She sighed, slapping her phone down on the counter and twisting off the burner. So much for distance. But she had to go—what choice did she have?
This wouldn’t be awkward at all.
15
Lark set the cat carrier onto the floor of the empty exam room and opened the metal door. Despite all the howling Preston did on the way to the vet’s office, now that he was free to climb out of the carrier, he didn’t budge. She didn’t blame him. She wished she could crawl in there with him, to be honest.
She fidgeted beside the metal exam table, glancing repeatedly at the far door as she struggled against the anxiety coursing through her veins. Beads of sweat collected along her hairline, and she swiped an arm across her forehead. Just getting dressed for this appointment had taken an inordinate amount of thought and energy. Ridiculous.
The door leading to the back of the clinic opened, and Jesse strode in. He gave her a tight smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “How’s he doing?” he asked, getting right to business.
“Oh…ah…I think he’s doing well. Although he doesn’t want to come out.” She gestured toward the carrier on the floor.
Jesse picked it up by the sides and gently tipped it until Preston spilled out onto the table. “Hey, buddy,” he murmured to the cat, corralling him before he could jump off and escape back into the carrier. He palpitated Preston’s belly, not looking at Lark. “Is he eating okay?”
“Yes. He’s eating the special food, and he’s been using the litterbox.”
“Good.” With one hand, he hooked the stethoscope around his neck into his ears, then maneuvered the silver chest piece onto Preston’s fur.
The room was quiet as he listened, and the tension seemed to expand in the silence. She couldn’t take it anymore. “How was the rest of your weekend?”
He glanced up at her, removing the ear pieces and wrapping the stethoscope back around his neck. “Uneventful.”
She chewed on her lower lip. It didn’t seem like a good idea to discuss how she’d taken it upon herself to visit Provincetown after declining his invitation. But she could at least share that the ghost had been quiet, thankfully. “Mine, too,” she offered, even though he didn’t ask. “No paranormal activity, although at this point I still just sleep on the couch.”
His eyes flashed, and she realized her mistake. She’d hoped to resurrect the couch joke, but on Friday night, she’d slept in a bed. His bed, to be specific. Until she’d snuck out, leaving an impersonal note like the coward she was.
“Glad to hear it,” he said tersely, peering into Preston’s eyes. “He seems to be doing fine.”
“Listen…” she trailed off, swallowing hard. “Friday night was…well, it was amazing.”
He met her gaze, brows raised. “Sounds like there’s a ‘but’ coming.” He released Preston, and the cat jumped lightly to the exam room floor and scurried back into his carrier.
“No, no ‘but’. It’s just that…I’m not going to be staying here, so I don’t think we should start anything. You know?”
His shoulder lifted. “You’ve been very upfront about your plans to leave. I suppose I just didn’t see any issue with us dating while you were here.”
Oh, God, she was really messing this up. She twisted her fingers together, shifting her weight. “I think the issue is…we could get too close.”
He nodded. “Got it.” Turning his back on her, he washed his hands at the sink. “I have to get to my next client, Lark.” His voice was firm and businesslike, edged with steel.
“Oh, of course,” she said miserably. What was she thinking, bringing all this up while he was at work? “We’re all set, then?” She swept her hand toward the carrier to indicate she was referring to the cat. She already knew she and Jesse were all set. Over. Done.
“Yes. Everything looks good. But he may always be susceptible to another blockage, so you should keep him on the special diet and stay alert for any future issues.”
“I will.”
He gave her a brisk nod. “Take care,” he said as he turned to leave, a hard undercurrent of finality in his tone.
She watched the door close behind him, her vision swimming as something inside her broke.
16
A canine whine registered first, breaking through layers of sleep. Jesse stirred, rolling to his side. Then a frantic cry ripped through the darkness, and he tensed, his eyes snapping open. Bosco leapt off the bed and charged to the open window, propping himself up on the ledge.
“Help!”
