Haunt Me (10 page)

“Well, I don’t want to abandon you…”

A glance over his shoulder revealed her attention focused on the drawing room she’d gradually turned into her office. “Mac?”

“Yeah?”

“Go write. I want you to have all that story that’s in your head out of it so that when we go on our date Friday, your attention is on me.”

Her cheeks heated to a rosy shade and she ducked her chin, auburn hair falling down to shield her face from view.

Letting her chew on that, he prowled through the house and checked the hall lights. They were still out, but that could be the bulbs. Glass crunched beneath his work boots and he eyed the remnants of the lightbulb she’d dropped.

Her bedroom door opened with a twist. His gaze skated over the disheveled powder-blue sheets and heavier quilt. The room smelled like lavender, which didn’t match Mac at all. Mac reminded him of a dark rum or tangy mulled cider, all citrus and rich exotic spices. Sweet to the taste but hiding a powerful punch.

Kissing her needed to be repeated—and soon.

Glancing back up the hall, he didn’t see any sign of her. Hopefully, she’d taken his advice to go write. He checked the bedside lamp, which was definitely out. A reasonable assumption would have been a power surge due to the storm, but it was better to play it safe… He’d place a call to the local power company and check on the stations, and check the utility box outside since he’d already replaced the fuses the night before.

In the kitchen, he found a broom and dustpan, then made quick work of cleaning up the broken glass in the hall. That done, he headed for the back door. He needed wire and a voltage tester—things he could get at his company’s latest work site. “Hey, Mac, I need to go pick up a couple of things. I’ll be back and bring some food.”

A murmured acknowledgement was all he heard. Yeah, she was definitely back to working on her book. He wondered what she wrote about, but figured she would tell him when she was ready. On his way to the truck, he glanced at the gazebo, promising himself time to work on it that afternoon, then dialed his foreman’s number to let him know he’d be stopping by to pick up electrical wire.

“Hey, boss,” Rob said. “You remembered you have employees. Way to go, you.”

His foreman had been with him for a long time, and Justin counted him among his closest friends, but Rob’s tone held tension and maybe even anger.

“What’s eating you?” Justin asked.

“You’re a virtual ghost these days. Used to be I couldn’t get you off a project site; now I can’t even get you to phone in to one. When was the last time you stopped by to see how the work was progressing?”

He hadn’t been out once, ever since Mac had allowed him work on Summerfield. Sighing, Justin tapped the phone lightly against the side of his head. Wrestling his temper back proved problematic. “I’m working a project—at Summerfield. It’s just personal instead of professional.”

“Justin, man—they’re all personal for you. What gives?” Worry slithered beneath the words.

“I like her, okay?”

“
Her
her, or the house her?”

Both. He wanted to say both, but the words stuck in his throat. He’d always desired Summerfield—before his father’s will, and before the town’s plan to use it as the capstone for their kooky project. Mac’s arrival changed that desire to need; however, it wasn’t the house he wanted. The thought stunned him.
When did desire become need?

“Justin, you still there?” Rob’s voice dragged him back from his thoughts.

“Yeah, I’m here. I’ll be there in about five minutes.” Hanging up on Rob, he dropped the phone into the passenger seat. Had he really been
that
preoccupied with Summerfield or Mac—or some odd combination of both?

His phone rang and Clint’s name popped up on the screen. He barely managed to say hello before his attorney cut him off. “So I get the man this time and not his voice mail. Impressive.”

The edge in Clint’s voice surprised Justin. “What’s up?”

“Where the hell have you been? You missed the last two Founder’s meetings. Then you go and parade Ms. Dillon out on the town, and Mrs. Cartwright is convinced you two are sleeping together because you’re not updating anyone on your progress to get Summerfield. Jock’s calling me every five minutes. What is going on?”

A headache pulsed behind his eyes. He’d hardly fallen off the face of the earth—he’d been busy. Maybe too busy. Cleaning up and clearing out Summerfield seemed to have become an obsession. “I’ve been working, Clint. And I was not
parading
Mac around town.”

It was Clint’s turn to sigh. “Your sister is about to drive me to drink. She had half the kids at the high school convinced the house needed an exorcism.”

“Please tell me you talked her out of it.” Did he have time to drive down and throttle his sister? “Look—I understand the plan was to use Summerfield as our crown jewel, but we don’t need it. We can find out something else. I bought those properties at the edge of town—both are old and have a few rumors of haunting. Those should bring in tourists.”

