Ghost of a Promise (16 page)

“
Keeping the mansion means not getting married and having kids. Losing the mansion means there
’
s the possibility of having the family I want. Either way, it
’
s a lose-lose scenario.
”

What sort of twisted logic was this?
“
Why can
’
t you have a family
and
keep the mansion?”

She whipped him a look of incredulity, and like a slap upside the back of his head, he understood. People were afraid of her house. Men especially were targeted and had a record of shortened life spans. She wouldn
’
t want to risk a husband or children getting hurt. His gut turned to ice at the thought of her sleeping alone every night. No one to hold her and cherish her the way she deserved. Hell, everyone deserved to be loved.

“
You could buy a house and live off-site. You could
—”

She shook her head.
“
I thought of that. The Trumble estate actually has several acres on the other side of the cemetery where I could build. But
…”

“
But what?
”

She sighed and the weight of the sound settled into his chest.
“
But I
’
d be hard-pressed to find and keep staff for the B&B. It would be too much time away from the hypothetical kids and husband.
”
She waved her hand before he could counter.
“
And there
’
s no changing my mind on the B&B conversion. It would bring much-needed revenue to the town, a great legacy to leave behind, and a chance to open the public up to our part in Revolutionary history. Besides, the mansion is too large for private residence. It would be a waste.
”

The weight in his chest expanded. She
’
d be a perfect mother with her intellect, her take-no-crap attitude and unwavering sweet, gentle side. Ava was more maternal than she gave herself credit for. From day one she
’
d taken care of his mangy crew of ghost hunters. Feeding them, listening, offering an open mind and heart. She didn
’
t realize how rare she was, how exceptional it was to meet such a soul.

He envisioned a little girl, strawberry curls and wide, blue-gray eyes just like Ava
’
s, running around the yard, having tea parties at the café table by the cliff. A boy, dark hair and his blue eyes watching over his sister while digging for worms in his mother
’
s flower beds
…

Jackson jerked alert and swiped a shaking hand down his face. Christ, if he didn
’
t just picture a
…
future with her. A daughter just like beautiful Ava
…
A son, like himself
…

The owner of Crabby
’
s walked over and set something down on the table between them, but Jackson couldn
’
t see what through his haze.

Joe dropped a pudgy hand on Ava
’
s shoulder and smiled, his cheeks ever ruddy.
“
Had to dig through the wife
’
s cookbook for that. Remember what I said, Ava. Don
’
t go tellin
’
anyone I made that for ya. They
’
d expect me to put it on the menu.
”
He looked at Jackson and nodded.
“
Enjoy, son.
”

He watched him walk back to the bar before turning to her.

She raised her brows and jerked her chin toward the table.
“
You get to crack the glaze. That
’
s the best part.
”

He looked down.
“
Is that
…”
He swallowed hard.
“
Is that crème brûlée?
”

Her smile stopped time.
“
You said it was your favorite. I called Joe to see if he could put it together. That
’
s the one dessert I can
’
t make to save my life.
”

Sweet Jesus. She
’
d not only remembered it was his favorite, she
’
d called to have it made for him.
For him
. His mum couldn’
t even remember he hated peanut butter and she
’
d known him his whole life.

“
What
’
s wrong?
”

She was worming her way under his skin
—
and he had thick skin
—
that
’
s what was wrong.
“
Nothing, luv.
”
He picked up a spoon.
“
Dessert before our meal?
”

If she
’
d been touched by his genuine smile, then he
’
d fallen outright for hers.
“
Dessert is the best part of the meal anyway. And you
’
re sharing.
”

He laughed and broke the glaze with his spoon. Scooping up a bit of the custard, he held it to her mouth.
“
You get the first bite. Only fair.
”

“
I like your logic.
”
Her mouth closed around the spoon, her eyes rolled back in her head and she moaned.

His inseam shrank, restricting his pants with great pain. He shifted in his seat.
“
Tell me, luv. Why do you like this town so much?
”

She took another bite of custard and raised her brows.

“
Sell me on it. Why do you love it here?
”

She looked out the window where the vast ocean played out in panoramic view.
“
Waking up to the steady sound of the Atlantic, hearing the bells signaling a good lobster catch. I like knowing there
’
s some consistency in change. The transformation in seasons is beautiful. My family and friends are here.
”

She directed those eyes on him.
“
But logistics and scenery mean little. What matters to me is the couple sitting three tables behind you. The Everetts. Been married sixty years and he still holds her hand. Fran, the librarian? She heard I had the flu last year and gave Casey her homemade chicken dumpling soup to bring by. Pete, who owns the hardware store, is a Vietnam vet. No one
’
s slammed a door or thought to stand behind him in years for fear they
’
d regress his PTSD. The people here in Kerrick care. They may be afraid of my house, they may think I
’
ve lost my marbles or am under a spell for wanting to keep it, but they care about
me.
About each other.”

