Romancing the Paranormal

by Stephanie Rowe

  Twyla Faye made a sniffing noise, but Calla gave her the eye, effectively quieting her again.

  Peering into the big walk-in closet where Kirby was sifting through Winnie’s dresses, she decided it was now or never. “Find anything good in there, Kirby?” she asked, sliding off the bed to make her way across the floor.

  Kirby poked her head out and held up a black, slinky dress with a swirly skirt and tight, sequined bodice. “This is really pretty. It would look amazing against your fair skin and dark hair.”

  Calla took it from her and held it up against her frame. The bodice would no doubt be too tight. “It’s very pretty. Just not me. Mind if I squeeze in there and take a peek around?”

  Kirby slipped past her and motioned her in.

  Winnie’s closet was amazing. There were endless shelves of shoes, scarves, and purses. She had a dress in every color of the rainbow, and clearly she didn’t mind wearing something revealing.

  But Calla pushed hangers around and sighed. Nothing was catching her eye. Nothing that made her think “the one”.

  Kirby leaned against the doorframe, her eyes following Calla. “Have I ever told you how grateful I am to you? For…for not judging me? For letting me work at the senior center?”

  Calla nodded and smiled. “You have, and really, there’s no need to thank me. We’ve all made mistakes. You’re a very valuable employee and an awesome guinea pig. Who else would try my bacon-and-vanilla-flavored cupcakes without batting an eye but you?”

  But Kirby’s eyes became even more intense when she grabbed Calla’s hand and held it tight. “Are we friends?”

  She cocked her head, confused. Where was this coming from? “I’d like to think we are, Kirby. Is something bothering you? Do you want to talk?”

  Kirby was a quiet soul who’d had a troubled past. Winnie was big on disclosure, and while she didn’t break confidentiality about her parolee’s crimes, she did give you some emotional background information on them on the off chance you needed to deal with a situation.

  But according to Winnie, Kirby was as nonviolent as a newborn kitten, and after she’d been imprisoned back in Salem, a model inmate.

  But then Kirby smiled, sweet and full of sunshine. “Nah. I’m fine. Just feeling maudlin and missing home, I guess.” And then her attention turned to the far corner of Winnie’s closet. “Ohh! What about that one?”

  Calla’s eyes swung toward the direction of Kirby’s finger. “Pink?”

  “Well, it is your favorite color, isn’t it? You did paint an entire physical therapy room pink. Seems like a good choice to me.”

  “True that,” she said, reaching for the hanger and slipping the dress from it. She wandered out into the bedroom where Winnie had a full-length mirror and held it up. It was a wraparound with a tie-belt, simple and without any fancy adornments. Definitely not the slinkiest dress her friend owned, but something about the way the fabric swished at her knees made her consider it as a candidate.

  “Try it on,” Kirby encouraged, pointing to the interior of the closet.

  “Did you find one, Calla?” Icabod asked.

  She closed the closet door, kicked off her sandals, and then shrugged out of her jeans. “We’ll see.”

  As she pulled off her tank top, she let it drop to the floor and closed her eyes. Breathe, Calla. Just breathe.

  She readjusted her bra, pulling the dress over her head, loving the slink of the material down along her hips. She gave one last glance to the neckline and kept her fingers crossed. Sexy, but not desperate and not too revealing.

  Popping the closet door open, she headed for the mirror again, stopping a couple of feet away from it.

  Both Kirby and Icabod let out appreciative whistles. “Nice,” Kirby murmured.

  “Yeah, definitely your color, Calla. You look amazing,” Icabod said.

  “You’ll have all the boys in the yard wantin’ that milkshake,” Twyla Faye said with approval.

  “Ya think?” She smoothed her hands over her waist, pivoting on her toes. The dress fell to just below her knee, accentuating her long calves. The belt, tied at the side, made her waist appear much smaller than it really was, despite her two-mile jogs every morning. It hugged her breasts without exposing them as a suggestion rather than a blatant statement.

  She felt…sexy. Provocative. Confident. All things she hadn’t felt in a long time.

  “I think this is it,” she mumbled, more to herself than anyone else.

  Kirby came up behind her and squeezed her shoulders, giving her the warmest smile Calla had seen to date. “You look beautiful, Calla. Really beautiful.”