Jesse was on his feet in seconds. Lark! He recognized her voice, but he also recognized the sobbing pleas for help. A jolt of alarm surged through him as scenes from the last time he’d heard her screams echoing through the night played out in his mind. The unseen pursuer, her eerie struggle, the collapse of her body beside the river.
“Help me!”
He raced down the stairs and into the kitchen, both dogs at his heels now. He wasn’t wearing anything but boxer briefs, but he wasn’t about to take the time to put more clothes on. Pushing the dogs back with his bare foot, he hauled open the slider, then slammed it shut firmly behind him. He was running before he’d even turned away from the house, his long strides carrying him across the yard, his pulse pounding in time with his feet. He crossed the yard quickly, catching sight of her as he neared the woods. She stumbled through the trees, terror etched in every movement, sinking to her knees by the bank of the river. “No, please,” she moaned.
“Lark!” he yelled, hoping somehow his voice might break the spell. “Wake up!” He pushed himself harder, summoning a burst of speed as he crossed the bridge. He watched in horror as her body toppled forward, her hair falling over her face as her head dropped out of view.
Damn it! A series of splashes revealed at least some part of her had hit the water. He had no flashlight, but the moon was nearly full, its glow filtering through branches to dimly define the shadows. The pale skin of her bare legs flashed in the darkness as she kicked wildly at the forest floor.
As he closed the last stretch of distance between them, his stomach lurched at the angle of her body—chest folded over the bank, head dangling, her hands flailing at the surface of the water. Her lower body writhed and fought for leverage, as though someone were holding her down.
This time, he was sure someone was holding her down. He didn’t understand how, but he knew it was no dream. Not a regular dream, anyway.
Icy air surrounded his arms as he grabbed her around the waist. He hauled her up and back, wrenching her away from the unseen force. A numb, prickling sensation washed over his flesh, and corresponding nausea churned in his stomach. The air around them was cold and dense, inhabited by a tangle of pain and terror. He clutched her to him, her body limp against his chest, and pulled her farther away from the river.
He laid her down on the ground, kneeling beside her, and she thrashed weakly, moaning. Beneath her closed lids, her eyes fluttered, and strands of wet hair stuck to her pale cheeks. Cradling the sides of her head, he brought his face close to hers. “Lark. Wake up, baby.” Please. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”
Her chest shuddered as she sucked in a breath, releasing it on a spasm of coughs. Her eyes dragged open, and she stared blankly at him.
“Lark?” A thread of relief snaked through him, but adrenaline continued to pour into his veins like jolts of electricity. She appeared awake, now, although he didn’t believe she’d exactly been asleep. More like in a trance, under a spell, cast by whatever was in that house. He prayed his voice could break it. “I’m here, baby. I’ve got you.”
She groaned, her lax expression beginning to sharpen as her eyes focused. “Jesse?” Her gaze moved from his as she took in their surroundings. Comprehension slowly overtook confusion, but the fear remained etched across her face. “Oh, no,” she murmured, craning her neck to lift her head off the ground. “It happened again.”
“Yeah,” he answered softly, reaching for her hand. He rubbed his palms over her chilled fl
esh. “But you’re okay now.”
Lifting her free arm, she touched the sodden stands of hair plastered to her neck, her eyes seeking his with an unspoken question.
“You were on the river bank again. This time you nearly fell in.” Were nearly pushed in, his inner voice growled.
She blinked slowly, heaving a sigh. “Someone was chasing me. In the dream, or whatever. But…it wasn’t me. I wasn’t me.” She rubbed her forehead. “Sorry, I know that doesn’t make sense.”
“Don’t apologize. I want you to try to explain it. But first, I need to know if you’re hurt.”
“My head hurts. Not like I bumped it or anything. Inside. Like a headache, but…different.”
He frowned. “You’re freezing, too. I need to get you inside. Get you warmed up.”
She nodded, the back of her head rustling against the pine needles and leaves. “Yes. Okay.”
He slid his arm beneath her upper back and helped her to sit up. “Can you walk?”
Nodding again, she let him help her to her feet. Once again, she was barely dressed, clad only in a long T-shirt. His T-shirt, he suddenly realized, his heart tightening.
