The Cottage on Pumpkin and Vine (5 page)

Ricky's brow creased. He was slow to make up his mind. He scrunched his nose and scuffed his beat-up sneakers on the hardwood floor. “Which one do you like best?” he asked Grace.

“I'm not the one wearing the costume.”

“I'm, uh, attending a party.”

Grace caught on. “A boy-girl party?”

Color crept up his neck. “Yeah.”

“Wouldn't you rather protect the girls, than have them running scared?” she suggested.

“Maybe . . .” he was reluctant to admit.

“How about a superhero?”

“Lots of guys are going as Spiderman, Superman, and Captain America.”

Grace lowered her voice. Cade strained to hear her. “I have a special costume that's not on the rack,” she told Ricky. “I've been saving it for the right young person. A Guardian of the Galaxy Star-Lord outfit.”

Ricky's jaw dropped. “Wow!”

“It's one-of-a-kind,” she confided. “You'd be the only human-alien-cyborg hybrid. The costume has padded muscle arms and torso and comes with battle gear.”

“A quad blaster?”

“Plastic, but it looks realistic.”

Ricky puffed out his chest. “Can I see it?”

She pointed to the back of the store. “Boxed in the storeroom. Let's go.”

Ricky darted ahead of her. Grace passed the rack of capes. She surprised Cade by separating two hangers and saying, “Batman, Superman, Zorro? One-size cape fits all.”

“You knew I was here all along?”

“I know where everyone is in my store at any given time,” she said. “Your work boots beneath the hem of the capes initially gave you away. I saw your feet before I caught your reflection in the security mirrors mounted at all four corners.”

He glanced up, spotted the two of them. They looked good standing there together. He circled the rack, tapped his watch. “We're losing afternoon light.”

“Getting the kids in costumes is as important as our decorating. Amelia would understand.”

“Do they all repay you in candy?”

“Sometimes people give out nickels and dimes, and the children share. I'm quite rich after Halloween.”

Rich not only in sweets and pocket change, but in knowing she'd given the kids a chance to participate in the night's activities. Priceless.

“Let me get Ricky his costume and I'll be ready to go.”

Cade followed her to the back. They found Ricky seated on a cardboard box, his legs swinging. She crossed to a low shelf, removed a rectangular package. She handed it to the boy. He tucked it under his arm, but didn't run off.

Instead, he bartered. “How much?”

Grace took a moment, contemplated. “Star-Lord is a brand-new costume and worth three Milky Ways and a box of Junior Mints.”

“I'll toss in a popcorn ball,” he offered, upping the payment. He grew momentarily serious. “You're a nice lady, Miss Alden. Thanks.”

“You're a good guy,” Grace returned the compliment. “Save the galaxy and have a good time at your party.”

“See ya,” and the boy pushed through the swinging Western-style doors. He walked as quickly as he could without running out of the store.

“Costumes are big business,” Cade commented.

“Not only for Halloween, but year-round. Anonymity. People like that fantasy element of being someone they're not.” She grinned at him then. “Did you see anything you liked, other than Gina Avery?”

So she'd seen him eyeing Gina. “She asked my opinion on her steampunk outfit, and I gave it. She looked hot. As for me?” He shrugged. “Not going there.”

“We have tons of choices.” She eyed him up and down. Her gaze held a second too long on his groin. “I could see you as the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man, Pillsbury Doughboy, or a sugar cookie.”

Say what? She saw him round, white, puffy? That didn't set well. “Not quite how I pictured myself.”

“Oh?” She was all innocence. “We all see ourselves differently, don't we?”

“Apparently so. I'm more man than foodstuff.”

Grace saw him as all man, too. She wouldn't admit it, though. She was having fun with him. She'd gotten him to
talk
costumes. After talking came wearing one. She was getting closer. He'd have fun if he'd just let himself go. For some unknown reason, she wanted him to attend the Halloween party at Rose Cottage, just not as a skeleton. The memory of his childhood misdoings would fade into the night.

