Haunt Me (11 page)

“Yes, you will.” Of that, Justin had no doubt. He didn’t move, keeping his eye on Kevin until the man climbed in his car and backed out. When the taillights disappeared down the long driveway, he turned and went back inside the house.

The door closed and locked this time, he took the sheaf of papers out of Mac’s bloodied fingers and set them aside. He gripped her hips and hoisted her back onto the counter, then returned to cleaning up the damage she’d done.

“Justin—”

“He’s an ass,” was all he had to say. “Tomorrow, I’ll call Clint and have him examine those papers. Do you have an attorney?”

“Yes,” she said, then sighed. “But he’s not a property attorney. He handled my divorce, and as you can probably guess from Kevin’s behavior, he wasn’t all that competent.”

“Clint Pope is one of the best, and he’ll take your case.” Clint might kill him for offering his services, but hell—he had blackmail material on his best friend, going back to the broken window on Main Street and cow tipping. Justin reached up to catch her face and hold her gaze. “Clint will destroy Kevin. The man has no claim, and he’s a real prick to think he does.”

“Don’t you think that’s going to cause a conflict of interest? You do want to buy the house—”

“Not anymore I don’t.” And he meant it. No more waffling. His interest wasn’t Summerfield. It was Mac. “In fact, I wholeheartedly rescind my offer. If you try to sell it, I’ll get an injunction to stop you.”

Mac blinked. “What?”

“I’m kidding about the injunction,” he said, trying to soften his voice, but everything in him was taut. If he’d been a few minutes later, that bastard would have found Mac alone and helpless. “Let me doctor these hands, and then we’re going to make food and talk.”

“About what?”

“About anything you want—the weather, the garden, your book—anything that will make you smile. Okay? It’s going to be fine. You’re not alone.”

Mac let out a shaky breath, the wan smile on her face hardly comforting. “This isn’t your problem.”

“I thought we were friends,” he reminded her.

“We are, but this—”

He cut her off with a finger pressed to her lips. “Friends help each other. You called me because you were scared and I came, remember?”

She nodded silently.

“Are you scared right now?” Because he was. Scared of the hollowness he could see in her cheekbones and the shadows in her eyes. Scared when he’d realized the flicker of white in the garden had been her, slumped against the column. Scared of how frightened she’d seemed when Kevin had barged in.

Dropping her gaze, Mac sighed. “I’m not some helpless female who needs a hero to save her.”

“No, you’re not. But being afraid doesn’t make you helpless.” He really wanted to finish cleaning her hands, but he refused to leave her in this mental headspace. If he had his way, he’d pick her up carry her back over to his house and lock the world out—but that wouldn’t work either.

“What scares you?”

It was a fair question, and one that deserved an honest answer. And giving her the answer might take her mind off what Kevin had just put her through. “Ghosts,” he admitted.

That earned a wry, disbelieving chuckle. “Really? I thought you didn’t believe in them.”

“Really.” He nodded once, emphatically. It was a truth he’d shared with no one else, especially no one in the town obsessed with their own haunted history. “And I’ll tell you all about it—if you let me take care of your hands.”

Mac glanced down at her fingers. “I don’t even know what I did…”

“It doesn’t matter. We’ll figure it out. I’m going to grab the first-aid kit, okay?” He touched a hand to her knee, making sure she was still focused on him.

“Okay. It’s over there in the pantry.”

He’d made it two steps away when she spoke again. “Justin?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you—for kicking him out.” Vulnerability shone in her eyes. “And for—you know, withdrawing your offer to buy.”

“I’ll happily do it as many times as necessary to make sure he leaves you alone.” And no matter whatever else happened, that was exactly what he planned to do.

…

Once he’d cleaned up the worst of the damage she’d done to her hands, Justin coaxed her into a quick shower while he kept an eye on the house. A part of him didn’t trust that her ex wouldn’t show up again. Once he’d heard the water running, he made a couple of calls. Clint agreed to see Mac first thing in the morning. The second call he made to was John Archer, the local sheriff. He reported Kevin’s trespassing and verbal threats. John promised to check out where the ex-husband was staying in town and have a word with him.