If he had anything on, he’d give her extra layers to warm her up. He settled for tucking her under his shoulder, enfolding her in his arms and sharing his body heat. He led them toward the bridge, and she huddled beside him, not protesting as he helped her up the hill toward his house. An owl hooted in the darkness, the repetitive calls an unnerving accompaniment to their silent trek.
He took them in through the unlocked slider, pushing the dogs away and hustling her to the couch. Spreading a blanket over her, he ran upstairs and grabbed a sweatshirt for her, pulling on his own clothes as he made his way back down. He quickly heated a mug of milk, his thoughts spinning along with the microwave turntable.
What was he going to do? She’d made her feelings clear over the weekend—and reiterated her stance a few days ago at Preston’s appointment. She didn’t want to be with him. But there was simply no way he could let her go back home after this. It was too dangerous, and this was now the second time it had happened. The first time, they’d been able to chalk it up to some sort of sleepwalking incident. Now they knew they were dealing with a frightening supernatural entity. They even had images on film.
Carrying the warm drink to her, he placed it in her hands and sat down across from her. He raked his gaze over her, but she was almost entirely covered by the blanket and draped with two dogs. The scene was so reminiscent of the last time, it felt like they’d been thrust into the past. He dragged a hand over his jaw, the rough stubble reminding him how late it was. A thread of unease twisted in his gut as he glanced at the clock on the wall. The timeframe of the two incidents was the same as well—it was now nearly 1:30 a.m., which meant he’d found her by the river a little after 1:00. Just like before.
He dropped his hand, rubbing his palms on the sweatpants he’d thrown on. “Lark. Are you okay? You sure you’re not injured?”
She sipped at her drink, her hands wrapped around the mug’s warmth. “I don’t know about okay, but I’m not injured.” A tremor traveled through her, and she averted her gaze.
“Look. I know you don’t want my help. But you can’t go back to that house tonight.” He pressed his lips together, then plunged ahead. “You need to stay here. In one of the guest rooms. I promise I won’t touch you, so you don’t need to worry about that.”
Her face crumpled, and she dropped her head. Benny lifted his nose toward her, sensing some shift in emotions. A long hiccupping breath tore from her chest, an opening of the floodgates. Then suddenly she was sobbing, one hand covering her mouth in an attempt to muffle the choked gasps.
Christ. What was happening? He watched in horror as her body shook, tears dripping to the blanket. Bosco whined, unsettled. The dog looked at him, as if urging him to do something. He hesitated for a moment, unsure whether he should now touch her after just promising he wouldn’t. But instinct took over, and he hurried to her, nudging Bosco aside as he dropped to the couch beside her, enfolding her in his arms.
“Hey. It’s going to be okay. We’ll try to find a hotel room if that’s what you need.” That wouldn’t be easy, in the middle of the night in summertime on Cape Cod. But he might be able to pull some strings if he had to. Or maybe Diane would let her stay over. “I just want to make sure you’re safe.”
Something he said triggered a worse onslaught of wracking sobs, and her chest heaved as she fought to catch her breath. He held her silently, his teeth clenching against the feeling of helplessness. Warm tears drenched his neck, ripping holes in his heart.
When her weeping tapered off, she lifted her head, shaking it slowly. “Sorry,” she murmured, her voice ragged. She sniffled, wiping at her face with trembling fingers.
“It’s fine. Hang on, I’ll grab you some tissues.” He rose, nearly sprinting to the bathroom and returning with the box. “Here.” He gently set the box on her lap and sat back down, rubbing his palm over her back as she swiped at her eyes and nose.
He gave her time, going over their brief conversation in his head, searching for what had set her off. Something he’d said? Or just fear and exhaustion? He had the feeling there was something even deeper going on here, but whether she would confide in him was anyone’s guess.
When she met his gaze again, her eyes were red and swollen, filled with anguish. “I don’t usually get hysterical like that.”
“I’d say, under the circumstances, most people would.”