“Not sure we’re going to be able to sell the council on that.”

The pulse-pounding ache behind his eyelid began to drill into his skull. “When’s the next Founder’s meeting?”

“We’re supposed to do coffee at the Firefly Festival—you do remember that’s happening right?”

He did, but skipped telling Clint about his date. “See if you can head them off and feed them the specs for the Lakeland project. Mention the old Thompson place by Ridge Run.”

“I’d forgotten about that place.” The attorney’s tone took on an air of immediate interest. “It’s almost as old as Summerfield and built about fifteen or twenty years later, if I recall. I’ll pass the word to the mayor, and he’ll get word to Mrs. Cartwright. The gossip wheel will take care of the rest. What about Jock?”

“I’ll take care of Jock.” Tightness banded around his ribs, and he rubbed a hand absently against his chest. Yeah, maybe he needed to dial back on his Summerfield interest and focus on the work he had waiting. The town depended on him—hell, his siblings depended on him. The thought didn’t provide much comfort. If anything, it increased the pressure around his heart.

Dammit.
He called Mac. It went straight to voice mail. Ignoring the niggling disappointment, he left a message telling her he would be back around five to get the lights squared away.

She was probably writing. Chances were she wouldn’t even notice if he didn’t come back right away—and wouldn’t be disappointed by his absence.

So why didn’t that make him feel better?

Chapter Six

It was nearly one in the afternoon when Mac sat down to write, and after three when thirst sent her to the kitchen for a bottle of water. She didn’t see any sign of Justin, but he could just as easily be working somewhere else in the house. The man was amazing, running his own business, helping Penny Hollow secure its future, and repairing her mess of a house. Also, he was one hell of a kisser.

Humming, she grabbed a water bottle out of the fridge. She drained half, then returned to the drawing room and stared at the computer. The scene that had eluded her most of the week had been demanding since she’d returned from Justin’s. Finding out what happened to Madeline next drove her keep writing. Madeline’s adventures in England had been fraught with tension as she allowed the Duke of Worcester to court her. She’d wanted to give in to him, but she’d learned her lesson with Kurt. She would give away nothing until her security was assured.

If the man wanted her, he would have to prove his adoration consisted of more than a few pretty phrases whispered in the shadows, away from prying eyes. He would make their affair public and his intentions clear.

Mac shook her head. Madeline’s strength continued to amaze her. The woman had very little bargaining power, and after the beating her heart had taken with Kurt, Mac had assumed Madeline would immediately capitulate to the duke’s exceptional charms.
But she doesn’t, and I can’t make her. She’s led him a merry chase and half-starved herself to do it.

Unbeknown to the duke, Madeline had slept in an abandoned barn on his property for several days and ventured into town only to take a room for a few hours to bathe or change. She also shed her finery and took employment as a downstairs maid in a nearby shire when the duke left for the season in London.

Refusing to travel with him had been a calculated risk, but one she’d been willing to gamble. Playing the part of his mistress was one thing, but she wanted the part of pampered courtesan—scandalous, yes, but the type society embraced. She didn’t want to surrender another piece of her soul in secret or lose all her security should he come to his senses and discover a better, more suitable match. Her weary heart had taken enough abuse.

Like Mac’s had.

Setting the water bottle down on the desk, she sat, keyed in her password, opened her document, and started to type.

…

The scene unfolding on the page ceased to be words. Mac could smell the hint of dust and lemon in the air—cleaning supplies and disuse. Her hands trembled. She paused and lifted them off the keyboard. It took a moment to process that she wasn’t sitting in Madeline’s dingy, little rented room, holding the piece of paper that had caused Madeline so much pain.

She hated the feeling. Hated it. The bruise of internal disgust Madeline felt ate away at her soul like a cancer. Clenching her fists until her nails cut into her palms, Mac forced herself to get a grip. It was only a story…

The overwhelming sense of loss coupled with surrender left her tired right down to the bone. Madeline didn’t believe in love anymore. How could she, when she still loved Kurt so much?

She exhaled and leaned back in the chair, looking down at her hands. Blood seeped around her cuticles, and she grimaced—her fingers were crisscrossed with bruises and tiny cuts. Even bending them hurt like hell. Crescent-shaped cuts had scabbed over in the center of her palms.

She glanced out the window and noticed the rapidly dimming sunlight. How many hours had passed? Rising, she made it three steps to the door when an icy chill burned through her. She turned back to the computer.

