Jerking his hand from her grasp, he turned around, giving her his back. “You and I are a mistake. A tragedy waiting to happen.” His voice was so low, so cold, tears prickled her eyes. “I’m not throwing you out, but we can’t be...together.”
Christy gritted her teeth against the physical pain his rejection caused her heart.
She’d been right from the beginning. He was too good to be true. Mike wasn’t any different than the man she’d been seeing before the robbery. He couldn’t handle her problems, and when things got too real, he discarded her.
Anger pierced through her pain, and she fisted her hands. “I can’t believe...” She swallowed. “After last night...” The tears sprang free, scalding a path down her cheeks. He’d said he’d be there for her. Wanted to help her. Next year they were going to the Halloween dance in the barn.
There would be no next year.
“Fuck you,” she said through her tear-tightened throat.
No! Christy! Don’t let him push you away! That’s what he wants. He wants you to walk away, and you can’t let him do that!
“Shut up,” Christy screamed. “God damn it, leave me alone!”
Mike turned at Christy’s shriek, but he heard her footsteps running down the hall then pounding up the stairs to the third floor. The slamming of the door to her room made him flinch.
He moved back to the weight bench and sank down onto it. Everything would work out better for Christy if she was mad at him. She might not believe it now, but he’d only hurt her if they stayed together. How foolish he’d been to insist his breathing and concentration techniques could help her. Anxiety was nothing like physical pain, and they’d not always worked for him, either.
She needed someone who knew what they were doing. Someone who could take care of her properly. He couldn’t even find her pills in her purse. What would have happened—how long would she have stayed in her state of terror—if Hank hadn’t been there? What if they’d been out for a walk alone, in the middle of nowhere, and a car drove by and backfired?
How would he have taken care of her? Gotten her home?
He’d thought about it all day, and he couldn’t think of one damn way that he’d be any good to her outside this house. And what kind of life could she lead if she was kept sheltered here? Hidden, the way he had been for a decade.
She would have none. Tomorrow morning he’d call Beth and tell her everything that had happened. Christy needed some good, professional help to work through her problems—or at the very least medication that wouldn’t knock her out cold. How could she live this way?
He wouldn’t allow it. He wouldn’t kick her out, but he’d try to convince Beth to come get her, to take her back to L.A. and find her a real therapist who could work with her, not some pill pusher. If Christy didn’t have the money, he’d pay for it. He owed her that much for what she’d given him.
He wasn’t sure how he’d survive not having her around, but at least he had those few precious hours with her to remember. Remember her... Maybe it would be better to forget what he was missing. Going back to his hermithood would be near impossible now. Especially after he’d held her in his arms and fallen in love with her. Knew now what warmth and sweetness could be like when given freely. Had opened his soul and let her in.
* * * * *
Chailali followed Christy upstairs and floated through the door after she slammed it. Christy flung herself on her bed, sobbing as if her world had ended.
“Stop that now,” Chailali said, firming her resolve and not letting herself feel sorry for the woman.
“Get out of my room, whoever the hell you are.” Christy threw a pillow in her direction. It swished through her and hit the door.
“I don’t have a body, so throwing things at me won’t help any. You need to go back there and talk to Michael. He’s not thinking right.”
Christy swiped at her eyes. “I’m not going to throw myself at someone who doesn’t want me. It’s not like he’s the first guy to lead me on and then dump me when things got difficult.”
Chailali grunted. “He’s not dumping you. He’s running away from his fears again. Why do you think he’s hidden away in this house for so long? He’s afraid of rejection, and now he’s afraid of hurting you.”
A sound of disgust came out of Christy as she rolled over and pulled the remaining pillow over her head.
Chailali moved around the bed so Christy faced her. What she wouldn’t give to have a body, to have hands in order to rip that pillow off her head and shake some sense into her. “He is blaming himself for whatever happened to you in town today.”
Christy rolled over the other way.
“I’m not going anywhere, and I’ll stand here and talk at you all night.”
“It won’t do any good, because you’re not real!”
“I am real. I’m a ghost—or a spirit—or whatever you want to call me. I committed suicide in 1778. I’ve been wandering around this area—which was once the land of my father—ever since then. Where I was born and grew up. But because I killed myself and cursed my lover, I’m stuck here. Believe me, I’m real.”
Finally, Christy rolled over again and faced her, her brow drawn into a fierce frown. “Why can’t Mike hear you then?”
“Because very few people are open enough to the spirit world to do so. But you can.”
“You’re a figment of my very overactive, messed up imagination.”
“You don’t believe that.”
Christy sighed.
Chailali perched on the bed beside her. “I know that believing I’m here, that you’re not imagining me, must be difficult. Some people over the years have tried to exorcize me from their homes, some refuse to acknowledge me. Some have left their houses, never to return, because they fear me. But I’m not dangerous, and I only want to help you and Michael.”
Shaking her head, her brow drawn into a fierce frown, Christy asked, “Why?”
