Jesse jogged across the sand toward her, Benny loping alongside. “Sorry,” he called as he approached her. Benny finally cut ranks and raced ahead to join Bosco on her blanket, leaving Jesse to give them both a disapproving scowl when he arrived. But a smile took its place as he greeted her. “Hey, Lark. Sorry about that.”
“It’s fine, really,” she assured him, trying to pet both dogs simultaneously as they wiggled around her. Benny stuck his damp nose in her ear, and she laughed and draped an arm around his neck.
Jesse shook his head, planting his hands on his waist. “God. Well, I hope you were enjoying the peace and quiet.” He glanced up at the sky, then down the beach. “I figured it would be safe to bring them along for my run, with the weather coming in. Usually they stick close, but I think Bosco recognized you.”
“I’m flattered.” She scratched his head as he vied with Benny for attention. “It’s nice to have someone happy to see me.”
“I’m happy to see you.”
Butterflies bounced through her stomach, and she blinked at a sudden sting behind her eyes. God. Get a grip.
“Was the rest of your night okay?”
Heat spilled into her veins as she suddenly realized it had been less than 24 hours since he’d found her running around in the woods, confused and screaming. Lifting a shoulder, she pulled in a breath. “It was, actually. All was quiet. I slept on the couch, though.” In your shirt. Which I continued to wear all morning. “I guess that’s my new thing,” she added quickly, hoping a little humor would distract him from the flush turning into fire beneath the skin of her cheeks.
He chuckled, but his expression turned serious. “Well, my offer stands. You know, if you ever want to crash in the guest bedroom.”
She nodded, biting down on her lip. “Thanks.” Pausing, she debated with herself before plunging ahead. “Actually, something weird did happen today, but it gave me an idea. An idea about how to stop all this, maybe. I wanted to run it by you, when you have time.”
He tilted his head, raising his palms. “I’ve got time.” He gestured toward the blanket, sitting down beside her when she moved over.
“Are you sure? I don’t want to keep you from your run.”
He raised a muscular shoulder in a shrug. “It can wait. The worst thing that will happen is two wet dogs.” He tipped his head toward Bosco and Benny, who had wandered over to the high tide line to sniff at the tangles of seaweed and broken crab shells. “It’s probably inevitable anyway,” he added with a wry grin.
“You’re sure?”
His brows pulled together. “Absolutely. Tell me what’s going on, Lark.”
She combed her fingers through her hair, trying to scrape loose strands back into the elastic tie as she gathered her thoughts. Why was she bringing him into this, after deciding this afternoon not to try to involve him anymore?
Her inner voice threw silent answers back at her in rapid-fire succession: because he was already involved, having come to her rescue last night. Because he’d grown up right next to the house. Because his mother was looking into the family history for her. Because he seemed to want to help. Because he was sitting right next to her, his bare arm nearly brushing hers, putting off his run to hear what she had to say.
Because she needed someone to talk to.
And because she wanted that someone to be him.
There it was—the painful truth. She wanted to be close to him, to share things with him, to strengthen this fragile connection growing between them. And that was dangerous. Her battered heart couldn’t take anymore. Her trampled ego couldn’t take anymore. It was too risky, and she was leaving soon anyway.
Still, he was waiting for her to speak, and the silence was verging on awkward. She twisted her fingers together, blowing out a breath. “So, remember I told you about a picture falling off the wall? It was a portrait of the pastor, John. And I think that has some significance.”
“I remember. And that makes sense. But you said something else happened?”
“Yes. This morning, I was doing a little research, and something else fell off that wall. A wooden cross.” She shuddered, looking out across the water. Whitecaps formed as the ocean chop intensified. “And it fell right after…” she trailed off, feeling silly. He’s a vet, she reminded herself. “Well, I was talking out loud, to the cat…and I said something about maybe there really weren’t any ghosts in the house.”
“Whoa.” He touched her back, his palm sliding across her shoulder blades. “That must have been pretty terrifying. Are you okay?”