Madeline had made do with the barest of scraps at times in her journey—moldy bread and discarded cheese. She’d even once traded her virtue for a single bowl of stew. She shouldn’t have wasted her time, though, because it had made her ill. Mac blinked back tears.

Hunger can be overcome. Shame can be borne.

Between one blink and the next, as if she’d experienced something supernatural, Mac found herself standing on the porch, staring at the shadow of trees that stretched across the yard like a wide hand extending fingers to the house. Justin wasn’t there—in the house, or the yard. His truck wasn’t parked in the driveway. How long had he been gone?

The sticky, humid air gave way to the faintest of cool breezes—a first since she’d moved in. Padding barefoot onto the grass, she wandered toward the center of the garden and the gazebo he’d been unearthing. He’d asked her to wait until he was all done with the project, but curiosity pricked her.
Especially since I half-expected to find him here and here, apparently, he is not.

Behind that thought came another.
I came here alone…and I’ll die here alone. I’ve waited most of my life to see him again, but I fear I won’t. Would God only be so kind as to grant it to me in death?

Whoa. That thought didn’t belong to her. The temperature fell under the shade of the trees. A shiver rippled over her and goose bumps prickled her skin. From the corner of her eye, she could see
her
in the shade of the trees, walking toward the center. A woman. Mac could do nothing but follow her.

He’s here. So cold. So alone. And it’s my fault…all my fault.

The gazebo was something marvelous to behold. The smooth, white marble seemed to glow, gathering what little light remained under the canopy of trees and pulsing with it. The peaceful beauty seduced her; it was the perfect spot to wait. She had to wait. Because he was here—and he was alone.

Unable to help herself, she ran her fingers against the cold, smooth stone of the column. Closing her eyes, she took a long, deep breath.
I can’t leave him
. A sense of peace washed over her, wiping away all the frustration and tension of the day. Even the muscles in her shoulders relaxed.

I won’t. I don’t deserve to live but as long as I do, I will be here, with him.

…

A warm hand against her back shook her awake and Mac sat up abruptly. Her head hurt, and her mouth felt stuffed with cotton. She blinked blearily at Justin, who crouched next to her in the dark.

God, he looks just like him.

The thought drifted through her mind, but she couldn’t fathom whom her mind thought Justin resembled. “Hey…”

“Sorry to wake you, but sleeping in the garden isn’t the best idea.” The low pitch of his voice coaxed her to focus.

Rubbing a hand against her mouth, she grimaced at the drool dried on the corner of her lips. When had she come outside? She’d been caught up in Madeline’s story. Apparently, too much. Blinking blearily, she glanced around the dark yard and then back to the flashlight in Justin’s hand. “What time is it?”

Justin eased her up to her feet. In the brief flashes of the light across his face, she saw concern and a deep frown. God, he was so beautiful, and she’d missed him so much. It was like an ache in her chest.

“Yeah, about that,” he said. “It’s almost nine. I didn’t mean to be this late. I called you a few times, but you never answered.”

Still trying to reconcile her brain with being awake, she looked around the garden. Sweat clung to her skin, but she was cold. Hot and cold. The world tipped to the left a little and she had to lean on Justin’s arm. “I missed you…”

Had she? The words spoken in her head seemed to have come from a voice different from her own. How was that possible?

She cupped his cheek, and he frowned. “Your hands are freezing—and you’re bleeding. What the hell, Mac?” He grasped her wrist and pulled it away from his face.

She shook with the need to touch him again. “It doesn’t hurt,” she said, but it was a lie. She tried to tug her hand out of his grasp, but he was shining the light against her palm. Her fingers were filthy, her nails torn and jagged. What had she done?

Suddenly, she wasn’t standing anymore. Justin had scooped her up and was carrying her toward the house, his long strides eating up the empty space. Even burrowed against him, she shuddered. He filled up all the emptiness inside of her, and she wanted to hold on and never let go.

The kitchen lights stung her eyes. Blinking back tears, she tried to hide her face against his shirt. Ice licked up her spine when Justin set her down on the counter. She leaned forward to hold onto him.

“Easy,” he murmured, squeezing her hip. “Let me clean these up—you’ve really done a number on your hands.”

“I’m sorry I left…” The words didn’t make sense, but she
was
sorry. She was so damn sorry.

I should have trusted him, gone to him first
.

She shook her head, trying to clear out the jumbled mess of thoughts.