“Tarzan, Hercules, and a gladiator are still available,” she nudged.

He shook his head. “Not now, not ever.”

“A football player, Popeye,
Top Gun,
knight in shining armor?”

“Not happening.”

“Astronaut, fireman, mile-high airline pilot.”

His eyes darkened. He waved her off. “No more,” sounded like a warning. “I don't like Halloween.”

So he'd said, over and over again. She loved the craziness of costumes, candy, and creepy decorations. She knew she should drop the subject, but something inside her wouldn't let go. She snapped her fingers, couldn't resist. “You could go as a moving man.”

“Damn, woman.” He was on her before she had a chance to step back. He slid his big hands into her hair, none too gently. Held her still. “What's with you? I've asked you nicely to stop. Let up or I'll—”

“
What?
” She moved beyond common sense.

He kissed her.

His punishment was sexual, unexpected, yet effective. He was all hotness, hardness, and sensual appeal. Sparked by anger, he bit her bottom lip. Sensation puckered her nipples. Her belly pulled tight. Her groin pressed his. Their thighs rubbed.

The kiss lasted. She had no desire for it to end. His firm mouth softened. He slipped his tongue between her lips with sexy finesse. The man could kiss. He made her want him.

Fully into him, she rose on tiptoe and clutched his biceps. His hands rubbed down her back, cupped her butt, and lifted her slightly, until they were sexually aligned. He pushed against her. She pressed back. Her knees buckled. Her mind blanked. She couldn't name another costume if her life depended on it.

The Western-style doors swung open, and the startled gasp from her assistant broke them apart. Grace jumped, expecting Cade to release her. He did not. He kept his arm about her waist, securing her to him. They appeared a couple, she thought. Sneaking a kiss in her storeroom.

Kayla blinked. “Sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt.”

“No interruption.” Her voice was unsteady.

Cade's grin tipped. “Grace was just persuading me to wear a Halloween costume.”

“Was she successful?” from Kayla.

“Still under debate. I need more convincing.”

“Keep after him.” Kayla winked at Grace. “Let me grab a lightsaber for a
Star Wars
Stormtrooper, and I'll leave you two alone.”

“We're on our way out.” Grace managed to sound less breathy. “Lots of decorating still to do at Rose Cottage.”

“I can stop by once the store closes and lend a hand,” offered Kayla.

“I'll call you if I need you.”

Her assistant located the lightsaber and returned to the main shop. Cade released her slowly, running his hand over her hip, and patting her on the butt.

Her cheeks heated. She owed him an apology. She cleared her throat, and with difficulty managed, “I can be pushy—”

“You think?” He cut her no slack.

“I came on too strong. I'm sorry.”

“I'm not.”

“You're not?”

“We kissed.”

“A good enough kiss for you to wear a costume?”

“You could kiss my entire body, and I'd still pass.”

His entire body. She'd never considered
naked
a costume, but it might work for him. She looked him up and down. Licked her lips. Her blush deepened at the thought.

She heard Cade swallow. His gaze was hot and dark; his voice, deep and husky. “I've never taken a woman in a storeroom before, but there's always a first time.”

His words got her moving. He held the door for her, and she passed ahead of him. Awareness rode with them back to Rose Cottage. Her palms were sweaty on the steering wheel. Cade shifted several times on the passenger seat. The air grew heavy, sticking in her lungs. She exhaled once they reached the B&B. Cade climbed out of the minivan before she could lift her own door handle. He collected the box from the back, seemingly as relieved as she was to put space between them.

She tugged a container of plastic tombstones from behind the driver's seat, and dragged the box to the side of the house, all the while keeping one eye on Cade. He changed out one light on the red maple and two on the white pine without issue. Then he again tackled the evergreen. The tree showed him no mercy. Needles stabbed, and he repeatedly shook out his fingers. He shoved several branches aside, only to have them snap back and slap him. He swore at the tree. She heard one branch break, then a second, and realized it was at his hands. Because of him, the evergreen had lost its symmetry. She held back mentioning that fact. Cade was in no mood for criticism.

