Lana's Calling: A Golden Hills Legacy Novel

by Nancy Glynn

  He pulled up to the ornate gates. “Code?”

  Instead of giving him a number, she glanced at the gates and they opened.

  “What the… Forget it. I don’t want to know.” He drove through them and up the circular drive, around the massive fountain, to the front of the well-lit house. After shifting into park, he sat for a moment before turning to her. “You want answers I can’t give you, Lana. I’ve only heard rumors that should probably be dispelled.”

  She grabbed his arm. “No. I want to know. Talk.” She unclicked her belt to free her body more.

  A wolf howled long and fierce, followed by an owl hooting. Crickets rubbed their legs together in between the silence until another string of howls radiated the March air.

  He turned toward her, his hand on his thigh. “Your parents died in a winter storm, correct?”

  “Yes. Their car died out on an isolated road and it was below zero.” Her heart pounded at the memory.

  “And you were in the back seat, right?” He was gathering all his facts before he would tell her what she wanted to hear. It was killing her, like a slow torture.

  “Right. I was sleeping. We were going to visit my great-grandmother Marissa in the nursing home. My dad took a wrong turn, thinking he was taking a shortcut.” Her voice sounded shaky to her own ears.

  He now added what he knew. “They ran out of gas or something and tried to call for help. Remember that?”

  “Of course I do. It was only last month,” she snapped and then softened her face. “Sorry. Go on.”

  “Right. Well, do you know who he called?”

  “I think the Triple A Club. I really don’t remember. I was so out of it, and I’m never like that, but I remember feeling drugged.”

  Hunter cleared his throat. “I believe he called Eric.”

  Every sense in her body became alert to his words. Her eyes widened at the realization of what he was trying to convey. “Eric?”

  He nodded. “Yes. He never shared that with you, did he?” he stated more than asked.

  Sitting back in her seat, a million thoughts trampled her mind.

  His soft touch on her arm jolted her back to his divulgence. “That’s all I know. Well, that and the fact that you survived but not your parents.”

  “No one ever came out until it was too late. I woke up still in a groggy funk and found…” She swallowed and closed her eyes.

  “Hey, it’s okay. No need to explain. I know it was hard, or at least could imagine.”

  “Eric could have helped but chose not to?” Anger mixed with pain exploded in her veins.

  “Look, Jack could have been behind that as well. You’ll never know.” His eyes shifted away, like he knew more but wasn’t sharing.

  “Oh, I intend to find out. Whoever was behind this will pay.”

  “You better get in and get some rest. Don’t let anyone change you, Lana. You have a good heart.” His hand stroked her face, opening her eyes to his soft gesture.

  Even with her heart breaking, she felt a connection with this man. “Thank you.”

  He pulled her in for a soft kiss, his fingertips barely on her jawline and then both hands cupping her face closer to his. When his tongue slid in, heat spiked through her body. She thrusted her tongue deeper, feeding the beast, like water in a desert, silky wetness, her hands around his face, drawing him in further, tasting mint and beer. A low groan came from his throat matching a moan in hers, their asthmatic breathing losing control. His hand then cupped her shapely calf, running it up her thigh.

  “Lana, you better go in before…”

  “Before what?” she said in a breathy voice. “Come in, please.”

  He shook his head against her mouth. “Can’t.”

  “You can. It’s fine,” she coaxed. “The house won’t hurt you.”

  He pulled away, still panting, out of breath but giving her little kisses. “Sorry. I have an early morning meeting anyway. New client,” his voice still husky with need, struggling against his own refusal. “Believe me, I want to rip that skirt off you and have my way.”

  Slowly pulling herself away, she sighed and gave a small smile. “Fine, maybe next time.”

  “I want to see you again,” he whispered.

  “Oh, really? I thought I was bad for you,” she teased and then turned more serious. “I do, too.”

  “My house tomorrow night. Dinner.”

  “Can’t wait. Should I bring anything?”

  “Just yourself.”

