Resisting Samantha (Hope Parish Novels Book 10) (3 page)

“Ah, that’s
why Brax needs so much catfish.”

“Yes, he’s
doing a fry for the town’s reception. You’d know if you
didn’t isolate—”

“River…”

She huffed a sigh,
knowing we’d just end up arguing if she continued on this tack.
“It will give you a chance to bond with your nephews.”
She handed me the engraved invitation with all the particulars. “You
can bring someone, if you’d like. So promise.”

I thought
immediately of Samantha and how much I wanted someone there to serve
as a buffer and support, but asking her to a function, a family
function, wouldn’t be smart.

She grabbed my chin.
“Chase, please.”

River knew if I gave
my word, I would be there, and she rarely asked me for anything. I
couldn’t let my sister and her husband down. “All right.
I promise.”

SAMANTHA

I was running,
full-out panic mode, heart racing, running for all I was worth. I
could hear them behind me as I stumbled and splashed my way through
the dark, steamy swamp. The spirits couldn’t help me now, and
there was nothing I could do to stop what was going to happen. But a
spark of self-preservation demanded that I keep trying.

I hit more solid
ground, but tripped over exposed roots and fallen branches. Brush
grabbed my clothing and clawed bloody scratches in my face, arms and
legs. The slippery carpet of the bayou floor pulled me back precious
inches, making me work harder.

Sobs of
frustration and fear caught in my throat and choked me. Tears blurred
what sight I had in the moon-silvered night while my heaving lungs
tried to get some oxygen from the heavily saturated air.

Fire spread out
from my leaden limbs as I pushed them to perform far beyond their
capabilities. Sheer fear-induced adrenaline my only hope. Terrified I
would break an ankle or step on a gator, I pelted onward, whispering
my mother’s name, but she was too far away to help me. Even if
the spirits granted me a boon and she could hear me.

My heart broke
with the certainty of that.

They were going
to catch me, and when they did…

Fingers of mist
slithered among the trunks of the cypress like ghostly fingers. From
somewhere in the distance a roar elicited a primal memory of
prehistoric times, primeval swamps, ancient monsters.

Sweat ran in
rivulets, spurred on by the sounds of men crashing through the
underbrush, gaining on me.

They were
relentless.

As relentless as
death pursuing life.

I’m at the
end of this pursuit and, even as that terrifying thought caught me,
so did a hand grabbing onto the back of my shirt. The sound of
ripping cloth mingled with my scream.

Heard by only
their ears.

Swallowed up by
the night.

I pitched myself
upright with a soft cry. The air heaved in and out of my lungs in
huge, ragged gasps and my clothes were plastered to my skin with cold
sweat. I opened my eyes and took in my surroundings. No dark night,
no trees, no water. I was on my mattress, set on the floor and pushed
into the corner of the now large-open space. Trembling, I reached for
a glass of water and gulped it, parched as if I had been running full
out.

It was a dream.

I closed my eyes. A
freaking
real dream, as if I had been channeling a memory instead of something
lurking in my subconscious. Must have been because of the discussion
last week with Chase about AnnClaire and Imogene.

There was…something
stirring, like a storm threatening in the distance, yet the sky was
as clear as a bell. I’d been feeling it for a few days now. A
vague sense of unease that caught me unaware, a subtle pressure at
the back of my skull and down my spine.

And every time that
sense of foreboding crept along my spine, all my cop instincts
swamped me, even though there was nothing I could do to ease the
feeling. Yet we were in Suttontowne, a quiet, almost crime-free,
sleepy little Louisiana town.

I had come here to
get away from the memories and the sympathy. Jeff had quite a bit of
life insurance and we had equity in the house, so after the funeral
expenses were taken care of, I had a tidy sum. Without any mouth to
feed but my own—the pain of their death struck at me again—I
was free to go where I pleased.

The cost of
Imogene’s was completely reasonable, and it was so ramshackle,
I was mostly paying for the land. It wasn’t until I’d
gotten inside and found all the treasures and got serious about
restoring the legendary place to its former glory.

