By Calista Fox
Copyright 2011 by Calista Fox
Smashwords Edition
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
By Mary Leo
Copyright 2011 by Mary Leo
Smashwords Edition
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
By Erin Quinn
Copyright © 2011 by Erin Grady
Smashwords Edition
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
Published in the United States by Pryde Multimedia, LLC
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
A Chill at Twilight © 2011 Calista Fox
A Shadow at Twilight © 2011 Mary Leo
A Shiver at Twilight © Erin Grady
Cover Art by A. D. Holt
Calista Fox
A Chill at Twilight
By Calista Fox
Hell Hath No Fury Like a Best Friend Scorned…
With her country music career in a downward spiral, Rachel Holt returns to her hometown of Onyx, Texas. There, a sexy cowboy named Luc Winston and a ghost as ominous as the town’s namesake awaits her. Not only is the ghost of Rachel’s best friend, who died seven years ago, haunting the Whispering Willow Inn where Rachel is staying, she’s terrorizing Rachel.
Believing Peyton’s ghost feels slighted by her long absence and her sizzling, rekindled romance with too-hot-to-handle Luc, Rachel tries to make amends with the scorned spirit. Only to discover a web of secrets and lies that leave her questioning whether Peyton’s death was an accident, as reported…or murder. But can she survive the ghost’s fury long enough to get to the truth?
Dear Readers:
Paranormal romance is one of my favorite genres to write, but this is my very first ghost story. A Chill at Twilight is the spawn of another story from which I deleted the paranormal elements and sold as a contemporary erotic romance. I’d backburnered Peyton Tipton’s tragic demise for a few years, not knowing how I was going to tell her story. Then Rachel and Luc sprang to mind as a one-time super-couple trying to reunite. I thought the ghost of their high school friend, Peyton, provided a great obstacle they’d have to work together to try to overcome.
I hope you enjoy reading this story as much as I enjoyed writing it. If you’re familiar with my work, you can expect a hot-and-heavy romance between Rachel and Luc that’s as emotionally charged as it is sexually charged—keep the fan on!
Happy Reading!
Calista
Onyx, Texas
Seven Years Ago
The shadow that fell over Peyton Tipton made her eyes snap open.
“If you have nothing kind to say,” she told the intruder who’d interrupted her peaceful respite, “then just go away. I’m tired of arguing with you.”
“You’re being selfish and foolish, Peyton. And we’re all going to suffer for it.”
The quiet fury in those words destroyed the tranquility she’d sought in this private sanctuary overlooking the lake with the forest at her back. Beside her canvas chair stood an intricate lattice with a vanilla orchid vine climbing up it. The soothing scent from the flowers mingled with the woodsy aroma to create a serene environment…when she wasn’t being yelled at.
“In the end,” she said, “the decision is mine to make. And only mine.”
A light mist began to fall, the prelude to another summer squall. The moisture dampened her skin and her long, copper-colored curls. She barely noticed as she was catapulted back into the unexpected nightmare her life had become.
“You’ll ruin my life, too. It affects us all, you know that. ”
Pushing herself out of the chair, Peyton stood and crossed her arms low in front of her, covering her stomach in a protective way.
“I told you what I want. I’m not changing my mind. Not for anyone, including you.”
The controlled rage slipped. “You’re only eighteen years old and you’re going to throw away an entire future on one mistake!”
“It wasn’t a mistake,” she insisted, her heart breaking at the betrayal before her. She’d trusted this person to stand by her.
Yes, okay. So maybe that did make her foolish.
Yet, still she asked, “How can you even think of it like that?”
Hands that should be gentle gripped her upper arms, strong and unyielding. The fingertips pressed into her muscles as though making their own point. A dangerous one.
“Think of what people will say, Peyton, when they find out. The whole town will be talking about you and the sin you’ve committed.”
The clenching around her biceps tightened, and what she thought was intended to be a mild shake instead jarred her to the core of her being, it was so forceful. Her head whipped back from the jolt, her eyes bulging in their sockets.
She yelped in surprise. “You’re hurting me!”
“Then listen to me!”
She trembled from the pain she felt and the anger directed at her—and her baby. Tears sprang to her eyes at the injustice. But she wouldn’t back down.
“No one’s going to tell me what I can or can’t do with my own body.”
She broke free of the tight grip on her arms and stalked off.
“Peyton, don’t walk away from me.”
“You can’t tell me what to do anymore. I will have this baby. No one can stop me.”
Yet, the snapping of twigs behind her from feet that moved as fast as hers did made her fear otherwise. Picking up the pace, she wove her way through the trees, rushing along the ledge of the short cliff that dropped to the water’s edge, mindful of where she stepped.
The damp ground and patches of grass were slick from the drizzle that had started with the onset of this latest argument. Fitting, she thought in dismay.
“You can’t always have it your way, Peyton.” The voice behind her turned dark and menacing. “I won’t let you ruin all of our lives.”
She broke into a run, her heart thundering in her chest. She could see the tall dormers of the inn through the willow trees that dotted the property and focused on making it back there safely before a full-blown storm erupted. She’d lock herself in her room to keep all the negativity out. She couldn’t take much more of it.
“Stop following me,” she shouted, still being pursued. “Leave me alone!”
“Do what’s right, Peyton. Get rid of this baby!”
She stumbled and fell to her knees, her frustration and angst mounting. But she’d survived the worst part of her unplanned pregnancy. She’d make it through the rest.
Slowly, she stood, maintaining her balance with one shoe pressed against a flat rock to stabilize her. As she moved forward, the rubber sole slid over the moss-covered surface, causing her foot to slip out from beneath her. The other one followed suit as the slick mud shifted under her weight. She cried out as her bottom hit the ground. Her wrist twisted as her hand tried to brace her against the fall, and then it, too, slid away in the mire and her back slammed against the hard earth. A breath later, her skull smacked another rock.
