by Petrova, Em
Vanessa had been listening to them all chattering about random stuff, desperately trying to get in the loop. Tiffany had two sons and hated her job at the diner. Melanie apparently worked for her husband of several years. Kristie had a perfect fiancée with weekly poker games. Wren ran a bookstore which Vanessa vowed to visit soon, and had an obsession with the town’s homeless man. Of course Samantha worked at her dad’s hardware store. When the conversation turned to her, Vanessa got uncomfortable with the attention.
“You live out near the new prison? Have you seen any inmates wandering around?” Wren asked, waggling her eyebrows. “I love bad boys.”
“Um… No. I had heard it was a maximum security place, so I hopefully won’t be seeing them wandering around.” Vanessa laughed uncomfortably.
Tiffany rolled her eyes. “Dude. There’s a difference between bad boys and criminals, Wren. Stick with Gus. He’s probably not going to slash you in your sleep.”
“Yeah, but have you met the warden, yet?” Samantha was stuck on him. She’d brought him up yesterday, too, and with her description and what Vanessa had seen, she wasn’t looking forward to it.
“Not since yesterday when I saw him driving.” She couldn’t stop the shudder of revulsion at the memory and hoped she wouldn’t meet him again. “I’m assuming he’s not the type to go around welcoming the new neighbors.”
“Well, consider yourself lucky. He’s been in Eric’s office a few times,” Melanie said with a sneer.
“His son hangs out at the museum a lot. Weird kid, but seems nice enough. I think he’s probably a major outsider at school.” Kristie gestured to her face, “Unfortunate skin issues.”
Vanessa perked up. “Museum?”
“Yeah, I work at the Museum for East Texas Culture. It’s sort of my passion, even if the name of it is a total oxymoron,” Kristie said lightly.
While Wren mumbled something under her breath about the place being creepier than anything, Melanie piped up with, “Work there? More like Daddy owns it.” It was spoken with a kindness that contradicted the words.
“He donates to a fund that keeps it running. Not the same thing.” Kristie bit into her cheesecake before taking a sip of wine.
“Did Linc come out and look at your house? Is he going to be able to fix it?” Samantha asked, changing the subject.
Vanessa nodded while she swallowed the bite of food she had just taken, but before she could open her mouth, the living room erupted.
“You’ve got Linc?” Kristie asked, one perfectly manicured eyebrow arched in question.
“Mmm-mmm, lucky bitch,” with her own mouth full, Wren managed to make her opinions clear on the matter. “Talk about a bad boy. Yum.”
“Sooo jealous, heifer,” Melanie chimed in, refilling her water glass. “I wish I could watch him fix my house up all day.”
“Aren’t you married?” Kristie pointed out, to which Melanie only shrugged.
“Married. Not dead.”
Vanessa blushed. “Yeah, he says he can fix it. It’s going to take a while, though,” she hedged.
“Of course it will. You’re in the Evans place? He may need to rebuild it, and that would take years.” Wren was grinning widely at her, and Vanessa had to admit the thought had crossed her mind.
“Yeah,” she repeated, feeling a little stupid. “He’s certainly not hard to look at.” Giggles and murmurs of ‘you get him girl’ echoed around her. “But doesn’t he have a girlfriend?” She remembered Cindy at the hardware store and the giggling in the background when she’d called.
Samantha wore a rare frown. “She’s temporary. You’re way better than she is.”
Okay, so there was a history here, and she was apparently the new piece of it. She wasn’t sure how she felt about that. Before she could wrap her head around it, the living room turned into chaos.
Wren’s wine glass flew out of her hand and spilled all over Kristie’s linen, issuing a shriek from the woman. “Dammit! Sam, can you get control of Addison? She does this shit every time I come over.”
Samantha was sheepish. “Sorry. She likes company.”
“Never at your house again.” Kristie rubbed frantically at her blouse, muttering very unladylike curses under her breath.
Vanessa was looking around for other people in the house, like a child she couldn’t see for some reason. Then she realized what she was doing. Looking for invisible kids. Nothing had touched Wren’s wine glass.
