The Winter Spirit ARE (2 page)

She ran her hand down the curve of her hip and flashed me a coquettish smile. “Well, I am hot stuff, if I say so myself.”

“That you are.” I sidled toward the back door. “He let you out a lot faster than he ever releases me.”

“I have a secret weapon.” She wiggled the sharpie at me, then stuffed it down the front of her blouse.

I eyed her cleavage. “You threatened to draw a penis on all the mirrors?”

Elisa slapped my arm and laughed. “A mustache, oh my God. Where does your mind take you? Also you call him Gabe. He hates that.”

“What good’s a ghost if I can’t annoy him now and again?” A few more steps and I could slide the eggs on the counter and sneak—

“Hold on a minute. We weren’t done talking about your friend Owen. You said he might not remember you, but you obviously have no problem remembering him.” She peered at me, and I didn’t entirely like the glint of compassion in her eyes. “Did you love him?”

I suppressed a sigh because it would give away more than anything I could say, and put the eggs on the counter. Elisa probably knew me better than anyone else left alive, so there was no point lying to her. She’d responded to my wanted ad when I was ready to open the B&B nine years ago, and we’d been best friends ever since. “I was very young and naive. I never told him. He’s probably long married by now and can’t even remember that awkward chubby kid he used to hang out with. It doesn’t matter.”

“It’s a big enough deal that you’re giving him the best room in the house. And the closest one to your bedroom. You never use that room unless you absolutely have to.”

“Just…leave it, okay? If he doesn’t remember me I don’t want you to make a big deal out of it. Like I said, it’s been over twenty years. The last I heard he was in a relationship. I’m just…”

She rolled her eyes. “Feeling nostalgic. I get it. Is he the reason why you never…?” She left the question hanging and I pretended I didn’t understand.

“I need to start cooking breakfast for our guests,” I told her. “But I’ll go get your tree first. Where do you want it?”

For a second I thought she wasn’t going to let it go, but she took a tiny step back and said, “The foyer, I think.”

“Sure thing.” I left the kitchen and stepped into the mudroom where I found a pair of boots and a thick winter coat. Another foot of snow had fallen overnight. I’d have to clear the drive before Owen got here. Or in case one of the other guests wanted to leave. Whatever.

I shook my head. This was no good. I aimed for Elisa’s car and popped the trunk, lifted the giant box with a grunt, and trudged back toward the house. I wasn’t ever going to admit it, but the tree would make the foyer look perfect. It was the scorch marks the last one had left I wasn’t a fan of.

“Mother loving fuck.” I pushed the snow blower across the tracks Elisa’s car had left and nearly skidded on an ice patch. My breath fanned hot into my fleece tube scarf but the icy wind turned it into a frosty wet patch almost immediately. A gust of snow hit my back and snuck under my jacket. If I didn’t know better, I’d suspect Gabe.

The driveway to the Lake House was long and winding and it took me a good hour to clear the whole thing. I grumbled at the last couple of feet I had to clear at street level, and then kept grumbling all the way back up the driveway. If only all this sweating and grunting would help reduce my waistline, but no.

In the distance I heard the groan of Michigan Center’s salt trucks and I hoped they’d make it all the way down to Round Lake. It was a beautiful little spot in the summer, but in the winter the only sign there was a lake here at all were the small fishing huts for people who liked to pretend ice fishing was in any way enjoyable.

I liked to fish, sure. On a hot summer’s day. When the temperatures hit the twenties and lower, I wanted to be inside by the fireplace with a pair of thick socks and a good book. And if that made me boring, so be it. There weren’t an awful lot of accidents, but every once in a blue moon there was news of someone going through the ice, and no thank you, sir.

I pushed the snow blower into the barn and locked it away. As I hurried inside and kicked off the ice-covered boots, I pried off my mittens and peered at my watch. The face of it fogged up, but I could read the ten am loud and clear, and groaned. This day was going to take forever.

Usually Elisa made the guest beds, but today I needed to keep my brain occupied or I’d be a mess by the time two o’clock rolled around. For a while I tried to pretend I didn’t care Owen was coming, in case I could actually trick myself into believing it, but I kept sneaking glances at the clocks discreetly positioned throughout all the rooms.

“Gabe, are you actually turning the clocks back? If you are, I’m getting this place exorcised. I’m not kidding.”

No response. The bastard. I unfolded a crisp white sheet with a sharp snap and let it drift down onto the bed. At first I’d thought Mrs. Anderson and Mr. Houzer weren’t acquainted, but this was the second night his bed hadn’t been slept in. Maybe those groaning squeaks last night hadn’t been Gabe’s after all.

I usually went by the philosophy whatever guests got up to was none of my business unless they destroyed property, but people cheating on their spouses always made me want to over-salt their eggs and feed them decaf. I must’ve stomped a little on my way to the next bedroom because the mirror in the narrow hallway shook. I glared at it, but nothing else happened. Even though I knew my guests were out on the B&B’s snowmobiles, I knocked anyway. No answer came, so I pushed the laundry cart into the room, and yeah. Her bed had been slept in, all right. Muttering to myself about cheaters and getting what’s coming to them, I stripped the bed with minimal skin contact, and stuffed the sheets into the cart. I was about to go hunt for dirty towels when the door opened behind me and I startled.

“There you are,” Elisa said. She opened her mouth to say more, took another look at me, and changed track. “Why do you look like you’ve been sucking on a lemon?”

I pointed at the bed. “Slept in.” I pointed at the wall connecting the room to Houzer’s. “Not slept in. Again.”

Elisa gave me a disapproving look. “You’re jumping to conclusions. Be nice.”