Yeah, had to be that
discussion with Chase. I took a deep breath, and this one had nothing
to do with the dream and everything to do with gorgeous Chase Sutton.

I hadn’t
thought I would ever feel like this again. Ever. I’d
experienced deep, everlasting love. I had the joy of giving birth.
I’d had it all. Family. But by the time I moved to Suttontowne,
I never wanted either one to be a part of my life again.

Then,
boom
,
Chase. I ignored my feelings for years. Pretended he was nothing more
than a nice guy and a great provider of top-notch seafood. I ignored
the way his silver-blue eyes sent me secret, sultry, almost reluctant
glances. The way he always looked so mussed up and appealing, with
the caramel stubble on his face, the thick waves of his dark brown
hair, the brawny, knee-melting bulges of his biceps, and the promise
of more delineated muscle beneath his clothes.

I didn’t say
it last night, but I knew he was conveniently coming by, and I was
sure it wasn’t about the pie. My pulse started to race. Chase
Sutton’s interest in me hadn’t gone unnoticed, but I
wasn’t sure I was ready for this gorgeous, small town man.

I spent my early
twenties working in law enforcement. I knew my way around
self-defense and guns, yet nothing about Chase triggered any red
flags. Except for that sorrow I saw in his eyes. Other than the
normal and completely understandable physical stirrings…to
have that man beneath my hands so I could explore every inch of that
hard, muscular body, take that mouth he always seemed to be offering
me…I wanted to make an intimate connection. That was the story
I wanted to know, the Chase I wanted to discover.

It gave me a
delicious shiver.

It scared the hell
out of me, too, six ways from Sunday. Two years ago, robbed me of the
man of my dreams. Was it possible to find that magic again? Probably
not. I figured I’d be mostly disappointed.

But the craving had
remained, even intensified, for as long as I’ve known Chase.

Then there was
Scottie, my baby boy, and the pain of his loss was something I still
struggled with every day.

The wisp of light
was just starting to brighten in the eastern sky when I pushed the
blankets off me. I knew I wouldn’t be doing any more sleeping,
not after that dream.

My feet hit the
rich, dark hardwood floor I installed just last weekend. Now it was
time to get interior walls up and the stairway built for my bedroom
loft. The kitchen was already framed out, but, since I wasn’t a
cabinetmaker, I had hired a local man to make them for me. I hoped to
have my gourmet kitchen up and working in a week, and the plumbing
had been finished two days ago.

Since moving into
this partially renovated home, I’d been eating all my meals at
Imogene’s. Not a problem, since the cook there was the best. I
chuckled to myself as I poured water and did a quick wash. I missed
showers, and having to wash my hair in the big basin I kept in the
corner was a pain. I should go to the Blue Coyote and have Skylar cut
it all off.

Yes, parts of living
here right now were a pain, but when this place was done, it would be
stunning, a true place of my own.

As I headed out for
the day, Jessica waved to me from her porch. She was holding her
four-year-old son, and my heart tugged so hard against the memory and
the emotions of holding my own sweet baby. If I had known she had a
little boy, I might not have bought this property. But now I was
locked in, and there was nothing I could do but try to avoid them as
much as possible, and as politely as I could manage.

The short walk to
Imogene’s cleared my head and got me there way earlier than my
employees. I fired up the grill and made myself some pancakes, eggs,
and bacon, since I was one of the lucky ones when it came to what I
could eat and barely gain an ounce.

After cleaning up
and putting on a fresh apron from my stash, I opened the refrigerator
to pull out the rich chocolate layer cake with a raspberry base I had
baked yesterday for the Outlaw brunch. I stilled, and my insides
jolted. There was a piece missing.

I straightened,
tightening my hands on the plate. That was strange. My employees knew
never to touch anything in this fridge. It was exclusively for
customers. Maybe someone got their fridges mixed up. Oh, damn, there
was nothing to do but cut it up and serve it.

I turned away from
the fridge and almost dropped the cake. A stunning Black woman was
standing across the room. Her skin was a beautiful shade of cocoa,
her long black hair loose and flowing over her shoulders and down her
back. She was in a simple, floor-length blue dress with buttons on
the bodice and a long white apron tied around her waist.

