Elvis Gets His Groove Back (Moonchuckle Bay Romantic Comedy #5

by Heather Horrocks

  She laughed, a delightful sound that made him smile. “Of course we do. If we’re going to spend time together, I need to get to know you. The real you, not the Elvis that was in all the tabloids. The man behind the legend.”

  He shook his head. “I’m a simple man.”

  “I doubt that.”

  “It’s true.”

  “All right. Simple.” She paused, and then said, “Okay, what did the red light say to the green light?”

  He frowned and glanced over at her. She smiled at him innocently, but he was determined not to give in. “What?”

  She sing-songed, “Don’t look — I’m changing.”

  He shook his head, holding strong to his resolve. “Werewolves don’t do stupid jokes.”

  “Oh, I’m very sorry,” she said sweetly. “You probably do more sophisticated jokes. How about this? What do you do if a werewolf eats your Halloween candy?” After a pause, she said, “Eat an apple instead!”

  After another, even longer pause, she smiled at him. “Don’t you get it? You don’t want to upset a werewolf by asking for your candy back.”

  “Did you look these up just so you could torture me?”

  “No. Actually, I had a werewolf roommate for a couple of years. She used to tell me these all the time. I just have a good memory.”

  “Just my luck,” he muttered, amused despite himself.

  “Come on. Give this one a try. What would you get if you crossed a werewolf with General Patton?”

  “A warwolf.” She wasn’t the only one who’d heard these silly jokes.

  “Very good. Now you ask one.”

  Surprised, he chuckled. “In what branch of the military do werewolves enlist?”

  She laughed. “The Hair Force.”

  “No. The Fur-eign Legion.”

  “See, that wasn’t so hard. Now tell me about what you do here in town.”

  “I’m a hermit.”

  “Like a crab?” she teased.

  “Like a recluse.”

  “Like Howard Hughes?”

  “No. Howard Hughes lives in Europe.”

  “He’s alive?”

  “He’s a vampire.”

  “He’d make a very fastidious vampire.”

  “At least he’s not afraid of germs any longer.”

  “Wow.” She gave a genuine laugh, the sweet sound fluttering inside him. “So ... how old are you now?”

  “Eighty-two. Though I count my age now from the time I was turned. I’m thirty-nine.”

  They passed the Welcome to Moonchuckle Bay signs along the freeway, and he took the next exit onto Mane Street toward home.

  But first — a visit to Gene Winston’s home to drop off his beautiful passenger, whose light, tinkling laughter did things to his insides that were best left forgotten. He didn’t know what it was about her that affected him so strongly — and he didn’t want to find out.

  “This town has a good feel to it,” she said.

  “It’s a good town to spend an unlife in.”

  “Good to know.” She didn’t bother him with any more questions or silly jokes. Instead, she looked out the window, taking in the sights along Mane Street.

  Elvis pulled his Cadillac to the curb in front of Gene’s house, relieved that he was about to see the last of Charlie. This woman was getting under his skin and he didn’t need any more time with her. She made him uncomfortable. In an attempt to make up for the indiscretions of his youthful mortal life, he’d intentionally avoided entanglements with females since he’d been turned. He didn’t plan to change that anytime soon.

  He liked his uncomplicated unlife.

  “This is your house? It doesn’t seem like the house of a hermit.”

  “It’s not. It’s the house of an alpha.”

  Like the gentleman his mama had raised him to be, he came around and opened the car door for Charlie — which was a huge mistake, because she immediately smiled up at him and slid her long, long legs out of the Caddy. When she stood up, she was so close that he caught a whiff of her perfume.

  “Thank you.”

  He nodded and shut the door behind her, motioning up the walk toward the house.

  She went on ahead. Another mistake, as now he was behind her, watching the sway of her hips as she walked. He flicked his gaze away to the trees, the grass, anything else.

  When he reached the porch, the door was already opening and his alpha put out a hand to Charlie with a warm smile. “It’s good to see you again.”

