Midnight Surrender: A Paranormal Romance Anthology

by Abel, Charlotte

  The pie would be gone in a matter of seconds, so she cut a piece and put it on her plate. Her mouth watered but this piece was for Hunter. Where the hell was he?

  Hunter’s daddy waved her over. “I’ll give you a catfish for that there piece of pie.”

  “Sorry, it’s spoken for.” Channie ducked her head to hide the blush heating her cheeks.

  Mr. Feenie rubbed his chin and smirked at her. “You wouldn’t be planning to waste that on one of my boys, now would you?”

  “Uh …”

  He laughed and patted her back then pointed towards a crowd of young men. “They’re all over yonder, watching Hunter and Shep arm wrestle.”

  Channie’s face went from warm to hot. “Thank you, sir.”

  Hunter had looked mighty good when they met in the middle of the night under the sycamore tree. He looked even better in broad daylight.

  At the last gathering, Hunter’s hand-me-down dress shirt had hung off his shoulders and covered all but the tips of his fingers. Now, it strained across the muscles of his upper body. The cuffs ended a good three inches above his wrists.

  Shep was eleven months older than Hunter, but you wouldn’t know it by looking at the two boys. Shep scrunched his face into a grimace and ground his teeth. His whole body trembled.

  Veins stood out on the backs of Hunter’s hand, but his arm didn’t so much as twitch. A smattering of fine blond hair dusted his upper lip and sparkled in the sunlight. He grinned at the crowd, obviously enjoying all the attention.

  When his gaze met Channie’s, she lifted the plate to show him the pie, and mouthed, “For you.”

  Shep slammed Hunter’s arm onto the stump they were using as a table then raised his fists over his head with a shout of triumph.

  Hunter grabbed Shep’s arm. “I was distracted by Channie’s pie. I wanna rematch.”

  Shep laughed and shook his head. “I’m gonna go get me a piece before it’s all gone.”

  “Too late.” Channie had just come from the table. “This is the last piece and I got it for Hunter.”

  Shep elbowed Hunter out of the way and reached for the plate. “To the victor go the spoils.”

  “You don’t want this.” Channie dodged his grasp and tapped into her power-name, but Shep got his shield up in time to repel her persuasive magic.

  “Oh yes I do.” He made another lunge towards Channie.

  Hunter stiff-armed him with one hand and reached for the plate with the other. “You keep away from Channie.”

  Shep arched an eyebrow as his gaze darted back and forth between Channie and Hunter. “I thought you and Lovie—”

  “Uh-uh.” Hunter shook his head. It was hard to understand him with his mouth full of pie, but it sounded like he said, ‘Lovie’s just for fun.’

  Shep snorted and rolled his eyes. “Does her daddy know?”

  Hunter’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and glared at Shep. “You keep your big mouth shut, Shepherd Feenie.”

  Shep smirked and held his hand out, palm up. “The only way to shut my mouth is to fill it with pie.”

  Hunter pressed his lips together so hard a rim of white encircled his mouth, but he handed the plate to his brother.

  Shep shoved the rest of the pie into his mouth. His eyelids fluttered closed as he groaned and smacked his lips.

  Channie glared at him. “If you’re done with my plate, I’d like to have it back, now.”

  He licked it like a dog then shoved it at her. “Thank’s for the pie, Miss Enchantment. It was delicious.”

  Channie crossed her arms over her padded chest and stepped back. “You are not welcome. And you can just go put that plate in my momma’s basket. I’m not touching it after you slobbered all over it.”

  Hunter took Channie’s hand and led her away from the group of laughing boys. “It was right nice of you to bring me that piece of pie.”

  “I’m sorry your jerk of a brother stole it.”

  “Me too. But I’m in enough trouble with Lovie's daddy. I don’t need Shep spreading rumors.”

  “What’s going on with you two, anyway?” Channie licked her suddenly dry lips. “What’d you mean ‘Lovie's just for fun?’”

  Hunter dropped Channie’s hand and shot her a sideways glance then scratched the back of his head. “There’s two kinds of girls. The kind you have fun with and the kind you marry.”

  Channie untied her shawl and let the ends hang loose. She pulled her shoulders back, pushing her padded chest forward just a bit. “Why can’t a girl be both?”