“Yeah, it was, but I’m fine.” Her skin heated beneath his touch, and she lost her train of thought for a moment. “Anyway, I came up with a theory. If there is really a ghost, and it’s John, maybe he’s trying to send me a message because he needs something. No one’s been in that house long-term in a while. Maybe this is his chance.”
“Sounds plausible.” Jesse gave her shoulder a squeeze, then lowered his hand to the sand behind her, leaning back on his arms. The last of the beachgoers had disappeared, and the dogs were attempting to drag a large piece of driftwood out of the surf. “Hope they don’t think they’re bringing that home,” he muttered under his breath. “So, what do you think he’s trying to tell you?”
“Well, after the cross fell, I noticed an old picture of his church on the shelf. And all the gravestones around the building made me realize that he must be buried there too. I mean, he was the pastor there for years, right? But the thing is…he committed suicide. What if he wasn’t given a proper Christian burial, since he took his own life?”
Jesse’s forehead creased. “You mean, because it was considered a sin?”
“Exactly. So I did a little research this afternoon, and apparently the Church of England did have a law about suicide. Up until a few years ago, it was forbidden to give people who had killed themselves a standard Christian burial. The clergy were supposed to use an alternate service in those cases. I realize a few quick searches doesn’t make me an expert, but John’s church, that historic one up the hill from Main Street, is Congregational. And the Congregationalist Church was founded on the idea that each church makes its own decisions for that individual parish, often with input from the members. If I’m understanding everything correctly, that means whoever took over as the new pastor would have made the decision, maybe along with the rest of the parish, on what service Pastor John would receive at his burial.”
“Which means it’s possible he received the alternate service.”
“Right. And you mentioned last night that some people believed he killed his wife. So between that and him definitely taking his own life, I wouldn’t be surprised if that’s what they decided. But if he was guilty of nothing more than being terribly depressed and unable to go on, maybe his spirit needs the real thing in order to rest.”
“There must be records. We should go talk to the current pastor.”
Gratitude bubbled through her at his use of “we”. Why was a busy veterinarian willing to spend his time unraveling some ghost mystery that really had nothing to do with him? Despite what he’d said last night, she didn’t really think he believed in haunted houses. Then again, she hadn’t either, until very recently.
“And if it turns out he didn’t get the standard Christian service, maybe…“ She cut herself off, unable to bring herself to use the word “we”. Casting about for a way to finish her sentence without making assumptions, she added, “Then maybe that could be arranged now.”
“It’s worth a shot.” He sat forward, laying a hand on her wrist. “I was worried about you last night, Lark.” He held her gaze, his dark blue eyes shining with intensity. The wind lifted his hair, revealing lines of concern across his forehead.
She swallowed. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry,” he said, his voice taking on a rough edge. “I just want to know you’re safe.”
Nodding, she chewed on her bottom lip. “I’ll do some more reading tonight, just to make sure I have as mu
ch information as possible before I start asking the church to redo 60-year-old burial services.” She looked away, glancing at the approaching thunderheads. “I was in a hurry earlier…I wanted to get here before the storm hit.”
“I like to watch the storms come in too.” He gestured toward her camera case. “Were you going to take photos?”
An inexplicable bolt of panic shot through her, as though to admit she was taking photos again out loud would expose a piece of herself she wasn’t entirely sure she was ready to resurrect. She inhaled slowly, glancing at the camera. Taking a few pictures didn’t mean she was committed to anything. But then again, it felt like reclaiming something meaningful…something Nathan and Brittney hadn’t taken from her.
“Yes,” she finally said, reaching for the camera case like it was a life raft in a maelstrom of emotions. Once she had it in her hands, she felt more in control. Stronger. She took the camera out and checked the settings. “I already took a few.” She glanced up at the dogs, who had abandoned the driftwood and wandered a little ways down the deserted beach. “I could take some of Bosco and Benny, if you’d like.”
“I’d love that. I could hang them in the clinic.”