Satisfied, he unpacked the dinner he’d brought and waited impatiently for Mac to reemerge. By the time she padded down the hallway, he practically vibrated with the urge to go and check on her. She’d dressed in a pair of loose pants and an oversized T-shirt.

“Hey, you cleaned up.”

Her cheeks flushed pink.

He pointed to the sofa, where she went and curled up in a corner. He took the cushion next to her and bandaged the worst of her cuts—the angry mottling of her skin had softened to mild pink scrapes. Once he’d finished, he handed her a plate loaded with fried chicken, potatoes, and biscuits.

“I don’t suppose you brought some cholesterol pills to go with this walking heart attack,” she said.

The feeble joke was still an attempt at humor, and he smiled. “I promise to get salad next time. Eat.”

“Justin—”

“Seriously, you should eat. I’ll tell you the story as I promised.” He eyed the damage to her hands. The worst of the injuries seemed limited to her fingertips, but he’d seen the crescent-shaped cuts in her palms—they had to have come from her nails.

He waited patiently for her to take a bite before speaking. “So, I’m scared of ghosts.”

“You said that you don’t believe in them.” She caught a crumb on her lip and swiped it away with her tongue.

The action earned a swift response from his system, but he leashed it for the time being. “I don’t,” he agreed. “But that’s a choice I made a long time ago, because believing in them scares the crap out of me. Trust me, when you grow up in a town that prides itself on ghost stories, you have to start wondering if every room you walk into is filled with spectral beings. That can lead to some pretty intense nightmares.”

If he hadn’t been watching for it, he wouldn’t have seen the flare of her pupils as they widened or the way she stopped chewing.

“Nightmares?” she managed around the mouthful of food. “And wait—the whole town is
really
haunted? I thought it was just a public relations thing.”

“Yes, nightmares, and yes, people believe all of Penny Hollow is haunted.” He couldn’t help the beat of skepticism in his voice. It was easier to disbelieve than believe, and he’d spent a lot of years in disbelief.

“You mean the Summerfield Curse?”

“That’s one,” he said, nodding. “Oddly, what sets your place apart from all the others is the different types of legends associated with it. But nearly every family has a secret—particularly in the founding families. Ghosts, haunts, spooks, witches, specters, curses…” He spread his hands wide. “You name it, Penny Hollow has it.”

“Okay, I’m confused. If your hometown has such a rich tradition, why don’t you believe in ghosts?”

“Believing in ghosts can lead people to make some scary choices. I think people can be haunted—by their own actions, their personal histories, and even the things that happened to them,” Justin said. Mac was a case in point; she said she believed in ghosts, and in her time at Summerfield, driven herself so hard she’d lost weight and even terrified herself in the dark. “Let me ask you this,” he said, turning the tables. “Why do you believe in them?”

“Because I saw one.” The immediacy of the response, and the ease with which she said it lent more credibility to it than all the protests he might make to the contrary.

“Would you mind telling me?”

Suspicion crept into her brandy-colored eyes. “I thought this was you telling a story.”

“It is,” he admitted. “But it’s a little harder to be honest about something you’ve spent a lifetime perfecting your disbelief in, and frankly, I’m more interested in your experience.” He glanced down at her hands and she followed his gaze.

Holding up her damaged fingers, she frowned. “You think it has something to do with this?”

“I think anything is possible in Penny Hollow, no matter what I believe.” And wasn’t that a hard chunk of reality to swallow. But yeah, he did think she was letting her fear abuse her, and
that
worried the hell out of him.

“I have so many questions and nowhere near enough answers.” Mac flexed her fingers, a wince rippling across her expression. “I was seven. It was my first and only trip as a child here…to this house. I saw the ghost here.”

Finishing off his chicken, he set the plate on the coffee table and wiped his hands on a paper towel. “
In
the house? Or…?”

She stiffened. “In the garden. I was outside playing while Nana Taylor visited with Katherine.”

“Okay, what did you see?” He settled back and pulled her feet onto his lap. Gripping one foot, he began to massage the tension coiled in her muscles. Playing it casual when he felt anything but was difficult.

She picked at her food, and for a long moment he thought she wouldn’t answer. “I saw a woman… She disappeared into the growth outside. But for a minute I could see her, and she was translucent. It was like light poured into her, but I could see right through her.”