Back on the ground, he came toward her. The tree had quilled him like a porcupine. He brushed needles from his hair and off his shirt. He lowered his head, growled, “Little help here.”

Where to touch? The worst of the waxy spikes were stuck from waist to groin. She swiped at his hip, managed to knock off a few. She made a wider sweep on his outer thigh, and cleared a few more. Her hand hovered over his zipper. Shook.

Cade was still picking needles off his abdomen. He widened his stance. “Don't be shy.” There was challenge in his tone.

He was getting even with her. She'd forced him to replace the bulbs. His request for her to remove the prickles seemed a fair exchange.

Her heart gave an unfamiliar flutter. Her stomach knotted. They presently stood between the tall box of headstones and a privacy hedge. They weren't visible from the road.

She decided to pick off the needles individually instead of making a palm-wide sweep. There'd be less touching. In her hurry, her knuckles bumped his sex. He sucked air. Enlarged. The tab on the zipper slid down an inch. He made the adjustment.

“Good enough.” He pushed her hand away.

She sighed her relief.

He twisted, struggled with the prickles on his back, stretching to brush those between his shoulder blades. Frustrated by those he couldn't reach, he snagged the hem on his T-shirt and tugged it over his head. Shook it out. Grace's eyes rounded and her mouth went dry. He had a magnificent chest.

Broad and bare, his chest tempted her. Her fingers itched to touch him. Even for a second. This was so unlike her. The need to satisfy her curiosity outweighed the consequences. She went with the urge. She traced his flat stomach and six-pack abs. His jeans hung low. Sharp hip bones, man dents, and sexy lick lines. The man was sculpted.

Cade clutched his shirt to his thigh. Stood still. She felt his gaze on her, but couldn't meet his eyes. Not after she flattened her hand over his abdomen, and his heat suffused her palm. His stomach contracted. Her fingers flexed. She scratched him. He groaned.

The slam of the front door indicated someone was close by. Heavy footsteps, the
creak
of a rocker, indicated the person was here to stay. Grace's thoughts snapped to the gauzy spider web woven on the porch. She hoped whoever it was wouldn't disrupt the decorations.

She eased back, their contact broken. A breeze cooled the air between them. Shadows claimed the late afternoon. Touching Cade had stolen precious decorating minutes. It was worth it. A once-ina-lifetime for her. She would make up the loss later in the evening. The man was hot.

He drew his shirt over his head, hand-smoothed the cotton down his chest. No pine needles remained. She looked up, as he looked down. His eyes were dark, his expression unreadable. “The tombstones won't set themselves,” he said. He went to work.

She stuck beside him. Opening the box, they withdrew the thick plastic grave markers. His lips twitched as he scanned the epitaphs: R.I.P. Van Winkle, Dee Cayed, I.M. Gone, and Barry R. Bones. “Dracula,
Fangs for the Memories,
” he read aloud and, chuckled.

Grace held up her favorite. “Rigger Mortys.
Death Grips and Holds Me Tight, But I Shall Return on Halloween Night
.”

Tongue-in-cheek, he asked her, “What would your headstone say?”

“
She Threw a Great Party,
” came to mind. “How about yours?”

“
Death by Decorating
.”

Chapter 4

C
ade staked and anchored the tombstones. Zombies came next. White-faced and gruesome, they crawled from the ground. Once the undead were secured, he scanned the graveyard. It looked scarily supernatural. He located Grace, working nearby on the Gates of Hell. Wide metal gateposts supported an arch with a gargoyle perched on top. The gate was partially unhinged. Hanging eerily. Chained to the entry, a big skeleton hellhound with spiked ears, long snout, and teeth like a crocodile, stood guard. He stepped closer for a better look, and the hound gave an unexpected howl. A guttural baying at the moon. Realistic as hell. His skin crawled.