The fall knocked the wind out of her. Red-hot pain seared every inch of her and stars burst before her watery eyes as she stared up at the cloudy sky.
There was absolutely no escape from the torment she endured. All because of the choice she’d made. One she’d considered courageous and devoted. One so many others would call selfish and foolish when they found out about it, as she’d been reminded once again today.
“Help me up,” she implored when she got her breath back. She didn’t have to touch the back of her head to know she was bleeding. “Please. I need to go to the hospital.”
“Then everyone will find out you’re pregnant.”
The cold, heartless edge to those words scared Peyton. She rolled onto her side and crawled away, determination eclipsing the pain.
When she reached a thick pine tree, she used the trunk to help her to her feet, her fingers clawing at the rough bark. Shakily, she limped off, but her vision blurred from her head wound. Blood oozed down the nape of her neck and coated strands of hair that clung to her skin. Shock and pain made her quake from head to toe. She staggered as though drunk, unable to keep her balance. She tripped over a tree stump and her body pitched toward the edge of the cliff.
She let out another sharp cry, but it was instantly silenced when she felt a blessed tug on her shirttail, which flapped in the warm breeze. The fingers grasping the chambray covering her white tank top pulled the material taut, steadying her as she straightened. A wave of relief washed over her. She anticipated the gravitational pull that would yank her backward to safety. Never expecting the purposeful shove that forcefully propelled her forward.
A shrill scream of hopeless despair tore from her lips as she fell, shoulder-first, down the craggy surface of the short slope. She tumbled toward the lake. Seconds later, she hit the hard slab of the rocky shoreline, littered with broken tree limbs from the forest above.
Lying on her back, unable to move, she stared up at the bleak sky again, alternately sputtering and gasping for air as her body convulsed. Shocked disbelief consumed her, warring with the agony radiating throughout her body and the horror of knowing she’d failed to keep her baby safe.
Through the buzzing in her head and ears came the sound of slick mud and the occasional thud as a shoe made contact with a rock. Then, rushed footsteps came toward her.
Her gaze shifted and she stared with blurry eyes at a demon she’d never dreamed of facing.
“How could you?” she whispered, her voice as weak as her heartbeat.
Expending the last of her energy, she managed to lift a trembling hand. Her fingers skimmed over her hip, up to her stomach. They lingered there for a moment before moving higher to the top of her ribcage. The long appendages wrapped around the jagged-edged branch that pierced her from back to front, protruding from her left side. Her own sticky blood coated her fingers. Her hand fell away.
“You killed my baby. You killed us both.”
“If only you had listened to me, Peyton.” The panicked voice sounded far off. “You were just so damn stubborn!” Drifting further away. “And now you’re going to hell for your sins.” Barely echoing in her ears.
“So will you,” she whispered.
Then there was nothing but darkness.
Seven Years Later…
You are so very lost, girlfriend.
Rachel Holt’s new sports car zipped along a deserted, two-lane slab of asphalt that cut through a dense forest of oaks, elms and cedars in full autumn glory. The pseudo-tunnel of skyscraping trees blocked the sinking sun on the other side, making it difficult to tell if she still traveled west.
Plucking the sunglasses from her eyes as the natural light dimmed, she tossed them in the open Louis Vuitton tote sitting in the seat next to her. She slid a glance toward the digitized clock on the dash and frowned. She hadn’t seen another car in half an hour, making her a little lonely and a lot worried. The last gas station she’d hit had been outside of Austin—so many miles ago—and she was flirting with empty. She feared roadside assistance wouldn’t have any better luck navigating the back roads of Hill Country to get to her if she ran out of fuel or blew a tire.
Yet, civilization had to lie on the other side of this slow-rising slope. Texas could be only so big, right?
She rolled her eyes at that thought, having been raised on the theory of “size matters”, like any other good Texan.
Exasperated, and hoping she hadn’t inadvertently crossed the border into New Mexico, she said, “The directionally challenged is in need of a road sign here.” Sending out her tenth or so special request to the universe, she hoped to finally get a positive response in return. “I’m not even asking for a miracle, like a flashing green arrow pointing me in the right direction. Just, you know, something other than the FM routes that don’t compute with the GPS.”
She hadn’t seen so much as a speed limit sign in fifty miles.
Her optimism continued to wane. At this point, it seemed a specific azimuthal projection—or even channeling Magellan himself—wouldn’t save her from being hopelessly lost in the Lone Star State.
“Whaddya say, Jane?” She pushed a button on her GPS. “Any thoughts as to where the hell we are in this never-ending cowboy kingdom?”
“Re-calculating,” chirped her electronic traveling companion, which had been dubbed Jane when they’d started out together on this impromptu journey. Perhaps it was Rachel’s imagination, but the British-accented voice sounded bitchier as the days wore on.
“Not the answer I was looking for,” she said with a sigh. “We’re on what’s called a Farm-to-Market route, Jane.”
“Re-calculating,” was the response she received.
“Ugh. You are so not wired for Hill Country.”
Granted, the route Rachel had taken this afternoon, following a visit to scenic Canyon Lake, had more forks in it than a five-star restaurant. All the unmarked roads in the rural area caused dozens of directional changes for the navigational instrument. The copious reminders informing Rachel she’d missed her cues just might fry the Garmin’s circuitry.
Perhaps not a bad thing at this point, because it was making Rachel feel a bit bitchy herself.
“And here I thought we were in this together.”
Resisting the urge to toss the GPS out the window—let Jane re-calculate that!—she shut off the useless device and resigned herself to getting directions the old-fashioned way. If she ever crossed paths with another human being.
Lord, let there be a pot of gold on the other side of this asphalt rainbow.
Perhaps after the devastating news that her worldwide tour had been cancelled, she simply should have hopped a flight to New York and spent a few hours in the shoe salon at Bergdorf-Goodman to salve the sting of her professional demise. According to her shrink, whom she’d recently had a few Skype sessions with, there was no woe in the world a new pair of Jimmy Choos couldn’t cure.