  “It don’t work that way.” Hunter’s eyebrows arched as his gaze traveled the length of Channie’s body. “Though lord knows, I wish it did.”

  Channie grabbed the ends of her shawl but before she could tie them, Hunter stepped in front of her and took both her hands. “I shouldn’t have said that. You’re definitely the marrying kind of girl.”

  Channie’s heart leapt into her throat. Was Hunter declaring his intentions? They were a little young to get engaged, but Momma and Daddy had gotten married when they were sixteen.

  Hunter caressed the back of Channie’s hands with his thumbs. “And someday—”

  A shrill whistle interrupted Hunter. Someone yelled, “Grab a partner and line up!”

  Channie recognized “Fire on the Mountain” even before the fiddler joined in. Hunter grabbed her around the waist and ran with her to line up in front of the band.

  All the Feenie boys were light on their feet, but Hunter was by far the best dancer in the entire Ozark region. He whirled and twirled Channie ‘till she was so dizzy she could barely stand. His feet were a blur as he beat out a rhythm on the ground that had people dropping out to watch. When the music stopped, he kissed the back of Channie’s hand, thanked her for the dance … and disappeared.

  ~***~

  An hour later, Channie still hadn’t seen hide nor hair of Hunter, but she spotted Lovie Schmidt’s family. Lovie was not with them.

  When Momma started in on Abby for losing track of the trips, Channie jumped to her feet. “I’ll go look for ‘em.”

  She headed straight for the barn.

  Lovie's high-pitched giggle boiled Channie’s blood. But it was the husky sound of Hunter’s voice that drove a knife through her heart.

  “Pleeease, Lovie. You’re making me crazy.”

  Channie froze then took a shaky breath and peeked through a gap between the rotting boards of the barn door. Dust motes swirled in the golden hued light of the setting sun.

  Hunter pressed Lovie against the back wall. He held her wrists above her head with one hand and tangled the other in her hair.

  Lovie’s lips parted as she lifted her chin.

  Hunter kissed his way up her throat to her mouth.

  Channie turned and fled into the lengthening shadows of the woods. Brambles snagged the fabric of her new dress and clawed at her skin; but she barely felt it. Why would Hunter practically propose to her then run off and do that with Lovie?

  ~***~

  “Channie?” Aunt Wisdom’s voice drifted through the woods. “Where are you, sweetheart?”

  Channie swiped the tears out of her eyes and turned towards the sound of Aunt Wisdom’s voice. She reached out with her magic. “Over here.”

  The soft glow of a kerosene lantern wove a trail of light between the trees.

  Aunt Wisdom set the lantern on the ground then wrapped her arms around Channie. “He’s not worth it.”

  Channie pulled back and frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean…” Aunt Wisdom brushed the hair off Channie’s forehead. “That Feenie boy does not deserve you.”

  “What makes you think this is about Hunter?” There was no point denying she was upset, but she might be able to salvage a scrap of pride.

  “Well, my first clue was the way you lit up while you were dancing with him.”

  “You read my energy field?” Channie pulled away from Aunt Wisdom.

  “
I didn’t have to. You were glowing like a sky full of lightening bugs.”

  Channie buried her face in her hands and groaned. “Everyone knows?” Could this get any more humiliating?

  Aunt Wisdom tugged Channie’s hands away from her face. “No one’s judging you, sweetheart. But that Feenie boy didn’t do himself any favors tonight.”

  “Why doesn’t Hunter like me the way he likes Lovie Schmidt?”

  Aunt Wisdom gripped Channie’s chin between her thumb and index finger then tilted her face up. “You do not want any boy to like you the way they all like Lovie Schmidt.”

  “But it hurts.” Channie pressed her hands against her chest, as if that could ease the pain. “It feels like Hunter ripped my heart out and stomped on it.”

  Aunt Wisdom hugged her again. “I know baby, I know.” She kissed the top of Channie’s head. “Someday, you’re going to find an honorable man. A man willing to place your happiness above his own. A man willing to sacrifice everything for your benefit. A man willing to lay down his very life, to protect you.”

  “Where am I gonna find a man like that?”