“I love him,” Chailali admitted for the first time even to herself. She’d loved Michael since the first day she saw him and Caryn together. They’d just returned from a day at the beach. They were sunburned and laughing, teasing each other. He’d carried Caryn to their bedroom—this very room—and he’d rubbed lotion all over her body. When Caryn fell asleep, he’d kissed her shoulder as if she were the most precious woman he’d ever known. She’d seen in Mike the kind of love she’d once dreamed of possessing.
Instead, she’d done the unthinkable by ending her life, cursing herself and her lover—a man who didn’t love her—to an eternity of pain and loneliness. She’d come to learn over the centuries that one did not possess that kind of love. It must be freely given, and it was tenuous at best. Too easily lost—or stolen, as in Mike’s case—by a tragic accident.
“If you love him, why do you want me with him? I’d think you’d be jealous and try to keep me away. Isn’t that what ghosts are supposed to do?”
“Because I want him to find happiness. I am a ghost. He doesn’t know—or at least he doesn’t acknowledge—that I exist. But you’re a real, whole woman, and you love him. You can be the one to put the light back inside of him. I know you can. I saw it this morning. He fairly shone with his love for you.
“Go to him and don’t let him self destruct again. I don’t think his soul can take it.”
Christy shook her head. “He doesn’t love me. If he loved me, he wouldn’t push me away. He said he’d be there for me, but when I needed comfort, he turned away. Besides, I don’t think I can blame him if I put that mark on his chest, which I’m fairly sure I did. I think I remember kicking him.”
“He thinks he’s not worthy of you. Why can’t you see that? You need to convince him otherwise. Show him how much you love him.”
“Nu-uh. No. I’m not throwing myself at him. He said it was over. It’s over. That’s that.” She sighed and rolled onto her back, throwing her arm over her eyes. “Thank God I never told him how I felt. If he’s running now, imagine what he would have done if
I told him I had fantasies of having his children and living here in this beautiful little town.”
“He does love you!” Chailali wanted to hit something. Throw something. She shoved her hand into the alarm clock until it set to beeping.
Christy grabbed the clock and ripped the cord from the wall. “Go. Away.”
Chailali headed for the door. She had no idea what she could do to get these two stubborn people together. Part of her wanted to give up, but she couldn’t. They needed each other. Why couldn’t they see it?
Chapter Twelve
“How dare you call my sister!” Christy stomped into Mike’s office, fury coursing through her so hard she wanted to pound him over the head. “You said I wasn’t fired. Damn it, why’d you call and...and...tattle on me?”
Afternoon sun streamed through the window and over Mike, making him look good enough to eat. His dark hair shining, his broad shoulders so tempting. She growled and shoved her hands in her pockets to keep from wrapping her arms around him or punching him—she wasn’t sure which action would come out first if she gave herself the chance.
Mike slowly turned his office chair to face her. “I thought it best, honey.”
“Don’t you call me honey,” she spat.
“And you’re not fired. But you have to agree that you can’t get the help you need here. Beth sees that now.”
“For the love of... You know what she told me? She said that you think I need to see another shrink. Since when do you get to make a decision like that? This is my life.”
“A life you’re not living being cooped up inside a house because you’re too afraid to leave.”
Christy snorted. “And you’re so different?”
He compressed his lips and folded his arms over his chest. “I have a career that I can do well enough right here.” He flicked a hand toward the computer then refolded his arms. “I don’t need to leave the house. But what about you? Are you going to clean my house for the rest of your life?”
“If that’s what I want to do, then yes. Beth is the one who dumped me here in the first place. How come all of a sudden because the Mighty Michael Horton tells her something she’s willing to listen? I told her for over a year that I wasn’t faking my anxiety attacks, and I wasn’t going to just get over them because she demanded it.”
“She never thought you were faking them.”
Christy shut her eyes and tipped her head forward. Pain and anger warred within her for top priority. He hadn’t spoken to her since last night in the weight room, and now he was banishing her.
“Honey...”
“Don’t call me that,” she growled between gritted teeth. She felt like the redheaded stepchild. No one wanted her. Not her sister, not even Mike.
She turned away, but stopped at the door. “I really thought you were different. I thought...we had something special.” She turned back, and the look of hurt splashed across his face nearly brought her to her knees. But she wouldn’t take it back. He was the one throwing her out.
When he made no verbal response, though, she had her answer. Whatever he’d felt for her didn’t transcend the fact he couldn’t deal with her problems. He wasn’t willing to give them a fair shot.
Gripping the doorframe, she bit her lip to keep from crying. She’d cried herself to sleep last night, and then done more before she got the nerve to come in here after she’d talked to Beth. Enough tears. She hadn’t known Mike long enough to feel this much pain over his betrayal of her heart.
“Beth will be here the afternoon of the first—that’s just two days away. I’ll be leaving then.” She couldn’t keep the words inside, even though she knew that saying them might well kill her. “I would have gladly stayed in this house with you forever.” She turned and left the room.
