Romancing the Paranormal

by Stephanie Rowe

  Clive was right. It was too hot for them to be out here, especially the seniors from the center. “Kirby? Take Clive and Gus back to the center, please. I don’t want anyone passing out from this infernal heat.”

  “Aw, the hell I’m goin’ back now!” Clive shouted, hiking up his plaid shorts and wandering into the lake. “I’m not gonna be the one to screw this up. Plus, we got a new pool goin’ on. How long will it take before Marlboro Man remembers his Calla-Lilly?”

  “Did I call you Calla-Lilly?” Nash rumbled, sending a shiver of longing down her spine.

  Pressing the bottle of the water to her cheeks, she shook her head. “No. The only people who call me that are my grandfather and Denny Parks. Denny, totally against my will, mind you.”

  Nash visibly bristled, his jaw tightening. “Parks calls you that? Why so intimate?”

  “So you remember him?”

  Nash paused a moment and slow-nodded. “Yeah, I remember him. In fact, he was just out at my ranch the other day.”

  Calla’s alarm bells sang a warning tune. “Denny was at your ranch? You two can’t stand each other. Why would he come to your ranch? What did you talk about?”

  Now he frowned. “I’ll be damned if I can remember. It’s no secret I don’t like him. I’ve never liked Denny.”

  Indeed. This was something she’d mentally store away until she could get her hands on Denny and ask him why he’d been at Nash’s. Maybe he had something to do with this?

  “So you didn’t answer the question. Why is Denny so intimate with your nickname?”

  “Why do you ask?” She crossed her fingers it was because he remembered one of the reasons why he disliked Denny.

  He paused a moment then shook his head. “I don’t know. Parks is no friend of mine, but I’m not sure why him calling you anything makes me want to bury his head under a trough of pig slop.”

  She tried to keep her cool, but on the inside, her organs stood up and cheered. “You and Denny don’t get along because of me—or partially, anyway. I think you don’t like him for other reasons as well, but I exacerbated the situation.”

  Nash’s eyes narrowed suspiciously exactly the way they had when he’d first found out Denny had a thing for her. “Is that because he has eyes for you, too?”

  Yippee! “Sort of. Though, I mostly think it’s because he hates the idea of a werewolf and warlock together. The two of you were always butting heads when it came to me because of it, and my kind typically disapproves of us mingling with someone outside our species.”

  He leaned in toward her, the scent of his cologne just as Renee had described. “Typically disapproves? I’ve heard that about your kind—all sorts of rules for mating, is that the word? So why didn’t they didn’t disapprove of us? Or did they, and maybe that’s why this is happening?”

  Although he knew after this morning that she had only one breast, having to continually repeat why her pack couldn’t care less about whom she mated with had become rather like Groundhog Day.

  But she wasn’t going to hide because her pack labeled her damaged goods. Fuck her pack. “First of all, werewolves don’t have any magical powers—so it’s pretty unlikely they had anything to do with your memory loss. And they don’t care because of my breast. Because I only have one, they consider me inferior, and the chance I’d reproduce children with the same defect keeps them off my back about whom I mate with.” She knew the words came out tight and stilted, but to share them now, to look him in the eye and explain why she was unworthy to her own kind, was embarrassing.

  He looked astonished. “Well, you know what I say to that, don’t you, Miss Allen?”

  “What do you say to that, Cowboy Nash?”

  “Fuck your pack.” And then he hauled her into his arms and laid one on her.

  “That’s not how the script goes!” Daphne boomed into the megaphone.

  * * *

  Nash would swear on his own mother’s life he saw stars the moment his lips hit Calla’s. Her mouth was soft, her lips like two damn pillows he could rest his on for a good long spell.

  And when she pressed her soft body against his, groaned into his mouth, he hardened instantly. Nothing mattered—not the heat, not Clive whistling and shouting his approval, not even Daphne who kept frantically yelling “cut!”

  Nothing mattered but this woman and the desire to keep right on kissing her as they melted into one another.

  This felt right. This felt good, and he wondered if this was how he’d felt the first time he’d kissed her.

