Lucky Stars

by Kristen Ashley

  “I had to open my eyes and it was dark, murky. I could see the bus. The water was somewhat shallow so it wasn’t that far. Far enough to submerge the bus, though, and fast, weirdly fast. It had fallen on its side, the wrong side. The door was against the sea floor, the back doors wedged against a rock. There was air in the bus, I saw the kids banging on the windows, the bus driver frantically trying to open them.” Her voice dropped to a horrified whisper, “It was hideous, the sea felt like it was saturated with their fear.”

  At this, Jack apparently had enough of giving her space.

  He leaned forward, put his hands to her waist and pulled her to him, twisting her and dropping his knees so she was cradled in his lap, his arms tight around her.

  When he’d settled her, she felt his heat warm her and looked up at him.

  “I don’t remember anything else, Jack. Not one second of it. The kids come and see me at the shop, sometimes at my cottage. Their parents bring them. They act like I’m some kind of superhero. They bring me gifts, some of it silly stuff, like stickers. Sometimes it’s cakes their mums make. In the beginning, I didn’t remember a single face. It was like someone else had done it and I was impersonating her.” Belle stopped talking and when Jack didn’t reply, she continued, “Now, of course, I know them, all of them.”

  “Post-traumatic stress, poppet,” he murmured, giving her a squeeze.

  Belle tucked her forehead into his neck. “That’s what the counsellor said.” She moved so she could wrap her arms around his middle and then whispered, “The bus driver told me,” she stopped and added, “his name is Bob, by the way, and he comes to visit me too.”

  “I bet he does,” Jack muttered and Belle went on as if he didn’t speak.

  “Bob told me that the bus was filled with water at the end. He was the last live person I pulled out. The window he’d opened to get the kids out had filled the bus with water. He knew I was getting tired. I was too cold. I was slowing down. He was injured in the crash, dislocated his shoulder. So were some of the kids, bouncing around in that bus. Two of them were trapped. He couldn’t get them loose before I got him out. Though he tried. Nearly drowned doing it. He didn’t want me to keep going back knowing the bus had been filled, knowing those kids were trapped.” She stopped and swallowed. “But I did. I don’t remember it. I don’t know how I did it but I pulled out the dead kids.” Belle took in a shattered breath and said in a trembling voice, “Davey and Penny, they were called.”

  Jack’s arms got so tight, they took her breath and he ordered, “Stop talking, Belle. Just stop.”

  She squeezed her eyes tight, pushed closer to Jack’s warmth and breathed, “I don’t want to remember, Jack. Never. I never ever want to remember.”

  “No one’s making you remember, poppet,” Jack said softly.

  “I know,” she whispered.

  “What you did was extraordinary. You couldn’t have done any more,” Jack told her.

  “I know,” Belle repeated.

  “Clear your mind, love,” Jack advised.

  She nodded against his neck and pressed even tighter to him, feeling his arms do the same.

  She took in a ragged breath and asked, “Do you think we could do anything for Myrtle and Lewis?”

  She felt Jack’s body go solid under hers then it started shaking.

  Her head lifted and she looked at his shadowy face.

  “Jack?” she called then heard his chuckle and it was her turn to go solid. “What’s funny now?”

  “Poppet, you just shared an inspirational but unbelievably terrifying story considering it was you who did what you said you did. I love that you’re the kind of person who would do something like that. What I don’t love is the thought of you giving yourself hypothermia and likely nearly drowning while saving a busload of kids, no matter how heroic. I also don’t like the trauma you have to endure when you think of it. Therefore, after witnessing that trauma less than a minute ago, I’m not overly enthusiastic that you’re willing to throw yourself into another heroic endeavour to save the souls of two nonexistent ghosts.”

  She pulled away slightly and looked in the direction of his face. “I doubt it would be dangerous.”

  “Belle, they don’t exist,” Jack retorted with what she could tell was waning, if amused, patience.