She smiled as a rush of pleasure pulsed through her. Unfurling her legs, she pushed herself up to standing, adjusting the hem of her short dress. “I should get a little closer,” she said, tipping her chin toward the dogs.
Jesse walked beside her down the beach, but when the dogs caught sight of them, they raced back, Bosco in the lead. The pit bull took a quick detour to chase a fleeing seagull, then continued to tear across the sand. As he reached them, he cut a sharp circle around their legs, knocking into the side of Lark’s knee. She weaved sideways, latching on protectively to the camera strap hanging over her shoulder. A sudden jolt of pain flared as the ball of her foot landed on a jagged shell, and she stumbled, crying out.
Strong arms caught her before she fell. “Sit!” Jesse commanded, shooting a stern glance at the dogs. His voice and expression softened as he turned his attention back to her. “Are you okay?”
“Oh, yes, I’m fine.” She looked up at him, her breath catching as she met his concerned gaze. “Just…lost my balance. Stepped on a shell.” Her ability to make full sentences seemed to be failing her at the moment. She couldn’t think clearly this close to him.
“You want me to look at it?”
She shook her head slowly, unable to speak. Her heart skittered erratically as his hand slid up to cup her face. His thumb grazed her cheek, trailing a slow arc of heat across her skin. He drew her closer, his gaze falling to her mouth as he lowered his head.
Anticipation hummed between them, stretching the moment out until his lips brushed against hers. A tiny moan escaped her throat, and he deepened the kiss as she pressed herself against the hard planes of his chest. Oh, God.
His hand moved to the back of her head, anchoring her as his mouth claimed hers, and her knees turned to liquid. She was going to melt into a puddle right here in the sand. Tangling her fingers in his hair, she lifted onto her toes, straining to get closer to him. Desire coursed through her, hot and demanding. Jesse.
She didn’t register the rain at first, only vaguely noticing the sensation of the cool drops on her flushed skin. Nothing mattered but Jesse. The sky could crack open, unleashing a torrential downpour, and she would remain in this moment, kissing him.
But a persistent thought kept trying to push its way in. Her camera. The rain. A remote part of her brain sent up an alarm, reminding her that she needed to protect the precious gift from her parents.
She tensed as reality rushed back in. What was she doing? She didn’t just need to protect her camera—she needed to protect her heart.
He felt the change in her body and relaxed his hold on her, easing back slightly. “Everything okay?” he asked softly, his blue eyes filled with concern as he lifted his head.
“The rain…my camera,” she managed, still dazed.
Understanding flashed across his handsome features. “Oh!” He immediately turned back in the direction they’d come, holding out his hand as they started hurrying toward the abandoned towel. “Here, give it to me. I’ll put it under my shirt.”
The rain quickly strengthened, pelting them with sharp drops as thunder rumbled overhead. She tore the strap off her shoulder and handed him the camera, and he tucked it under his shirt and rounded his back forward like a football player shielding the ball. The dogs ran with them, slightly panicked by their sudden flight and the ominous noises emanating from the sky.
When they reached her things, Jesse relinquished the camera, holding the towel above her like a makeshift tent as she bundled her camera into the case, wrapped it in a plastic bag, and secured it in the duffle bag. She pulled out her raincoat before zipping it closed, finally letting out a breath of relief. Blinking the raindrops from her lashes, she flicked a glance between her raincoat and her soggy dress. “I’m not sure I should bother, at this point,” she said with a shrug, looking back at him.
An answering grin tugged at the corners of his mouth, and he dragged a hand through his damp hair. “Hey, it’s better than nothing. Ready?” He reached for her duffle bag, hiking a thumb in the direction of the trail leading back to the street.
His T-shirt was plastered to his torso, and the sight of his muscled shoulders beneath the clinging fabric brought the kiss back to the forefront of her mind. She caught her swollen lower lip with her teeth, a potent mixture of pleasure and fear roiling through her. Seriously, what had she been thinking?
You weren’t thinking. At all.
