Resisting Samantha (Hope Parish Novels Book 10)

by Zoe Dawson

  We turned onto a dirt path. “I still have to put in flagstones and plants and shrubs, and a driveway, so I don’t have to park my car in the street. A garage would be nice, but that’s in my phase two plan.”

  “Ambitious.” When she stumbled, I steadied her, my hand lingering for a few unnecessary moments until it dropped away. “You know, Boone Outlaw is a genius with landscaping. If you bribe him with pie, I’m sure you could get the work done for a discount. The Outlaws are like that. They are happy to do things for their neighbors.”

  “Don’t I know it.” She smiled, and I found myself wishing she’d smile like that when she thought of me. Boone was charming, though.

  Samantha’s face lit up. “I love those boys, and their wives are some of my most favorite people. I met Aubree first, when she was still in high school. She came around when I moved in to check me out. She’s grown into a beautiful woman, and it’s exciting that she’s going to become a doctor.”

  I nodded, but couldn’t think of anything to say. The Outlaws were a sore subject for me when I thought about how I had kept my ancestor’s secret to their detriment. But I couldn’t deny the affection I had for them. We’d been friends as kids, and Braxton Outlaw, my sister River Pearl’s husband, saved my life two years ago. I wouldn’t easily forget that.

  We got to Samantha’s front door, and I could see that there was a lot of work still left to do, but the windows and doors were a good choice, blending well with the flavor of the place.

  “Thank you for walking me home. It was nice,” she said. Then, before I knew it, she went up on tiptoe, placing her hand on my shoulder for balance, and kissed my cheek. As the moment spun out, she paused, her breath soft and sweet against my skin, her mouth warm against my face.

  “You’re welcome,” my response was raspy, and she tugged at my heart when she leaned back and gave me a honeyed look before turning and entering the house.

  “Good night, Chase,” she murmured.

  “Good night,” I said wishing it was anything but a good-bye.

  She closed the door, and a chill made me freeze in place, as if a bony finger had run down my spine. I wasn’t a voodoo priestess, but I knew Samantha Wharton was vulnerable.

  Whether it was to me or some kind of unseen and unexpected danger wasn’t clear.

  She was definitely running from something.

  All I knew was I wanted to stick close, and it had everything and nothing to do with keeping her safe.

  ***

  I had already been up for hours before the sun rose, getting a head start on Braxton’s order, because it was an unusually big one.

  My thoughts drifted back to last night. I really didn’t want to get involved in anyone else’s mess, since I had plenty of my own to deal with. But I couldn’t stay away from Samantha. It would be stupid to even try.

  I dumped in a load of snapping and hissing crawfish into a potato sack and tied up the end. My brother-in-law’s eighty pounds of catfish was my next stop after I collected the three bags of crawfish.

  Right now, I was a one-man operation, and I was busy from before sunrise until sundown. I had to seriously think about getting some help soon.

  When I finished and drove the bags of catfish home, I swung out of my small, beat-up truck, I froze. There was a Mercedes in my parking lot. I was closed on Mondays so I could do the fishing, but I recognized the car a split second before I heard, “Chase?”

  I looked over the hood to find my sister standing on the porch, her hand poised to knock. “River,” I said, coming around the truck. She went to hug me and I shook my head. She looked so put together in her summer dress. “I don’t want to get you all fishy.”

  “Oh, all right,” she said, leaning forward and bussing my cheek without touching me. The memory of Samantha’s warm mouth sent me spinning a bit.

  We walked up the porch, where I unlocked the store and she followed me inside. I went immediately to my walk-in cooler, and deposited the crawfish inside. “Something to drink?”

  “Coffee would be great.”

  “Okay, come on back with me, and you can make it.”

  She backhanded my shoulder with a laugh. “That’s some hospitality, Chase.”

  I just chuckled, toed off my boots at the entrance to my living quarters, and went into my bedroom as she entered the kitchen. “How’s Brax and the little guys?”

  “Different levels of commotion,” she said over the sound of water running. I pulled my shirt off over my head, did a quick sponge bath in the sink, and donned a fresh shirt and jeans.