  She laughed and kissed his cheek, letting it linger, taking in his scent and growing facial hair. Opening her door, she got out and smiled through the closed door. A lazy smile formed on Hunter’s lips, lips she wanted to bite and suck on forever.

  After she got to the front door, she turned and found him still watching her before she opened the door. He seemed satisfied she was safe inside, and drove around the fountain and to the gates that parted for him.

  As she began to head upstairs, Eric stepped out of the office. She nearly jumped when she saw him. “I thought you were staying at Diana’s?”

  “I don’t know if I like Hunter for you.” He stood in front of her now, too close.

  “That’s really none of your concern. I’m a grown woman and can decide that for myself.” What Hunter had divulged to her earlier had seeped in her mind, coloring how she saw Eric now. A sadness filled her at the thought. “You left Diana to come home to tell me that?”

  “No. I needed a few things and am going back.”

  “Why were you in my grandfather’s office?”

  “It’s your office, Lana, not William’s. I was looking for a pen.”

  Her eyes widened at the mention of a pen. The pen she had found and threw away. “Did you find one?”

  “No. Not a big deal. Listen, I didn’t mean anything about Hunter, just that he gives me a bad vibe. Be careful, okay?” He kissed her forehead and walked out.

  After she made sure he wasn’t coming back in, she ran to the office to see if that pen was still on the desk. Every time she had tried to throw it away, it always ended up back in the pen tray.

  When she got there, it was gone.

  Chapter 9

  After another nightmare-drenched sleep, Lana darted around the house, preparing for the library event. She made finger sandwiches and fruit and cheese trays, ushering Lucinda away.

  “I help you,” the older woman commanded, grabbing meats.

  “Out!” Lana ordered. “You do too much, so go read a book or something. I want to do this.” She kissed the older woman’s soft cheek and scooted her out. It probably was too much, but she didn’t care and wanted this to be nice for her new friend. She really liked Diana, but now worrisome thoughts invaded of Eric. She didn’t know what to think at this point.

  She made twenty trays filled with every delicatessen she could scrounge. “James, could you have these put in my jeep? You’ll need a few helpers.”

  “Miss Lana, you’ll need a bigger car.”

  “That would be nice.”

  After carrying the trays to the foyer, she dashed upstairs to finish her hair and makeup, pulling her hair out of its messy bun. As she passed the portrait of her as a baby in Eric’s arms, something caught her attention. His eyes became alive for a hot minute, turning black coal, and then returned to his normal blue. She shook her head, assuming it was due to lack of sleep. She had passed that painting many times and never noticed.

  The portrait of her grandfather sitting at his large mahogany desk, writing something down with that same pen on some scrolled up paper, and her grandmother Lana smiling next to him stood out in three dimensional holographic form. It was sending her some message, but returned to normal when she reached her hand out to touch it.

  “Be careful, Lana dear. Trust no one,” a sweet voice came from her grandmother’s angelic face, smiling down at her from the painting, a creation made with oils and strokes of a paintbrush.

  Lana nodded, giving her namesake the respect she deserved. Sh
e’d hoped William was really in his beloved’s arms like her father told her about their last day in this house. But then that vision of an evil entity in the office pecked at her brain. Who did she really trust?

  It was going to be a long day.

  ***

  “There she is!” Eric ran to help her with the trays. Diana was talking with one of the authors, it seemed, and rushed over to help. The room was filling up with fans, mostly women, holding their beloved books waiting to be autographed. Lights were turned on due to the cloudy skies and no sun today, rain threatening any minute.

  “I got it, guys. Hurry before it starts to pour. There’s a few more in the car. Oh, and look for a lime SUV.” She carried five trays to one of the folding tables and plunked them down.

  “SUV?” Eric asked, his brow raised. “Since when?”

  “Since James thought I needed more room for all my trays. That’s how he rolls.”

  Diana laughed. “What I’d give to have your life. Lana, this is Debra Holding, bestselling author of horror. She’s the best.” Diana followed Eric down the steps and outside, leaving the two women alone.

