Haunt Me (16 page)

“Go, Mac. The answer is in the story.”

No, Justin wasn’t Kevin.

“You’re awesome.” Giving into the desire, she darted back to him and gave him a hard hug and a kiss, nibbling his lips until he took full possession of her mouth. Her heart thudded in her ears when she came up for air and she grinned. “You really are awesome. Thank you.”

Elated, she was nearly to her office when his last words registered.
The answer is in the story…

Fortunately, she fell back into the story with ease, and the rest of the world faded away. Though by the time she paused for a break and read back over what she’d written she scowled. If she typed “Justin” one more time, she was going to stab something. Blurring James and Justin in her head was one thing, but on the page she had to be clear.

…

Justin drummed his fingers on the counter. As soon as Mac had vanished into her office, he’d called Jock, but the call had gone to voice mail. He tried Mrs. Cartwright next, but she was busy with the lunch rush. Mrs. Beagle at the bookstore answered—and she promised to look up the names of the original property owners of Summerfield. Her husband was also the town historian, so chances were she’d be able to lay hands on it sooner than he. Yes, he’d grown up in Penny Hollow, but he’d spent so much time discounting all their old tales that he hadn’t realized how much he didn’t know.

Justin called Elijah to check on what Mac’s ex-husband was up to, but his brother’s phone went to voice mail, too. What the hell was up with his family? The inn was more forthcoming—Kevin had checked out. But to go where? He checked with Clint next, but the attorney told him he was working on defeating Kevin’s plans, and that was all he could say for the time being.

His phone rang, and he answered it to hear an excited Mrs. Beagle on the other end.

“Justin, I found it,” Mrs. Beagle said. “Surprising how quickly the name turned up. Did you know that Summerfield is actually an adopted name? In fact, as far as the records go, the first resident was a woman. She lived there in the late 1700s, just a few years after the town founding. Summerfield is listed as her residence, but I can’t find any record of her birth or death. Not unusual, I suppose, except the land was listed in her name as well. Anyway, here it is. Madeline Summerfield…”

He jerked, knocking a nearby water glass to the floor with his elbow, and the sound of shattering glass jolted him from his stupor.

“Justin?” Mac called out from her office.

“Sorry! It sounded worse than it was.”
Get it together…
He managed to sound calmer than he felt.

“Are you okay?” she called again.

She needed to stay in there and work. “I’m fine! Don’t worry, I’ll clean this up. You almost done?”

“Maybe…close. Coffee?”

The request pleased him. She was finally starting to trust him. “I’ll get some started.”

After shoving aside one of the last cardboard boxes in the kitchen, Justin cleaned up the glass and tried to ignore the way his hands faintly shook. Madeline Summerfield had been the first lady of the house—and Mac’s book was about a woman named Madeline.

The answer is in the story…

No sooner did that thought occur to him than the world seemed to gray out—and he was overcome with an overwhelming need to work on the garden.

He
had
to finish the gazebo.
Had
to.

Slowly, the world came back into focus, and he found himself outside, standing in front of the single marble pillar.

Now how the hell had that happened?

…

Mac chewed her lip, her heart racing. Madeline wanted James so much more than either realized. The worst lies she told were to herself. But the duke was a stubborn man and he didn’t give up, and he refused to let Madeline deny them both.

All the moisture in Mac’s mouth dried up. She could hear Justin puttering around somewhere in the house. What would she do if he were the one giving the kinds of orders Madeline had to face? Reality and fiction kept clashing and she hesitated, fingers poised over the keyboard. What came next terrified her for some inexplicable reason.

It riled her, scraping over her nerves and igniting her temper. She wrestled with the urge to argue and pivoted slowly on one heel. Heart racing, she fought to keep her reactions in check. This very thing was what she desired, what she had worked so hard to achieve. She dare not lose her nerve when they stood on the precipice of his capitulation.

Mac’s stomach clenched. They were so close—so why couldn’t she shake the feeling of doom? Dammit, she had to focus. The answer was in the story.

