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They spent the afternoon in bed. When they weren’t talking, they were making love. And when they weren’t making love, Callie was working on Carter’s shoulder. As tough as he was, he was putty in her hands. She nearly had the last kink worked out when his stomach rumbled.
It made hers pang, too.
“Hungry?” she asked.
“I could eat.”
They had worked off a few calories. “I have beef stew I could heat up.”
He watched her, his chin propped on his hands, as she moved off the bed. His gaze stroked heatedly over her body as she headed to the closet. “Now you’ve got me curious,” he said.
“I can cook. Simple things.”
She grabbed a robe. Smiling, she pulled it on. The way he watched her, she felt as sexy as if she were stripping for him. Her nipples beaded under the slick fabric, and there was no hiding her reaction. It was her summer robe, thin and short. Her heavier one was at his place.
“Shower first,” he growled. Flipping back the covers, he threw his legs over the side of the bed. He came to get her, and her robe didn’t stay on for long.
They shared the shower, but, in the end, probably used as much water as if they hadn’t. The bathroom in the old house was small for two people. Carter buffed off and hooked a towel around his waist. He ran a hand through his wet hair, making it spike in places, before bending over to pick something up off the floor. It was her loofa.
Callie grimaced and threw it in the trash. “I must have knocked it off the shelf in the dark last night.”
She’d forgotten this was where she’d been caught when the lights had gone out.
He frowned and offered a hand as she stepped out of the tub. “I’m going to find whoever did this to you.”
“I don’t think she can be caught.”
He lifted an eyebrow, but said nothing. Instead, he wrapped her in a big terrycloth towel. Callie let her head fall back when he leaned down to kiss her.
“I’ll go collect our clothes,” he said, “wherever they ended up.”
She watched the play of his muscles as he walked out the door—and let out a quick puff of air. It was hard to believe how much had happened in the past day. She’d seen a real-life ghost on Halloween, and now she was playing house with the cop who’d welcomed her to town with two tickets and a fine. Who would have thought it?
She reached for her blow dryer. Maybe that was the key: not thinking so much.
Carter was dressed and already in the kitchen by the time she made it back to the bedroom. Her clothes were waiting for her on the bed, and she changed into them before the warmth of the shower wore off. She glanced at the nightstand and saw that his gun was gone—secured again, no doubt, to his ankle.
She wished that he’d believe her, even just a little bit. What was happening here was supernatural, not something he could fend off with bullets or even fists. But that was her tough guy.
Hers...
Okay, maybe David was right. Carter was her cop. If it made him feel better to act as her protector, so be it. It felt good to be on the same side—even if they didn’t totally agree.
She found him in the kitchen making sandwiches. He nodded at the stove. “There wasn’t enough left for a meal for two.”
Callie’s forehead scrunched, and she walked over to look at the pot. She could have sworn that there’d been more left over than that. She grabbed the spoon and gave the bubbling liquid a swirl. “Adelaide,” she grumbled.
The missing food trick just wasn’t funny anymore.
Sighing, she opened a cupboard for bowls and helped Carter get things ready. She’d just put out drinks when he turned from the counter. “I almost forgot. I found this on the staircase out front.”
“Oh...” She carefully took the old, yellowed envelope. She must have dropped it when he surprised her. She was happy that it hadn’t gotten bent. “I forgot about that.”
Understandably. Her attention had gotten derailed when he’d stormed into her house, all hot and bothered and hormonal.
“What is it?” he asked.
She glanced up at him. “Rule three?”
He leaned back against the counter and folded his arms over his chest. “Adelaide?”
“It’s a letter to her, the real-life woman who lived in this house.” She put the envelope down on the table where it couldn’t get spattered. “I found out today that we’re related.”
He went so quiet that she got uneasy. The stew on the stove hissed, but neither of them moved.
“You’re serious?” he finally said.
She nodded. “That’s why I got so excited and rushed over here without telling you. I’m a descendant of her sister—who was also named Calina.”
The goosebumps Callie had gotten at the library returned, and she rubbed her arms. “I don’t think it’s a coincidence that I’m here. I think fate brought me to Shadow Valley for a purpose, to help Adelaide’s spirit find a way to rest.”
He watched her, saying nothing.
A hard knot formed in her chest. He’d promised. “This house has some kind of hold on me, Carter. I felt it the first time I stepped inside. Yesterday, it pushed me out, but today, it pulled me back.”
He dipped his head and ran a hand through his hair. “I’m not angry with you, honey. I’m just worried about you. I thought we’d cleared up that confusion.”
She knew. The picture in the hallway of the fruit basket... It still looked nothing like her.
She fiddled with the silverware. He just didn’t understand, and it hurt. “Did you know that Adelaide had a secret lover?”
The stew finally got his attention. He turned off the burner and reached for the bowls. “How would you know something like that?”
“I found some old love letters.” She pointed at the envelope on the table. “That’s what that is. His name was Peter. He was a banker, but he knew about Adelaide’s double life. He didn’t like the way she was sneaking around during the night doing dangerous work. He was afraid she’d be caught—or even worse, that he’d give away her secret, and she’d get caught because of him.”
Carter set the bowls of steaming soup onto the table and sat down next to her. “I didn’t know the library had something like that.”
“They don’t.”
A slow, soft creak came from overhead.
He looked up. He waited for a second, but the sound didn’t come again. “Then where did you find them?”