  Calla patted her hand. She’d needed to hear that. Sucking in a deep breath, she grinned, not nearly as nervous as she’d been. There was an ember of anticipation in the pit of her stomach and the longer she looked at her image in the mirror, the hotter that ember began to glow.

  “You think Nash will like it?”

  Kirby scoffed and planted her hands on her hips. “He’d be a damn fool not to.”

  “Then this is the one,” she said, her excitement growing, her belly battling a band of butterflies.

  Nash Ryder better prepare to have his socks rocked right off his feet.

  Chapter Four

  Ezra wolf-whistled from his place on his favorite recliner as she strolled out into the living room of the apartment she shared with him. “Ain’t you somethin’?”

  Twyla Faye sat contentedly in his lap, her eyes closed as she lifted her face toward the end table, where a heat lamp sat that Ezra had bought.

  Calla grinned. She definitely felt like somethin’. Sexy and flirty and…so alive. She gave a gentle tug to Ezra’s beard. “Oh, stop. You have to say that because you’re related to me. It’s in the rules.”

  He rustled the newspaper he was reading before setting it down on the end table. “I do not. I never say it to your cousin Mort. He’s ugly. Told him so on the phone just the other day.”

  Calla giggled as she stashed things away in her purse. Mort wasn’t ugly. He was just big, and awkward, and her grandfather adored him. “Leave Mort alone, Gramps. He’s a good guy.”

  “A good ugly guy with feet the size of warships. Not nearly as pretty as you.”

  “Twyla Faye? What do you think? Do you approve?” She twirled, luxuriating in the fabric rustling against the tops of her knees.

  “Do purses and belts get the right of approval?”

  Calla snorted and ran a hand over the lizard’s spiny back to soothe her bruised ego. “Oh, stop grudging over Icabod. Besides, I never think purse when I think of you. I’d definitely go with shoes.”

  Twyla Faye gasped, her head swiveling in Calla’s direction. “You cut me to the quick. It’s like I have no feelings at all. And after all my love and undying devotion.”

  “Define ‘undying devotion’, lizard. Does undying devotion entail you flirting with Nash?”

  “No fair. He’s hot, Calla. Thinkin’ about it now, given the chance, I’d turn you into a sign on the turnpike if I thought I had a chance at him. But he only has eyes for you.”

  “And if you could get the sign correct,” she teased.

  Twyla Faye gave Calla her back. “One gnome gone wrong and it’s like I turned the Maldives into a Dollar Store. Much ado about nothing.”

  Calla chuckled and pressed a kiss to her fingers, dropping it on Twyla Faye’s head. “Behave while I’m gone, and don’t wait up for me.”

  Taking a deep breath, she snapped her purse shut and turned to Ezra. “You about ready?”

  Ezra rose and stretched before smoothing his hands over his best pair of trousers. “Question is, are you?”

  She rolled her eyes. She was absolutely not talking the big sex-tivus with her grandfather. They were pretty close, but that was one subject she’d never be able to comfortably discuss with him. “Grandpa…”

  He grabbed her hand and pulled her into his embrace, the warmth of his sweater vest tickling her chin as he hugged her. He smelled of all the
good things from her childhood—pancakes with thick maple syrup, hickory from the smoker he used to smoke bacon, and Old Spice, his favorite if utterly outdated cologne.

  “That’s not what I mean and you know it, young lady. I’m just teasin’ ya to tease ya about the other stuff. That’s none of this old geezer’s business.”

  “So you didn’t really buy raffle tickets for the beer-for-a-year contest?”

  “Oh, no. I did that. I bought eight and I put Twyla Faye’s name in the pool, too,” he blustered before he grinned. “I meant, are you ready to let go? Trust? Nash is a good guy, Calla-Lilly. Strong, dependable, nice to us golden oldies around town. Can’t do better n’ Nash.”

  Calla peered up at him, watching his blue eyes twinkle, the corners of them lined with crow’s feet, and she knew he was remembering her grandmother Lettie. Theirs had been a marriage for the ages—literally. She’d learned everything she ever wanted in a relationship from them.

  “Old? You? You’re about as old as a fifth grader.”