A waste of money on all counts, Rachel now realized. Dr. Tabitha Sorenson’s name had come from her mother’s electronic Rolodex, after all.
There’s your first mistake.
If “Dr. T.” and her shoe-shopping advice hadn’t cured Ann Holt of everything that supposedly ailed her in the eighteen or so years she’d been visiting the psychiatrist twice weekly, there wasn’t much hope for Rachel.
No, therapy wasn’t what she needed. A trip home, however… That had seemed like a good idea a few days ago. She hadn’t been back to Onyx, Texas in seven years. Not since her father’s Lear jet had whisked her off to Nashville so she could record her first album.
Ah, mistake number two.
People who flew in private planes and were chauffeured around should not attempt to drive cross-country on their own.
Yes, a new pair of shoes might have been the saner—and safer—option, but she’d signed on the dotted line for the Mercedes, anyway, and had left Nashville on Tuesday for today’s misadventures in Lonesomeville. She was damn tired of talking to herself, and Jane clearly didn’t have squat to contribute to the conversation.
Tapping out a nervous beat on the steering wheel with the tip of her finger, she anticipated reaching the top of what seemed to be the world’s longest hill. She breathed a sigh of relief as her little car finally crested the rim and burst forth from the canopied grove like a butterfly escaping its cocoon, sending leaves flying in its wake. She zoomed downward into the open valley below, only to be greeted by a blazing ball of fire still suspended above the mountain range, nearly blinding her.
“Whoa!” she shrieked and reached for the visor, dropping it to help block out some of the fiery rays of light dead-ahead that left white and gold spots exploding before her unshielded eyes. “Didn’t see that one coming.”
She’d expected the sun to have set behind the peaks by now. But at least she knew where she was as the familiar scenery came into view.
Stealing a glance in the rearview mirror, she found an array of narrow clouds catching up to her from the east, stretching across the sky like spindly fingers, infused by vibrant splashes of red, orange and gold. Dropping her gaze, Rachel was momentarily mesmerized by the brilliant colors reflected on the surface of the vast lake to her right as it sprawled toward the northern border of the mountains.
The placid water was as dark as night, save for the gilt-edged, crimson pool created by the setting sun. It seeped toward her like blood spilled on a black canvas. Hauntingly beautiful. Totally picture worthy. She would have snapped a photo with her camera were it not smothered by her favorite Roberto Cavalli fashions somewhere in the depths of Louis’s belly.
She knew from experience sunrise would be equally captivating, though with completely different shades. Typically, the morning light colored the sky deep fuchsia and purple, blended with a rich copper. She’d witnessed many a sunrise here and suddenly realized how much she missed them.
Along the shore of the lake and mounted atop a pillar of river rocks sat a large, polished obsidian stone with the words “Welcome to Onyx” engraved across it in painted-white script.
“Home sweet home,” Rachel murmured. She’d made it.
She lightened the lead foot on the accelerator and dropped to a near-debilitating twenty-five miles per hour, under the advisement of the posted signs that read, “It’s Our Town, Slow Down”. The sun disappeared behind the mountains as she pulled into a gas station. The vibrant colors overhead dissipated while she filled the tank, and the soft glow of twilight edged the dark blue sky and inky lake. A thin layer of fog snaked through the majestic pine trees along the opposite shore, then inched its way toward the lake until a shimmering silver haze hovered above the water.
On nights like this, with a storm brewing, Onyx looked as ominous as its namesake. But she’d always liked the foreboding ambience, especially this time of year, so close to Halloween.
Climbing back into the car, she’d barely crawled to the opposite end of town before dusk usurped twilight’s reign. Crossing a bridge that spanned a narrow portion of the lake, she found the tall antique lamppost she sought, three of the four globes illuminating a sign swaying in the breeze.
Whispering Willow Inn.
She suspected the inn offered the most private lodging in Onyx, given the owner didn’t advertise the accommodations. Only the locals knew about this place and reserved rooms for visiting relatives they could only take in small doses.
The add-on signage dangling beneath the inn’s moniker from the one unbroken, yet rusted hinge alerted weary travelers of a vacancy and reminded Rachel of her long trek from Nashville to Lost in Hill Country. She’d been on the road for over six hours today alone. Her butt was getting numb.
Pulling into the long, winding dirt drive, she was immersed in trees again as the willows lined both sides of the road. Rolling to a stop in the empty parking lot, she got the impression “vacancy” was a gross understatement.
She slipped from the car and stretched for a bit, working the kinks out of her cramped body. Then she hefted her two overloaded bags from the passenger’s side and traversed the winding path of cracked pavers that led to the house. She climbed the stairs of the wraparound porch, the old wooden planks straining beneath her. After ringing the bell, she waited so long for someone to answer the door she had to put the ridiculously heavy bags down. Her fault for trying to cram as much of her life into them as possible when she’d fled the world that had come crashing down around her.
The humiliation she’d suffered back in Tennessee was enough to make her want to curl up in the fetal position and weep for a week. Maybe longer. But she had to be stronger than that.
Watching as dried leaves and flower petals bounced along the walkway and across the yard as a chilly gust blew through the trees, she deduced upkeep at the Whispering Willow wasn’t a top priority. The landscaping around the inn was overgrown and in dire need of attention. Dove-gray paint flaked off the sides of the house and the detached two-car garage in large patches. Mini-dust devils swirled around the tires of her Mercedes in hopes of gaining speed and strength, but dying a slow death as the wind ebbed.
She wondered if there was even anyone home at the Whispering Willow Inn.
Ever.
Perhaps this is mistake number three…
She stepped away from the entrance, deciding to get back in her car. She’d stay at the motel in town. But the front door suddenly cracked open, stopping her dead in her tracks. The high-pitched scream of the creaky screen door followed. And then a small, frail woman who looked to be a hundred and fifty if she was a day appeared out of the darkened foyer.