“Battery-sensor behind his ear picks up movement,” Grace told Cade. “Anyone approaching the arch will be turned away.”

The guests staying at Rose Cottage returned for dinner. Several carried shopping bags with the Charade logo. Each one stopped on the cobblestone path and surveyed the yard. Their eyes were wide; their mouths parted. Amazement in their expressions.

“A real haunted house,” one man exclaimed, expressing his wonder. With his iPhone in hand, he snapped a few photos. “Souvenirs.”

“You have an eye for detail,” complimented another visitor.

“We're here from Bangor,” the wife of a middle-aged couple said as she and her husband stepped onto the porch. “Word of mouth speaks highly of Amelia's Halloween party.”

“You'll have a great time,” Grace assured them. “Be sure to have Amelia tell your fortune.”

“Do her predictions come true?” The woman sounded expectant.

“I'm a believer.” Grace had faith in her godmother.

“How about you?” the woman called to Cade.

He hadn't had a reading, and had no plans to get one. Still, there was no reason to discourage the woman. His comment—“Check out the crystal ball”—was neutral.

Grace seemed relieved by his answer. He would never out-and-out deny the paranormal. Astonishingly enough, she'd seen a man's hands in the sphere, or so she said. He had too much respect for Amelia to debunk her reputation. The guests would get the full Halloween experience.

Cade waited for the out-of-towners to enter the cottage before asking, “Can we stop for today, pick up where we left off tomorrow?” His contract with Grace stated eight-to-five. It was after six. He was in the mood for a beer.

“You can go anytime,” she allowed.

“What about you?”

“I'm here for a while yet.”

“What's ‘a while'?”

She shrugged. “An hour or two, give or take. I want to unload my van. Unbox the rest of the decorations. Hang the crow-and-bat wreath on the front door. Roll up the Oriental carpet. Begin moving furniture. Cover the sofas with plastic.”

She'll be here all night,
Cade thought. Why that should bother him, he had no idea. But it did. “You still have another day to pull it together.”

“I hate last minute,” she said. “I don't want anything to go wrong.”

“You're in charge. Everything will be perfect.” Grace would have it no other way.

“I go overboard on perfection,” she admitted. “But it's all worth it. Amelia is special to me.”

The older woman had been good to Cade, too. He would give Grace another hour. “I'll deal with your van, and get the boxes inside. Take care of the carpet.”

She was visibly relieved. “That would be helpful.”

He could be supportive when he wanted to. He still didn't like Halloween, but Grace was rubbing off on him. He admired her dedication. She was loyal to her friends. Liked kids. Was easy on the eyes. He side-eyed her often, and found her looking at him, too. She'd blush. He'd smile to himself. They made a good team.

They worked side by side now. He did the heavy lifting, arranging the sofas and settees in a crescent, which opened the center of the room for circulating and conversation. She added smaller decorations. She dimmed the lights for atmosphere. He thought about kissing her in a dark corner, but never got the chance. Guests came and went. Amelia and Archibald passed through the room. The Maine coon lifted his head, looked around, and purred loudly. He settled beneath the marble-top table, guardian of the crystal ball, his furry tail twitching. Amelia put her arm about her goddaughter and hugged her. No words were exchanged. There was no need. Silent communication said it all.

Ninety minutes later, Grace dusted off her hands, said, “Place the blue velvet wingback armchair between the china cabinet and table, and call it a night. Be careful of the crystal ball.”

He was aware of the ball. It had been on his mind all evening. The lady from Bangor had come downstairs for a cup of tea, and gazed upon it for a good twenty minutes before returning upstairs. She'd left disappointed. No image.

The man who'd taken souvenir iPhone photos of the yard also peered deeply into the crystal sphere. His eyes rounded. “A baby,” he murmured. “My wife and I have been trying to have children. Maybe there is a little one in our future.” He walked off in a daze.