She leaned back from the keyboard, her cheeks damp with tears. “Come on, Madeline, you can do this,” she murmured and clenched her hands. She couldn’t believe the quivering that seemed to go all the way to her soul or the trembling in her hands. Not even the sound of Justin moving around the kitchen helped this time. Hugging herself, she closed her eyes and tried to get her wild, erratic heart under control. But she couldn’t escape the nervous terror—Madeline wanted to believe James, just like Mac did.

But we can’t escape…we never escaped…

Chapter Ten

A day later, and Mac still couldn’t shed the sensation of impending doom. It invaded her sleep and left her tossing and turning most of the night. Justin had encouraged her to finish the story, but by dinnertime the night before, he’d seemed almost too urgent. His sudden uptick in interest for her book worried her more, and the concern distracted her. No matter how many times she reminded herself that Justin wasn’t Kevin, the parallels cropped up. Why now? Why was he pushing her to write so hard?

Kevin had done all those things. He’d encouraged her, taken over her tasks, and kept nudging her to write, write, write. And hadn’t Justin been doing exactly the same for her? The desire to finish the book, it seemed, didn’t quite hold a candle to sinking dread.

Giving up on sleep, she’d unpacked more boxes and started on her aunt’s room. Anything to keep busy. By the time the sun rose, she’d drank a full pot of coffee, ducked herself through a quick shower, and considered giving up on both the writing and the repairs for the day—maybe what she really needed was to just get out of the house. Justin had been stocking her refrigerator and picking up supplies on regular runs to town.

Generous acts because she’d been preoccupied? Or another way to keep her chained to her desk?

She needed to finish the book. Her agent had sent a text this morning and asked for a progress report. She’d answered with a vague
soon
, and when her agent didn’t text back, Mac hoped it had been enough.
So, take advantage of the time and get it done.

Wasn’t the new book, the fresh start, what she wanted? Hadn’t she felt driven to finish the book since she arrived? Reluctance coiled through her. How could she both want and
not
want to finish her book? Hell, half the house wasn’t finished. Nearly every bit of work that had been accomplished had been done by Justin. The man worked on it every chance he had, as though the work possessed him. She picked up her keys and put them down three times. A vise wrapped around her chest every time she thought about going out.

Since when did I become a shut-in?
She could hardly blame it on her ex-husband’s visit; Kevin had vanished after dropping his legal bomb. Probably hadn’t expected her to fight back—and she took a certain amount of grim satisfaction in that. Still, she needed a break. She considered calling Justin and then stopped—she didn’t need to check in or get his permission.
Okay, that’s not entirely fair…

Fair or not. “I need a day out.” She was not a damn prisoner in the house, no matter what she’d been acting like since she arrived. Snatching up her keys and her purse, she grabbed the door handle, but a sinking feeling dragged at her gut. It reminded her of stage fright, only a hundred times worse. Dampness slicked her palms and sweat trickled down her back.

Every part of her being seemed to scream when she tried to turn the door handle, magnifying the dread from the earlier chapter a thousandfold. “Oh, that’s it.” Something brittle inside snapped. She twisted the handle and let herself out, locking up behind her. Furious at her ridiculous overreaction, she marched over to the SUV, climbed in, and started the engine.

If anything, buckling the seat belt just aggravated her anxiety. Annoyance growing, she jammed the key into the ignition and turned the Explorer on. It gave a little complaint, gasping almost before the engine turned over. Turning away from the house, she backed out of her spot and through the gates before spinning the wheel so she could follow the long gravel drive.

The sinking sensation in her gut plagued her all the way to the end of the driveway. “But I am not having a panic attack,” she announced to the silence of the car and then flipped on the radio, punching the buttons until she found a station playing music. The strum of a steel guitar helped, and by the time she turned onto the little road and headed for town, she almost had her shivering under control.

…

An hour and a too-large latte later, Mac stood in the bookstore, perusing the new-release table. The last dregs of her earlier anxiety seemed to have settled down to uncomfortable butterflies, but at least it was a pretty day in Penny Hollow. All the shops were open, and like the night of the Firefly Festival, the main street seemed full with people. Maybe the thriving energy of the town was just what she needed to break out of the bad mental headspace she’d been in. Maybe she
could
finish the book.

