Haunted: A Love Letters Novel

by Kristen Blakely

  Holly wrapped her arms over her stomach and nodded. Slowly at first, and then with greater confidence, she told her sister the muddled story of the three men in her life, each seemingly representing the past, the present, and the future. She concluded softly, “As it turns out, the past deserved to be history, and the future was more of a concept than a man. The present—James—turned out to be one.”

  “Except that Peter screwed it up for the both of you.”

  Holly nodded.

  “So, what are you going to do?”

  “I came back as much because I love Havre de Grace as I love him, but there’s no work for him in this town.” A sigh tore out of her. “He has no future here, and I have no idea what we’re going to do.”

  Chapter 15

  Holly ignored Noelle’s insistence that she lie down and rest the moment they got back to Noelle’s house. Instead, she returned to her home and waited at the front step until James drove up in her car several minutes later.

  He parked in the driveway and stepped out. His expression was set in neutral lines. “Shouldn’t you be resting?”

  “Resting isn’t going to help my arm get better. Do you want to come in and have a drink?”

  “I…” He closed his eyes briefly. “Maybe after Christmas? I’ll go get Mojo, bring him back so you’ll have company.”

  “Are you putting me off until the twenty-sixth?”

  “I’m not great company right now. I need some time alone.” He turned and walked down her driveway.

  She waited until he reached the pavement. “What were you planning on doing besides updating your résumé?”

  He stopped walking but did not turn to face her. “You know.” His voice was toneless. “How?”

  “Peter told me he sent photographs to the Gazette so I called the editor. She told me.”

  His shoulders sagged, a sigh that was more motion than sound.

  “Peter was absolutely certain you’d throw me under the bus, and that I’d be forced to quit so that you could keep your job.”

  James’s head snapped up, and he stared at her incredulously. “You believed him?”

  “No, of course not, but I didn’t think you would resign immediately either.”

  “The press wanted its pound of flesh, and I’m the out-of-town guy. It made more sense for me to quit than for you, the hometown girl.” A wry half-smile touched his lips. “I told you people didn’t change. It appears that luck doesn’t change either.”

  Holly winced. It was the second time he had lost his job because of a woman. “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s just a job. I’ll find something else.”

  “Does that mean you’ll be moving away from Havre de Grace?”

  “Yeah. There’s no work here for me.” A muscle ticked in his cheek. “Let me go get Mojo before it gets too late.”

  “Wait, James.” She ran down the driveway after him and grimaced as the motion jolted pain through her arm.

  He frowned at her. “What are you doing? You need to rest.”

  “I want to talk.”

  “We can talk later.”

  “Don’t you want to know why I walked out of JFK, turned around, and walked back in again?”

  He paused for a moment before saying, “My resignation shouldn’t affect your decision.”

  Holly shook her head, a smile curving her lips. “I made my decision before I knew you resigned. Did you check your e-mail today?”

  He looked surprised by the change in topic, but nodded.

  “Your work e-mail?”

  “No.” James gritted his teeth. “Why would I check my work e-mail when I’m not working anymore?”

  “If you did, you’d find an e-mail from me to Harry Finn, copied to you, tendering my resignation.”

  His jaw dropped. “Your what?”

  “I resigned,” Holly said simply. “I sent my letter from the plane,”

  “Damn.” James actually laughed, although the sound was more bitter than amused. “This is almost as ridiculous as that O Henry story, the Gift of the Magi, except that neither of us has a job.”

  “I suppose not.” Somehow, Holly could not work up any anxiety over the loss of her employment. Aunt Rachel had left her wealth to Holly to ease her way to finding a partner to love for life, and her aunt had succeeded, beyond Holly’s wildest dreams. “Where are we moving to?”

  “We?”