  When I emerged from my bedroom, she was pulling down two mugs from the cabinet.

  “What brings you all the way out here?”

  “First, before I get to that, how have you been?”

  “Busy,” I said, getting the feeling that I wasn’t going to like what she had to say. It was River’s way. Soften up the mark, then drop the bomb. It was usually about something she wanted and my sister usually got her way. No wasn’t in her vocabulary.

  “You should really hire some employees, Chase. I can help you with that.”

  I raised a brow. “When? Between the gallery, your husband, and three newborns, when do you find the time to even breathe?”

  “I got a nanny.”

  I snorted. “I can imagine what kind of battle that was with Brax.”

  She flipped back her shoulder-length blond hair and rolled her eyes. “Don’t get me started. I swear if we don’t argue, he’s not happy.”

  “Then I expect he’s a happy man.”

  She smacked my arm again. “Bless your heart,” she said, sweet as pie.

  Which made me think of the delectable Samantha once again. “What is the Huckleberry Chef up to lately?”

  “Juggling things well. Brax is very take-it-in-stride these days. He still uses the bag to let off steam, but he’s a different man. He loves those boys, and if I think I have my hands full with them now? Well, just wait until they’ve grown a bit, and their daddy gets them into all kinds of shenanigans.”

  “Frogging, air boats, rock and roll.”

  “Oh, Lord, don’t start.”

  “River, what’s on your mind?”

  “My boys are going to be christened next week. I want you to attend.”

  I worked at keeping my face neutral. “You could have sent me an invitation.” I hadn’t been to a family function since my Uncle Win’s wedding, and before that, River Pearl’s. I made a brief church appearance in each case, but didn’t attend the receptions. Didn’t want to ruin their big day by being there.

  “Oh, no,” she said as the coffee finished dripping and she stepped into the kitchen and poured us each a cup. Coming back into the room, she set one cup in my hand. “I want you there, Chase. I don’t want you to miss out on their lives. You’ve barely seen them since they were born. It’s been a month.”

  Guilt twisted in my gut. “River…you know what it’s like when I get into the same room with Daddy and Jake. Daddy is disappointed in me, and Jake is never going to forgive me. There’s tension and bad blood, and it upsets Momma. All I do is disrupt family gatherings, and you know it.”

  “I don’t care!” she said, firmly, her eyes going moist. Dammit. I couldn’t resist her. I never could. “You’re my brother, and this is a family gathering, and you’ll be there. Am I clear?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I said.

  Her face and her voice softened. “Promise me you’ll come.” She leaned down and pulled a card out of her purse. “There’s going to be a reception afterwards at Outlaws, and you’re attending that, too.”

  “Ah, that’s why Brax needs so much catfish.”

  “Yes, he’s doing a fry for the town’s reception. You’d know if you didn’t isolate—”

  “River…”

  She huffed a sigh, knowing we’d just end up arguing if she continued on this tack. “It will give you a chance to bond with your nephews.” She handed me the engraved invitation with all the particulars. “You can bring
someone, if you’d like. So promise.”

  I thought immediately of Samantha and how much I wanted someone there to serve as a buffer and support, but asking her to a function, a family function, wouldn’t be smart.

  She grabbed my chin. “Chase, please.”

  River knew if I gave my word, I would be there, and she rarely asked me for anything. I couldn’t let my sister and her husband down. “All right. I promise.”

  Chapter 2

  SAMANTHA

  I was running, full-out panic mode, heart racing, running for all I was worth. I could hear them behind me as I stumbled and splashed my way through the dark, steamy swamp. The spirits couldn’t help me now, and there was nothing I could do to stop what was going to happen. But a spark of self-preservation demanded that I keep trying.

  I hit more solid ground, but tripped over exposed roots and fallen branches. Brush grabbed my clothing and clawed bloody scratches in my face, arms and legs. The slippery carpet of the bayou floor pulled me back precious inches, making me work harder.

  Sobs of frustration and fear caught in my throat and choked me. Tears blurred what sight I had in the moon-silvered night while my heaving lungs tried to get some oxygen from the heavily saturated air.