“May I help you find something?” An older woman walked out from behind the counter. A little shorter than Mac, she had silver-blue hair, friendly eyes, and a chipper smile. “Hello, MacKenzie,” The older woman’s grin widened, and she got the same excited hint of inquisitiveness Mac had seen in all the local’s eyes.

And someday I will be used to everyone knowing what I need before I do.
“Yes, ma’am.” She switched her coffee cup to her left hand and extended her right. “MacKenzie Dillon. We met at the Firefly Festival, but only briefly. Sorry I don’t remember your name.”

“Georgia Beagle. Glad to meet you. Andie mentioned you’d been in. Are you still looking for books on the local area?”

“You know, sure.” She hadn’t finished the others, but she still had a lot of questions about the house.

Mrs. Beagle waved for Mac to follow her. “How are things going at Summerfield?”

“It’s fine. I’ve got a lot of work to do, but Justin’s been helping out.”

“That Justin Kent. He’s such a good young man. He’ll do anything for this town, even when he doesn’t want to be here. Would cut off his arm to help other people. Now let’s see…” Mrs. Beagle put on a pair of narrow reading glasses and ran her finger along the spine of several books. “Here we go.” She pulled out three books.

The first was a thick volume titled
Civil War Hauntings
, the second, a far thinner paperback with the name
The Legend and Lore of Penny Hollow
, and the third was a midsized hardback called
Virginia Un-Paranormaled
.

“Un-Paranomaled?” Mac couldn’t keep the skepticism out of her voice. Was that even a word?

“It’s a bit of melodramatic license.” Mrs. Beagle held out the books. “But it’s a decent enough book that tries to debunk a lot of local myths and legends by tracking down their historical basis. I pulled it out because it mentions Summerfield and the Caretaker’s Cottage.”

Mac slipped her purse strap over her shoulder and took the books. Weird that Justin’s place had been where the caretaker for Summerfield lived, because with the difference in layouts and sizes, she’d have thought the names would be the other way around. “Do you have somewhere I can sit and take a peek?”

“Nice chairs, right up front.” Mrs. Beagle followed along, apparently not done visiting. “So, it’s a little nosy, but I have to ask. Are you writing about your house?”

“No.” Mac shook her head. “I’m writing a historical, actually.”

“Oh, I thought you might have been…” The hint of disappointment feathered under the woman’s voice beckoned to tell her more.

Mac forced a grin and confidence she didn’t feel. “The house has a history. It probably does have a story that needs to be told.” Which was true.

“You know the town has been working on reinventing our image.”

“Justin told me. He’s a great guy—he’s been such a help to me.” That sounded lame. She glanced down at the books in her lap and hoped Mrs. Beagle would take the hint.

“I hope he convinces you to throw in with the rest of us. Goodness knows, we would love to have you be more involved in the town.”

Time to change the subject, or at least nudge it a little. “I wanted to do some research just to familiarize myself about my new place. I didn’t know that much about my aunt or this side of the family.”

Except for the family ghost…but let’s not go too far down that rabbit hole.

“Oh, honey, I can tell you a good chunk of that. I knew Katherine Summerfield my whole life.”

They settled in a pair of chairs occupying the front windows, curiosity getting the best of Mac. “I didn’t think Katherine came into town much.”

“Well, no, not in her later years. She only got reclusive as she got older.” Mrs. Beagle seemed to warm to her topic. “Of course, Katherine was well into her nineties when she passed, God rest her soul, but my mama knew her when she was younger and I knew her when I was a little girl. She used to always come in for festivals and such, and told the most wonderful stories.”

“Really?” Mac leaned forward.

“Oh yes, she was a gifted storyteller. She could recount most of the area history from memory and she knew how to weave a good tale.”

“Did she ever tell any stories about her house? Or why Caretaker’s Cottage is so much larger than Summerfield?”

Mrs. Beagle shook her head, a sad smile on her face. “I’m afraid not, dear. She didn’t ever tell stories of Summerfield. The rest of the town, sure, but not the house. My mama said that when Ms. Katherine was a girl, they used to host these grand picnics out there in the big field, but never at the house proper or in the garden. As for the names, who knows? Maybe Summerfield used to be larger. Lots of homes were burned during the war. Most folks don’t like to go out to Summerfield itself.”