“Mac, it’s your garden. It’s okay if you wanted to go look at what I was doing, but next time, put some gloves on before you try to dig out more of the gazebo.” He turned on the faucet, and as he pressed her hands beneath the water, the icy-cold sting sent jagged shards of pain through her veins. He lathered soap gently against the gritty dirt, washing away the clumps of mud and cleaning out the bloodied gouges.

She sucked in a breath. He was taking care of her.

It unlocked a need so deep inside she wasn’t prepared for the hellish whip crack of a voice exploding angrily behind her.

“What the hell are you doing?”

…

Justin’s head snapped up and his attention focused on the unfamiliar man standing in Mac’s open doorway. It took him seconds to catalogue the man’s appearance, from the rumpled dress shirt and slacks to the too-expensive loafers and slicked-back brown hair. His dark eyes were fixed on Mac and his mouth curled in a thin line. Definitely not a local. Definitely not friendly. Definitely not welcome.

Shutting the water off, Justin shifted and put himself directly in the man’s path, blocking him. “We may be a little country around these parts, but knocking on a door is still considered polite behavior…” Especially when it was well after dark. The fact that only minutes before Mac had been unconscious and vulnerable in the garden weighed heavily on his mind.

“Kevin,” Mac said, her voice weak, “what are you doing here? I thought you went back to Maryland.” She slid off the counter, but she didn’t try to get around him. Thankfully, the odd sluggishness in her voice seemed to have evaporated.

“I came to see my
wife
.” Anger hardened the man—
Kevin’s
voice, and he moved as though he planned to step deeper inside.

Going on instinct alone, Justin body blocked him and gave him a less-than-gentle shove back until the man retreated to the doorway.
I made the mistake of arguing and he hit me. It was the one time, and it was the last time.
Mac’s words at breakfast whispered through his mind. No way in hell was the man getting near her again.

“We’re not married anymore, Kevin.” Exhaustion wavered beneath the denial in Mac’s voice. “And you shouldn’t be here.”

“I’ve been calling you for weeks. The least you could have done was answer my calls. Of course, if you’re too busy shacking up with the local Mayberry, Mr. Kent here, that explains a lot.”

Less concerned with the description than the attitude, Justin shifted so he could glance at Mac while still staying firmly between her and the ex-husband. What the hell was he doing here? And how was it Mac’s ex-husband knew his name? “Mac, do you want him to leave?”

“I have every right to be here. Half this property belongs to me—
conjugal
rights, you know.” Kevin whatever-the-hell-his-last-name-was pressed forward a step.

Justin slapped a hand against the man’s chest. It had been a while since he’d been in a fistfight, but he damn well remembered how to take a grown man down. Which this jerk was about to discover—

“The hell you do,” Mac snapped out. And just like that, his spitting kitten Mac was back. Fire burned in her voice. “We were divorced, and it was final before Great-Aunt Katherine died—my lawyer said you don’t have any rights to this place.”

“We’ll just see about that.” Kevin suddenly smiled and held his hands up as he backed away from Justin. Then he pulled out a rolled sheet of papers. “My attorney told me Mr. Kent here made an offer, and we did our homework. This is you being served with my lawsuit to acquire my half of this property. I’d be happy to accept on behalf of both of us and save us all a lot of trouble.”

In one ugly move, the son of a bitch had managed to align himself with Justin, pitting him and Justin against Mac.

“You have to be kidding me.” Mac snatched the papers out of his hand.

“I never kid about money, MacKenzie. You should know better by now. We’ll be seeing a judge within a week for pretrial. You should show up—or just sign the papers. We all know how it went the last time you tried to fight me.”

The last threat was it. Justin gave Kevin a shove and drove him out the door, down the steps. He was careful not to hurt him on Mac’s property—but only barely. “Get out. And get off her property—you’re not welcome here.”

“I’m on your side, buddy. You want this place. I want to sell it. It’s really that simple.”

“No, you getting the hell out of here is what’s simple.” Restraint. He had to practice restraint.

“Sorry if I interrupted your…
business
dealings. Seducing her to get the property is a good play, but I don’t know that you’ll have much luck that route. She’s not bad in bed—”

Restraint snapped and Justin slammed his fist into the other man’s mouth. Kevin went down. “Get out. Get in your car and get the hell out of here.”

“I’m calling the sheriff,” Mac yelled from inside the house—and, bless her, she sounded a hell of a lot steadier than Justin felt.

Kevin rose and dusted himself off. He opened his mouth as though he planned to say more, but something in Justin’s expression must have warned him off, because he backed away. “I’ll see you
both
in court.”