  Fire spread out from my leaden limbs as I pushed them to perform far beyond their capabilities. Sheer fear-induced adrenaline my only hope. Terrified I would break an ankle or step on a gator, I pelted onward, whispering my mother’s name, but she was too far away to help me. Even if the spirits granted me a boon and she could hear me.

  My heart broke with the certainty of that.

  They were going to catch me, and when they did…

  Fingers of mist slithered among the trunks of the cypress like ghostly fingers. From somewhere in the distance a roar elicited a primal memory of prehistoric times, primeval swamps, ancient monsters.

  Sweat ran in rivulets, spurred on by the sounds of men crashing through the underbrush, gaining on me.

  They were relentless.

  As relentless as death pursuing life.

  I’m at the end of this pursuit and, even as that terrifying thought caught me, so did a hand grabbing onto the back of my shirt. The sound of ripping cloth mingled with my scream.

  Heard by only their ears.

  Swallowed up by the night.

  I pitched myself upright with a soft cry. The air heaved in and out of my lungs in huge, ragged gasps and my clothes were plastered to my skin with cold sweat. I opened my eyes and took in my surroundings. No dark night, no trees, no water. I was on my mattress, set on the floor and pushed into the corner of the now large-open space. Trembling, I reached for a glass of water and gulped it, parched as if I had been running full out.

  It was a dream.

  I closed my eyes. A freaking real dream, as if I had been channeling a memory instead of something lurking in my subconscious. Must have been because of the discussion last week with Chase about AnnClaire and Imogene.

  There was…something stirring, like a storm threatening in the distance, yet the sky was as clear as a bell. I’d been feeling it for a few days now. A vague sense of unease that caught me unaware, a subtle pressure at the back of my skull and down my spine.

  And every time that sense of foreboding crept along my spine, all my cop instincts swamped me, even though there was nothing I could do to ease the feeling. Yet we were in Suttontowne, a quiet, almost crime-free, sleepy little Louisiana town.

  I had come here to get away from the memories and the sympathy. Jeff had quite a bit of life insurance and we had equity in the house, so after the funeral expenses were taken care of, I had a tidy sum. Without any mouth to feed but my own—the pain of their death struck at me again—I was free to go where I pleased.

  The cost of Imogene’s was completely reasonable, and it was so ramshackle, I was mostly paying for the land. It wasn’t until I’d gotten inside and found all the treasures and got serious about restoring the legendary place to its former glory.

  Yeah, had to be that discussion with Chase. I took a deep breath, and this one had nothing to do with the dream and everything to do with gorgeous Chase Sutton.

  I hadn’t thought I would ever feel like this again. Ever. I’d experienced deep, everlasting love. I had the joy of giving birth. I’d had it all. Family. But by the time I moved to Suttontowne, I never wanted either one to be a part of my life again.

  Then, boom, Chase. I ignored my feelings for years. Pretended he was nothing more than a nice guy and a great provider of top-notch seafood. I ignored the way his silver-blue eyes sent me secret, sultry, almost reluctant glances. The way he always looked so mussed up and appealing, with the caramel stubble on his face, the thick waves of his dark brown hair, the brawny, knee-melting bulges of his biceps, and the promise of more delineated muscle beneath his clothes.

  I didn’t say it last night, but I knew he was conveniently coming by, and I was sure it wasn’t about the pie. My pulse started to race. Chase Sutton’s interest in me hadn’t gone unnoticed, but I wasn’t sure I was ready for this gorgeous, small town man.

  I spent my early twenties working in law enforcement. I knew my way around self-defense and guns, yet nothing about Chase triggered any red flags. Except for that sorrow I saw in his eyes. Other than the normal and completely understandable physical stirrings…to have that man beneath my hands so I could explore every inch of that hard, muscular body, take that mouth he always seemed to be offering me…I wanted to make an intimate connection. That was the story I wanted to know, the Chase I wanted to discover.

  It gave me a delicious shiver.

  It scared the hell out of me, too, six ways from Sunday. Two years ago, robbed me of the man of my dreams. Was it possible to find that magic again? Probably not. I figured I’d be mostly disappointed.

