Hunting for Love Read online

  Evernight Publishing

  www.evernightpublishing.com

  Copyright© 2013 Virginia Nelson

  ISBN: 978-1-77130-461-0

  Cover Artist: Sour Cherry Designs

  Editor: JS Cook

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  DEDICATION

  For RTK--Thanks for the ghosthunting adventures!

  HUNTING FOR LOVE

  Virginia Nelson

  Copyright © 2013

  Chapter One

  The dream always started exactly the same way. In the bedroom with the silk wallpaper, she spritzed herself with scent and adjusted her breasts in the tight corset. Almost dizzy with the combination of excitement and the restriction of the whalebone, she gazed back at her face and smiled a little.

  The book she found in the library detailed sexual ideas she’d not considered, but looked forward to trying. He should be there any time now and her heart fluttered in anticipation.

  The clock struck twelve times, the gong resounding down the hall and muffling the knock at her window.

  Opening the curtains, she pushed open the pane, and pulled him inside.

  “I knew you would come, Henry.”

  “We have to talk.”

  Brushing his words aside, she went up on tiptoes to join their lips. No words they exchanged compared to the feeling of his mouth capturing hers. Their bodies spoke a language more powerful than any other.

  Seeming as swept away with passion as she was, his fingers delved into her hair, destroying the curls she had so artfully piled on top of her head for him. She didn’t care. He could crush the silk of her dress, muss her hair, and bruise her flesh with the dig of his fingertips in the height of passion. None of it mattered.

  Not so much as her desperate need for him.

  He broke off the kiss. “I said we needed to talk.”

  Unsure, she folded her hands together like the demure lady society dubbed her to be. “About?”

  “You’ve been cuckolding me. I got a letter and—”

  She moved fast, slapping his face with the full force of her weight. For once she didn’t worry about the noise waking the household.

  “Bastard. How dare you accuse me of giving my body to another?”

  Spinning on her heel, she fled for the door only to have his hand close over hers on the handle. He jerked the key from the lock and pitched it out the open window.

  Diving for the key, she nearly plunged through the window before he pulled her back, and threw her onto the bed, further infuriating her. With one move of his powerful arms, he barricaded the window with the wardrobe.

  “I said we needed to talk. Not that you needed to fly into a temper.”

  “How dare you?”

  “Your fiery nature inflames me, drowns my common sense and muddles my thoughts. How am I to know you’re not doing the same to other men?” His calm words delivered blows to her pride and bruised her heart, but the heaving of his chest under the crisp whiteness of his cravat caught her eye. The devil of a man. Even when he infuriated her, his body called to hers.

  “You’re a fool, then. I would never touch another, never share what I share with you, with any other man.”

  Again she made to flee and his hands closed on her arm. “Louisa.”

  Pulling free of him, she struggled with her skirts in an attempt to dive across the bed, not sure where her escape would be but determined to find one. Bumping the vanity, she heard the clatter but didn’t stop to look and see what it was.

  But when she crashed into the wardrobe, a heavy vase she stored there fell off the top, landing on Henry’s head.

  He crumpled like a rag doll.

  In a billow of skirts, she discarded her escape in worry. Touching his face, she cringed at the trickle of blood and the bruised, already swelling knot. “Henry?”

  Smacking his cheek gently, she tried to rouse him. Her hand, when she focused on it, shook in fear. She hadn’t meant to hurt him.

  Then she smelled the smoke.

  The candelabra had fallen off the dresser in their scuffle and ignited the drapes. The fire spread, quickly and greedily, to the canopy above her bed and she redoubled her efforts to wake him as she watched the flames devour the fabric.

  Failing that, she tried to push at the wardrobe. It wouldn’t budge.

  She spun and tried the door. Pounding on it, she called out, hoping someone, anyone, would wake and investigate the fracas.

  “Louisa?”

  His voice, weak but awake, drew her to his side. “Henry, the room! It’s on fire!”

  He joined her efforts but in his weakened state, and coughing from the acrid smoke, he was unable to move either the wardrobe or budge the door.

  Falling to her knees, Louisa sucked at the remaining air.

  “This can’t be it. This can’t be the end.”

  He turned to her and—

  Heather awoke, gasping and coughing.

  Chapter Two

  “So, your blind date is ghost hunting? Really?”

  The doubt on Michelle’s face didn’t deter her. Heather decided long ago that the right man for her would understand and respect her connection to the other side. She wasn’t interested in an unbeliever and told the blind date service as much in her letter.

  “Yes, ghost hunting. There’s an old plantation supposedly writhing in spirits that we’re going to visit. It actually sounds like fun to me.” Heather applied lip gloss. For just a moment, another face seemed to be transposed over hers but she blinked and the illusion was gone. Shaking off the shiver of remembered fear the familiar face caused, she forced a smile for the sake of Michelle.

