Haunt Me (2 page)

“I’m sorry. You’re trying to be nice…”

“But?” He raised his eyebrows, not bothering to disguise his amusement at her predicament.

“But I’m not comfortable asking anyone for help—especially the person who wanted to buy my house.”

Instead of answering, he tipped the bottle of water up and drained it. After recapping it, he handed her the bottle. Then he stripped off his shirt.

All the moisture fled her mouth at the ripple of muscle. He tossed his shirt on the counter, headed back to the U-Haul, where he lifted the heavy footboard with a flex of those same muscles.

“You…” she sputtered.

“No worries.” He exhaled the words on a hard breath. “You didn’t ask for help.” He carried it right on inside, leaving her no choice but to follow.

It took Justin less than ten minutes to unload what few pieces of furniture she’d brought with her. When the U-Haul was completely empty, he dusted his hands on his jeans and strode outside. On the porch, he paused and turned back to face her. “By the way, welcome to Penny Hollow,” he said. “And I’m right across the street if you need anything.”

Right across the street must mean the positively gorgeous Southern plantation house up the half-mile-long gravel driveway, across the two-lane road, and down a bit. If that was his house, he hadn’t been exaggerating about being her neighbor.

Puffing a loose strand of hair away from her damp forehead on an exhale, she nodded to him. “Thank you for your help.” When he grinned slowly, her stomach did a little flip.

“You’re welcome. Not that you asked for any help.” With a wink, he was off. Electricity sizzled over her.
Damn if he doesn’t look as good walking away as he did arriving.

…

A few hours later, after returning the U-Haul and splurging on fast food for dinner, Mac headed home, pushing thoughts of her sexy new neighbor out of her mind. After parking her ten-year-old Ford Explorer under the carport, she glanced around the little plot of land.

Mine.

Sitting squarely atop a hill in the middle of twenty acres, behind a stone wall and overgrown hedges, was the single-story saltbox house with an added-on wraparound porch and a swing. Mac swung her gaze around the property, taking in the overgrown vegetation. She’d have to either grow some muscles and learn how to landscape or write another bestseller and hire someone.

The stagnant heat of the day had given way to a cooler evening. The buzz of cicadas filled the air, punctured by the occasional hooting of an owl. Save for the lone light over her carport, the house sat in a pocket of darkness. The infused peace and quiet soothed her raw nerves. She’d done it. She survived the worst year of her life with her sanity intact and a few dollars still in the bank. “Thank you, Aunt Katherine,” she whispered, closing her eyes.

A
bang
—like a door slamming—rent the silence. She jerked her eyes open. The cicadas went silent. The back of her neck itched, and she couldn’t shake the sensation of someone watching her. She searched the darkness, but detected no movement. Maybe the sound had come from Justin’s house—sounds carried in the country, or so she’d been told.

She headed inside, slamming the door shut behind her, and the air conditioner came on with another
bang
, startling her. The cool air blowing out of the vent brushed her face like an exhale of laughter. Goose bumps appeared on her arms. Houses had personalities and made noise—lots of it. Still, she knew Summerfield had something no other house did.

Its own ghost.

She smiled. Hopefully, it didn’t mind a new roommate. Her mother had told her stories about the ghost time and time again. How Katherine had been haunted all her life. How strange sounds and eerie wisps of fog would drift over the property. Or how things would move, as if on their own.

Like the bar of chocolate.

Mac recalled the intense pressure to start writing again.
Maybe the ghost inspired my muse.

Shaking her head, she double-checked the dead bolt, then headed to the bedrooms, glancing at her watch. It was getting late—the rest of her unpacking could wait. She wanted a good night’s sleep and to rise before the sun and dive headfirst into her book.

Stopping at her future bedroom, she paused to shut off the light, then wondered why it had been turned on. Maybe Justin had done so when he’d carried the bed frame into the room. She cast a quick glance around the room. The headboard, footboard, and mattress leaned on the wall where Justin had parked them. The rails for the bottom of the bed and the boards for the box spring lay in a neat stack a few feet away.