Rachel bit back a gasp. The innkeeper was easily the oldest woman she’d ever laid eyes on.
Finding her manners, she said, “Sorry to disturb you.”
Rachel kept her tone soft in hopes of not overwhelming the elderly woman with her whole country music star presence. People either shrieked with joy when they met her, or clammed up so they could scrutinize her. She’d miss the former when she went from a super-somebody to an absolute nobody. A devastating reality that might happen to her faster than any one-hit wonder in history.
A sad sentiment, considering she’d had several hits. Just…not lately.
The innkeeper gave her a polite smile. “What can I do for you this evening, dear?”
There wasn’t a hint of recognition in her dark brown eyes, something Rachel rarely encountered. A bit of anonymity brought immense comfort to her. If the woman didn’t know who she was, she likely wouldn’t ask any questions. Particularly questions Rachel wasn’t prepared to answer.
“I was wondering if you still rent rooms.”
“Indeed, I do,” she replied in a surprisingly strong voice, taking Rachel aback, given her itty-bitty, pintsized stature and ghostly white hair.
“I apologize for not making a reservation in advance,” Rachel told her. “Impulsive getaway, you know?”
Or runaway.
Whatever.
“Oh, I’d be delighted to have you stay.” The woman’s severely wrinkled face lit up like a Fourth of July night sky. She clasped her somewhat knotty-jointed hands together, reminding Rachel of the spindly finger-clouds that had chased her across town.
But the innkeeper’s crinkled-around-the-edges smile was eager and inviting. She looked quite thrilled to have a visitor. A rare occasion for her? Here it was, still the scenic fall foliage season, and the inn looked deserted.
“Do come in,” she said in a breathless voice, her enthusiasm escalating. “I’m Mrs. Josephine Baker. Let me show you my rooms.”
By the looks of the place—and the empty parking lot—Rachel suspected she’d get her pick of the litter. Sure enough, after viewing all five offerings, she settled on the only room that didn’t look like a dainty rose garden had coughed up its innards in the name of décor.
“Where are you from, dear?” Mrs. Baker asked in between pointing out the highlights of the accommodations, including the private entrance in the adjacent sunroom.
“Here, originally.”
“How lovely. You’ve come back to visit your family.”
“Something like that.” Rachel didn’t have family in Texas. At least, not of the biological variety. Her mother had never left New York once she’d discovered Barney’s twenty years ago—right around Rachel’s fifth birthday. And her father’s global communications business kept him in the air or in business meetings about ninety-nine-point-nine percent of the time. His official home base was San Francisco. Or maybe it was London this year. Sydney? Christ, she couldn’t keep track anymore.
And then there was Rachel. The only child of two overachievers who’d done her damnedest to live up to their ultra-high expectations.
Failing miserably.
But no one knew that yet. Certainly not Mrs. Baker, who told her, “This room is sixty-five dollars a night. Can you afford that all right? I only take cash.”
Rachel grinned. She was typically booked into three-thousand-dollar-a-night hotel suites, so this was hardly a strain on her wallet. Nor did she mind not leaving a paper trail. She had no desire to make it easy for the paparazzi to track her down when it was discovered she’d gone AWOL.
She fished out the money and handed over enough for two nights, not knowing exactly what her plans were for the immediate future.
“Make yourself at home, dear.”
Looking thrilled by what she seemed to consider an unexpected windfall, the ancient little woman shuffled off.
Rachel dropped her bags on the bed and unpacked her toiletries. Then she dug out a pair of faded Levi’s and a black button-down sweater to wear for a trip into town. She might not have any family in the area, but she had old friends she’d missed as much as the sunsets and sunrises over the lake. Her return was long overdue and she hoped everyone would forgive her seven-year absence. Not mistake it for a slight, but understand the demands on her life had been extraordinary after she’d left town to pursue her singing career. Her time had simply not been her own these past several years.
She hadn’t even been able to break free of the hold on her to attend her best friend’s funeral. Of course, she’d been on a different continent when news of Peyton Tipton’s tragic death had reached her, but still. She’d never forgiven herself for not being here after Peyton died, and maybe that was one of the reasons she’d allowed her manager, her agent and her father to keep her on the road, far away from Onyx. She’d been too ashamed to return after being a no-show at the funeral.
But she’d make it up to everyone. Somehow.
After showering and dressing, she milled about the house, exploring the common areas of the inn. She stepped out onto the back patio and was treated to a beautiful, sweeping view of the lake, surrounded by more hellaciously tall trees. The moon hung low in the distance, its glittery rays illuminating the foggy night and dropping sparkling speckles of light on the calm lake.
“It’s like an angel’s wings fluttering on the water,” Mrs. Baker mused in a far-off voice as she stole behind Rachel, startling her.
Fighting back the “eep” that tickled her throat at the way the innkeeper had so stealthily snuck up on her, Rachel simply said, “Um, yeah.”
She didn’t really see the correlation, but who was she to burst any bubbles?
Then again, Mrs. Baker seemed to go and do that herself. With a heavy, forlorn sigh, she said, “Or like an angel’s tears falling from heaven.”
She turned quite abruptly, considering her fragile frame, and drifted back into the house, leaving Rachel speechless. A dark chill prickled the back of her neck, which she blamed on another cold gust that whistled eerily through the trees surrounding the property and rippled the water. The wind carried with it a floral scent she couldn’t identify. And the hint of vanilla.
The rich aroma lingered for the briefest of moments before fading away. She turned her head toward the house, wondering if Mrs. Baker had gone into the kitchen to bake. Is that where the smell had come from?
As she stepped inside, she crossed the back room, traveled down a short hallway and discovered the kitchen. It was empty. And devoid of any scent that could even remotely resemble vanilla.
Odd.