Most except for Justin. He couldn’t stay away. Mac frowned. “And no one thought that was strange?”

“Maybe they did, but it’s just accepted. Even when I was a girl, I knew better than to go inside those walls. We were all a little worried when Ms. Katherine’s will was read and you were named the heir. But you seem to be getting along just fine.”

A new customer came in and Mrs. Beagle rose to greet her.

“Mrs. Beagle?” Mac stopped her.

“Yes, dear?”

“Why were you worried?” It could be nothing, but there’d been something odd in the woman’s voice when she’d said it.

“Because Katherine Summerfield was a sweet old lady, but over time she’d shut herself up in that house and rarely ever left it, especially in her later years.”

“Is that why she never married?”

Mrs. Beagle edged a little closer and lowered her voice, offering the suggestion of privacy. “Katherine Summerfield was engaged in the summer of ’42 to a young man her parents didn’t approve of. Rumor has it that they were going to run off and get married.”

And the story thickened.

“So what happened?”

“The war. I think he died in France. She never married after that. Her sisters did and eventually her parents passed, but Katherine stayed there. Mrs. Cartwright over at the diner is convinced Katherine stayed to wait for her love to come back. Sorry I couldn’t be more help, but read the books and I’ll be back in a bit. Oh”—she rose and paused—“Did Justin mention to you the name of the original Summerfield owner?”

He had? Mac frowned. “Maybe. I’ve been a little preoccupied, but—”

“Madeline Summerfield.”

Surprise twisted in Mac’s chest. She frowned.
Madeline?
Her book was about a woman named Madeline.

What a weird coincidence.

A knock at the window pulled her attention. Justin stood outside, giving her a broad grin. The man had far too much charm, but she smiled anyway and set the books aside. Grabbing her coffee, she headed out the door to meet him.

“Hey, look at that. I swing through Penny Hollow to pick up lunch for us and find you instead. My lucky day.” He gave her a thumbs-up.

“Thought I could go for a change of pace.”

Justin lifted his brows. “Picnic on the square?”

“You are always feeding me. I’m going to get fat.” Despite her protest, she knew her clothes were starting to fall off her and most of the time, if he didn’t feed her, she was so absorbed in the book she forgot to eat. She could always swing back and grab the books on her way home. “Okay, fine.”

“Fantastic.”

Mac glanced back at the store. Mrs. Beagle watched her with the tiniest of frowns on her forehead, but then Justin brushed her arm.

“Did you forget something in there?” he asked.

“Nope. I can come back.” She looped her arm through his and let him lead her away. “Hey, did you know that even Mrs. Beagle doesn’t know why your place is called Caretaker’s Cottage?”

“Huh. We can always ask Mrs. Cartwright or head over to the Historical Society. Maybe someone there knows. Did she tell you the name of the first Summerfield?”

“Yeah, she did.”

For a split second, she thought he would add something more, but when she didn’t elaborate, he grinned. Her heart did a little flip-flop and she tightened her grip on his arm. Just being with him made the day better, and she didn’t want to examine the feeling any closer than that.

…

“Keep your eyes closed.” Justin repeated the phrase for the third time and clucked his tongue to the roof of his mouth. He’d thought the name of the first Summerfield might spark something with Mac, but beyond her acknowledgement, she hadn’t brought it up again. Maybe he was giving too much credit to Jock’s suggestion. Still, something about what his sister had said stuck with him, and he couldn’t seem to shake it.

So he’d encouraged Mac to write and threw himself into finishing the garden. And he finally had—at least, he’d repaired the gazebo as a surprise for Mac. Nudging the screen closed with his foot, he kept his hands over her eyes. It’d taken him a lot longer to finish than he planned, but now the weather had turned spectacular and sun exquisitely framed his masterpiece.

“You have my eyes covered,” she said, then laughed. “Even if they were open, I couldn’t see.”

“They’re not, right?” He leaned around to make sure.

“No. I’m completely trusting you not to let me run into anything.”

The remark had been made in jest, but the admission loosened something in his chest. They’d been dancing around each other all month, spending more and more time together until he forgot what it was like not to be able to see her first thing in the morning before he left for a job or to not have a reason to rush home after work.