  Calla’s arms curled up around his neck, her fingers threading through his hair, pulling him closer, making his jeans become uncomfortable.

  Suddenly, it didn’t matter that they were in a public park. It didn’t matter that this was all staged or that they had an audience. Nothing mattered but this woman he wanted desperately to remember, and her lips.

  Greta’s whistle went off like a foghorn, jolting them both back into awareness. Calla tore her lips from his and looked up at him, searching his eyes. He knew what she wanted. He knew she wanted him to magically remember everything.

  But he didn’t.

  Somehow, that left him feeling pretty damn empty.

  Greta’s round face appeared between them. “Okay, you two—we’re not out here to show everyone how to make their own orgy. Break it up before the kids on the swings get an education they’re not ready for just yet,” she chirped on a chuckle.

  Nash looked down at Calla, her face coming back into focus. “Well, I don’t know about you, but damn. Was it like that the first time?”

  Her chest rose and fell beneath her lacy blouse, giving him a quick glimpse of the swell of her breast, forcing him to fix his eyes to her face to keep from dragging her off to his bed.

  She smiled, a soft, gentle lift of those luscious lips, and ran a hand over her hair. “It went something like that.”

  “Can I get a little credit here?” he teased, running his thumb over her lower lip.

  She swallowed hard, the knot in her throat evident. “Did it jar anything?”

  He sighed. He didn’t want to hurt her. In fact, for some reason, he wanted to do everything in his power to make her happy—keep her smiling. But he had to be honest. “No. But that doesn’t mean something else we reenact won’t, right?” He was shooting for hopeful because he hated seeing her try to hide how crushed she was.

  Daphne rushed up to them, clipboard of notes in one hand, megaphone in the other, her eyes hopeful. “Good gravy. I can’t believe you two didn’t set the tree on damn fire. So, anything?”

  He was disappointing people left and right today and it left him feeling like a heap of shit. “I’m sorry. No.”

  Instantly Daphne brightened, putting on a falsely cheerful grin. “No worries. Next up is The Big Talk. Now from what I understand, that was a huge deal. Maybe that’ll stir something up.”

  “The big talk,” he muttered, feeling like an idiot for not getting the meaning.

  Calla cast her eyes at the ground. “It’s when we decided to wait to…” She cleared her throat, clearly fighting for the explanation.

  But Gus fixed that. He put an arm around each of their shoulders and grinned. “It’s when you two decided to wait to make chimichangas until y’all knew each other better. We all called it Wait To Consummate at the center. But I’ll tell ya, yer a better man n’ I am, Cowboy. I’d be all over this hot piece of work like fried on—”

  Calla used two fingers to pinch Gus’ lips together before she looked at him, her cheeks bright pink “Yeah. That.”

  Ahhh. They’d decided to wait, which only reinforced the notion that if they’d been together three solid months, and he’d agreed to wait, she was something special.

  For a long time, he’d been satisfied single. He’d dated and had a great time, but he’d never met the whole package. He wanted it all, and he was willing to patiently wait until it presented itself.

  Calla had clearly been his idea of the entire package, and the bi
tter sting of remorse he felt for not remembering her clawed at his gut like a sharp knife.

  But rather than harp on the fact that this was all a blank page to him, he cupped her chin and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Look, I don’t remember the talk, but I know who I am, and if we had the talk about waiting, we had it because I want the same things you want. Commitment, a family, someone to theorize The Walking Dead with. So let’s reenact the talk, okay? I’ll burn every brain cell I have trying to remember it.” He held out his hand, hoping against goddamn hope she’d take it.

  Calla let her fingers brush his then intertwine with them, her smaller hand—

  “Ryder! Get your hands off her, you son of a bitch!”

  Nash whipped around to see Denny Parks stomping across the grass of the park, his face a mask of anger.

  “Oooo weeee!” Gus giggled with glee. “It’s on! Greta, get your whistle and let’s get ready to rummmblllllleeeeeeee!”

  Chapter Ten

  Denny stalked toward them, his skin red, sweat framing his long, angular face. “Did you hear me, Ryder? Get the hell away from her!”