Tamping down the creepy feeling that slithered along her spine, she decided it was time to get the heck out of the Whispering Willow Inn and go see her friends. She had some explaining to do.
To one person in particular.
Rachel walked into the Fourth and Goal Bar & Grill and heads whipped in her direction. God, it was good to be home. She recognized dozens of faces as the regular patrons of the joint diverted their attention from the various flat-paneled TVs hanging on the walls and mounted in the corners to see who’d come in during the middle of a play. It was practically sacrilege to do so in a place like this, where Friday night football was the be-all, end-all. Not that one could actually time their entrance with a commercial break or a timeout, yet it was silently expected.
Fortunately, her intrusion didn’t appear to be the least bit unwelcomed. Her stomach had twisted into knots on the drive over, since she wasn’t sure how her return to Onyx would be received. She was monumentally pleased to see mouths gaping in delighted surprise and eyes lighting with excitement.
Again, she thought of Peyton and her dazzling smile. Rachel’s heart hurt at the memory, and she longed to see her friend’s pretty face amongst this large group of people. But she shelved the sadness and the guilt, vowing to somehow make her peace with Peyton when the time was right.
For now, she pressed a finger to her lips to keep anyone from saying her name as she moved further into the raucous sports pub. As she wove a path around the scattered tables, making her way to the bar in the back, she flashed a smile at acquaintances and squeezed the hands of old friends when she passed by them. They didn’t say a word because they all knew the one person she wanted to surprise the most. Small towns were cool that way. Everyone knowing your business wasn’t always such a bad thing.
Slipping into a narrow spot at the crowded bar, she cleared her throat loudly and said, “Excuse me, bartender? I’m looking for Dallas.”
The man she spoke to had his back to her as he pulled several bottles of beer from the cooler. Without even looking over a very broad shoulder to see who’d addressed him, he said, “Darlin’, you took a wrong turn off the interstate some two hundred miles back.”
“I meant Dallas Winston,” she shouted over the sudden outburst that followed a bum call from the ref on TV. “The owner of this joint.”
He twisted the caps off the bottles. He hadn’t yet turned around to face her, and she suspected he didn’t recognize her voice mixed with all the noise in the lively bar.
He said, “Still took a wrong turn. He retired and I own this place now.” He tossed the caps in the trash and reached for the Jack Daniels sitting on a shelf. “My dad’s in Galveston.”
“Too bad. I had hoped to see him while I’m in town. Guess I’ll just have to take a seat here at the bar and stare at your nice ass all night long.”
Those broad shoulders of his instantly bunched. She grinned, knowing he recognized her voice now. The whistles and cheers that erupted around them were not related to football, and they made her laugh.
He turned slowly to face her and the laughter died on Rachel’s lips.
“Oh, wow,” she said on a heavy breath, unable to stop the words from rushing out of her mouth as all the air seemed to leave her body.
One corner of his mouth lifted in a half-assed, sexy grin. “See somethin’ else you like, darlin’?”
Her cheeks flamed. Her gaze hadn’t been anywhere near the vicinity of his crotch, but she caught the innuendo, anyway. And resisted the urge to take in all of Lucas Winston as he stood before her, his grin turning cocky.
“I was just, you know…” She pushed strands of hair from her face as a few beads of perspiration popped out along her hairline. “Thinking your eyes are bluer than I remembered.”
“Been so long since you’ve seen ‘em, I’m surprised you even recall the color.”
Ah, here came the ribbing. The you-broke-the-cardinal-rule-of-fame-and-fortune-and-forgot-the-little-people. Only they weren’t little people to her. They were her people. Him, especially.
Swallowing down a hard lump of emotion that swelled in her throat, she said, “You don’t forget eyes like those.”
It wasn’t a line. He had the most beautiful eyes she’d ever seen. As clear and vibrant as a warm sunny day when he was laughing and joking. As deep and dark as a sapphire when in dim lighting, like tonight, or when he was angry. Or aroused. She’d witnessed the varying shades of Luc’s eyes a million times. Nothing was more mesmerizing.
He served the beers and poured a shot of whiskey, then sauntered toward her. Someone had given up their seat for a lady in the typical southern gentlemanly fashion and she slid onto the now-empty barstool.
“What are you drinking?” Luc asked, though a dozen different questions seemed to swirl in his hypnotic irises. Questions she was certain he wouldn’t ask tonight, because she’d caught him off guard and he was one to collect his thoughts and have his wits about him before he delved too deep into philosophical matters. Like why she hadn’t called him in over a year.
“Hot tea with honey,” she said. “Sore vocal cords.”
He studied her a moment, then gave a slight shake of his head as a playful taunt flashed in his eyes. “Friday night lights, darlin’.” His gaze slid to the huge flat screen over the bar before returning to her. “It’s either beer or whiskey in honor of a Texas tradition.”
His southern drawl was as arousing as a tender kiss on the nape of the neck. And oh, how she longed to feel his lips on her skin, his hands on her body. The seven years she’d been away seemed to melt into oblivion and she fell head-over-heels in lust all over again.
Well, in truth, she’d never stopped wanting him, though she’d had to give him up when her star was on the rise.
Ignoring the bitter taste of regret in her mouth, she said, “I’m driving.”
He leaned toward her and in a low, intimate tone, told her, “I’ll make sure you get home safe.”
She smirked, despite the flutter in her stomach. “Gee, if I had a dime for every time I’ve heard that from you.”
His grin widened, crinkling the skin around his eyes. He was simply too handsome for words. Rugged in the cowboy way that drove women wild. Gentle in the way that made schoolgirls swoon. Sexy in the way that nearly made Rachel melt off her barstool.
His twinkling eyes were framed by long, sooty lashes. He had chiseled cheekbones and a David Beckham-squared jaw. The longish strands of his hair were as black as the lake outside and the bangs were pushed back from his face. A small bump on the bridge of his nose kept it from being flawless and added a dangerous edge to him that was downright titillating.