“Who is Addison?” She almost didn’t want to know the answer, especially after remembering the lotion incident.
“She’s my ghost,” Samantha said blithely, as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.
The words were spoken with so many undertones, Vanessa couldn’t comprehend them all at once. One, that it was obvious she had a ghost. Like a pet. Like everyone had one. Like it was normal. Vanessa took a sip of wine, trying not to jump to the conclusion her new friend was a few French fries short of a Happy Meal.
“Cool,” she said noncommittally, even though her mind raced with the events she’d felt at her own home. Walking around with cobwebs, cool hands… Was that a ghost? No. No ghosts in her house. Her house was going to be an awesome home someday. She hadn’t signed up for ghosts.
Tiffany took a massive bite of sandwich and then spoke around her mouthful of food. “You probably have one, too. They’re everywhere here.”
“What do you mean?” They were all nuts. But they seemed harmless. At least, that’s what people said until they pulled out the box of candles and live chickens. Her eyes darted around, looking for someplace to keep wildlife. It didn’t look like there was any place to store a sacrifice and she didn’t see a Ouija board anywhere…
“This town is built on some sort of fault line to the underworld,” Wren said. “The veil to the other side is thin in Mystic.” She shrugged, as if she hadn’t just spoken lines straight off a horror movie trailer. “You get used to it.”
Vanessa tried not to roll her eyes, even if this was a bunch of mumbo jumbo. “Okay.” She hoped.
“I’ve got a ton of them at the museum. I think they come in with people’s stuff.” Kristie was trying to get the wine stain out of her pants. “But mine are way better behaved than Addison. Jesus. That girl will be the death of me.”
Vanessa took it all in stride, or at least she tried to. A haunted town? Not wanting her new friends to think she wasn’t a team player, she asked, “So… does every place have one?”
Melanie shrugged. “Yeah. Most of them, anyway. It takes a while with new places for them to imprint themselves.” Damn. She’d had high hopes for Melanie being the sane one—the voice of reason in the madness.
“So what do they do? Mess with electrical stuff? Make people crawl on ceilings?” An uncomfortable laugh erupted from Vanessa, and she tried to hide it by stuffing a piece of cheesecake in her mouth.
“No, not really.” Kristie was still patting at her stain. “They just hang around. You can tell they’re there by the way they smell, and sometimes they touch you and stuff. But Addison is a damn poltergeist, and she’s a total bitch.”
“So they’re not out to get you or anything?” She was trying. Really.
“Hell no! I love mine,” Wren replied.
“Mine came with me when I moved here,” Tiffany offered. “He wasn’t around when I lived in Dallas, but when I moved here, he must have done what Kristie said and come with my stuff, because something here makes him stay.” Her voice was funny, but Vanessa didn’t pry. It sounded like she had known her ghost in real life, and talking about it made her want to cry.
“The Pint has an old saloon girl. She pinches the guys’ butts and such. She likes to push couples together.” Sam was getting into it, her voice taking on a sing-songy quality, like any great story-teller. “The story goes, she was in love with the sheriff, but he wouldn’t have her since she was a lady of the night, and she hung herself.”
“Are they all attached to horrific stories?” Vanessa didn’t want to th
ink about something awful happening in her home. She was still desperately trying to think of it in those terms, even though it didn’t look homey at all.
“No. Most of them are just old, dead people. That’s what mine is. I named her Kitty. I have no idea where she came from, but she’s there now. Smells like White Shoulders.” Kristie giggled like a kid, apparently having gotten over her anger at Addison.
Vanessa’s mind spun, wondering if she had a ghost or if these women were total nut cases. Dear God. All her new friends were Looney Tunes.
Thankfully, Samantha clapped her hands and changed the subject.
“I’ve got a great idea for a new author to read.”
Everyone settled into the overstuffed furniture expectantly while Samantha bounced in her chair.