The concept of community was as foreign to him as a life without
Phantoms
. Yet he hadn’
t signed his contract renewal. Jackson hadn
’
t realized he
’
d been staring or that they
’
d drifted into silence until the waitress set their plates down in front of them.

They finished their meal and walked to the small grocer to get Ava
’
s pie ingredients. His thoughts scattered in a thousand different directions as she checked out. When he made his way up her brick-laid drive strewn with colored leaves, she wasn
’
t next to him. He shifted and found her standing on the walk, staring at the house with terror.

His gaze jerked in the direction of hers. The wind knocked from his lungs. Every light in the house was on, casting a yellowish glow through the windows into the fading dusk. They had turned off the lamps before leaving. He was sure of it.

She gasped so loud the sound passed right through him. As if the scene couldn’t get any stranger, the lights flickered, each visible room in unison. Like an angry strobe of an electrical storm, they flashed to the pounding of his heart.

On. Off. On. Off.

“
What the hell?
”
he muttered, but she was running up the porch steps and fumbling the key into the lock.
“
Ava, wait.
”

Ignoring him, she pushed the door open and barged inside, skidding to a stop at the base of the staircase. Her face tilted up, she spun in a circle, horror filling her eyes. He rushed toward her, shoving her behind his back and holding her there with his arm.

And that
’
s when he realized the bedroom doors upstairs were banging. Five distinct doors slamming shut. Creaking open. Slamming closed. In unison. The hammering noise matched the rhythm of the sporadic lights. The hardwood floors vibrated beneath his feet. The strobe-effect caused nausea to fight with the acid in his gut. His head spun.

For the first time in five years of investigating, he froze with fear. Ava
’
s body molded to his back. Her arms came around his waist where he held them with icy fingers. Angry oppression filled the room, so thick he could all but see its hatred.

But
…
wait. No. Not anger. Fear. The house was
…
afraid. Like a child having a tantrum.

“
What do we do?
”
she asked, her question muffled by his back.

“
Er
…
say something. Anything. Maybe it
’
s angry or worried you left? Let them know you
’
re here.
”

She stepped away from him, taking her warmth. He whirled and grabbed her hand, unwilling to relinquish the solid, real feel of her body. Because, bloody hell, he was goddamn terrified.

She lifted her chin.
“
I
’
m home!
”
She paused.
“
It
’
s me, Ava. Just wanted you to know I
’
m back.
”

The doors ceased their slamming, but the electrical phenomena continued. His eardrums were still ringing, unable to fully track any noise but Ava’s voice.

“
Jackson
’
s here too. We
’
re both here. Please stop. You
’
re scaring me.
”

The lights cut out completely, silently, leaving them utterly alone and trembling in the darkness. He breathed into her hair, trying to settle the frantic pounding in his chest.

After a moment, Ava shifted away from him to switch on the overhead light. She walked back over toward him, and relief released the hold on his muscles.

“
Bloody hell,
” he muttered, clinging to her.

Chapter Fifteen

Ava cut the engine to her Jetta and turned toward Jackson in the passenger seat. His knees were nearly touching his chin he was folded so compact in her little car. In his lap he held her pumpkin pie, a sight so domestic and natural that she gave herself a mental slap.

He was looking at her parents’
cozy ranch house in front of them with interest.
“
Cute place,
”
he said at length.

With the money he made on
Phantoms
, he could probably fit her parents’
house inside his New York apartment. If he felt out of place he didn
’
t show it.
“
They
’
re going to think we
’
re together.
”

“
We are together.
”
His tone matter-of-fact, he looked at her.

“
You know what I mean.
”

He attempted to turn and face her, but managed to knock the gear shift instead. She put it back in Park.

“
We drove here together. We
’
re sitting in the car together. We
’
ll walk to the door and go inside together
—”

She rubbed her forehead.
“
Jackson.” She struggled for measured patience. “My mother has high hopes for my figural marital bliss. You came with me. She
’
ll imply meaning.
”

He made a sound she couldn
’
t decipher and looked at the house. If she didn
’
t know better, she
’
d swear there was longing in his eyes.

“
Are you trying to warn me off your family or your family off me?
”

Now his voice was laced with hurt.
“
Neither. I
’
m clarifying my mother can be
…
stubborn.
”

He flashed her that grin, the one that made her knees weak. Had she been standing, of course.