Out loud, she replied, “Ready.” Hurrying across the wet sand beside him, she noticed as he shortened his stride to match hers, and a pang of gratitude tightened her chest. Why did he have to be so kind in addition to being so hot?
One way or another, he’ll break your heart.
She couldn’t let it happen again, couldn’t let this go any further. She was leaving as soon as possible, and his life was here, working at the clinic he’d promised his father he’d maintain. If he didn’t lose interest in her before that, they’d have to say goodbye then. And if he was only looking for a physical relationship…well, she wasn’t sure at this point she’d be able to keep her emotions in check if they went that route. He was just too…everything.
The trail was too narrow to climb side-by-side, but he reached a hand out behind him to help her navigate the steep terrain, proving the points she was making in her internal argument with herself.
Her breathing grew ragged as they neared the top, and the wind slapped damp strands of hair against her face. She wondered what she must look like, with her topknot falling apart and her face red from exertion. Thankfully, she hadn’t worn much makeup to work, so at least there wouldn’t be mascara trailing black rivers down her cheeks.
They paused at the top of the dunes, and he gestured toward a lone pair of flip-flops lying by the seagrass. “Are those yours?” As she nodded, he added, “Is your foot going to be okay?”
“Yes, I think it’s fine,” she said, ignoring the tug at her heart his question elicited. She stuffed her toes into the straps, testing the ball of her foot against the sole. In all honesty, between the kiss and the rain, she’d completely forgotten about the pain in her foot. The spot was slightly tender, but nothing that would impair her walking. “I’m good.” She shot him a playful grin, unable to resist. “If I said I wasn’t, would you carry me back?”
“Absolutely,” he replied as they set off down the sandy gravel road. “I did pretty well with the camera, didn’t I?”
She laughed, trying not to picture him tucking her under his shirt and hugging her to his chest. Dear God, what was wrong with her? “I weigh a little bit more than the camera.”
“I’ll try not to take that as a lack of confidence in my strength.”
She giggled again, wiping her face with her hands. “Never. But I do think your carrying me might slow us down.”
Lightening flas
hed, brightening the dark sky for a split second. She jumped, letting out a little gasp. Together, they sped up, their feet slapping through puddles as they approached the fork in the road. Either they parted ways here, to head to their individual driveways, or trekked through the woods, following the path along the river to their adjoining backyards.
The dogs made the decision for them, plunging into the woods. Jesse glanced at her, his brows lifted. “I think it’s okay if we hurry. The lightening’s still far off.”
She nodded, following him onto the trail as thunder cracked overhead. Beneath the canopy of trees, they were sheltered from the full strength of the rain, and they slowed their pace slightly. To their left, the river churned along its route, waterlogged branches swirling on the surface. Lark pulled the hair tie from the crown of her head and shook out the sodden strands, attempting to comb through the tangled mess with her fingers. “Sorry about your run. I’m assuming this isn’t what you had in mind.”
He chuckled, but then his gaze turned serious as he locked eyes with her. “All in all, this wasn’t so bad.”
She flushed, looking down at her feet. Sand and pine needles clung to her moist skin, and one of the scratches from the other night had opened up, sending a stinging pain through the torn flesh. Had her wild run through the woods only been last night? It felt like ages ago.
“I didn’t get the pictures of the dogs,” she said to steer the conversation away from allusions to their kiss.
He lifted a shoulder. “Rain check?” With a grimace, he shook his head as he glanced at the sky. “Sorry, that wasn’t intentional. Another time?”
She giggled. “Sure.”
“Hey, why don’t you come over for dinner one night this week? I could cook out, and fill you in on whatever my mom finds out about the house. I’m having dinner with her tomorrow.”
More evidence of his kindness. In fact, it was a double whammy—he’d already asked his mom for help with Lark’s situation, and he was taking his mom out to eat. If he was trying to make her fall for him, he was doing a good job. And now he was offering to cook her a meal too.
Ghost Moon (Haunting Romance) Page 7