“Was she wearing anything you recognized?” He had his own ideas, but he clamped down on sharing them. If she said…

“An old dress, I guess. Old style, big skirt and a bodice—I want to say it was white, but everything about her was so washed out, it could have been any color. Maybe gray or beige? Made of cotton, maybe?”

“Or muslin?” He concentrated on the massage, easing his thumbs up and down the arch of her foot.

“Maybe. I don’t know. I just know I saw her and I was sad.” A little catch hitched up her voice.

“She was sad, or you were?”

“Does it matter?” Mac put her plate aside.

She’d only eaten about a third of the food he’d piled on. She needed to eat more. The amount of weight she’d lost over the last few weeks bothered him.

“It matters.” He nodded once.

“Why?” She didn’t pull her feet away, but the troubled frown between her brows didn’t ease, either.

“Because if ghosts are real, and if a real ghost lives here, then that might explain a few things.” God, was he really about to say it? Sure, Summerfield had its stories, but he’d never observed a reaction like Mac’s. Which meant it was either all in Mac’s head or…

“You think I’m haunted, don’t you?” she asked.

“Yeah, you and your house.” What the hell had he just said?

Chapter Seven

Morning came sooner than she would have liked, but Mac felt better than she had in weeks. At some point after Justin admitted he thought she was haunted, she’d given into her exhaustion and gone to bed. It helped that Justin refused to go home. He’d made up a bed for himself on her sofa. When she’d argued that she had plenty of other rooms, he’d simply told her he wanted to be where he could see the doors.

It made her feel better, knowing he was out there keeping watch, and that reassurance translated to better sleep. Now, the scent of coffee lured her out of the bedroom, and she found Justin standing at her sink, staring out the window into the backyard. The way the light poured in gave him an almost ethereal glow and turned his blond hair a soft sheen of pure gold.

Her heart twisted and desire thrummed through her veins. God, he was perfect. Shaking her head, she tried to jostle loose the wandering thoughts. “Good morning.”

He whipped around and sent her a grin. “Coffee?”

“Please.” Her hands felt a bit better. She’d left the Band-Aids on her fingertips in place, but the worst of the scrapes didn’t seem to be more than dry skin now, and even the scabs on her palms seemed smaller.

After he’d poured coffee and slid the mug over to her, electricity sizzled when his fingers brushed hers. His touch lingered far longer than necessary, and Mac’s face heated.

“You never told me why you’re afraid of ghosts.” As surreal as the conversation had been the night before, it seemed doubly so in the warm light of day. Or maybe secrets were just more easily shared in the dark.

“It’s hard to explain without sounding like I’m really far out there,” he admitted quietly. Instead of looking at her, he resumed staring out into the garden.

“I get that. It wasn’t exactly easy to tell you I’d seen a ghost when I was a kid.” And until she’d said it out loud, a part of her had forgotten about the finer details—like just how sad the woman had been and how that sadness invaded everything inside of Mac until she couldn’t breathe. She’d choked on that despair, and it had haunted her for months afterward—going so far as to infect her dreams. It had taken her years to leave those nightmares behind, and yet they’d resurrected within days of moving into Great-Aunt Katherine’s place. That said more than she cared to admit.

Shifting to stand shoulder to shoulder with him, she stared out at the single column he’d unearthed from the vegetation. It seemed so ordinary with the sun dappling it.

“I grew up in a haunted house,” Justin said quietly. “The Kent farm is one of the older structures in Penny Hollow—do you know how Penny Hollow got its name?”

“No, I don’t think that’s in any of the books I picked up.”

“A young couple came this far west in the mid-1700s. It was still a British colony and he was the third or fourth son of some duke back in Britain. He’d made an honorable match with his family’s blessing and married a woman named Penelope…”

“Oh, Penny is for her?” Intrigued, she tried to leap ahead in the story.

“Yes, but I’m getting to that.” Justin chuckled. “Anyway—Benedict and Penelope left Britain for the colonies to make their fortunes. She had a small dowry and he’d earned a bit of an inheritance, but really there wasn’t much for them in Britain. As it turns out, they weren’t the only families with second, third, and fourth sons out for a fresh start and to make their fortunes…”