Cade hefted the armchair near the sunroom and carried it across the hardwood floor. He was about to set it down when Archie popped up, got underfoot. Cade tripped, set the chair down hard. He accidentally bumped the marble-top table with his hip. The crystal ball tipped on its stand.

He and Grace simultaneously lunged for the ball. He touched it first, saving it from rolling onto the table. From dropping to the floor. As he held it on his palm the ball felt weighty. Warmth seemed to emanate from it, and a gray mist swirled in its depths. He couldn't tear his gaze away. What he saw then, he soon wished he hadn't. It made no sense. An unidentifiable dark-haired woman, her back to him, a small black cat tattoo on the side of her neck. The image was gone as quickly as it had formed. He carefully returned the ball to its stand. Archie rubbed against his ankles.

“Crazy cat,” he mumbled, “jumping out at me.”

“His way of getting you to look into the crystal ball.”

“It was intentional, really?” He didn't believe for a second the big cat had timed that move. It was pure coincidence.

“Maine coons are mystical.”

He considered Archibald more of a menace. The big boy scratched the toe of his boot. Leaving claw marks.

Grace was expectant. “You received a message.” She waited for him to share.

A message that made no sense. He tucked it away, kept it to himself. No need for Grace or Amelia to read more into the woman and her tattoo than was there. “Nothing of importance.”

She pursed her lips, and he awaited her argument. None was forthcoming. Instead, she nudged him toward the door. “You were on your way out.”

That he was. “Later.”

He had no doubt he'd be back again bright and early. He departed then. Outside, and the yard came alive. The air seemed to breathe Halloween. The orange twinkle lights cast an eerie glow. The spider, zombies, and gargoyles had him looking over his shoulder, twice, on his way to the moving van. He climbed in, drove home. Went on to shower and change his clothes. Then headed for The Thirsty Raven.

He entered the tavern long past happy hour. The place was packed. He knew everyone, and everyone knew him. Orange and black streamers hung from the rafters. Hinged cutouts of ghosts and skeletons were tacked to the walls. Halloween dogged him like a hellhound.

He took his reserved seat at one corner of the bar. He winked at Dakota, communicating a request for his usual. A Sea Dog and loaded burger. She passed his order to the fry cook. Brought him his beer.

Leaning over the counter, she awaited his kiss. A ritual between them for as long as he could remember. Instead of locking lips, he eyed her neck. She wore a V-neck sweater, her skin visible. “Have you gotten a recent cat tattoo?” he asked her.

She scrunched her nose. “No ink.”

That eliminated Dakota as the woman in the crystal ball. Then who? he wondered. Time would tell. Or not. He still wasn't convinced he hadn't imagined the whole thing. He kissed her lightly, more cheek than mouth. Dakota eased back, surprised, yet smiling.

“Who is she?” She feigned jealousy.

“She, who?” He skirted the real issue.

“The woman you want to kiss more than me.”

He and Dakota had always been honest. They were friends with benefits. Sex was sex, with no future promises. He took a long pull on his beer, shrugged, “There's not much to tell.”

“Too early in the relationship,” she assumed. “You're getting to know each other.”

He'd known Grace all his life. He'd always seen her as perfect and standoffish. Today she'd worked as hard as any man. He'd witnessed her kindness to children and her loyalty to Amelia. They shared an attraction. Her kisses turned him on.

Dakota left him, moving along the bar, mixing cocktails, replenishing beer. Cade noticed she flirted overly long with Josh Hanson, a local carpenter. He'd recently added shelving in the small kitchen and updated paneling behind the bar. He was the strong, silent type. Yet Dakota had him talking. Laughing. Enjoying himself.

Distracted by Josh, she forgot about Cade's food order. The fry cook delivered his burger. Wally shook his head at Dakota. “She's looking to get lathed.” A carpenter pun.

Dakota was obvious in her intentions. Josh was slow on the uptake. They'd connect eventually, Cade figured. Dakota was persistent. Clearly, she'd chosen her next lover. But then, so had he. He wanted Grace Alden.