  “I love you, darling, but have I mentioned you’re a bit weird?”

  Snorting in laughter, Heather turned to face her best friend. “What’s weird about getting locked in a haunted plantation for the night with a strange man?”

  Michelle hugged her. “Nothing at all, doll face. You have at it. Be safe, though. You’re sure the dating service isn’t hooking you up with an axe murderer or a…I don’t know, zombie or something?”

  “I’m sure. The dating service comes very highly recommended and even if the date sucks, I can check out the plantation. I’m really looking forward to it.”

  Butterflies danced a staccato beat in her stomach. She was looking forward to it but for some reason, tonight felt like one of those crossroads points, one of those epic life moments that change a person forever.

  The last time she felt this way…

  Nope, not thinking about Gavin. Not now.

  Tugging her purse strap up on her arm, she headed for the door. “You have my cell number. I’ll text you. If something goes wrong and he pulls an axe, you’ll be the first person I call.”

  Michelle groaned. “See, this is why I worry. The first person you call is the police. Then you call me and tell me the authorities are on their way and you’re hiding in a closet.”

  “Yeah, ancient wooden closet door versus axe? And you call me the illogical one?”

  ****

  Gavin Wright tugged the worn, military style sack out of the back of his pickup truck and hefted it to his shoulder. Glancing back at the large white house, spread across acres of what once was fertile farm land, he couldn’t tamp down the shivers of excitement rippling through him.

  Tonight m
eant something.

  His gut screamed it and he listened to his gut. Life changed in a heartbeat and the only thing that could cause such excitement would be finally achieving his life’s work.

  He would prove, for once and all, that there was life beyond this one.

  Since his twin brother died when they were kids, ghosts fascinated him: life beyond the curtain of death. Having been the healthy one while Garrett, his mirror reflection, lost his hair, grew thinner and finally gave into the sickness devouring his body from the inside out left Gavin wondering, why him? The thought that he could just blink out, game over, and it be done? Unacceptable. There had to be more than this.

  He’d searched everywhere for answers—from the cry of a newborn to the blood of the battlefield and none came.

  The cancer was something Garrett was born with, something inside him from the moment they both left the womb. How could they have the same eyes, same smile, same laugh while one of them came out with no sickness and the other been riddled with it? When Garrett died, it was like a piece of Gavin went with him. It wasn’t fair he got to live, to grow, to experience and Garrett just stopped. Gavin needed to prove, even if only to himself, that he wasn’t gone. The purpose of living had to be more, not just a fragile mortal blow that would eventually come and erase him from existence.

  Please let tonight be the night I prove it.

  Oh, and a date. The dating service remained one of the more impulsive moves he’d ever made. His—their, really—thirtieth birthday crept up on him and he worried about finding someone who loved him, all of him. Someone who didn’t freak out when she heard he chased around the world hunting for evidence of an afterlife.

  Not a small order and one that made the hefty sum that the service charged much more acceptable. Friends who served with him back in his military days had nothing but good things to say about it which, in his book, meant it was worth a shot.

  Heading up the steps, he noticed a small, two-door, sporty vehicle parked on the other side of the driveway. Either the caretakers or his date beat him here.

  A woman with a beacon of bright blonde hair was standing in a bush and peeking in one of the front windows. He figured it was probably his date rather than the caretaker. Something about that head looked very familiar…

  “Hey…” he called and the woman turned, looking surprised to be caught creeping in the bushes in front of the plantation.

  Her cornflower blue eyes grew wide, and it was like a sucker punch to his gut.

  “Heather?” he almost whispered her name and memory hit him like a freight train.

  Chapter Three

  As Heather met his gaze, memories flooded her, washing over her and stealing her breath as if she was caught in a riptide.

  First loves were the hardest ones to get over. She never thought she’d recover when she lost him. He’d been her rock, her friend, the only one who really understood what she did—even if he didn’t entirely believe she could commune with the dead.

  It started out with an arranged meeting. He wanted to test her gifts, see if her work could somehow support his. Apparently he’d spoken to others who claimed to speak to the dead.

  She was the first he believed, even a little. She joked, when they first started spending time together, that she’d found Mr. Wright.

  And oh how right it felt. His arms, when he pulled her close, were like steel bands, strong enough to protect her from the world and yet gentle enough to make tears threaten at the sweetness of it all.

  Working together, making love together, and laughing together…

  She couldn’t remember a happier time in her life.

  But it all fell apart. A small part of her knew it would happen. It was like she waited for the other shoe to drop from the moment he first spun her into his arms, out on the dance floor of an old age home and to some song by Sinatra.

  She knew her gift helped others but, often as not, pushed people away and prevented them from getting really close to her. Who wants their secrets whispered in their lover’s ear by those who’ve died?