  “All through the flight, I fought this feeling of panic, right here.” She pressed her stomach. “I couldn’t help thinking I’d left something important behind. When I arrived in New York, the feeling grew larger and larger, and when I saw Brandon, something seemed to pop in my head.” Her smile widened into a grin. “It made sense; in an instant, it was all perfectly clear. So, I turned around and got back on that plane. I quit my job and came home to be with you.” She held out her uninjured hand to him. “I knew you’d be waiting for me, and now I realize, I’ve been waiting for you too. It’s just taken me a while to figure it out.”

  Slowly, he reached out and took it, drawing her to him. A slow smile spread across his face, and his eyes betrayed both relief and love as he lowered his head to claim her mouth in a kiss.

  The now familiar slow rise of heat filled her. Inside her shoes, her toes curled with delight and desire.

  James drew back from the kiss, but his lips remained close to hers, his breath warm against her cheek. “Are you sure you’re not giving up something better?”

  She smiled up at him. “I’ve seen the memories of the past and the possibilities of the future. I’ve never been more certain that love and happiness is here and now, right where we are.”

  Epilogue

  Holly was in the middle of preparing dinner, which came down to arranging the microwaved platters of food on the dining table, when her smartphone rang. She glanced at the number and accepted the call. “Hello, Brandon.”

  “Holly, how are you doing?”

  “I’m doing great. So, did the sale close?”

  “Yes, it did. The real estate agent confirmed that you should see the proceeds from the sale of your New York townhouse in your account by the end of today.”

  “Wonderful.” A smile spread across her face.

  “How are you enjoying Chapel Hill?”

  “We love it here. It has a ton more career opportunities as well as things to do on weekends, but it’s got the same pretty small-town feel as Havre de Grace.”

  “Great, I’m glad to hear you’re settling down. And James is doing well, too?”

  “He’s the principal of the neighborhood high school. I’m thinking of going back into teaching—at a different school.”

  Brandon chuckled. “Lesson learned.”

  “Oh yes, indeed.” Holly leaned her hip against the wall. Her smile deepened as James’s car pulled into the driveway. The now-familiar thrill of delight shivered through her. The throbbing pulse low in her belly was lust; the sweet ache in her chest was love. In combination, they kept her craving the warmth and security of James’s embrace. “And how are you doing? I thought you’d be in Italy, visiting your sister.”

  “I’m leaving tomorrow, actually, and will be away for about two weeks. I’m on e-mail though, so if you need anything, don’t hesitate to reach out.”

  “I won’t. Thank you, Brandon, and have a good time.”

  “I’ll try. You take care. Say hi to James for me.”

  Holly hung up as the door opened. “Hello, darling.” She set the phone down and stepped into his arms. “How was school today?”

  James’s amused tone touched his words with humor. “Twice the size, three times the chaos.”

  “And four times the fun?” Holly added.

  “Pretty much.” His gaze fell on the dining table. “I see we’re having a gourmet meal tonight.”

  She pouted. “I’ll thank you not to make fun of me. It took me all of twelve minutes to put it together.”

  “Including reading the microwave directions?”

  �
��Yes, thank you very much.” Holly laughed and flung her arms around his neck. “We could eat now, but the meal’s not so profound that it would be a total loss reheated.”

  James loosened his tie. “Are you inviting me to a quickie?”

  The way he stared at her ignited the coil of heat in the pit of her stomach. “Our track record with quickies hasn’t been so good.” More than once, they had not gotten out of bed until the next day.

  “I challenge you to find a dictionary definition of a quickie that says how long it should be.” James lowered his head to breathe a kiss on her lips. “You know I can’t get enough of you.”

  Holly sank into a kiss that tasted of rich and decadent dark chocolate as James’s arms surrounded her, immersing her in love anchored in the present—her perfect present.

  THE END

  Turn the page and continue Love Letters with this excerpt from INFLAMED!

  Inflamed

  There are no happy endings; not for “The Other Woman.”

  In a small town, there’s just no way to start over.

  Eight years after the worst mistake of my life, my life as a single parent is a grind of exhaustion in between spikes of fatigue—an endless struggle to make ends meet.

  But then Sean Orr, Havre de Grace’s newest firefighter, comes to town and shows my son and I a new and beautiful kind of “normal.”