  He was such an odd contrast to Nash—tall and lean and groomed to within an inch of his life, as opposed to Nash’s rugged, bulky good looks.

  To hear him ordering Nash around was like watching Sheldon from The Big Bang Theory threatening The Rock. Except she really liked Sheldon. Denny? Not so much.

  Putting a hand to Nash’s chest, she pushed him aside and squared off with Denny. “What the hell are you doing, Denny?”

  “I said, you get away from her, Ryder!”

  Nash lifted his chin, his voice low and threatening. “Or you’ll what? Steal my 401K?”

  Calla shot him a pleading look to quiet before confronting Denny. “What is going on? Why are you carrying on and scaring all the kids?”

  Clive sloshed up beside them, his plaid shorts thoroughly soaked, his sweet face puffy. “Are you two gonna roll around like two roughnecks for Calla’s favor? Because if so, could we do it at the center where there’s air conditioning? It’s like GD Africa out here.”

  “No! They absolutely are not going to do anything of the sort. Clive, please sit under the tree and have some water from the cooler until Kirby can bring you back. Denny? Back. Off!” she bellowed. The heat, her frustration, that amazing do over of her first kiss with Nash, were all getting to her.

  “The hell I will,” Denny barked. “It’s all over town what he did to you, and I won’t allow it!”

  Nash’s eyes narrowed. “Did to her? Allow it? You’re barkin’ up the wrong Cowboy, friend. Do as the lady asked or I’m going to teach you how to put your listening ears on.”

  “Nash, one. City Slicker, zeee-ro!” Gus yelped with delight, dancing around them with a devilish grin.

  Blowing her hair out of her face, Calla rubbed her temples. “Gus, can it or the next time you want to scroll the internet, I’m blocking you from Senior Mingle. Clear?”

  Denny grabbed her hand, making Nash move in closer. “Let’s go somewhere we can talk, Calla. Just you and me.”

  She sniffed the air, her nostrils flaring. She was almost positive he had nothing to do with this. There was no deception in his scent. “Talk about what, Denny?”

  “About whatever the hell kind of game Nash is playing here. You don’t really believe he doesn’t remember who you are, do you?”

  “Of course I do. What other explanation is there?” If she believed nothing else from this unbelievable situation, she completely believed Nash didn’t remember her after that kiss.

  Denny shrugged his lean shoulders. “I don’t know. Maybe he’s faking this memory loss.”

  “To what end, Parks?” Nash asked, clenching his stubbled jaw until the tic in it made an appearance.

  “The end where you finally got what you wanted and now you’re done with her?”

  Nash hissed a breath before he was two inches from Denny’s face. “If I were you, pardner, I’d walk the hell away—now. And fast.”

  Calla squeezed between their chests, using both hands to separate them. “That’s ridiculous, Denny, and you know it. It’s a pretty elaborate stunt, don’t you think? To pretend he doesn’t know who I am rather than just break up with me?” Saying it out loud made is sound even more ridiculous than it had sounded in her head.

  Nash lifted Calla and set her aside as if she were no heavier than a feather. Then he closed in on Denny, his stance threatening. “I’m not even going to dignify you with an answer, Parks, but I am going to tell you to take your sorry ass on out of here before I behave in a very ungentlemanly way and help you leave.”

  Denny’s face went tight with anger, but he instantly backed up. Though, as he did, he kept his gaze on her. “When this is all done, and your heart’s in pieces, you know where to find me, Calla,” he said, his words sly with sarcasm.

  Greta’s whistle sounded loud and sharp as she blew it in Denny’s face. “Go raid a corporation, and leave the adults to play!”

  Denny had stomped back across the green of the park and past the children on the swings when a sudden burst of thunder and lightning cracked directly above his head, dumping fat raindrops all over his silk shirt and perfectly primped hair.

  His yelp of surprise made Calla giggle, but then she caught Nash’s gaze and gave him her best matronly look. “That wasn’t nice.”

  He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans and rocked back on his boots. “And it was nice of him to accuse me of faking amnesia so I could get out of our relationship? Only a scumbag would think like that.”