  Placing her hands on his shoulders, she pecked him on the cheek. She was beyond grateful her grandfather had agreed, at her urging, to let the witches of Paris buy his building when he’d planned to sell it after closing the doors of his butcher shop, allowing her a new career opportunity.

  Hallow Moon had been her brainchild after discovering some of the senior witches and warlocks in town could be hard to handle, and downright mischievous. That they needed a place to spend their days to keep their minds active had become evident upon her initial return to Texas.

  As the old order grew older, families were finding it difficult to find caregivers privy to their supernatural status in Paris. In fact, it was virtually impossible, and hiring a human was out of the question when it came to magic wand mishaps. The risk of discovery was too great.

  But after one of her favorite seniors ever, Clive Stillwater, had set a car on fire with a misaimed flick of his finger, everyone agreed old Clive needed a watchful eye.

  As she’d licked her wounds over her bag-of-dicks ex-boss, she’d found a much-needed distraction keeping track of Clive and his gang of miscreants while his granddaughter was at work, and that’s when her idea to open a senior center had begun.

  The elders of the Council of Witches paid her well to manage the center, and she’d grown to love her band of curmudgeons, as well as her employees from Winnie and Ben’s halfway house.

  So many good things had happened since she’d come back to Texas. She just had one more hurdle and it would be perfect…

  Ezra chucked her under the chin. “Quit jokin’ around about my mental age in order to avoid the subject. I just want you to finally be happy with a decent fella like I was with your grandma Lettie.”

  She and Ezra had a bond she didn’t even share with her parents, and the chance to dote on him for more than just a summer had been too good to pass up. They made great roommates and even greater bingo partners. Ezra accepted her as-is—loved her in the unconditional way her parents just couldn’t seem to manage, and she’d never forget that.

  “I have you. I don’t need any other fellas. Now c’mon, old man—before all the soft food is gone and you have to fight Agnes Wheeler for the last bowl of Jell-O.”

  Ezra guffawed, holding out his arm to her. “She mighta won that round last spring dance, but I’d like to see Crabby Patty take me down when it comes to the tapioca. I don’t care how many threats she lobs at me about frog eyes and moth wings, I shall not be defeated!”

  Calla pulled him out the door and toward the steps leading out of the building. “You play nice, buddy. I hear Agnes Wheeler wields a mean, unforgiving wand.”

  Stopping, Ezra looked down at her, running his finger along the bridge of her nose just like he used to when she was little. “I love ya, Cupcake. You know that, right? No matter what—always-always—forever-forever.”

  She fought a rush of tears. If she never had anything or anyone else, she had Ezra. “Always-always—forever-forever,” she repeated, her throat tight, before pulling him down the steps and heading off toward the VFW hall.

  * * *

  “Wow,” Nash murmured when she met him at the front of the hall.

  Yeah. Wow. She really felt wow. All while she’d gotten ready, taking her time applying her makeup, curling her hair, she’d anticipated putting the dress back on.

  When she’d slipped it on again, her troubles, her fears, almost totally melted away. They’d become a distant, hazy memory. Pairing the dress with some cute, open-toed black heels, she’d felt about as close to euphoric as she ever had.

  “That’s what I like to hear,” Ezra said cheerfully, clapping Nash on his broad back. “Now, you two, I’m out. Agnes is in for a big surprise when she finds out her old Jell-O nemesis is on the hunt. Be good to my girl—or you’ll have me to reckon with.”

  Nash smiled down at her grandfather and offered him a hand. “You be kind to Agnes, Ezra. You know how she feels about her Jell-O. Besides, you’ll probably be too busy chasing Greta and her hot new whistle.”

  Ezra’s eyes lit up, his tufts of white hair glowing around his tanned face. “Is she inside?”

  Nash nodded, his black Stetson tipping downward, making him look rakish and even sexier than he already was. “She is, and she looks pretty good tonight, Ezra. All dressed up like the prom queen.”

  “Woohoo!” he shouted, doing a little dance before he winked at Calla. “Gotta run, kids! I won’t leave the midnight oil burning for ya, Calla!”

  Nash’s chuckle rumbled in her ears as Ezra dove through the doors to the dance. “I sure hope I’m as spry as he is when I’m…how old is he again?”