  “Thank you for helping me,” she said, and there was actually a tremor in her voice — a shakiness that stirred Elvis’s protective instinct. Not good. Not good at all.

  He had to get her into Gene’s care.

  As they stepped into the house, Gene smiled broadly. “Welcome to town. You’ve missed dinner tonight, but I’d like to invite you both for lunch tomorrow. Samuel and Amber will be here as well, with their little boy.”

  Oh, no. Elvis needed to nip this in the bud. He needed to transfer Charlie into Gene’s care, and then he could host as many dinners as he wanted for her.

  Behind Charlie’s back, Elvis caught Gene’s eye and motioned toward his den. Gene seemed to get the message, because he introduced Charlie to his wife, Nancy, and then said, “If you ladies will excuse us, I need to talk to Elvis for a few moments.”

  The alpha led the way into his study and shut the door. “Thanks for picking her up.”

  Elvis didn’t reply, instead cutting straight to the point. “Gene, she needs to stay here with you. I can’t have her at my place.”

  Gene put a hand on his shoulder. “Have a seat. You’ve just had a long drive.”

  Out of respect, Elvis relented and sat on one of the three comfy armchairs by the desk.

  Gene sat across from him, deliberating. “Inviting her to stay here isn’t an option. She has to stay at your place. I have other guests coming this next week and I can’t have a houseguest while they’re here. People from the Council are coming to interview supernaturals for positions in their new office. Now that I think of it, you could probably apply.” He chuckled. “I’m sure they’d love to have Elvis on their payroll.”

  “You know why I can’t do that.”

  “Yeah. I do. A constant parade of women through the offices wouldn’t be conducive to getting work done.”

  Elvis stared at his alpha. “Don’t make me beg, Gene.”

  “Don’t beg. Just do it. I need you to do this for me.” The timbre of Gene’s voice changed and he invoked the power of his alpha voice. It sank deep into Elvis’s marrow. Alpha magic. Magic that had saved him from the cage and brought him back to reason. “Don’t make me order you, because I will have to do so.”

  Elvis blew out a frustrated breath.

  “You can do this.”

  He thought of the blonde woman in the other room. He could hear her tinkling laugh as she and Nancy shared something funny.

  What would it be like to have her laughter filling his house? “I don’t know if I can stay away from her.”

  Gene caught his gaze in his alpha stare, but there was encouragement there as well. “Elvis, you can do this. I want you to take Charlie to your house and take care of her. Protect her while she adjusts to her increasing power.”

  “What is her power? You never told me.”

  “I’ve promised not to reveal that.”

  Elvis nodded. “That will make my job harder.”

  “Just know that she needs help right now because her ability can hurt humans. She fights against her nature. That’s why she’s here. She’s also a singer but, like you, she’s given it up. Since you’re both singers who can’t sing, I figure you have at least that in common. Make her feel welcome.”

  Conflicted, Elvis stared down at his hands.

  Gene went on. “You’re obviously not happy and you haven’t been for all these years. Out of friendship, I’ve left you alone. Now we’ll do it my way. You will let her stay. You will be happy about it. You will be nice to her.
”

  Elvis felt the alpha compulsion and he nodded. “Yes, sir.”

  “Good. I knew I could count on you.” Gene leaned back and smiled at him. “Did you know there’s been an Elvis sighting in Vegas?”

  Elvis raised a brow. “You don’t say. How unexpected.”

  They laughed.

  “Lo-reeee-toe!”

  “NOW THIS,” CHARLIE SAID, MOTIONING toward the house before her, “is the house of a recluse.”

  Beside her, Elvis grinned. “It is.”

  His place wasn’t far from the alpha’s house, but it was out of the civilized subdivision and set back in the trees. A cabin that looked like it was older, but fancier than just any log cabin.

  The takeout food he’d picked up at a place called A Bite to Eat Café smelled delicious. The scent wafting out from the takeout box made her mouth water.

  When she reached for the door handle, he said, “There’s something I probably ought to tell you before we go inside.”

  She looked at him. “Okay.”