  “I saw them. Mom saw them. Joy’s been seeing them for years!” Belle reminded him kind of loudly.

  “No offense, love, but you’re a little emotional at the moment and our mothers aren’t exactly the kind of women who live lives ruled by logic and reason.”

  Belle’s eyes narrowed. “Are you saying I saw two ghosts, ghosts many others have seen before me, because of hormones?”

  She heard his chuckle again and went solid at it again before he said, “No, I’m saying a lot has happened to you, some of it you just shared with me and that you’re willing to believe in something in order to keep your mind off something else that distresses you.”

  “So, you’re saying I’m seeing ghosts because of post-traumatic stress?”

  “Perhaps.”

  “So what about everyone else who has seen them?”

  “Poppet, the story of the murders of Joshua Bennett’s family is famous. The resultant whisperings of the ghosts of his children haunting this castle is just as well-known. You might not remember having heard them but you likely have. Myrtle and Lewis are lore in this area of Cornwall. Your mother, likely the same. My mother, definitely the same. She knew of them before she moved into the castle after she married Dad.”

  Belle found she was aggravated, not shy, not retiring, not meek, nor mild but straight out annoyed.

  At Jack, who, she noted with irritation, was stubborn.

  And a bit of a know-it-all.

  Therefore, she asked tartly, “Okay, since they don’t exist then you won’t mind me doing… whatever… to help them on their way.”

  Jack was silent a moment then he replied, “Knock yourself out, love.”

  Belle smiled but Jack’s arms gave her a small shake.

  “Just as long as you or your mother, who I’m assuming gave you this idea and is in on it with you, or your grandmother, who also disappeared after dinner, or Mum and Yasmin, who, if they get wind of this will want to join in, don’t put yourselves in danger.”

  “We won’t put ourselves in danger,” Belle assured him, still smiling.

  “I want you leading the pack,” Jack demanded. “I shudder to think what your mother would have up her sleeve.”

  “Don’t worry, Jack. Mom will listen to me,” Belle kind of lied.

  She might get her mother to listen to her.

  She also might not.

  Jack was silent another moment before he muttered, “I get the feeling I’m going to regret this.”

  “Everything will be just fine,” Belle promised cheerfully.

  Jack’s hand lifted and his fingers tangled in her hair.

  “Can we go to bed now?” he asked, his voice dipped low and sexy and Belle’s belly did a flip.

  Bed, with Jack, would be good.

  Although bed, with Jack, could also be a place where things could get even more complicated.

  Belle’s heart and soul were already ready for that.

  Belle’s mind, however, wasn’t quite there yet.

  Therefore she requested, “Can we watch the storm a while?”

  Without hesitation, something else that helped convince her mind, just not entirely, Jack shifted her so her back was no longer to the window but she was facing it.

  Then he lifted his knees and she fell between them.

  His arms resumed their place around her, her torso twisted, she wound her arms around Jack, placed her cheek to his chest, her lower body curled between his legs and Belle lay in the protective shell of his large frame.

  Thus, they watched the storm.

  The thunder had long since died, as had the lightning but the rain slammed against the panes.

  Belle relaxed in Jack’s arms an
d, there, she fell asleep.

  * * * * *

  Lewis and Myrtle

  Myrtle stood invisible in the corner of the room as her beloved Jack lifted her newly beloved Belle and carried her to bed, Jack’s dogs jumping up to follow close at his heels.

  Jack rested her in bed, carefully took off her dressing gown then pulled off his shirt and Myrtle blushed but she didn’t move.

  She watched Jack join Belle in bed as Gretl settled on her side but Baron, although he lay down on his belly, watched Myrtle.

  Myrtle gave the dog a friendly wave and Baron let out a gentle woof.

  “Quiet, Baron,” Jack ordered softly and instantly Baron put his jaws on his front paws but he didn’t take his blinking eyes from the girl-child ghost.