“
Family trait? Stubbornness?
”

She narrowed her eyes at him.
“
I don
’
t know what you were expecting today. Thought I
’
d give you a heads-up.
”

“
I wasn
’
t expecting anything, luv. I
’
m afraid I don
’
t have any comparisons.
”

Wow. Sometimes he dropped these little bombs about his past, like the other night at dinner, and she just wanted to
…
melt. Wanted to know everything about him. See what made him tick. Ava already had an idea of what he hid behind that grin, something between insecurity and yearning. But did Jackson know what he wanted for himself? His future? She didn
’
t think so, which made her heart hurt. Because until he did, that haunted expression crossing his face would never leave.

Worse, she was beginning to like having him around. Growing used to it. Familiar. Which would make it ten times harder when he left.

She squared her shoulders.
“
You can expect turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes and green bean casserole. If you know what
’
s good for you, you
’
ll avoid the casserole.
”

She didn
’
t know why her words made him look at her with admiration, but she could do worse than the satisfaction it gave her. Perhaps because she never called him out on the things he mentioned regarding his past, never dwelled on it or badgered him with more questions. She knew when to back off and she had a feeling he didn
’
t talk to many people. Maybe he respected her for that. And maybe they weren
’
t so different after all.

“
Duly noted,
”
he murmured, the faintest of smiles tracing his mouth.

She took the pie from him and drew in much needed air.
“
Onward, soldier.”

She was rewarded with a laugh.

Inside, the familiar smell of roasted turkey filled the air, reminding her of previous holidays and the comfort of family. Two things Jackson didn
’
t seem to have. It was absurd, her wanting those things for him, wanting to give them to him. He was temporary and she needed to remember that before she started getting even more attached. Involved.

Mom swooped in from the kitchen.
“
Sugarpea.
”
Mom hugged her fiercely. Jackson saved the pie at the last second by taking it off her hands.
“
Jack, so good of you to make it. Welcome.
”

“
It
’
s Jackson, Mom. He doesn
’
t like to be called Jack.
”

His eyebrows disappeared into his hairline.
“
And how would you know that?
”

“
You get an irritated look on your face when Sammy does it.
”

“
Actually, Sammy calls me Jacks. But you are correct. I don
’
t care for it.
”

His gaze bore into hers, causing her to squirm. Just when she thought she was getting a read on him, he looked at her like that. All she did was correct her mom, made an observation. What was the big deal? It certainly didn’t qualify to put awe in his eyes as if she
’
d just made the discovery of the century.

Jackson swallowed, his gaze dropping to her mouth, his expression pained before he glanced back at her mother.
“
If that turkey tastes half as good as it smells, you can call me whatever you like.
”

Her mom fluttered her hand in front of her face and giggled.
Giggled
. Her mother!

“
Oh, you
’
re a charmer. Take your coats off. Come on in. Ava, open the wine,
”
she called over her shoulder, already on her way back to the kitchen.

Dad was in his favorite recliner, the newspaper ads spread in his lap and an NFL game on the TV.
“
Ah, there
’
s the Ghostbusters.
”
He set the paper aside and shook Jackson
’
s hand.
“
Nice to meet you. I caught your show the other night. Spooky stuff. Didn
’
t sleep a wink.
”

Jackson grinned.
“
Sorry for that, sir.
”

She left the men in the living room and went to help her mom. The kitchen was still the same as it had been growing up. The country-style design was an attempt to remind her mom of summers in her home state of Mississippi.

She uncorked a bottle of red to breathe and got to work on the white.
“
That turkey
’
s big enough to feed the Navy.
”

“
Plenty of leftovers for sandwiches tomorrow.
”
She scooped the stuffing out of the turkey and into a bowl.
“
So, you brought a date.
”

“
You invited him and it
’
s not a date.
”

Mom stirred the gravy before answering.
“
Well, he came. That means something special, meeting the parents.
”

It meant he was alone for the holiday. Period. She poured herself a glass of white wine and set it aside.
“
Want some help?
”
Best to avoid further interrogation.

“
I got it, sugarpea. Have your daddy come carve the turkey. This is ready.
”

She leaned against the counter.
“
Dad! Mom says carve the turkey!
”

“
Coming,
”
he yelled back from the other room.

“
Walked into that one,
”
Mom mumbled, setting the green bean casserole on a hot pad and transferring the dish to their small table.

The men strode into the kitchen, still discussing Jackson
’
s show.
“
Why don
’
t you do the honors?
”
Dad asked Jackson, handing over the utensils.