I frowned, my brain
trying to assimilate what I was seeing. Confused, I studied her
again. Had she wandered away from a Civil War reenactment or
something?

“Can I help
you?” I said. “We’re not open just yet.” I
couldn’t imagine how she got inside. I was sure I’d
locked the front door.

She said nothing,
just stared at me, waiting, watching, while a sense of evil pressed
in on me, thick and heavy in the air. As dense as bayou mist. As
suffocating as a blanket. I stepped back, gasping. It wasn’t
her, it was something…someone…else, as if the presence
was looming, coming closer. The plate fell from my slack hands,
smashing against the tiles, cake flying everywhere, spattering my
bare legs.

The front door
slammed, and I jumped and looked toward the double doors. “Good
morning,” a female voice sang out.”

Moments later the
door swung in, and Beth Henderson sauntered in with a smile on her
face. She stopped dead, shivering. “What’s with that
chilly patch of air there?” Her eyes widened and she gasped,
“Oh, God. What happened?”

Beth acted like she
hadn’t seen the woman, but when I looked up from the ruined
cake, the woman was gone.

I gave Beth a tight
smile. “Clumsy.”

“That’s
too bad. I love your chocolate cake. Wait. Oh, my God, was that for
the Outlaw brunch?”

“Yes,” I
rubbed at my temple. “Thank God I’ve got enough
ingredients to make crème brûlée.”

“That should
work. I’ll explain to them about the cake when they arrive.”
She peered at me closely. “Are you all right?” Concern
washed across her face. “You look as white as a ghost.”

I wondered if I was
losing my mind. First that terrible dream, and now seeing that
disappearing woman. Maybe Imogene’s was haunted after all. “I’m
fine. Just hate messes and not giving the customer what they
ordered.”

Beth chuckled and
nodded. “For sure.” She looked down at the mess on the
floor. “Do you want me to clean this up?”

“No, I made
it. I’ll clean it up.”

“I’ll
start laying silverware and checking the tables, then. Sunday
mornings are always a crush.”

“Thanks,
Beth,” I said. As she left, I looked down at the demolished
cake, splattered over more than just the floor, and sighed. Dammit. I
bent down to pick up the earthenware pieces. I loved this cake plate.
It was one of the treasures I picked up from Evie Sutton’s
shop, an antique navy blue transferware plate featuring a bird
sitting on a branch with bundles of grapes below. The border was a
white embossed lattice weave design trimmed in gold. Well, that would
give me an excuse to see what new stuff she had in stock. I set the
pieces down on the counter.

My hand brushed
against something.

I looked down.

There was a small
bag lying near the shards of the cake plate. I hesitated and glanced
up to where the woman had been standing. Still gone. Then back down
at the bag. I reached out and touched the fabric. There was something
in it. It was made out of red chamois, gathered and tied with a
drawstring.

With trembling
fingers, I pulled it open, releasing a strong balsamic-spicy,
lemony-evergreen scent I recognized as frankincense. Among the
contents were a pungent eucalyptus leaf, an acorn, and a sigil with a
sun inside a triangle with three slashes that looked like claws at
the top, and one tiny star in each corner of the lower portion, a
German iron cross at the bottom, and all the symbols were enclosed in
a circle. There was something at the bottom that glinted in the
light, but I couldn’t see what it was. I dumped out the
contents and my heart stopped beating.

My hand went
reflexively to the necklace Jeff had given me.

It was gone.

I never took it
off. He’d given it to me as a wedding present, saying:
I
started wishing upon a star then I found you, and wished no more.

Yet on the table was
the small silver star. I remembered I had it on last night when I got
into bed. I know I did, because I played with it whenever I thought
about Jeff. And, after that physical connection with Chase, I’d
been feeling a bit guilty and conflicted and sad all week. I’d
wanted to kiss more than Chase’s scratchy cheek, and the scent
of him had me lingering and breathing deep, until I came to my senses
with a strong case of embarrassment.

I had been wondering
about moving on, afraid to even think it. But wait. This couldn’t
be the same star. Mine had an engraving.