He’d taken a punch when a kid in school had dared to make a bold and unwelcomed pass at her. Luc had given him the first swing, because he’d known the kid would never get a second one in. He was of the knight-in-shining-armor variety, and once he’d marked his territory, no one had ever messed with Rachel again.
She could stop now with the visual assessment and think he was the most gorgeous man in the world. She didn’t even have to take into consideration his wide, muscular chest, which his tight black T-shirt stretched across. Or his rock-hard biceps. Or his flat stomach and lean hips and long, powerful legs.
And who could forget his ass? Certainly not her.
She hadn’t been kidding when she’d said she was willing to sit here all night and stare at it. At twenty-five, he still had the butt of an eighteen-year-old quarterback. No, it was even better than that. Eighteen-year-olds likely wished they had an ass like his.
“So, what’ll it be?” he asked as he rested his forearms on the walnut wood in front of her and stared deep into her eyes, making her breath hitch. “A drink and some football, or should I just close the joint down now and take you home with me?”
A tickle along her clit made her shift uncomfortably in the chair as she bit back a moan. Geez, Louise. The man oozed sex appeal from every pore of his body, and her buried-but-not-dead desire for him sparked to life in a way that unnerved her.
He was much more potent than she’d expected. More than she could handle?
Likely.
“I just got back into town, Luc,” she said, her voice a sultry whisper she barely recognized. “Give a girl a chance to catch her breath after she’s laid eyes on the grown-up version of you for the first time.”
Sure, he’d been hunky as a teenager. Star quarterback and all that. But seven years later… Holy moly. Time had most definitely been kind to this man. And the drool forming at the corners of her mouth proved it.
He said, “Guess I’ve got you at a disadvantage. I get to see your beautiful face on TV all the time.”
His gaze roved over her body, taking in the cleavage she’d purposely created with a push-up bra and an extra button left open at the top of her sweater. She’d styled her dark chocolate-colored hair in the fat, fluffy curls he’d always liked. Though she hadn’t worn much makeup in high school, she preferred smoky eyes these days and had done up her hazel ones for this occasion. She balanced the look with neutral-colored, glossy lips.
“I gotta say, Rach,” he told her with a glint of awe and lust in his eyes—the expression likely mirroring her own. “You’re even hotter in person.”
She sighed longingly, to hell with the busybodies sliding sideways glances at them. “Okay, you can close the joint down and take me home now.” Her breathy tone seemed to captivate him, because he looked as though he actually might follow through with the tempting offer.
But, of course, he was just teasing. This was Texas and it was Friday night. The local high school obviously had an away game, given the packed-to-the-rafters bar. And everyone was keeping tabs on playoff and scouting potential. No one was leaving this place until the final touchdown flashed on the scoreboard.
Luc stared at her a few seconds more, his jaw tightening, as though he were actually mulling over the idea of leaving with her before it was even halftime.
Then he straightened and said, “I’ll get that tea for you.”
“Make it a Chivas on the rocks. Double.”
She definitely needed something to cool her insides and ease the sexual tension created by his lingering gazes and honey-dripping voice. In fact, when he turned away, she slipped out of her leather jacket and reached for a cocktail napkin to fan herself.
Good grief, she could jump his bones right here and now!
Well, the chances of that actually happening were slim to none. Not only was she not a fan of displays of public affection, Rachel was still a virgin and had no idea how to jump a man’s bones—certainly not this one’s. In truth, she wasn’t the least bit sure what to do with a man like Luc Winston, but she had a head full of fantasies starring Mr. Tall, Dark and Dreamy that went well beyond an R rating. She was more than willing to try them all out.
Though they’d dated for five years in school—and had been inseparable long before that—they’d barely messed around. Not that she hadn’t wanted to go all the way with him. For Christ’s sake, not only was the man a living legend in Texas football—having to forsake a promising professional career because of a crushed rotator cuff and a detached bicep—he was ridiculously good-looking and unwaveringly loyal. The sweetest guy a girl could ever hope to know.
But, again, she was the daughter of overachievers. She’d been terrified of the possibility of getting pregnant, even though she’d been on the pill and Luc had promised to use a condom. Double the protection wasn’t enough to quell her fears of dashing her parents hopes for her.
Though, admittedly, Luc had been insanely difficult to resist. Truth be told, it’d been hell leaving him when fame and fortune had called. But to stay here…
Onyx didn’t have much to offer by way of stellar professions. The only reason her father had brought her here in the first place was because of the music program at Onyx High. The director scouted talent at the elementary-school level and one had to be on his radar screen for years in order to receive an invitation to participate in his program when they reached high school. From there…the sky was pretty much the limit for anyone who didn’t burn out or sell out.
The latter being the current bane of her existence. Onyx’s musical stars were offered prestigious college scholarships, but Rachel’s father had had bigger aspirations for his daughter, and she’d followed his dreams—to her own detriment.
She shook that thought out of her head. The last thing she wanted to think about was her quick rise to the top, and her unexpected fall to the bottom.
Word hadn’t spread yet to Onyx, thank God, and everyone at the bar wanted to tell her how much they enjoyed her music and how they always watched her on the awards and talk shows. They fawned over her, and she didn’t see a hint of pity in their eyes—because they didn’t yet know the plug had been pulled on her latest tour and her career was on a downward spiral.
By the end of the night, she buzzed from the booze Luc served, but also from the joy of seeing her high school friends and many of the people she’d known most of her life. When the clock ran out on the football game and Luc eventually announced last call, the anticipation of some alone-time with him brought on a contradictory feeling of excitement and apprehension. Creating a serious bout of internal vacillation.
As he and his staff tidied up the bar, she fidgeted with the zipper on her jacket. The thought of not spending the night at the Whispering Willow Inn was certainly an appealing one, but going home with Luc, if that was what he truly had on his mind, was as anxiety-provoking as feeling that strange chill she’d experienced at the inn.