  “You know that houseguest I told you about?”

  “Yes.”

  “She’s a ghost.”

  She nodded. “Right. Scare the new girl.”

  “No, really. Her name is Evelyn.”

  “Does she do scary things?” Charlie couldn’t handle anything scary right now.

  “Yes. Terrifying things.” He shivered, remembering the day before.

  “What?” Charlie was starting to freak out a little. Why hadn’t he warned her before now?

  He sighed. “She’s a fan of my former self and likes to sing my songs.”

  She waited. “That’s it?”

  He turned to her. “Off-key.”

  She grimaced. For a singer, that would be torture, like fingernails down a blackboard. “That’s horrifying.”

  “She likes the back veranda the best, seldom goes into the bedrooms, and the kitchen is usually a safe zone.”

  “Will I be able to see her and hear her?”

  “I don’t know. I guess we’re about to find out.”

  “A cabin in the woods with a ghost.” She smiled at him. “Let’s go.”

  “I’ll get your door.”

  “Not if you don’t get out of the car really fast.”

  He chuckled and did so.

  Was this his secret werewolf superpower? His gentlemanly charm? Or maybe it was that magical crooked grin?

  He’d lost the sneer he’d been so famous for in life. The boyish grin remained, though it looked subdued somehow, almost haunted.

  She climbed out and smiled at him. “A ghost. I never expected that.”

  “I didn’t either, but she’s been here the entire time I’ve lived here.”

  “Why haven’t you moved?’

  He tipped his head, as if maybe he’d never considered that as an option. “Where would I go?”

  “I mean from this haunted house? Surely there are other houses here in town without ghosts.”

  “Evelyn would be heartbroken if I left her, darlin’.”

  And so he changed the subject. But seriously, why hadn’t he moved? Maybe she’d learn while she was staying here. And if that really was the reason he’d stayed, he had a soft heart.

  He pulled her suitcases from the trunk and wheeled them toward the cabin.

  She reached in and pulled the legs to the parrot cage out. “Be right back, Lorito.”

  He carried the suitcases up the four steps to the homey front porch. Several wooden rocking chairs were arranged so that the porch felt welcoming.

  Charlie smiled. This was a slower-paced life here than in Vegas, that was for sure. And that was good — she needed to slow down.

  He opened the front door and set the suitcases down inside.

  She followed him in.

  To the right, the large high-ceilinged living room was surprisingly open and airy with practically wall-to-wall windows through which sunlight would stream in the morning. A beautiful rock fireplace was built so that it formed a partial wall that was angled to face the entryway.

  Beyond the fireplace, she could see a dining room table and chairs on one side and part of the kitchen on the other.

  “May I set up the birdcage in this room? Lorito would love it in here.”

  He looked at the cage legs in her hands, wary. “Can’t he stay out of the cage? I really don’t like cages.”

  “He needs to be in the cage at night or else he’ll keep us awake all night. But I’m delighted to let him be free during the day. The top of the cage has some places for him to perch, too.”

  He nodded toward a spot. By the time she’d set up the legs, he was carrying the cage toward her and talking to her bird. He set the top onto the legs and she locked them into place and lifted off the towel. “Hi, Lorito.”

  “Lo-reeeee-toe!” the colorful bird exclaimed. It bobbed up and down and fluffed its feathers.

  Elvis unlocked the cage door. “Come on out, man. Enjoy the place.”

  Lorito obliged him by climbing along the perch, then used his beak and feet to clamber out the door and to the top of the wrought iron cage, settling on the fancy perch there.

  Elvis nodded in obvious satisfaction. “Feels good, doesn’t it, buddy?”

  Why was he so upset about her bird being in a cage? It was one of the largest cages she could find.

  She pulled out the water and food dishes. “Would you show me to the kitchen, please? He needs water.”

  “Sure.” Elvis motioned and led the way toward the table in the back, around the fireplace, and to the left. Out back were several French doors leading out to what must be the back veranda. The views were amazing on all sides. A person could get addicted to views like that.