He bit into his burger. The cook awaited his thumbs-up. Cade chewed, swallowed, approved. “Medium-rare. Perfect, dude.”

The cook snagged him another Sea Dog, on the house, before returning to the kitchen. Cade glanced about the bar between bites. The booths were crammed with single women. Steampunk Gina Avery blew him a kiss. Couples took over the tables. Friends waved, inviting him to join them. He didn't have much conversation in him. His thoughts were on Grace. Was she still at Rose Cottage or had she gone home for the night? He'd bet she was still working. He might have to swing by the inn later. Make sure she'd eaten dinner and wasn't overdoing it.

He decided to drop off a burger and fries, as an excuse for checking on her. Despite the fact that Amelia had a well-stocked kitchen, and Grace could cook whatever she liked. He was being thoughtful. That should earn him points with her.

He flagged down Dakota, added a second burger to his tab. Then stared into his beer, so lost in thought, he didn't immediately hear the bone-rattling tapping noise, followed by rubbery fingers touching his hand. He glanced down, started. What the hell?

Halloween reached out to him in a pair of crawling monster hands. A bar prank. Battery-operated, the undead-colored limbs were severed at the wrist, and walked on their own. Those seated at the bar had leaned back, as Dakota aimed the hands in his direction. She'd gotten him. Good. He rubbed the back of his neck, chuckled along with the crowd.

The guy beside him turned one hand over and flipped off the switch. The fingers stiffened. Cade stopped the second hand from climbing up his arm. It gave him the willies.

“Where'd you get the hands?” he asked Dakota when she delivered his take-out order. He didn't appreciate them, but he knew a party planner who would.

“Someone left those on the bar last night at closing, clutching a beer mug. Real funny. I know how much you love Halloween,” she said, tongue-in-cheek, “and I wanted to prank you.”

“I have someone I'd like to prank, too,” he told her.

Dakota was generous. “Take them. All yours.”

He finished off his beer, paid his bill, and left a big tip. He balanced the monster hands on the Styrofoam container, and cleared the door in seconds. He was anxious to see Grace.

* * *

Grace was eager to wrap up the decorating. She was close to finishing. She rolled her shoulders, shook out her hands. Went on to dim the sconces for atmosphere and effect. She surveyed the living room. Appreciated every little detail.

She'd added a haunted clock with a skewed view of time to the sideboard buffet. The numbers were on backward and went up to thirteen. On the hour, the hands spun.

Next to the timepiece was an animated mirror. It showed no real reflection; instead, a ghoulish girl holding a lighted candle appeared. She moaned, blew out the flame, and vanished. Then the mirror went dark. Freaky.

A five-foot chrome skeleton with a black top hat sat on the mauve satin settee. His legs were crossed, and one elbow was bent on the armrest. His jaw was set in a gaping smile.

A faceless specter in tattered fabric set a spindle-back rocking chair in motion. The creak echoed in the silence.

A battery-operated ghost family cloaked in illuminated layers of flowing white fabric floated on plastic stands near the staircase. They drifted and swayed.

Six black witches' brooms leaned against the carved newel post. It appeared their owners had retired upstairs for the night.

Grace was tired, too. She yawned, and gave in to the lure of the antique sofa and the temptation of closing her eyes. For a few minutes. Just until she caught her second wind. She slipped off her boots. Wiggled her toes in her socks. She breathed in, smelled French fries. Impossible. She swore she heard a noise, a
click-clacking,
but knew she was alone. She felt something touch her foot. Crawl around her ankle. She reacted, stomping whatever touched her to pulp.

“You've destroyed my monster hands!” The voice held more amusement than accusation. Cade? When had he returned? He hadn't made his presence known.

She spun around and found him leaning against the front door. A Styrofoam container in hand. He looked too comfortable. One ankle crossed the other. He twisted the dimmer switch on the wall, and it became daylight bright.