By the time he walked her to his truck, she was a bundle of nerves.
So ridiculous, she thought. She’d traveled the world and had conversed, dined and partied with celebrities, dignitaries and sports legends. She’d performed in front of thousands of screaming fans and had stood at countless podiums, accepting the highest awards.
And yet, here she was, wringing her hands and wondering why the hell she hadn’t stuck with the hot tea so she could drive herself back to the inn.
Speaking of… “My car will be safe here tonight?” she asked as she swayed a little on her black suede ankle boots, trimmed with folded-over leopard fur.
“I’m sure of it. Where am I taking you?”
He posed the question with a sideways glance that told her he was looking for the right answer from her.
Decision time.
Rachel hedged.
They reached the truck and he gave her an expectant look. The problem she faced was not just a debate over whether she would or wouldn’t sleep with Luc tonight. Hell, he might not even hit on her. Though the way his eyes glowed seductively under the parking lot lights confirmed he would.
Physical intimacy made her uneasy, yes. Mostly because of her lack of experience. But what also held her back was the fact that Luc would want to ask all those questions she’d practically seen churning in his brain all night long.
She wasn’t quite ready to face the music, so she said, “Whispering Willow Inn is where I’m staying.”
“Gotcha.”
He helped her into the lifted truck and then climbed into the driver’s seat without saying another word. He took her across the lake, the silence turning awkward. He’d wanted to take her home with him and now he thought she wasn’t interested.
Not the case, at all. He was just so overwhelming to her senses. Sure, he’d always been attractive and aggressive in school. But now he was so much more manly and virile and… Yes, every fiber of her being wanted him. In ways she didn’t fully understand. In ways that surely weren’t ladylike. In ways she didn’t know how to communicate, express, explore.
She pressed two fingers and a thumb to her forehead as she rested her elbow on the window ledge. Stupid, stupid me. She should have waited until tomorrow to see him. She could have used the evening at the inn to assimilate to Onyx and the huge variance in lifestyle from Nashville. And then, once she had her feet more firmly beneath her, she could have had this reunion with him. It likely would have gone more smoothly.
But as the lamppost came into view, she was pretty sure she couldn’t have just hung around the Whispering Willow all night without being creeped to high hell. Even as they pulled into the drive, she decided there was just something downright not right about this place. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but she could see she wasn’t the only one who felt that way. Luc cut the engine and then stared at the front of the mammoth house, cast mostly in shifting shadows. He gnawed his lower lip for a few moments, giving her more jitters.
Finally, he asked, “Why’d you choose this place?”
She shrugged. “Daddy never sold the mansion and he keeps on a skeleton housekeeping staff, but it’s so cold and impersonal there.” The very reason she’d spent so much time at the Winston ranch, with Luc, his parents and the half-dozen horses in the barn out back. Of the inn, she said, “Millie Whitmore had an aunt stay here once, like maybe fifteen years ago. It seemed nice. Plus it’s low-profile, so I figured I’d be sort of anonymous here.”
“You could have stayed with me.”
She let out a short laugh. “You don’t let up, do you?” Not that she minded…
His head turned toward her and he pinned her with a pointed look, his deep blue eyes shimmering in the moonlight. “I didn’t specifically say in my bed. The house has guestrooms. And I converted the split floor of the barn into a loft, remember? There’s plenty of space.”
“I didn’t mean to offend you.” Rachel reached a hand out and placed it on his muscular forearm. He hadn’t bothered to put his jacket on when they’d left the bar, though he’d carried it with him. She liked that her view of his hunky body wasn’t obstructed by additional clothing, and noted that, quite clearly, he still worked out religiously.
“I’m not offended,” he said. “A little disappointed, maybe. It’s not like I’m some guy you just met at a bar.”
“I know. I’m sorry.” Her heart felt heavy again, the way it had when she’d thought of Peyton, the friend she’d failed. She’d basically snubbed Luc, too, though that had never been her intention. She loved him with all her heart and soul, though the only time she’d ever told him that was the night before she’d left town. Then seven years had passed and the phone calls had dwindled to nil and here she was now, treating him like they were strangers. They were anything but.
Yet, they weren’t boyfriend and girlfriend anymore, either. She’d freed him of commitment and guilt when she’d chosen Nashville over him.
A very bad, bad choice. But one she couldn’t take back. Nor could she fully rectify the situation. She couldn’t just breeze back into town and say, “Here I am! Let’s pick up where we left off!”
Despite wanting to do that very thing, it wouldn’t be fair to Luc. And who knew how he’d moved on without her here. He didn’t wear a wedding ring, but he could be attached. She’d seen the women at the Fourth and Goal do exactly what she’d done when she’d laid eyes on him, practically drooling and tripping all over themselves to get his attention.
Then again, she knew him well enough to know he would’ve ‘fessed up from the get-go if he were involved with someone.
He was honest and forthright, always saying what was on his mind, rather than making her guess. She owed him the same courtesy.
“I didn’t know how you’d feel about me coming back,” she told him. “I mean, whether you’d be angry with me for staying away for so long.”
He gave a sharp nod of his head. “Your absence has been duly noted by many. Myself included.” Returning his attention to the inn, he said, “The main reason I’m surprised you chose to stay here is because this is where Peyton died.”
She snatched her hand away as though she’d been burned. “What? Oh, my God. I had no idea.”
Was that the reason she found this place so eerie? She hadn’t known her best friend had died on the premises, but she’d felt something was off about the inn. And all the chilly currents of air and the distinct smell of vanilla…
She gasped at the remembrance of the aroma. “Oh, crap.”
Peyton had loved vanilla orchids. She’d studied how to artificially pollinate them at her father’s nursery, since the flower was native to Mexico and required a specific bee for pollination not found in the States. Very few people had known that about Peyton, but of course, Rachel had.