  The happiness can’t last—not for Sean who is on the run from his past. When it catches up with him, will it bring my fragile normality crashing down around me, or will I find the strength to finally define my own happy ending?

  CHAPTER ONE

  Foot traffic shuffled, stomped, and squeezed its way from the main street of Havre de Grace and into the Coffee Beans Café. The brisk winter day—cold for early February—drove people indoors seeking shelter from the icy slap of the wind. Once inside, the scent of fresh coffee and aroma of freshly baked muffins and croissants drew them to the counter.

  “Your latte and a blueberry muffin. That will be $5.20.” Debra Martinez slid the purchases across the counter to old Mrs. Jenkins in exchange for a credit card. A burst of air whipped through the shop as the café door opened. She glanced up and tossed a smile at the familiar stranger by the door. “Hey, you’re back in town.”

  “Just passing through.” A broad grin creased the young man’s cheeks. He tugged his hands out of his pockets, rubbing them together before cracking his knuckles. For a moment, he stared up at the menu. “Just my usual.”

  “Medium Americano, black, with diabetic-inducing levels of sugar.”

  He chuckled. “You know me.”

  Debra smiled, turning her back on him to fill a cup with steaming black coffee. “You’re as regular as the sun, just every month instead of every day. $3.50 please.”

  The man dug a wad of bills out of his pocket and handed her a $5, waving the change away. “That’s for being kind enough to not compare my regularity to something else, you know—” He grinned. “—monthly.”

  She laughed as she rang up the sale and scribbled her tip amount on a piece of paper next to the register. “You have a safe drive now.”

  The young man—she didn’t even know his name—nodded and maneuvered his way out of the store, past the bulky shoulders of the three men who were walking in. Tension stiffened Debra’s back, but she smiled at the men, two of whom she recognized. “What can I get for you?”

  “Five medium coffees for the boys down at the house.” Jack Landon leaned against the counter, flexing an impressive bicep. He was obviously on duty even though he wore street clothes; firefighting in a small town like Havre de Grace was a casual sort of thing.

  “Didn’t know it took three grown men to buy five coffees,” she teased as she filled the order.

  “Wanted to show the new guy the town.” Jack jabbed his finger over his shoulder at the tall young man standing behind him. “Sean Orr. He’s taking Larry’s place.”

  “Hey.” Debra flashed him a dimpled smile. She estimated his age as mid-twenties, a good eight years younger than she was. “Welcome to Havre de Grace.” She set four cups in a cup holder made of recycled paper and then placed the fifth cup in the middle. “Will that be all, or would you like anything else?”

  Ray Peterson, the third firefighter, pushed past Sean and Jack and rested both elbows on the table. He leaned forward, and Debra retreated from his leer even though her cleavage was concealed behind her turtleneck sweater. Ray chuckled as if he sensed her unease and pressed out his cheek with his tongue. “Do you want to come over this weekend? It’s cold out; great night for keeping warm together.”

  “Aren’t you and Andrea still together?”

  “She’s out of town this weekend. Perfect, you know, for you.” Ray snorted, the sound derisive.

  Jack laughed and elbowed Ray. “Let’s get out of here, man, before the coffees get cold.” He led the way out of the store, but amid the quiet chatter of surrounding conversations, Debra heard Sean ask quietly, “What’s her name?”

  Ray’s answer slapped her moments before the door slammed shut on their voices. “She’s the other woman.”

  Debra was still fuming over Ray’s words when she pulled into her driveway and cut the engine. For several moments, she sat in the car as her breath misted against the glass. She stared at her drab house, about twenty years overdue for a paint job, and her lawn, pockmarked with shriveled blades of grass. She had lived in that house from the day she was born, and had inherited it when her parents passed away several years earlier.

  Home.

  Prison.

  Havre de Grace, with its charming small-town feel, was also the place where the skeletons in the closet ambled out to hang the dirty laundry on the front lawn. In a town where everyone knew everyone’s secrets, there was no escaping her past as the other woman.