She nodded, twisting the sodden tissue in her hands. “Having no control like that…your body being directed by someone else. By something else. It’s scary.”
“Downright terrifying, I’d guess.”
“But it’s not that. Or not just that.” She swallowed audibly. “It’s what you said, about promising not to touch me.”
He tensed, the motion of his hand against her back coming to an abrupt halt.
“That’s not what I want,” she said breathlessly, the words rushing out like a confession. “I don’t want you to never touch me again.”
Confusion knotted his muscles. He had no idea how to respond, and a heavy silence hung in the air for a few beats.
“I know it’s my fault, but it hurt me to hear you say that. It’s not what I want. But there’s a reason I felt like that’s the way it had to be.” She hung her head, her damp hair falling forward. “I owe you an explanation.”
What was going on? He gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze before dropping his arm away. “You don’t owe me anything, Lark.”
She peered up at him, her features set with determination. “I want to tell you why I ran away the other night.”
17
She did owe him the truth about why she’d left like that. But the idea of revealing what had happened, the thought of sharing that betrayal, made her stomach clench into a tight fist. Pulling a fresh tissue from the box, she dabbed at her swollen eyes, suddenly picturing what she must look like. She’d gone from fast asleep, to staggering through the woods, to dunking her head into a river, to prolonged hysterical crying…not a great combination.
Gathering the used tissues, she shifted forward on the couch. “Okay if I run to the bathroom and splash some water on my face first?”
“Of course,” he answered, pushing himself up to standing and lifting her mug off the table. “Want a refill?”
“Um…sure.” She followed him toward the kitchen, tossing the tissues into the trash can as he pointed out the downstairs bathroom. “Actually, maybe something stronger, if you have it.”
“I was going to pour a whisky myself. Too strong?” He held up an expensive-looking bottle he’d pulled from a lower cabinet.
“Not for this night. I think I could use it.” Her gaze fell on the oven clock as she turned toward the bathroom, and a sudden realization crashed over her. “Oh my God! It’s almost 2:00 in the morning, and you have to work tomorrow!” She dragged her fingers through her tangled hair. “
I am so sorry. I should go.”
“You’re not going back to that house tonight. Remember?”
She sucked in a breath at the mention of the house, steadying herself in the doorway as her legs wobbled. “Oh, no—what about Preston? Last time I did this, I left the front door of the house wide open. But he’s not locked in the upstairs bathroom tonight.”
He set down the two low-ball glasses and crossed toward the slider. “I’ll go right now and make sure he’s still inside, and lock up. Do you need anything?”
She couldn’t think straight. “But…you need to go to sleep. It’s a weeknight,” she added dully, as if he didn’t know.
“I’ll be fine. I’ve gone many nights with no sleep over the years. I’m going to run over and check on the house, and then we’re going to talk. Okay?” His voice held no room for argument, and his gaze remained locked on hers as he waited for an answer.
“Yes. Okay.” She started to close the bathroom door, then added, “Hurry back. And please be careful.”
When she met her reflection in the mirror, she almost wished a phantom face had taken its place. Good Lord. Bending over, she splashed cold water on her face, wishing she had a brush and some concealer. Oh well, what did it matter? She was going to tell him her story, expose her shattered self-worth, and then let him get to bed. Still, she did her best to fix her appearance as she waited for him to return. As she adjusted the enormous sweatshirt he’d lent her, she suddenly realized she was wearing his T-shirt underneath. Since Monday’s heartbreak, she’d been sleeping in it, unable to deny herself the security it provided, even if it came with pain. Had he noticed? Oh, God, she was pathetic.
In the kitchen, she rinsed out her mug, staring anxiously out the window into the inky blackness. Was he okay? Was Preston okay? Searching for something else to do, she picked up the bottle of whisky on the counter and poured a healthy amount into each glass. The sharp, smoky tang filled her nostrils as she raised the glass to her lips, and she took a tentative sip. With a grimace, she swallowed, the fiery liquid burning a path down her throat and into her belly. Whoa.
Ghost Moon (Haunting Romance) Page 13