  Myrtle walked backwards, melting through the wall and once through, she zoomed to where Lewis was hovering at the window in the eastern turret, watching the storm.

  “Lewis, Lewis, Lewis! Belle’s going to help us!” Myrtle cried upon reaching him, grabbing his arm to give it a good shake.

  Lewis turned to look at his sister.

  “She can’t help us, Myrtie Mine,” he replied, using the nickname their mother had given Myrtle so many years ago. “She has to be –”

  “She saved a bunch of children from drowning. I heard it. She told Jack the whole story,” Myrtle explained excitedly.

  Lewis’s ghost form went still at this news.

  “She’s a real-life hero,” Myrtle announced. “She’s going to find a way. I know she is. I could tell by her voice. Everyone is going to help her. Everyone but Jack, that is,” Myrtle told him then suggested brightly, “I think we should appear in front of Jack!”

  Lewis rolled his ghost eyes to the ceiling then back to his sister.

  “I keep telling you, no. You’re always wanting to appear in front of Jack. You wanted to appear in front of Gareth too.”

  “I liked Jack’s father,” Myrtle sulked. “I don’t know why you won’t ever let us –”

  “I don’t either,” Lewis explained for the millionth time. “We just can’t. I don’t know why, I just feel it. We can’t. Something will happen, something bad.” He floated closer to his sister. “Please, Myrtle, just listen to me and don’t do anything silly. If Belle wants to try, we can help her. But you have to promise me you won’t appear in front of Jack.”

  Myrtle looked sullen a moment then she nodded jerkily.

  “Promise me, Myrtle,” Lewis pressed.

  “Lewis –”

  “Say it out loud.”

  She crossed her arms on her chest then said waspishly, “I promise.”

  If Lewis could breathe, he’d have let out a breath.

  The rules were, if you promised out loud, you couldn’t break the promise, both of them new that by heart.

  Myrtle floated away in full pout.

  Lewis looked out the window and decided not for the first time and, he reckoned, not for the last, that he hated storms.

  Especially thunderstorms.

  Then he looked at the spot where his then new ghost self had watched through the pouring rain and booming thunder, the bad man throw his struggling, screaming, crying mother over the cliff.

  His thoughts were not on his mother but the woman who reminded Lewis of her.

  Belle was a real-life hero.

  This was good news for Lewis knew (though Myrtle didn’t and he hadn’t told her in all their hundreds of years together, though he didn’t know why, just like he didn’t know why they couldn’t appear in front of the masters, he just knew) that his mother, too, had saved a child from drowning in the sea.

  It was one of the reasons why she was much loved in the village.

  Therefore, Lewis had real hope.

  And so he hoped like nothing else he’d ever hoped in his life (or his death), that the sweet, quiet, beautiful Belle could actually, truly, really help them finally go home.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Dinner at the Cottage

  Belle

  The next morning, Belle watched Jack close her shop door behind them before she hurried to the alarm panel and put in the code.

  After she was done, she turned and jumped when she saw he was close.

  He didn’t put his hands to her jaw this time. Instead, he took her hand and led her to the stairway at the back of her tiny store which led up to her workroom and away from the prying eyes of the media people peering through her window.

  He didn’t lead her all the way up, just halfway so only their legs were visible. There, he stopped, turning her to face him on the stairs.

  “I have to go to work, love,” he told her when he’d tilted his head down to look at her.

  Belle nodded.

  She was beginning to read the signs. He put on a suit when he “went to work”. He wore jeans when he worked from the castle.

  “Are you going to London?” she asked stupidly, because to ask was to get an answer and she didn’t want an answer.

  “No, I’m flying to –”

  He didn’t finish.

  Of its own accord, her hand shot up and covered his mouth and before she even thought to stop herself, she blurted, “Nope, no, I don’t want to know.”

  She saw his eyes smiling at her though she didn’t know if his mouth was and his fingers wrapped around her wrist and pulled her hand away.