“Her debut novel just came out two months ago, and I’ve been hearing all about it.” Vanessa’s stomach did that sinking thing it likes to do when it knows she’s about to hear something she doesn’t want to. Of course, Samantha couldn’t possibly be talking about her. There were new romance authors every damn day. She couldn’t be— “Her name is Vanessa Lovelace, and her book is about this BBW who falls in love with this guy with issues—”
“We can’t read that one,” she blurted out, blushing.
Samantha’s mouth froze in the open position, and it would have been comical if Vanessa hadn’t been completely mortified. She wasn’t sure these women were sane. She really didn’t want to spill her secret, did she?
“Why not?” Kristie asked.
“Because…” She stopped, unsure of how much she wanted to reveal on their first meeting. Did she want to just put everything out there? She had been through so much judgment over her career choice, especially with her dad and her brother. But these ladies read this stuff. Surely they wouldn’t think she actually did everything, like her brother and her dad did. Taking a deep breath, she blurted, “Because I wrote it. I’m Vanessa Lovelace.” Breathe out. There. She’d said it.
“Are. You. Serious?! I’m totally going to fangirl over you now. Did you really?” Samantha was squealing, and everyone else had various forms of pleasant surprise on their face.
Nodding, she said, “Yeah. I’m Vanessa Lovelace.” She almost wished they were still talking about ghosts. Vanessa felt uncomfortable talking about herself. She crossed her legs, feigning nonchalance.
Melanie spoke up. “Why don’t you want us to read your book?”
That was an easy question. “Because I’ve got really thin skin,” she hedged. “I don’t want to know what you don’t like about it. And being in the group with you all, I’m not sure you would be honest with me. We don’t know each other well enough yet.” She knew as soon as the meeting was over, they would all go out and get the book anyway. She knew how women worked. But she just didn’t want to discuss her book in an open forum like this.
“That actually makes sense,” Tiffany said. “Have any of you read the new Alexandrea Weis? I think it’s some weird shit in New Orleans.”
“Wait a minute. I’m not done with this. Are you working on the next one in the series?” Samantha had scooted to the seat next to Vanessa, and she had to laugh at her undisguised eagerness.
“Yeah, I’ve started it. In fact, I’m almost finished with the rough draft, and then I’ll start revising it.”
“So you know what happens to Cole?”
“Of course she knows what happens to Cole! She’s making up the story, dumbass,” Kristie interjected with a huff. She was still wiping plaintively at her pantsuit, even though all hope was lost. Red wine plus white linen equaled a stain.
Samantha looked sheepish. “I just didn’t know if she was a pantser, or had an outline, or what.” Looking back at Vanessa, she asked, “Can I beta read it for you, please?”
She could admit, she was pretty damn proud of herself at that moment. There were over ninety thousand independent romance authors out there, just like her. And for someone she’d bumped into to not only know who she was, but to actually fangirl over her was pretty fucking awesome.
“Sure, but it’ll be a while. Revisions take me forever. And I’m still stuck on the ending.”
“Okay, I’ll call you later,” Samantha mock-whispered out of the side of her mouth.
The rest of the meeting was spent drinking wine, and Vanessa discovered these ladies did their best to support indie authors by discussing their books almost exclusively. That was awesome on so many levels, and Vanessa was super excited to be a part of this group.
It was a pretty great group of women, too. Samantha read everything but loved the historical romances. Kristie and Wren were really into shifter romances, with Kristie taking on a more paranormal bent with vampires and such, and Wren getting a little sexy and eclectic with dragon shifters and yetis and Voodoo spirits. Melanie liked the sweeter romances but didn’t read them exclusively. And Tiffany was into the plot-heavy, angsty erotic stuff. But their commonality was romance and the pure belief in the power of love to heal.
Vanessa was going to like it here. Even if her friends were coo-coo for Cocoa Puffs.
Chapter Seven
The new prison warden hanging around town when Linc was trying to relax in his buddy’s pub didn’t set well with him. It wasn’t the fact he was a prison warden. He understood, more than most, the necessity of the powerful position. It wasn’t the idea the warden was at the pub when he probably should be at the prison, keeping chaos at bay. No, it was the way the warden looked at everyone—especially him—sideways, like someone gathering intel on his fellow townspeople. As if eye-contact was too much honesty.