  But the craving had remained, even intensified, for as long as I’ve known Chase.

  Then there was Scottie, my baby boy, and the pain of his loss was something I still struggled with every day.

  The wisp of light was just starting to brighten in the eastern sky when I pushed the blankets off me. I knew I wouldn’t be doing any more sleeping, not after that dream.

  My feet hit the rich, dark hardwood floor I installed just last weekend. Now it was time to get interior walls up and the stairway built for my bedroom loft. The kitchen was already framed out, but, since I wasn’t a cabinetmaker, I had hired a local man to make them for me. I hoped to have my gourmet kitchen up and working in a week, and the plumbing had been finished two days ago.

  Since moving into this partially renovated home, I’d been eating all my meals at Imogene’s. Not a problem, since the cook there was the best. I chuckled to myself as I poured water and did a quick wash. I missed showers, and having to wash my hair in the big basin I kept in the corner was a pain. I should go to the Blue Coyote and have Skylar cut it all off.

  Yes, parts of living here right now were a pain, but when this place was done, it would be stunning, a true place of my own.

  As I headed out for the day, Jessica waved to me from her porch. She was holding her four-year-old son, and my heart tugged so hard against the memory and the emotions of holding my own sweet baby. If I had known she had a little boy, I might not have bought this property. But now I was locked in, and there was nothing I could do but try to avoid them as much as possible, and as politely as I could manage.

  The short walk to Imogene’s cleared my head and got me there way earlier than my employees. I fired up the grill and made myself some pancakes, eggs, and bacon, since I was one of the lucky ones when it came to what I could eat and barely gain an ounce.

  After cleaning up and putting on a fresh apron from my stash, I opened the refrigerator to pull out the rich chocolate layer cake with a raspberry base I had baked yesterday for the Outlaw brunch. I stilled, and my insides jolted. There was a piece missing.

  I straightened, tightening my hands on the plate. That was strange. My employees knew never to touch anything in this fridge.
It was exclusively for customers. Maybe someone got their fridges mixed up. Oh, damn, there was nothing to do but cut it up and serve it.

  I turned away from the fridge and almost dropped the cake. A stunning Black woman was standing across the room. Her skin was a beautiful shade of cocoa, her long black hair loose and flowing over her shoulders and down her back. She was in a simple, floor-length blue dress with buttons on the bodice and a long white apron tied around her waist.

  I frowned, my brain trying to assimilate what I was seeing. Confused, I studied her again. Had she wandered away from a Civil War reenactment or something?

  “Can I help you?” I said. “We’re not open just yet.” I couldn’t imagine how she got inside. I was sure I’d locked the front door.

  She said nothing, just stared at me, waiting, watching, while a sense of evil pressed in on me, thick and heavy in the air. As dense as bayou mist. As suffocating as a blanket. I stepped back, gasping. It wasn’t her, it was something…someone…else, as if the presence was looming, coming closer. The plate fell from my slack hands, smashing against the tiles, cake flying everywhere, spattering my bare legs.

  The front door slammed, and I jumped and looked toward the double doors. “Good morning,” a female voice sang out.”

  Moments later the door swung in, and Beth Henderson sauntered in with a smile on her face. She stopped dead, shivering. “What’s with that chilly patch of air there?” Her eyes widened and she gasped, “Oh, God. What happened?”

  Beth acted like she hadn’t seen the woman, but when I looked up from the ruined cake, the woman was gone.

  I gave Beth a tight smile. “Clumsy.”

  “That’s too bad. I love your chocolate cake. Wait. Oh, my God, was that for the Outlaw brunch?”

  “Yes,” I rubbed at my temple. “Thank God I’ve got enough ingredients to make crème brûlée.”

  “That should work. I’ll explain to them about the cake when they arrive.” She peered at me closely. “Are you all right?” Concern washed across her face. “You look as white as a ghost.”

  I wondered if I was losing my mind. First that terrible dream, and now seeing that disappearing woman. Maybe Imogene’s was haunted after all. “I’m fine. Just hate messes and not giving the customer what they ordered.”