She was certain all of the color drained from her face. Luc reached over and held her chin between his thumb and forefinger as he studied her closely.
“Hey, what just happened? You look like you saw a ghost.”
It was a figure of speech, she knew. But it hit way too close to home. Or this inn, to be exact. “Not yet. But something tells me I might.”
She swallowed hard, hoping to wash down the fear rising in her throat. All things supernatural freaked the hell out of her.
“You mean…Peyton?” He stared curiously at her. His dark eyes glowed with concern, though he was clearly perplexed. “Darlin’, Peyton’s long gone.”
“Oh, yeah? How can you be sure?”
“She’s not haunting the inn, Rach. Don’t you think someone would have mentioned it?”
“Maybe no one noticed. I mean, someone staying here wouldn’t know about Peyton’s obsession with vanilla orchids, so how would they know her spirit’s still lingering here?”
He stared at her, now thoroughly confused. “What are you talking about?”
“I smelled a floral scent and vanilla.”
“Where?”
“Out back, earlier. I was looking at the lake when a cold gust of air blew and a strange feeling prickled the back of my neck. Then Mrs. Baker came out and made some comment about the flashes of light on the water…something about angels’ wings. No, angels’ tears. Falling from heaven.” That dark chill she’d felt earlier shot down her spine, making her shiver. “Not angels’ tears,” she amended. “An angel. Just one. She meant Peyton.”
That must be why Mrs. Baker had seemed so forlorn. She’d been thinking of the girl who’d died on her property.
“Now, Rachel.” His expression turned incredulous, but that familiar “I’d believe anything you said, even if you told me the sky was falling” look flickered in his eyes. That alone would have brought all of her feelings for him rushing back, if that hadn’t already happened the moment he’d turned to greet her at the bar. She’d been awestruck by his vibrant eyes and his whole overwhelming, too-hot-to-handle presence from that very first look at him.
They’d known each other since kindergarten. They were connected in ways Rachel couldn’t even begin to describe. And even though she was spouting what sounded like nonsense—though it didn’t feel like nonsense—he would give her the benefit of the doubt. She knew it deep in her soul.
His hand left her face and raked through his thick hair. He slid a glance toward the inn before his gaze locked with hers again.
“What if you just…thought…?”
“What? That I smelled vanilla and felt the chill? That I just imagined those things? Why would I?” She didn’t demand an explanation; her voice was neutral.
He said, “Okay, Rach. If you think it’s possible Peyton’s spirit is still here, you know I’m going to believe you.”
“I know,” she said, her tone grateful. She gnawed the inside of her cheek a moment, then told him, “I didn’t know she died here.”
Though she’d been thinking about her friend before she’d left her room, so…
Rachel let out a sigh. “Maybe I did imagine it all.”
Luc said, “I’m not saying you made it up, sweetheart.”
She nodded. “It sounds crazy, though. I get that. And maybe I did just conjure all of this stuff. Overactive imagination and all that. Plus, I’m really tired. I don’t sleep much and…” She shook her head. It was a steadfast rule she’d imposed upon herself to not complain to other people about the strains of her career. She’d been given a gift from God and was grateful for it. Hard work and exhaustion were the dues she paid for said gift.
Luc got out of the truck and came around to her side. He opened the door and she unhooked her seatbelt and let him help her down.
He brushed a finger over her cheek and said, “Get some sleep. You’re probably just missing Peyton like the rest of us.”
She nodded. “And feeling guilty for not coming home for her funeral. But I was in Spain when Daddy told me the news. I had a concert that night and the funeral was the next day. I couldn’t possibly make it home in time. And I had another show the next night.”
“No one laid any blame on you, darlin’. Everyone’s proud of you, and there are no delusions about how busy you must be.”
She dared to ask, “So you’ll forgive me for not calling lately?”
“Lately?” He shook his head. Though his tone was teasing, the angles of his face were a bit harder. “We haven’t talked for seventeen months, Rach. I’ve counted each one.”
Her stomach plummeted to her knees. “I’m sorry.”
“I just want to know why. I mean we’ve spent our whole lives practically joined at the hip. And even during those first couple of years apart, we stayed in touch regularly.”
But then it had gotten harder, being separated from him. She’d realized the huge mistake she’d made by kowtowing to her parents, but couldn’t bring herself to stop what she’d put into motion.
Missing Luc was a torment she suffered in silence. Not in a million years would she have made it more difficult on him by telling him she wanted to come home, to be with him. Not when she knew it was impossible. She’d resigned herself to putting distance between them in hopes of easing the emotional burden.
It hadn’t worked for her, but she’d hoped it had for him.
Unfortunately, she feared her confession would only confuse him further, particularly since she hadn’t told him she was coming back to Onyx and wasn’t taking him up on his offer to stay at the ranch.
But he deserved no less than total honesty, so she said, “With all the traveling and appearances, I’m never in the right time zone. But that’s hardly an excuse. We could text. I guess it just got easier on my heart to not contact you at all.”
That included returning his calls. Though she’d listened to his voicemail messages over and over again.
Stepping away from him, she dug the key to the sunroom out of her front pocket.
“Thanks for the ride, cowboy.”
He gave a sharp lift of his chin. A half-nod. He was letting her off the hook, good guy that he was.
But she didn’t feel inclined to go. She didn’t walk past him. Maybe she didn’t want to be let off the hook.
She said, “Just because I don’t call, it doesn’t mean I’m not thinking about you. I do. All the time.”
“Rach.” He reached for her and wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her to him. His beautiful blue eyes searched hers for Lord only knew what. A resolution to their ships-passing-in-the-night encounter this evening?
“I wouldn’t hold you back,” he told her.
Tears stung her eyes as she said, “Sometimes, Luc, I wish you would.”
It was the closest she’d ever come to making such an admission. To telling him all she’d ever really wanted in life was to marry him and have his children. To stay with him right here in Onyx.