I guffawed. “What other conclusion is there to jump to?”

“They’re guests. Paying guests in the low season. They’re not here to be judged by you. Also, Owen Ashurst is on the line.”

My mouth dropped open. “Is he canceling?” I asked. Oh God. I sounded distraught, but it was too late to take it back now. The look of disapproval disappeared from Elisa’s face and she gave me a soft smile.

“He didn’t say. He wants to talk to you, but I guess if he was canceling he’d have just told me.”

“Okay.” I didn’t move.

“Well, get going. He’s waiting.”

“Right.” I had to pry my fingers off the cart.

“I’ll finish up here,” Elisa said. I nodded dumbly, making my feet walk toward the door, the hallway, down the wide staircase covered in plush white carpet, and behind the reception desk.

The light on the phone was blinking, so at least Owen was still there. I lifted the horn and my voice sounded sandpapery when I said, “The Lake House, this is Nathaniel.”

A beat of silence, then, “Nate? Oh thank God. Oh man, it’s so good to hear your voice.”

I blinked hard as my central nervous system jolted me out of my daze. “Owen?” I almost whispered.

A soft throaty laugh tickled my ear and I firmly planted my hand on the cool wood of the desk. “Yeah, of course. You knew it was me, right?”

“I…”
Hoped
. “Yeah, I thought it might be.”

“Shit.” Another soft laugh. “This is so surreal. I can’t wait to see you. But listen, I’m stuck about ten minutes out. At the Roseland Memorial Gardens? My car just died. I tried calling a tow, but there was no answer.”

“Yeah, Dusty’s probably out salting the roads. He does that in the winter. I’ll come get you. Does your heating still work?”

“No, but I’m fine. I thought about walking—”

“Don’t. The wind shear is below zero. I’ll be there in ten.”

“Thanks Nate,” Owen said softly, and every single hair on the back of my neck stood to attention.
Shit
.

“Sure,” I croaked. “No problem.” I hung up. For a few seconds I stood rooted to the spot. Then I raced up the stairs and almost tripped over the rug on the landing. I shoved the door to the Eerie room open. “Elisa, I need you to go pick up Owen.”

She stuck her head out of the bathroom. “What?”

“His car broke down at the Memorial Gardens. I need you to go pick him up.”

She gave me a disbelieving look. “And what’s stopping you from doing it?”

My hands fluttered involuntarily up in the air and I quickly clasped them behind my back. “I have…a thing.” Oh for fuck’s sake.

Her expression made me feel like I was ten years old. “Man up and go do the rescuing, Nate.”

“But—”

Maybe she saw a wild, untethered look in my eyes, because that was how I felt. Like my sedate, safe little life was about to be rocked off balance. She sighed. “It’ll be fine. You’ll either still love him, or you won’t, and it won’t make an ounce of difference if he’s married. Better just get it out of the way. Now go, before he freezes to death.”

“Shit.” I spun on my heels and made a detour into my room to check I didn’t look too disheveled. As soon as I stepped into my bathroom, Gabe was there.

“Get out of that hideous shirt,” he said, looking at me like he’d smelled something bad. Can ghosts smell? I should ask him some time.

Wait, what?

“What’s wrong with my shirt?” I looked down at the blue and white flannel, and then back up at Gabe. His eyebrows were about to disappear into his neat, gelled hairline, or whatever they used in those days.

He smoothed a hand over his cravat. “Well, there’s nothing right with it,” he said, and I rolled my eyes.

“Your fashion sense is over a century old. What do you know?” So what if his suit always looked perfect? “I don’t have time for this.”

I stepped into my bedroom, rushed for the door, and was hit in the face with a smooth, blue shirt I didn’t even know I owned.

“Wear it!” Gabe yelled from the bathroom.

“Go haunt a cemetery!” I yelled back, and hurried away. I was in my truck in record time, and thanked whatever Gods were watching that Dusty was salting the roads.

I scooted the seat back in my truck since Elisa had driven it yesterday to pick up our groceries. The initial fantasy of showing up in my little convertible lasted as long as it took for the image of being stranded right alongside Owen to take over.

God, I was nervous. I adjusted my rearview mirror.

“He’s probably ugly,” I told my reflection. “And bald. And has two and a half children, and a grumpy cat.” Wouldn’t that make life easier? I shoved the truck into drive and aimed for the Memorial Gardens.

The small road down from the Lake House was a struggle but Dusty had already cleared the rest, so I found Owen in no time. I tried to peer inside as I drove past a stranded Toyota with its blinkers on, but all I saw was a mop of blond hair. Not bald, then.

The cab still hadn’t warmed up, so I left the engine running as I did a U-turn and parked behind Owen. I jumped out of the truck, took a deep, icy breath and straightened my shoulders. The door of the Toyota opened and a long leg folded out, followed by the rest of Owen Ashurst.

Well. Not ugly either, then.

“Oh my God.” Owen pressed his hands to his slightly pink cheeks. “Nate. Look at you. Oh my God.” He laughed that husky laugh of his that’d only deepened over the years, and I felt it reverberate in my bones.

“Owen,” I said, forcing myself to keep moving. “It’s good to see you.” I stretched out my hand but he ignored it and pulled me in for a hug. He was a few inches shorter than me—which was weird—but he smelled exactly the same. A stab of self-consciousness reared its ugly head when my belly pushed against his rock hard front, but I tried not to think about it. Fighting the urge to close my eyes and shove my nose behind his ear, I awkwardly patted his back before freeing myself. He held onto my arms though, and beamed up at me.

“God, you haven’t changed at all. And at the same time,
boy
, have you changed.”