  That was certainly fair, but the truth was, she’d had a brief moment where she’d thought the same thing. But Denny didn’t know she only had one breast. For him to consider Nash would fake amnesia now that he’d gotten what he wanted was just plain shitty.

  Nash gripped her shoulders and sought her eyes. “You didn’t.”

  He didn’t have to explain his words. She knew what he meant. Nash had always been good at reading her internal turmoil. “The moment was brief. I promise. I’ve…I’ve had a bad experience or two…one not so long ago that I never had the guts to tell you about, and, well—”

  “It left you raw and cautious. Totally understandable, but I’m standing here in front of you right now, telling you I don’t care.”

  The echo of his words from the night before struck a sharp chord in her heart.

  Her eyes began to fill with more tears so she let her chin drop to her chest, but Nash pulled her into his arms, like he would when she’d had a bad day, almost as if he remembered every moment of their relationship.

  “Never, Calla,” he murmured against the top of her head. “I promise you, that would never happen.”

  * * *

  The blessed relief of darkness enveloped them, though it was still hot even minus the glare of the sun.

  The words one day kept repeating themselves in her head as Calla sat on the blanket they’d used when Nash had asked her to be his girlfriend.

  If they only had one day to show Nash whatever she was supposed to show him, their time was swiftly running out. She’d spent a good portion of the ride out here to this part of Nash’s property trying to figure out what hour this mythical timer was set for one day. Did it begin when Fate spoke the words? Did it begin at dawn? What if they’d missed a detail? Something no one had thought of? What would happen if Nash didn’t remember when the mystery time was up?

  They’d taken the seniors back to the center to rest up and have a late snack before pickup, then staged yet another unsuccessful reenactment, this one of The Big Talk, wherein she and Nash spent most of the time giggling at all the rules they’d placed on their road to total commitment.

  And still nothing.

  Kirby came up behind her and tapped her on the shoulder. “You ready for the Be My Girl scene?”

  Daphne rasped a sigh, her beautiful face even prettier by the glow of the campfire Nash had built. She dropped her clipboard on her director’s chair�
�another item that had mysteriously appeared. “It’s not called Be My Girl. It’s called Sex And The Smitten.”

  Kirby threw her hands up like two white flags. “Sorry! I’m just trying to help.”

  Calla grabbed Kirby’s hand and squeezed it. “Of course you are. You’ve been a total rock through this. Go sit in the bed of Nash’s truck and relax. There wasn’t anyone here but Nash and I at this one anyway.”

  Kirby gave her a tired smile. “I think I’ll do that, but save me a hotdog, would you?” she joked, wandering off into the velvety night toward Nash’s truck.

  Nash was busy putting hotdogs on skewers while Greta set their places on the blanket, putting a soda can on each plate. One just like the can Nash had pulled the tab from that she now kept on a chain around her neck.

  She tried to relax, but the longer the night went on, the more anxious she was beginning to feel. It was as though if they didn’t find the last piece to this puzzle, everything was going to blow up.

  “Makeup!” Daphne shouted.

  Flora appeared out of thin air in front of her, waving a powder puff. “Lift your chin, toots,” she ordered.

  Calla’s heart tightened. “What are you doing, Flora? You’re supposed to be at home with your family, not out here in the middle of nowhere.”

  Flora screwed up her face, her eyes warm from beneath the brim of her baseball cap. “Bah. My son’s boring. Have I ever mentioned what he does for a living? He’s an accountant. Most boring job in the entire world. Who wants to talk tax shelters over a pot roast when I could be out here, waitin’ to see you two fall in love all over again?”

  “Thank you, Flora,” she barely whispered, overwhelmed by their generosity.

  Flora dabbed at her nose with the powder puff and grinned. “Wouldn’t have missed it. Now, lift your chin so I can be sure I get all your angles.”

  “Flora?”

  “Calico?”

  She smiled at Flora’s pet name for her. “Why are you powdering my nose? We’re not making a movie.”

  Wait. Were they?

  It wouldn’t surprise her to find Daphne had whipped up some cameras and a craft service table at this point.