  Charlie filled the water bottle, then pulled a baggie from her purse and poured some of the parrot seed mix into his bowl.

  “They make Purina Parrot Chow?” Elvis teased.

  “They probably do, but this is a more expensive blend.” She looked over at him. “Do you happen to have any fruits or vegetables I can add to this?”

  “I have some berries.”

  “That would be great. Thanks.”

  He opened the fridge and brought out a container, and she plucked out four raspberries to add to the seeds.

  She went back and put the containers back into the cage, and Lorito scooted back inside.

  Then she turned back to the room, noting the stairway leading upstairs. “I’m surprised this place has a second floor.”

  “A loft. There are two bedrooms upstairs, and the master and a study down here.”

  “I guess I’ll be upstairs then.”

  “The study’s on the left and I keep my books and guitars there.”

  “I suppose it’s off limits to me.”

  He nodded. “Thank you.”

  “Understood.” It went without saying that his bedroom was also off limits, as hers would be, too.

  “I also like to play my guitar in the loft.”

  She smiled. “I’ll enjoy that.”

  He carried her bags up the rustic staircase. There was a large landing area at the top that branched off to two bedrooms and a bathroom. He led her to the bedroom on the left and set her suitcases down inside the room. Stepping back out, he said, “This room is larger than the other one. I’ll go heat up our takeout, so dinner will be in about fifteen minutes.”

  “Thanks. I’ll get settled.”

  The room was larger — and more importantly, not directly over his bedroom. That would have been awkward. Just in case she wanted to jump on the bed or something. Not that she would, but it was nice to keep her options open.

  She watched until he disappeared from view down the steps, then closed the door to her room and pulled out her cell phone. She’d already looked up the number for the hospital where the man she’d hurt was staying. Now she just hoped she’d have service up here in the woods. Four bars, so she was in luck.

  When a nurse in the ICU answered, Charlie asked for an update on
Liam Gibson’s condition. They would only give it to her if she was family, so she said she was, and the nurse informed her, “He’s still in ICU, but seems to be stabilizing. We’re hopeful.” But the nurse’s voice didn’t sound hopeful.

  “Thank you.” Charlie hung up, worried. Then she called the hospital’s florist shop and ordered flowers delivered with no name, but with a card that read, “Hoping for a speedy recovery.” Boy, was she ever hoping for that.

  She couldn’t stop yawning and decided that she’d have a quick dinner, then cover Lorito and go to bed. She was wiped.

  Just as she finished freshening up, Elvis called out, “Supper.”

  And so she went down to have dinner with Elvis — the Elvis.

  Surreal.

  An Alpha Is Kind Of Like A Spoiled Child

  CHARLIE STRETCHED AND OPENED HER EYES, trying to remember where she was.

  Oh, yes. She was in Elvis’s house. Elvis Smith. Elvis Presley.

  And he’d apparently uncovered Lorito, because she could hear her bird talking and barking like a dog.

  Light streamed in the bedroom window and she lay there, content for a few minutes, before reaching for her phone to see what time it was.

  Eight o’clock. She’d actually gotten eight solid hours of sleep last night. Nine, even.

  She came upstairs at around ten the night before, put away her few clothes into the dresser and closet, and climbed under the quilt on the bed. Though she’d been exhausted, her thoughts had raced and she hadn’t been able to fall asleep.

  Finally, she’d pulled out her Kindle and listened to Molly Harper’s latest audiobook. She set the sleep timer for thirty minutes and, even though she loved the Half-Moon Hollow books, within fifteen minutes she’d dropped off into a bone-weary slumber.

  She climbed out of bed, did five minutes of yoga stretches, and then showered and dressed quickly. They were going to lunch with the Winstons later, but the smell of bacon frying downstairs made her stomach rumble for breakfast.

  She paused at the landing. From there, she could see the woods surrounding the cabin through the wall of windows in the living room. And, to her left, she could see down into the kitchen — where a handsome Elvis stood before the stove, moving crispy bacon from the frying pan to a paper towel-lined platter.