“
I
’
m afraid I don
’
t know how to carve a turkey, sir.
”

Dad shrugged this off, as he did most things in life.
“
Watch and learn.
”

Jackson did as told, taking in Dad
’
s expert advice on the art of turkey carving. She sat at the table, warmth heating her organs to goo at the comfort between them. Her dad treating Jackson like a member of the family made her ridiculously happy. Jackson seemed as relaxed with her folks as he was hunting ghosts.

Ten minutes later they were sitting around the table with Mom saying Grace. Jackson, elbows perched on the table, watched her mother from over his folded hands and smiled. He caught Ava looking at him and winked. She blamed the heat in her cheeks on the oven.

“
How
’
s it going with the investigation?
”
Dad asked before shoving a heap of mashed potatoes into his mouth.

“
That reminds me,
”
Ava said.
“
Do you know where I might find original portraits of the Trumble family?
”
Ava went on to tell her dad about what Paul discovered on Ancestry.

Dad mulled that over.
“
Now that you mention it, I do remember seeing some. They used to hang in your parlor and what
’
s now the living room. Honestly, kiddo, I haven
’
t been inside the house since I was a teenager. I don
’
t know.
”

“
What about the attic?
”

“
Good possibility. I know your great-aunt Lois thought the paintings were making the spirits angry. But she was a quirky one, which you well know. Claimed to talk to the dead or something.
”

She let that comment go and looked at Jackson. His attention was focused on her mom, who was busy pushing the food around her plate. More than hating how her mother felt about Ava
’
s life dream, she hated the pained look on her mother
’
s face. Guilt sank heavy in her stomach. Apparently they couldn
’
t even discuss something as simple as a painting.

“
Dinner is delicious, Mrs. Trumble. You outdid yourself.
”

Mom
’
s face morphed from despair to pride in a heartbeat and Ava was shocked at the wetness behind her lids. This man, a mere stranger and a fleeting presence in their lives, cared enough to consider her mother
’
s feelings over his own. A man whose career was based on the very thing her mother feared, yet changed the subject and complimented her to instill comfort.

Damn it. He was a freakin
’
great guy who treated her parents kindly and with deference. Who got along with her friend Casey as if old acquaintances and earned her very difficult acceptance. Who encouraged the opinions of his team, when he could
’
ve abused his power as team leader to dictate. A guy who smiled even when he felt empty inside. And kissed her like she damn well meant something more to him than a notch on his bedpost.

Gah. She wanted to hate him. A lot.

“
Aw, thank you,
”
Mom chimed, her southern accent thick.
“
But call me Marjorie. We agreed on that, remember?
”

Jackson and her mother exchanged a look, something unspoken and private between them. To Ava
’
s knowledge, they
’
d only met the one time, back when
Phantoms
had first arrived and he and Paul interviewed some town members. Whatever happened in that first exchange had him nodding now in a silent promise.

He looked away, avoiding Ava’
s questioning glare, and speared a bite of green bean casserole. Before she could open her mouth to warn him, he put the fork to his lips.

Instead of the traditional recipe with cream of mushroom soup, her mother concocted her own with a combination of lemon and bacon grease. She topped this masterpiece off with almonds. The thing tasted freakin
’
terrible. They all paused to stare at him for a reaction.

His mouth twisted. His eyes watered. Eventually, he coughed and wiped his mouth on a napkin.
“
Quite delicious,
”
he rasped.

She slapped her hand over her mouth, unable to contain the laughter bubbling out. Her parents joined in, her father nearly falling out of his chair.

Jackson
’
s eyes bulged as he gulped his merlot.

“
Oh, you are a dear. No one ever eats my casserole. I just make it for show.
”

“
No offense,
”
he said.
“
But I can see why.
”

This caused another round of laughter. She sipped her own wine as the distinct ping of something more than simple affection nailed her in the chest.

…

Jackson stared out his bedroom window at the falling snow. The pretty, fat flakes caught the glow from the streetlights. The cemetery was accumulating inches faster than predicted. The scene was serene, peaceful, and should make him feel the same. However, turmoil coiled inside his gut, an ache which wouldn’
t subside. He gave up on sleep hours before, the day
’s events running through his mind as the snow cocooned Kerrick in a wonderland.

Never knowing the comfort of home, of sharing holidays with those he loved, he’
d been blissfully unaware of what he
’
d been missing. After spending the day with Ava
’
s family, the strange fulfillment he
’
d experienced since meeting her shifted and grew, blocking out the hollowness with which he
’
d been accustomed. He didn
’
t know which was worse.