  “I have no idea.” Aunt Wisdom picked up her lantern then wrapped an arm around Channie’s waist. She guided her back towards the clearing — taking a large detour away from the barn. “But I do know this much … he won’t be from around here.”

  Learn more about Charlotte Abel and The Channie Series at: www.CharlotteAbel.com

  Down the Rabbit Hole By Charlotte Abel

  Jonathan glanced at the address scribbled on the back of Dr. Harrison’s card then at the tiny cottage across the street. What sort of therapist worked out of a house painted eggplant purple? The kind that claimed they could cure phantom pain with hypnosis; that’s what kind. What was he expecting? A high-rise office building?

  He gritted his teeth against the pins and needles sensation in his left hand — or what his nervous system still believed was his left hand. Pain meds helped, but not enough. That’s why he was here, knocking on the Pepto-Bismol pink door of Bluestar Morninglory’s Holistic House of Healing.

  The door creaked open. A mangy, black and white striped cat darted between Jonathan’s feet. He spun around and grabbed it before it jumped off the front porch. The crazy cat howled and dug its claws into his forearm. He gritted his teeth and turned around to find a middle-aged woman standing in the doorway. She looked pretty good for an old broad. Her faded jeans and work out Bolder-Boulder t-shirt from 2009 hugged her curvy body, but her tanned-leather face and grey streaked hair ruined the effect.

  She took the hissing cat and tossed it inside without a word.

  Jonathan blotted his bleeding arm on his t-shirt. “You should keep an eye on that thing. He won’t last long outside with the coyotes.”

  “What do you want?”

  “I’m looking for a hypnotherapist.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Why?”

  Jonathan held out his left arm and rotated his myoelectric hand. The tiny gears and servos of the robotic device hummed as he manipulated it. “The phantom pain never goes away. My doc said hypnosis might help.”

  The woman’s eyes softened as she lifted her gaze from Jonathan’s prosthesis to his face. “All right. Come on in. But next time, call first and make an appointment.”

  “I can come back later if it’s more convenient.”

  “You’re here now. My name’s Bluestar, but everyone calls me Blue.” She motioned for Jonathan to enter with a sweep of her arm. “The first session is free, after that, it’s a hundred dollars an hour.”

  Jonathan doubted he’d be back as he followed Blue into a small, windowless room illuminated by candlelight. The cloyingly sweet scent of patchouli gave Jonathan an instant headache. Floor to ceiling shelves held an assortment of rocks, crystals and … animal bones? Maybe the cat would be safer outside with the coyotes.

  And maybe the main qualification for a hypnotherapist shouldn’t be how close they were to the Dillon Dam Brewery. Jonathan’s mouth watered as he thought of the giant cheeseburger waiting for him when he was done with this woo-woo business.

  Blue nodded at a worn out recliner. “Have a seat and get comfortable while I go brew you some tea.”

  “Uh … that’s okay. I’m not much of a tea drinker.” The pins and needles sensation in Jonathan’s missing hand intensified. In a few minutes it would be the smashing-his-hand-in-a-vise sensation. Phantom pain, my ass. There’s nothing phantom about it.

  When Blue returned, she handed Jonathan a steaming mug.

  He took a whiff of it and frowned.

  Blue rolled her eyes. “It’s all natural, brewed from organic plants I grow myself. It’ll help you relax.”

  He took a sip. It tasted like mint and dirt but with a ton of honey. He took another sip. Blue sat on one of those inflatable exercise balls and rocked back and forth as she talked about the coming ski season. Jonathan hadn’t quite finished the tea when his eyes drifted shut. He blinked them open and shook his head. Blue wasn’t kidding when she said the tea would help him relax. “What sort of plants did you say were in this?”

  “I didn’t say.” Blue took the cup from his hand. A trail of pink light followed her every motion. “It’s a secret blend.”

  Jonathan had never experimented with hallucinogenic drugs, but he’d had enough super-powerful pain meds in the hospital to recognize the effect. “Did you use psychedelic mushrooms or something?”

  “Listen to the sound of my voice. Let it carry you back to the day you lost your hand.”