Her life was a lot like that bed—in pieces. But that was okay, too. Putting her life back together was a challenge she relished.
Just me, my haunted house, and a brand-new start…
The perfect place to relaunch her career.

A delicious sense of anticipation curled inside of her. “Get some sleep,” she told herself. “Deadlines wait for no one.”

…

A week later, a frustrated Justin sat in his office, staring at paperwork. “I can still make the revitalization plan for Penny Hollow work,” he muttered. He simply needed to find a way. And needed to stop being distracted in order to think. Since he’d helped Mac move in, she’d been all he could think about. It didn’t matter how attractive or feisty MacKenzie Dillon was or how much he liked her. She was a rock in the road, an obstacle to be removed or overcome.

The door to his office burst open. A whirling dervish of nineteen-year-old energy blew into the room, blond hair flying.

“Justin, I know exactly what we have to do about Summerfield!” His sister’s blue eyes practically snapped as she bounced over to him.

God, she made him tired just to watch. She was also supposed to be several hundred miles away, moving into her dorm room. But no, she was here, in Penny Hollow, driving him crazy.

“I thought you were heading back to school.” He grinned, accepting her fierce hug—delivered with the same verve as she did everything else. “Nathaniel was supposed to be driving you.”

“Nathaniel was,” came the droll reply from his brother, who leaned against the doorjamb. “But Hurricane Jock insisted we had to turn around an hour from her school and get back here.”

“Pfft, we can go later—
this
is important.” Jocelyn—known to the entire town as simply
Jock
—practically vibrated with excitement as she clamped her hand on Justin’s forearm.

Nathaniel rolled his eyes. Only eighteen months younger than Justin, Nathaniel couldn’t be less like him. Justin started a business and ran it with intensity; his brother wanted to get his inheritance and hang out behind his bar, serving up drinks without any desire to be anywhere at any time. On the matter of their sister, however, Nathaniel, Justin, and their brother Elijah were in complete agreement—she needed to be out of Penny Hollow and back at school.

“So…the way I see it, MacKenzie Dillon has no idea what she’s dealing with at Summerfield.”

“Get to the point, Jock.” He sat on the corner of his desk, a headache pounding behind his eye.

“The Summerfield Curse.”

“Oh, for the love of God, drive her to school.” The last thing he needed was to hear the tired, old tale of Summerfield.

“Justin, that MacKenzie woman is an outsider, so she can’t know about the curse—finding out will drive her out faster than anything.”

“There is no curse, Jock. It’s an old town legend told to scare bad children.” It was the same type of nonsense that led to the town drive to attain the moniker of “Most Haunted in Virginia.”

“Fine, you don’t have to believe me. But that place is haunted.”

He turned to face Jock. “Classes start Monday and you need to get settled in your dorm.”

“Who cares about school? If we don’t find a way to get this whole project back on track soon, we can kiss our inheritance good-bye.”

His chest tightened. Jock never complained about money. But he didn’t want to scare Mac. All he’d wanted to do was open Summerfield to the tours and let visitors draw their own conclusions from the tales like the damn curse.

He’d swung by a couple of times in the past week, hoping he might catch a glimpse of her. Maybe he could strike up a conversation, ease her transition into the town—be friends. Maybe if he involved her in the town’s dilemma…

Huh. Maybe that was the key. If he got to know her, got her involved in the town and the revitalization project, maybe she’d volunteer the house for tours in the weekend. That’s all the council needed it for, really. And to convince her, it wouldn’t kill him to spend some time with her.

A slow heat spread to his midsection. Damn it, this had nothing to do with MacKenzie’s long legs or her sexy, biting humor.

“I’m trying to help,” Jock said, then sighed. “I’m psychic, you know. I see a connection between the Curse and MacKenzie Dillon.” Underneath the annoying baby-sister voice was a plaintive note of genuine worry.

Justin walked over and gave her a hug. “Jock, no matter what happens, I have your back. You will finish your degree in—hydroponics or hydroplaning—whatever it is you’ve decided to study this week.”

Her stiff frame relaxed a little and she sighed. “It’s hydrology, jerk. But why don’t we plant the seeds about the ghost? You know, help her imagination along…”

“No. Ghosts aren’t real. The curse isn’t real. It’s all a bunch of folk tales and campfire stories. We’re already contributing to the madness enough with the ‘haunted’ town idea.”