  “All right, we won’t talk about my work. We’ll talk about yours,” he started, eyes still smiling. “Is Belinda coming in today?”

  Belle nodded.

  “Don’t open the shop until she gets here. Send Nola or Carol down to help her. You stay up in the workshop,” he commanded then continued issuing orders. “I’ll phone or text you to let you know when to expect your new assistant but I don’t want you coming down until she gets here.”

  She found herself half pleased, half annoyed that he was telling her what to do in a way that said, quite clearly, he expected her to do it.

  “You’re very dictatorial, did anyone ever tell you that?” she asked, letting the half annoyed part take control.

  “Occupational hazard,” he replied, eyes back to smiling.

  Belle looked down at the steps and muttered, “I bet you were a bossy kid, too.”

  Her head came up when she heard him roar with laughter and she couldn’t be angry at him anymore because he looked way too darned handsome when he laughed.

  Which, incidentally and contradictorily, she also found annoying.

  His face had gentled after he laughed and she screwed up the courage to ask, “Are you going to be home for dinner?”

  She watched his face shift from gentle to tender at her question and her heart started beating faster.

  “Yes, poppet, though not early enough to come and collect you.”

  Belle looked to his ear then to the knot in his tie then with a great deal of effort, she forced her eyes to his and said, “No, um…” She hesitated then rushed on, “I was wondering if we could have dinner together.”

  “Of course,” he replied.

  “No,” she said quickly before she lost her nerve. “What I mean is, can I make dinner for you? Just you and me at my cottage.”

  Something changed about him. She couldn’t put her finger on it but whatever it was filled the very air. It made it smooth, silky, thick, like velvet trailing across her skin.

  “I’d like that,” he said softly.

  Belle nodded again then swallowed before she went on, “My cottage is a short walk from here. You just –”

  “I know where you live, Belle,” he cut in, surprising her with this news. “Do you have enough to do here to wait for me to come and collect you?”

  She nodded yet again. “I always have enough to do.”

  He moved into her space and said, “I’ll let you know when I’m close.”

  “Okay,” she whispered, liking the idea of knowing when Jack was close but not as much as liking it when he was close.

  “I’ve got to go,” he told her but he sounded like h
e didn’t want to. In fact, he sounded like he really didn’t want to and Belle felt that trill shoot up her spine.

  She nodded once again but he didn’t move.

  She waited.

  He still didn’t move.

  This went on for a while.

  Finally, she asked, “I thought you said you had to go?”

  “I’m waiting for my kiss.”

  A dozen trills shot up her spine and her scalp tingled so much she thought her hair would stand on end.

  She was getting there. She’d even met his eyes and asked him to dinner.

  She couldn’t kiss him.

  The last time she’d kissed him, it led to an orgasm on his couch.

  Then she thought about him flying to God knew where. No co-pilot. Maybe ending his flight in a fiery crash somewhere remote where it would take days of concentrated search efforts (with dogs) to reach his beautiful but broken body.

  She hated to admit it, even though she just took one, it was time again to take another risk.

  So that’s why she leaned into him, put her hands to his chest, slid them up so they were around his neck and she went up on tiptoe as she pressed her chest to his.

  He helped, his hands coming to rest lightly on her waist and tilting his head down so she could put her mouth on his.

  Then she kissed him, softly at first, pressing further and opening her lips just a little bit.

  He helped again, opening his mouth over hers.

  So, timidly, she slid her tongue inside his mouth and touched it to his.

  The second she tasted him, his arms wrapped tightly around her, hauling her against his body and up, taking her to the very tips of her toes (and beyond).

  Then his head slanted and Jack took control of the kiss.

  From there, it went wild and hot and nearly out-of-control.

  It was fantastic.

  Before it could careen entirely out-of-control, his mouth tore from hers but he held her close, his lips sliding to her ear.

  “I like the way you kiss, poppet,” he murmured there.

  “That’s good,” she whispered back inanely, not completely in control of all her faculties and she heard him chuckle.