  Debra bowed to her in an awkward curtsy, not sure what to do. “Hello, Ms. Stone. I’m so honored for you to join us,” she said in a shaky voice.

  For some reason, that made her giggle. “There’s no need to be nervous around me. I’m the same as anyone else, but thank you. I should be the honored one. I’m not famous.” She shook her hand and smiled.

  Debra was a petite woman in her thirties, red hair like her mother with the same pale skin. A very pretty woman, especially when she smiled. Her beauty seemed to exude from inside out. She also wore a wedding band, which meant some lucky man won her heart.

  “Oh, you’re famous. I’ve read stories of this town and even influenced some of my writing. I’m fascinated with old towns with supernatural lore. I love just being here.”

  Always forgetting the story of this town, she could see how it intrigued her, being an author, and others. It was an interesting history, but Lana didn’t think they really knew what happened here or they’d never set foot, even if it sounded exciting. This was not a place to fall in love with.

  The glass door opened. “Lana, grab this. It’s falling!” Diana pleaded, carrying the other stack of trays in. Water had splashed on them from the oncoming rain.

  Lana ran to her and snatched five, throwing them on the book cart and rolled them to the table.

  “Great idea!” Eric said, putting his on another cart. “You’re too smart sometimes, Lana girl.” He smiled and rubbed her shoulder.

  She pulled away and returned to the table, adjusting the trays and unwrapping the plastic covering the food. The other authors walked in, all bowing to her and thanking her for being there. They all wrote paranormal and UFO stories. If they needed more research, they came to the right place. Lana laughed under her breath at the thought.

  More women from the area began to flock in, taking up the rest of the empty seats, squealing at meeting their favorite author and holding their books ready to be signed. There were a few men who were just as excited.

  Deciding to sit back and just observe things, she found a spot on the side next to rows of books. One by one, the authors took their place at the front and captured their fans’ attention, telling how they came to write supernatural stories.

  She liked Debra and really listened to hers, how she grew up in a haunted house and that nothing spooked her anymore, but she was attracted to writing stories and sharing that raw fear with her readers, landing her on USA Today and New York Times Bestseller’s list over and over.

  So entranced in the author’s story, she never heard the door open and someone sit next to her. When she glanced over, Hunter gave a mischievous grin, putting his finger to his lips to keep from interrupting. She shook her head, smiling and then returned to the author. Loving him being there next to her, a giddiness took over, feeling like a little girl again. She pushed the pasted smile away or else would look like a lunatic, trying to have a more serious expression, but she failed.

  When she looked up, she caught Eric glaring at her, his jaw clenched. Diana sat next to him in awe, listening intently without noticing her new boyfriend’s hardened stare blazing across the room.

  Lana gave him a confused look, knitting her brows together and mouthing the word what? He ignored her and shook his head, returning his attention to the speaker but still angry.

  “What’s wrong?” Hunter whispered. He cupped her knee that was covered by a cottony sundress decorated in little flowers, a dress saved for when March rolled into April.

  She spoke quietly out of the side of her mouth. “Eric’s acting strange, has been since last night. I’ll talk to you later.” She placed her hand over his large one, rubbing his knuckles.

  Nodding, he sat back and draped his arm around her chair, his hand softly rubbing her back with his fingertips. She moved more into his arm against the chair, forcing his hand to come around her shoulder. When she glanced at him, his lips turned into a racy smile just for her, turning her insides into sand.

  Eric excused himself and walked past her and to a room in the back, closing the door behind him. She wondered what was so important that he’d leave Diana’s side in the middle of something so special to her. Diana didn’t seem to notice, but Lana sure did. And then something the pretty author said snapped her head toward her.

  “I used to beg my father to move out of our house, not only because of the hauntings but because of the dreams I would have every night. Those dreams seemed so real. I’d dream of a handsome man with a top hat and tuxedo and the most shockingly bluest eyes. I knew it wasn’t a dream, but real.”