  “Three hundred and six and a half.” Her grandfather was nothing if not feisty, flirtatious and always up for a little skirt chasing.

  It had taken him a long time to get over her grandma Lettie’s tragic and unexpected passing fifty years ago, after she’d been killed during a full-moon run by poachers, but he was coming around these days.

  Nash nodded, pulling her close. “Right. I hope I still have that kind of game when I’m even half that age.”

  “Your game is right on target,” she said, a little breathless now that she was able to take in all of him. He wore a pair of jeans, tight-fitting and black, to match his hat. His crisp white T-shirt, coupled with a black sport coat, enhanced his muscles in all the right places.

  He held her at arms’ length, sweeping her frame with an appraising glance. “Forget me, look at you. You look beautiful tonight. Really beautiful.”

  Standing on tiptoe, she planted a kiss on his lips, lingering for a moment when he skimmed his tongue against hers. “You like?”

  “I like it so much, I propose we skip the dance,” he joked in his gruff, rumbly tone, slipping an arm around her waist and pulling her close again.

  She leaned back in his arms and shook a finger at him. “You’re not getting out of a two-step, buddy. Besides, I hear they have corn dogs. We both know how you feel about corn dogs.”

  He let his arm fall from her waist, his eyes amused. “Oh. In that case, forget it. Get a move on, slowpoke. Better hurry before Howie Henderson eats them all. Damn warlock eats like he’s never had a meal.”

  Calla giggled, following him inside the hall where laughter tinkled and music played. The hall looked incredible. Small globe lights hung from the ceiling, giving the enormous room a dreamy glowing effect. Stacks of hay bales with freshly carved pumpkins on top of them lined the walls.

  Bowls of orange and yellow punch were on the serving tables, along with trays and trays of food. Miniature fall leaves fluttered to the dance floor via a machine that shot them into the air, creating a swirl of fall ambience.

  Daphne squealed from behind, tugging the skirt on Calla’s dress. “You look fantastic! I’m so glad you’re here.” She pulled Calla in for a hug before setting her away from her and whistling. “That dress makes you almost glow. It’s perfect.”

  Calla blushed. Daphne was gorgeous, and
blonde, and had a figure she’d consider killing her for if she wasn’t so warm and friendly. She always had a kind word, and her husband Fate wasn’t too hard to look at either.

  Nash tipped his Stetson at her and grinned that delicious grin that made Calla’s toes curl. “Daphne, Fate, good to see you two out and about. Miss Daphne, you look mighty pretty tonight. Fate’s a lucky man.”

  Daphne fanned herself with a cocktail napkin and grinned. “How do you feel about cowboy hats, honey?” she asked her husband.

  Fate reached over his wife’s petite frame and took Calla’s hand, giving it a squeeze. “After all this time, it’s nice to finally meet the woman who added ten pounds to my scale,” he said in a teasing tone.

  But then he pulled away as though touching her were distasteful. The moment was brief, but it was there before he masterfully hid it behind a weak lift of his lips.

  Huh.

  Calla fixed a smile on her face anyway, brushing off the odd first impression. Maybe Fate was just having a bad day. When you were responsible for everyone’s future, it had to take its toll. “Nice to meet you, too. Daphne told me your preference is the orange marmalade.”

  He pointed a finger to his stomach, his expression back to light and easy. “Ate every last one of the six she brought home. You have a gift, Calla Allen. Ya done good, Ryder.” Fate slapped Nash on the back and chuckled.

  Daphne shooed them with a flash of her ringed fingers. “So we’re going to let you two go…er, mingle. C’mon, good-looking. You owe me a little dirty dancin’.”

  Fate wiggled his eyebrows at his wife. “Will I always live in Patrick Swayze’s shadow, m’love?” he asked on a laugh before grabbing Daphne’s hand and twirling her toward the dance floor.

  Nash pulled her close as they watched the couple melt into the crowd. “So, can I interest you in a corn dog, pretty lady?”

  Calla laughed. “Duh.”

  Spinning her away from him, he led her out to the dance floor, where he paused and cocked his head as the music changed. “Is that our song? Huh. Funny that.”