Mike tipped his head back and fisted his hands. God, it hurt. He’d never felt such pain. It was worse than a dozen crushed bones. Worse than losing Caryn. Worse than anything he’d ever experienced in his life. Letting Christy go was like giving away his own soul.
She would have gladly stayed with him forever.
He thought of getting up and going after her, begging for forgiveness and asking her to stay.
But he couldn’t. She needed...something more than he could ever give her. She needed professional help. She needed to gain control over her life again. If he kept her from accomplishing that by letting her hide away here, he might as well put bars around her and hold her prisoner. He couldn’t do that to her. He loved her too much.
Maybe someday she’d return, but he doubted it. Hearing the pain and anger in her voice, he knew he’d killed whatever had been developing between them.
Turning back to his computer, he told himself it was for the best. He had nothing to offer her. Nothing but himself, and he wasn’t even a whole man.
He raised his hands and set his fingers on the keys, trying to remember where he’d been before Christy had come in.
Moron.
He jumped, jerking his hands back, when his computer spoke. His heart sped up. He hadn’t typed that word. Not ever in this book.
Idiot.
A prickle went up his spine.
Need her.
“Christy?” he called.
Love her.
His heart thrummed against his ribcage as he pushed his chair back from the desk. He searched the room, looking for any shadow that would tell him that Christy was there playing a trick on him, but he saw nothing besides the outline of his desk and the monitor sitting atop it.
Chailali collapsed onto the window seat, her energy sapped. So many things she wanted to say to Mike, but she couldn’t do it. She’d never tried communicating with him this way, and it took too much from her to make his computer say what she wanted.
“Christy?” he called again, a twinge of fear in his voice.
She didn’t want to scare him, but she couldn’t allow him to let Christy leave, either. When he’d called Christy’s sister that morning, she’d tried then to get his attention with the computer, but only garbled noise had come out, and he’d shut it off.
“Don’t let her go,” Chailali pleaded.
Mike scooted his chair back to the computer and reached for the power switch, but he stopped. He typed something then hit the button to make it vocalize what he’d just written.
I do love her. That’s why I have to let her go.
* * * * *
“If you want dinner, you better come get it,” Christy called down the hall from the doorway to the kitchen.
Her last night with Mike. The anger inside her had managed to squash out the hurt, and now she just wanted to be away. She was ready to go. They’d barely spoken ten words since the other afternoon. He’d literally locked himself in his office after she confronted him, only coming out for his meals. It was worse than the first week she’d been there.
He wanted nothing to do with her, had even told her she didn’t need to make his suppers any longer. The crowning blow to her heart had been the check lying on the kitchen counter that morning written out to her. Parker Sholand, Mike’s accountant, had come by yesterday to do the month-end bills. All Mike had to do was sign the checks. Apparently she was a month-end cost.
She’d never discussed pay with him, but now she assumed Beth had dealt with it, and well overcharged him. The check was close to what she’d once made at Bistro Italiano.
It was what the accountant had put in the subject line, though, that nearly ripped her heart out. Housekeeping. That’s all she’d been. The housekeeper. If that panic attack the other night had never happened... If she hadn’t seen him masturbating in front of the computer... If she’d kept her hands to herself and not urged him to open up to her...
Well, she should have kept her business to herself. She’d never had a relationship in a workplace. Why would here be any different? How’d she let herself fall in love with her employer?
Besides, he was a crotchety old bear. What was there to love about him anyway?
Mike came into
the kitchen and headed straight to the table without saying a word. His limp seemed more pronounced since the trip to town, and she wondered if he’d strained his leg.
Rolling her eyes, she turned to the oven and pulled out the casserole dish. I do not love him. I do not love him. I don’t care about his leg, his limp, or anything else about him. I’m leaving tomorrow. End of discussion.
Maybe if she told herself that enough, she might start believing it. Someday.
She dished up the food onto his plate, poured him a mug of coffee, and took it to him. “Salisbury steak at ten, mashed potatoes at three, and buttered carrots at seven. Coffee at twelve.”
“Thank you,” he muttered as he picked up his fork.
The pain returned along with the anger. She went to the counter, grabbed the apple pie she’d made that afternoon, and plopped it down in the center table. “Your apple pie.”
He stilled, his fork halfway to his mouth, but he didn’t tip his head to look up at her. Was this it? This was the last conversation they’d have? If one could even call it a conversation.
“Thank you,” he said again, and Christy had to suppress the urge to turn the pie over his head.
This was it. This was all there was. Her chin trembled as she bit back the tears. How could he be so cold, so distant, when all she wanted was to feel his arms around her again?
Say something to him.
Chailali had been pressuring her to talk to him since she chewed him out for calling Beth.
Chailali, the ghostly figment of her imagination. She wasn’t real. Christy had invented her to explain her strange behavior—her urges—to be with Mike.
“I guess I’ll go finish packing.”
Mike gave one curt nod as he cut into his steak, his heart breaking again...and again. He wanted to reach out to her, pull her into his arms. The words to ask her to stay were too close to the tip of his tongue. If he opened his mouth to say anything, they’d come out.
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