  Lana’s heart began to pound, knocking against her chest slow at first, picking up speed at the words that came out of Debra’s mouth. Dreams. Man with the bluest eyes. Red hair. She sat straight, every cell in her body at the fullest attention.

  “…and then I’d wake up to daffodils, big yellow and orange flowers, my favorite, spread out on my bed. Proof for my father. He never did believe me or at least didn’t want to scare me and encourage these crazy thoughts. I remember I was around the age of twenty-one. After that, I started writing stories about my experiences, to my father’s consternation. He was not happy, to say the least. I didn’t understand why he was so upset about these seemingly made up stories in our home that he thought anyway, but he was.”

  Diana ran and grabbed a cup of water, giving it to Debra. Lana could tell even Diana felt nervous, felt the air changing in this innocent room filled with the love of language and stories.

  “Thank you, Di,” Debra said after taking a drink. “Sorry to go on, but I feel the need to tell this story here for some reason. Anyway, my father kicked me out, and I wrote my stories in a one-room apartment about a blue-eyed demon. I’ve heard so many different accounts of a similar thing happening here over twenty years ago. I would have been only seven at the time, but I remember seeing the news on Channel 7 about a big-time Chicago attorney and his wife dying here. Our family had them over a few times for dinner because Richard Lock was my father’s attorney.”

  The lights flickered briefly while lightening struck and thunder crackled outside, bringing screams from everyone due to the mood of the story and atmosphere. They all laughed at the silliness of their trepidation, rolling their eyes to one another, and shoving more of the little sandwiches in their mouths, wanting more horror from their favorite scream queen writer.

  Lana’s eyes shifted around her, having a feeling it was not a short in electricity but something of another realm. Hunter rubbed her back, winking at her with a side grin. Even that sexy wink couldn’t rid the knot in her belly, but she returned his smile.

  “Welcome to my life!” the nervous author said, breaking the ice and getting laughs. “I know he was your grandfather, Ms. Stone, but…”

  “Step. He wasn’t my mother’s biological father,” she politely added.

  Another strike of lighteni
ng flashed, bringing the rumbling of thunder. The storm seemed to be worsening as the rain thrashed against the windowpane.

  “Oh, that’s right. The priest was, or is that taboo to talk about?”

  Lana laughed. “Not at all. That’s my Papa Mark. He’s doing better these days.”

  “He’s still alive? I feel like such an idiot. You’d think I’d know this. I did hear about your parents, though, and am so sorry.”

  Everyone turned to her, making her turn pink. “Yes, thank you. Please, go on with your story. I’m sure no one wants to hear about mine or the history of Golden Hills.”

  “Of course. So…” The lights went off but stayed off this time. “Oh…”

  Diana jumped up to calm everyone. She used her phone for light. “Do you know where Eric is?” she asked Lana, trying to hide her fear. “The storm must be really bad and knocked a line out.” A few of the library staff made sure order was in place.

  “I’ll get him,” Lana said.

  Hunter got up and started for the door with her. “Diana, where’s the fuse box…basement?” He turned on his flashlight on his phone, leading him to the door.

  “Yes. Take the stairs off to the right when you walk out, near the music section. I’m so sorry, ladies. Everything will be fine in no time. This never happens.” The guests surrounded her, nodding in sympathy. One man consoled his preteen daughter who shook in his arms.

  Lana wanted to see what Eric was doing in that room and headed toward it after she watched Hunter go down the stairs. “Be careful,” she cautioned him. He nodded and disappeared.

  “Eric?” she asked after knocking and pushing the door open. She found him sitting at one of the tables, writing on paper, holding his phone for light. He looked up at her with a haggard look in his eyes before focusing more clearly on her.

  “Get out.”

  “What are you doing?” She saw the black pen in his hand, blood seeping down his skin and to the paper, little droplets. “Eric! Put that pen down!” She focused her energy and made the pen fly in the air. Both of them ran toward it, sliding into each other, and grabbing for the pen. She stood, holding it in victory. “This pen isn’t…good.”