  Nine years earlier, while her best friend, Holly Langford, had been out of town, Debra had had sex with her best friend’s fiancé and had gotten pregnant. Not a day went by that she did not feel guilty for what she had done, although she could not bring herself to regret the outcome.

  A school bus rolled to a stop outside her house, and the doors opened. A lanky almost eight-year-old boy galloped out, his jacket bundled in his arms, and charged toward the house.

  Debra blinked back her teary lapse of self-pity. How could she regret the outcome when it included her son? She stepped out of her car. “Aidan! Why aren’t you wearing your jacket? Do you want to catch a cold?”

  He rolled his eyes at her. “You can’t catch a cold from the weather, Mom. You get colds from viruses and bacteria. You catch a chill—”

  “You be sure to thank your English teacher tomorrow—”

  “Miss Darby teaches science.”

  “All right, your science teacher.” Debra unlocked the front door and ushered him in. Aidan stampeded past her and rushed toward his room, but the thud of his sneakers against the wooden planks did not concealed the soft “ruff.”

  “Aidan?” she called out quietly.

  He froze in his tracks but did not turn to face her. “What, Mom?”

  “What do you have wrapped in your coat?” She walked up to him and swung him around by his shoulder.

  The coat in Aidan’s arms wriggled.

  Debra lifted back a corner of the jacket, and a hairy little face popped up. A pink tongue darted out to lick her hand. Debra stared at Aidan. “Were you seriously attempting to sneak a dog into this house without my finding out?”

  “You’re out working all the time,” Aidan grumbled. “How would you know? He’s just a little puppy.”

  Who would grow up into a big dog, judging by the size of those paws. Debra stroked the dog’s furry head. “Whose dog is he?”

  “He’s nobody’s dog. I found him in a ditch. He’s just a hungry, scruffy mutt nobody wants.”

  Debra arched an eyebrow. If Aidan’s defensive tone hadn’t given him away, the fact that the puppy appeared well-fed, well-groomed, and perfectly at-home in Aidan’s
arms did. “What does the rest of him look like?”

  Aidan set the puppy down on the floor. The dog looked like some kind of Irish or Scottish greyhound, but stockier and chubbier, with tri-colored markings, like a St. Bernard. Debra would have bet every penny in her bank account—not that there was much in there—that the puppy came from the Smiths’ litter. A mutt, most certainly, but not uncared for. The Smiths lavished their dogs with love and were reportedly picky about who they gave their precious puppies to.

  Coldness closed around Debra’s heart. Had Aidan stolen the puppy? Aidan’s reputation as “the troubled child” was almost as solid as her reputation as “the other woman.” The Smiths were practically Havre de Grace royalty; their family was one of the oldest in town and their 18th-century home overlooked Main Street like a guardian angel hovering over the town. Why would the Smiths give Aidan a puppy?

  A stomach rumbled loudly. Debra and Aidan exchanged glances before their gazes simultaneously alighted on the dog. She managed a tight laugh. “We’ll discuss the dog later. For now, let’s get us—all of us—fed.”

  Aidan whooped. “I’ll take him out to the yard. Don’t want him to poop in the house.”

  “Aidan, your jacket.” Debra kept the smile in place until the back door slammed shut. Through the glass, she watched Aidan shove his arms into his jacket before picking up a stick. He hurled it across the yard; the puppy raced after it and sniffed the ground before choosing one stick out of the tangled spread of other random sticks and scrambling back to Aidan.

  Debra found the Smiths in the directory and reached for her phone. She drew a deep breath, trembling as she waited for someone to pick up on the other end.

  “Hello?”

  Debra immediately recognized the voice of Patricia Smith, the elderly matriarch. Patricia had once been a celebrated beauty in Atlanta; fifty years earlier, she had married into the Smiths of Havre de Grace, supplementing their large family fortune with her lavish inheritance. Despite the intervening years, she had not lost the charm of her southern drawl.