  Not Gavin, apparently.

  His brother visited her late one night. Gavin woke her up with a nightmare. She curled around him, hoping to relieve his distress with her heat, her arms, hoping to chase away whatever monsters disturbed his sleep.

  And his brother spoke in her ear. She’d whispered to Gavin, she remembered even now, the words from beyond the grave. “Your brother wants you to know you don’t have to try so hard to prove that he’s still here. You feel him—you know he’s still with you. He’s gotten to experience every joy and sadness of your life. You don’t need proof for that. You just need a little faith.”

  Shoving her away, his face looked so cold. So empty. So not Gavin.

  “What are you talking about?”

  She swallowed. It seemed she stood with one foot off some never-ending cliff, stretching into an abyss. If she moved, she would topple into the darkness. But she had to speak. “Garrett. He wanted me to let you know that. He’s here if you have any—”

  “Oh, for Christ’s sake, Heather. I didn’t tell you about my dead twin so you could try to scam me with hokey messages from beyond the grave. Give it a rest.” He dug his hand into his hair, a physical sign of his frustration.

  “Gavin, he’s really here.”

  And he left.

  Just left.

  Walked away.

  Slammed the door.

  Gone.

  She’d called him. He blew her off. Told her they were done. That he wasn’t a mark to be fooled with her bullshit.

  Bullshit, my ass.

  Anger, old and gritty, choked the brief moment of shimmering joy and she couldn’t speak.

  She might have seen the end of their relationship coming but it didn’t make the hurt any less.

  “Gavin.” Finding her voice, finally, after a long and awkward pause, she was proud to hear that it was strong, firm, unbending.

  ****

  She looked good.

  For a moment, he couldn’t think farther than that. From the hair that swung around her lovely face to the strength she seemed to wrap around herself like a cloak, he remembered how he’d been swept away by her.

  And he could almost smell her, as if scent could be attached to a memory. A breath of lilacs and thunderstorms; she smelled to him like spring. When she gasped out her need for him, it was like lightning from that storm, the zipping electricity of it, snapped inside him, burning away common sense and driving him for one more taste, one more touch, one more kiss.

  Never, not once in all the time he’d been with her, were his feelings about Heather McNamara calm, tame or mundane. She was only supposed to be a project, an experiment into how people communicated with the dead or if they could, but in less than a week she’d become the reason he hopped out of bed and the last thing he thought about before he closed his eyes.

  Looking back, it was the best year he could remember out of his life so far.

  Not that it mattered in the end. He might never know why she brought up Garrett in the darkness but he wasn’t a fool. Maybe it was because it was what she did…and maybe she was insecure or something and automatically did it. Whatever her reason, it seemed to break the trust between them.

  It was the chink in his armor, the one thing she could do to hurt him, and she’d tried to use it against him.

  At first, right when he left her, he’d ridden a wave of righteous anger. Funny how that didn’t keep him warm at night or make missing her ache any less.

  Over time, he’d come to realize he might have made the biggest mistake of his life.

  What if?

  The question had been a thorn in his side for years. What if Garrett had been in that room? What if that had been his one and only chance to talk to his twin?

  Eventually, the drive to answer the question overrode his mantle of justified anger. He woke up one morning and wished desperately to go back, cut off his angry words and hold her in his arms and talk to G
arrett…

  But he was never certain if what he wanted more was the chance to talk to Garrett or her.

  That was the real rub of it. Even if, by some weird chance, she scammed him in the darkness…did it matter? Did he really care if it meant another day with her in his life or another night with her in his arms?

  Kind of pissed him off when he realized he didn’t care. That he’d take her with a herd of ghost stories if that was how he could get her.

  But the Heather of the past and this Heather, hiding in the bushes and trying to sneak a peek into the house, were very different. His Heather was full of openmouthed laughter and free with her emotions and love.

  This Heather stared icily at him…waiting for a response.

  What was he supposed to do? Drop to his knees and beg her to forgive him for being an arrogant asshole who pushed her away with both hands like a fucking moron when he should have been clinging to her?

  Clearing his throat, he simply took the coward’s way out. “You look good.”

  Since that had been his first thought anyway, didn’t seem to do any harm to share it.

  She snorted. “What, for a charlatan?”

  “About that…”

  “I don’t want to talk about that.”

  Then why the hell did you bring it up? Shoving a hand through his hair, he wished he could read her mind. Know if she hated him. See if she still cared, if only just a little. Instead, “You here to check out the haunted house?”

  Pulling herself to her full height like some lovely bird adjusting her feathers, she smirked. “Actually, I’m here on a date.”

  He swallowed. No. Fucking. Way. “Dating service?”

  She visibly paled. “Yes. How did you know that?”

  “I should have brought you chocolates. You still like those espresso beans covered in chocolate, Heather?”