  The smell of diesel, melting rubber and dust burned Jonathan’s sinuses. Searing pain shot from his missing left hand up the length of his arm. Every muscle in his upper body contracted. He arched his back, pulling his shoulders towards his ears.

  Blue’s voice sounded as if she were speaking from inside a tunnel. “Calm down. Go to a happier time. Relax. Breathe with me. In … out …”

  Jonathan didn’t want to go back to a happier time, he wanted to get the hell out of Blue’s creepy house. But thanks to her magic mushroom tea he could barely keep his eyes open, much less crawl out of the chair. He knew he was in trouble when he couldn’t force himself to breathe out of sync with Blue’s commands.

  “Good job, Jonathan. Close your eyes. Let your mind wander, as you drift into the past. Where are you? What do you see, hear, smell…”

  “Lasagna. I smell lasagna. Mom’s cooking it for Franklin.” The double-edged sword of grief and guilt plunged into Jonathan’s heart. He tried to ignore it, but it was buried to the hilt. He dug his fingers into the recliner’s arm rest and tried to open his eyes but they might as well have been glued shut.

  Blue’s monotone voice, soft as dandelion fluff, invaded Jonathan’s mind. “Relax. Let your emotions wash over you as you travel back in time. Embrace the pain, let it heal you.”

  “No.” He’d had enough of the ‘whatever doesn’t kill you makes you stronger’ bullshit from the army shrinks.

  A rainbow of multi-colored lights exploded behind Jonathan’s eyelids as he floated on a patchouli scented cloud. “Whoa.”

  He heard an echo of quiet laughter, then watched in awe as sound waves rippled the air around him. And then he fell … spinning, turning, around and around … down … down … down.

  Jonathan’s bare feet sank into soft, warm carpet. What happened to his shoes? He opened his eyes and wiggled his toes. He recognized the royal blue pile of the area rug in front of Franklin’s bed immediately.

  “What do you want, Jonathan?”

  “Frankie?” Jonathan’s heart leapt into his throat. Franklin was alive — sitting at his desk, arms crossed over his chest, frowning. But he wasn’t frowning at Jonathan. He followed Franklin’s gaze and saw a younger version of himself. Unscarred. No prosthesis. Two hands.

  Jonathan ignored his doppelganger and wrapped his arms around Franklin. But they passed right through him, leaving behind a trail of blue and purple light. He might as well have been a ghost. Am I dead?

&nb
sp; The room slipped sideways. An invisible force pulled Jonathan forward and shoved him into his other younger body; his perfect body, with two hands.

  He wanted something … He wanted Franklin to do something …

  Jonathan ran his left hand over the shiny gold figure perched on top of Franklin’s latest trophy. It was almost as tall as he was.

  Franklin didn’t even look up. “Stop molesting my trophy and get out of my room.”

  Jonathan leaned over Franklin’s shoulder to see what he was reading. “Lord of the Rings? Again? Ya know, Bro, they made that into a movie. You don’t have to read it.”

  “What do you want, Jonathan?”

  “Can I borrow a shirt and a pair of jeans?”

  Franklin put a finger in the middle of the page, then twisted sideways to look at Jonathan. “Why? You hate my clothes.”

  Jonathan knew better than to lie to Franklin. “You know why.”

  “Then the answer is no.”

  “Come on, Frankie, what’s the point of being identical twins if we can’t use it to our advantage?”

  “What advantage? Why do you want to be me?” Franklin narrowed his eyes and tilted his head to the side. “Or is there some reason you don’t want to be you?”

  “I need to talk to Naomi.”

  “So?”

  “She won’t answer my calls or texts or let me inside her house. She won’t even look at me.” Jonathan sighed and rubbed the back of his neck with his left hand. “She un-friended me on Facebook.”

  “Not my problem.”

  “Come on Frankie. I’d do it for you.”

  “How is pretending to be me going to change anything?”

  “There’s a party out at the mine tonight. If I can just talk to her—”

  The wheels of Franklin’s chair clattered across the hardwood floor as he pushed away from his desk. He folded his arms over his chest and leaned back. “You mean seduce her.”

  “No. I mean talk to her. I just need her to understand how that whole thing with Harleigh was nothing but a mistake. I was so drunk I didn’t know what I was doing.”