Now, he sat in the corner of the bar, leaning against the wall—like a drunk unable to sit on his own—watching everyone over the rim of his amber liquid.
Creepy.
Pointedly ignoring him, Linc felt the bulge of the book in his pocket as he shifted on the barstool.
Linc set his beer glass to the side of the bar and pulled the damn book out of his pocket. He didn’t want to be caught dead with it, but it burned a hole in his backside. He flipped through the paperback, fanning his face with her scent. She smelled like coconuts and summertime, and the book wafted those same smells toward him. Looking at the cover, he grimaced at the sweaty torso, trying to focus on the name: Vanessa Lovelace. She’d given him a copy of a book signed by the author. It must be special to her.
And he’d folded it up and put it in his pocket.
Oops.
Straightening out the crease the best he could, he sighed at the hopelessness. The cover had a permanent line down the front, where he had broken the top layer of paper with the crease.
Maybe she’s let him buy her a new one.
What the actual fuck? Why did he even care? She had forced the damn book in his hands, insisting he read it. Like he even wanted to.
But as Linc sat there, ignoring the oily man-boobs on the cover, he admitted a curiosity. Especially if it meant so much to her, which he couldn’t for the life of him figure out why it would. Or why he cared.
Nick sauntered over to Linc, slinging a towel over his shoulder. He had just moved into town and bought the bar a year ago, having come up from Austin. It was a nice place, and Linc hoped it stayed nice. Things in this town seemed to tarnish with time.
“Hey, man. Sorry I didn’t come say hi earlier. I’m short-handed and needed to finish setups.” Nick extended a hand, and they shook. Nick was Linc’s only real friend in this town—besides his sister and dad—and all Nick had to do was ask and Linc would do anything for him. That’s how much he appreciated the friendship. Not many people here knew his past and accepted him anyway.
“Not a big deal. I just came by to tell you I finally got a job, and it looks like it’s going to be a good one.”
“Yeah? Big money?” Nick’s eyebrows raised with interest.
“Not really, but it will be enough, and it’s gonna last a while.”
Nick’s smile of congratulations burst into one of glee when he spied the new book.
“What in the ever-loving fuck is that on my bar?”
Linc sighed, knowing he was about to get some serious shit. “I was giving her a hard time about being in Samantha’s book group, and she insisted I read this.”
“It’s a ‘she’?” His eyebrows crunched together spoke volumes.
“Yeah.” He spun the dwindling bottle of beer on the bar top, avoiding Nick’s gaze.
“You gonna get to know her?” The question was suggestive, and he actually gave it some thought. Linc wanted to, but it was a purely physical instinct. He didn’t really know Vanessa Power, except she was gorgeous, nice, out of her mind for buying that house, and had given him a job where most of the town wouldn’t.
And she made the itchy feeling go away.
He already knew how she felt when he held her limp body in his arms, feeling her breath against his neck. He knew she smelled like coconuts, even when she hadn’t showered. He knew her sheets were a light green and he knew what her pillow smelled like. He knew she was ridiculously excited to learn how to use the generator, and he knew she was a total badass for sleeping in that creepy-ass house by herself.
The truth was, he’d seen the heat in her eyes as they crawled across his body. He knew she wanted him; it was impossible not to see it. But for how long? They’d hook up, and then she’d realize he’s an ex-con—a killer—and wouldn’t want him, just like everyone else in this fucking town. And he needed this job. Bad. If they were ex-hookups, she’d fire him and find someone else to work for her. Someone else to work on the old Evans place. Someone who might just wreck it all. Again, he had no idea why he cared, but he did. He wanted to be the one to fix that house up. For her.
“Nope. I’m going to work for her. It’s a really long fix-up job on the old Evans place, and I don’t want to fuck anything up. This job’s important, man.”
Nick wiped the bar between them thoughtfully. “You ever think you don’t really warrant all this self-flagellation you do?”