With a flounce, Jock threw her arms up. “We have to do
something
. And I’m not going to just sit around.” She blew out of the room with the same force she’d entered it.

Justin and his brother stared after her, but Nathaniel was the first to speak. “Five bucks says she’s going to go rope the rest of the town into her scheme.”

“Crap.” After grabbing his keys, Justin headed out the door. He needed a plan—a real one. A plan that didn’t have anything to do with ghosts. The neighborly thing to do would include checking on MacKenzie Dillon, right?

Ten minutes after ordering his sister back to college, Justin followed the winding driveway to Mac’s house and spotted her SUV parked in the carport.

So, she’s home.

The wrought iron gates stood wide, perpetually open, with ivy entwined through the bars and broken hinges. Weathered pathway stones peeked out from the too-tall grass—although one stuck up jaggedly, half-sunk into the earth and cracked right through the middle. Vegetation obscured the center of the yard—he could identify wisteria, honeysuckle, trumpets, hydrangea, and Dutchman’s-pipe. If he were a gambling man, he would lay even odds a structure could hide in the center of all that growth. Maybe even the outdoor gazebo that haunted his thoughts.

“Can I help you?” MacKenzie Dillon’s voice jerked him out of planning mode, and he turned to find the woman on the porch. Sweat gleamed on her arms and dampened the thin, cotton tank top hugging her slender curves. Just like the first time he met her, she wore a pair of hip-hugging denim shorts that emphasized her long, golden legs.

“I wanted to stop by and see how you were getting along.”

Doubt gleamed in those hazel eyes, hardening them into chipped marble, and her luscious, pink lips compressed into a thin line. “Hmm.”

“You have a real issue with trusting people, don’t you?” He grinned at her.

“I’m sorry, was I being rude to the man who dropped in uninvited for the second time in a week?” She folded her arms. “Or maybe I’m just understandably cautious about strangers who send their attorneys with ridiculously high offers to buy my home and then show up after I’ve turned down not one, not two—but
three
such attempts?”

“Yes, guilty. I asked my attorney to make you an offer, but right now I really am only trying to be neighborly.” Maybe a hat-in-hand mea culpa would soften her frosty exterior. “I had the pleasure of meeting your aunt and she was interested in selling to me, but it was never the right time. And I should have told you the last time I was here that I was sorry to hear she passed away.”

The hard line between her eyebrows relaxed fractionally. “Thank you. But I don’t want to sell, so I’d appreciate it if you’d stop offering.”

Disappointment fisted in his chest, but he wasn’t giving up. “Okay. Would you do me one favor, though?”

“It depends on the favor.”

Damn, she’s tough.
He grinned. He liked tough
.
“If you change your mind, for any reason, call Clinton Pope first—he’s my attorney. We’ll say it’s an open-ended offer.”

Easing off the pressure wasn’t a solution, but it could buy him some time. Time to get to know her, to convince her to participate—make her a partner. She was too wary of his motives as a stranger, but if he cultivated her trust, then maybe they could help each other. It wasn’t the most well-thought-out plan, but he was flying by the seat of his pants, and he wasn’t Jock, coming up with some harebrained scheme.

“You seem like a nice guy, but I’m really busy with a deadline. Besides, I don’t want to sell. I like the place. I even kind of like the ghost.”

Was she trying to be funny?

“The Summerfield Haunting,” she explained. “Or Curse, or something. It’s a family legend.”

Huh. So much for her not knowing about the family history. Jock would be disappointed.

A loud
clang
and
slam
cracked the humid silence. “What the hell was that?” Justin strode forward two steps. He studied the area, then the house.

Mac’s lips twitched. “Maybe it’s my ghost,” she said, sounding awfully chipper about the idea and more than a little proprietary.

“You probably have an animal in the attic. Want me to check it out? We’ve had issues with raccoons periodically. They could be nasty buggers and can do a hell of a lot of damage.”

Her face crinkled, and amusement warred with hesitation in her eyes.