hands, indicating for me to get out, then fishes her keys out of her purse and spins them around on one finger.

  “Oh, yeah.” I pop back to life.

  Anna stands poised, waiting for me, like a haircare model about to enter the set of the commercial.

  For a long awkward moment, everyone just stays fixed in place, positions holding, Jules in her seat, I in mine, and the Breck girl out there on the sidewalk, waiting to sell her product.

  I don't want to leave things this way, especially not now that there's more weirdness about the key. I half-heartedly reach out for the handle on the door, then stop myself. "Maybe we can get together another time—" I look back at Jules over my shoulder.

  She shoots me a withering look.

  “Or maybe not.” My nerve dwindles.

  "Whatever," she says through her gritted teeth, and I’m happy because it’s not a no.

  “Splendid,” I say, jumping from the car to the street. A stupid choice of words for an awkward moment, but what can I say.

  I’ve barely stepped to the curb that she burns off around the corner, tires squealing into the drive of Bates’ Baits, left open passenger door swinging wider as she makes the turn. Gravel shoots up from behind her tires.

  “What's up with her?" Anna turns down her sunglasses, pulling up tight to my elbow.

  "Not sure,” I say. “But I think some jerk might have offended her."

  “Oh,” Anna sounds surprised. She looks at me, perplexed. “Any idea who that might have been?”

  Chapter 9

  Jules

  Dad’s eyes sparkle as I walk into the shop. He always greets me so lovingly. “Hey, hun!” He looks around the partition from where he’s standing at the back counter, packing the remainder of the grubs into cans that I abandoned to take Mr. Ghostbuster up to the old mansion. I feel immediately guilty. In fact, I’m seized by a pang. It tightens in my chest and forms a lump in my throat. He has enough to do around here, and he asks so little of me. Why didn’t I just finish?

  “I'm sorry, a stranger showed up at the door and I—"

  "Don’t worry about it," he says.

  Despite all the man's been through, he’s chronically kind. I’m not so sure I’d be the same in his place. I love the way his eyes turn into wrinkle-swarmed darts whenever he grins. I get my suede brown eyes from him. Mom used to say they were the entire reason she married him. She could gaze into them for hours, she claimed.

  Though, I don’t see the resemblance. Mine are more chocolate, where Dad’s are more sable brown. I used to think that Mom made that up so I looked like Dad in some way. I definitely look most like my mother. I’m practically her clone.

  I drop the thought from my head, not wanting to get all fogged up again. I've been thinking too much about Mom today. It’s all that guy’s fault. He’s the one who did it. Walking in here, asking about her book. Speaking of which, I need to ask Dad where he put the copies.

  Maybe later, when he’s done work.

  I don't know what it is about Mom. She's just always there, playing in my mind, dancing around my thoughts. Sometimes, I wish she would go away. Other times, I can’t get enough of her. I panic when I think I’m losing her and want her to come back.

  I've been losing sight of her face in my mind, lately.

  It's an awful thing when people pass away.

  People tell you your loved one will always be with you. But then they begin to fade from your memory, and you're left with nothing.

  It starts with their hands, and then with their eyes, and then one day you find yourself struggling to put together the features of their face. And the next thing you know they’ll be gone.

  “Why don't you sweep up a little out back?” Dad says. “Then call it quits for the day. Sunshine’s still out there. Go grab some. Or maybe do a little something you want to do for a change.”

  "Thanks." I toss my jacket on the rack and head for the broom closet.

  “Second thought, just go do what you wanna do. I’ll sweep up.” He rubs his grimy hands on his apron.

  He knows there's a little something I've been working on upstairs, that I’m itching to get back to it. He heard me up half the night last night. Brought me tea and coo
kies around three. He's a clairvoyant like that. Always knows when I have a project cooking that means a lot to me. It’s one of the things I love most about my dad.

  I’ve been working on a special one-of-a-kind dress to bring with me to the contest, if I’m selected to go. The contest I haven't told Dad about yet.

  I'm struck by a traitorous feeling.

  But I will when and if the time comes. If I have the nerve and the guts to follow through with my plan. I know one thing for certain, Collette Van Bommel will not be drowning herself in my latest creation.

  Collette Van Bommel. Dangit!

  I forgot to tell Dad she was dropping by. Her image comes to me, in her too-short shorts and sassy mood from this morning. I look down at my watch. She should be here soon. I need to race up the stairs and rearrange my closet to make sure she doesn't set her sights on any of my best dresses, but I need to tell Dad about the shingles job first.

  I don't really want to. I chew a nail. But, bottom line, he needs the work, and we need the money. My mind wanders over the outstanding payments in the accounting ledger from last month. That enormous overdue electric bill I peeked at then tossed on Dad's desk. Deficits far outweigh our profits right now. As Mom used to say, ‘Beggars can’t be choosers.’

  "Hey, Dad," I say, stopping on a stair step.

  “Mmm?” He turns around.

  "Someone was by the shop today, wanting to give you a job." I face him.

  "Oh?" His eyes widen, his voice is spiking cheerfully. That’s my dad, always sparkling, no matter how dull things get around here.

  "I told them you'd talk to them about it a little later in the day when the shop closed up for the day. She should be around any moment."

  "Oh, yeah. Good. Who?"

  I hang my head. I don't want to say. It's such a slap in the face to my father that it’s Collette Van Bommel. Of the infamous Van Bommels. The daughter of Heartland Cove’s Cement King. The guy who buddied up to the Department of Transportation when the highway went through, and secured himself a steady income maintaining the roads around here ever since.