“Here. In my attic. That’s why I was up there. I found an old trunk, filled with her things.” Steam rose from Callie’s stew, rising in wispy swaths. It hadn’t taken her long to find the old travel case. Once she’d summoned the nerve to open the door and climb the stairs, she’d been drawn right to it.
Carter straightened when another drawn-out squeak came radiating through the rafters.
She stirred her soup calmly. Ah, the old shutter trick. Good times.
He sat still, holding his soup spoon like a weapon. “Are you sure they’re really Adelaide’s belongings? Or could someone have put them there, wanting you to find them?”
“To do what? Gaslight me?” She took a drink of water. Was that his excuse for the ghost she’d seen, too? Not even a Hollywood guru could have made that special effect. “I’d never even heard of Adelaide until last night. Besides, look at how yellowed that envelope is. It’s old. They all are.”
A hint of another squeak traveled down through the walls. Just a hint, but it was enough to push her cop out of his seat and up the stairs. Fast.
Callie was right on his heels. “That’s the sound I told you about, the one that’s not the shutters. I hear it all the time.”
“Stay with me, but stay behind me.”
She grabbed the banister but yanked her hand back quickly. It was ice cold.
She reached for Carter instead, laying her palm against his back as he stopped on the landing before the attic. They’d gone up the stairs fast, and she tried to swallow her loud breaths. He knelt down to pull his weapon out of his ankle holster and then reached for the door handle. Callie backed off, but he pulled her close and put her hand back on his shoulder. Standing off at an angle, he opened the door slowly. It swung open without a peep. Vigilant and silent, they started up the staircase.
The storage space awaited, still and empty.
“Has anybody been up here?” he asked. Callie saw nothing threatening, but he wasn’t lowering his guard. “Other than you and me? Or Raikins?”
“I’ve never been up here until today,” she said, peering around his shoulder. When she’d painted the exterior, she’d done nothing more than peek in the porthole window at the front. That had been enough for her.
The open space didn’t seem so scary now.
The bare, dust-coated light bulb hanging from the ceiling was still lit. She’d forgotten to turn it off when she’d heard Carter calling from downstairs. With the vaulted ceiling closing in, the room felt claustrophobic and smelled musty. Odds and ends lay about, belongings that previous residents had left behind. Bedrails were propped up against a wall, and a small table held a lamp that had seen better days. A rocking chair sat in front of the porthole window, taking advantage of the autumn view outside, but off to the side of the room was a trunk. An old trunk.
It had been impossible to miss.
Callie started to go around Carter to show him what she’d found, but he stopped her with a bar arm. Moving carefully around a threadbare curtain that hung from the rafters, he checked the other side. Frowning, he holstered his weapon. “Who did you tell you were coming here today? Somebody at the library?”
“Nobody.”
“Hughes?”
“He talked to me outside and then called you.” Callie dropped to her knees in front of the trunk. She didn’t know how long she’d spent up here, going through its things, but the stack of letters she’d already read showed it must have been a while. The trunk was a time capsule, full of long-forgotten treasures. Inside, there were a pair of brass candlesticks, an antique hair clip, and an old-school primer. A tea set was carefully packed in newspaper and cushioned underneath by a handmade quilt.
“The Underground Railroad used quilts as signals.” She pointed at the star sewn onto the top patch. “That means the North Star trail.”
“That should be in a museum.” Carter dropped down on his haunches next to her. “How did it survive up here with all the renters coming and going?”
He was careful not to touch, but Callie couldn’t hold herself back. She gathered up the letters, tucking the one she’d taken back into its spot. The group had been bound together by a red ribbon.
“These are Adelaide’s things,” she whispered. “They’re not some trick.”
The heirlooms were too old to be fake. There was too much weight of importance around them.
Somehow it didn’t seem right to talk too loud. She started sorting through the yellowed envelopes, looking at the dates. She found the last one and opened it carefully.
Carter rose and looked around the room. He didn’t seem satisfied with the explanation. He wandered about, testing the sturdiness of the bedrails and the glide of the drawer in the tiny table. Every so often, he’d stop and bounce atop a floorboard.
“Oh, no.” Tears suddenly pricked at Callie’s eyes. “He broke up with her.”
“Who?”
“Peter.” Sorrow seemed to come over the space at the sound of the name, and she rubbed her arm against the chill. “The secrecy and danger got to be too much for him. In the last letter I read, he’d moved to Ohio, but I thought he’d come back. But he’s not.”
The writing on the page before her blurred. “Here, he’s wishing her the best, but telling her it’s time they moved on—without one another.”
Carter watched her from the window. “Easy, honey. It happened over a hundred years ago.”
Easy wasn’t an option. The feelings she had seemed magnified somehow... as if they were coming from outside her rather than in. “I don’t think Adelaide died from pneumonia.” Callie had to swallow back tears. “She died of a broken heart.”
The rocking chair suddenly let out a mournful wail.
Callie scrambled backward, landing on her butt—only to realize that Carter had pushed it.
He jerked his hand back. “Damn, that’s cold.”
“That’s it!” she said. “That’s the sound I’ve been hearing.”
He rubbed his fingertips against his thumb. Pulling the sleeve of his shirt down, he moved the chair deliberately forward and then back. Another squeak emitted from the rocker’s old joints.
It was enough to make Callie’s hair stand on end. She got to her feet and wiped her eyes. “Carter, please,” she whispered.
He was already crouching down to check the floorboards. “The floor seems level.”
“Carter, move away from that.”
He waved his hand in front of the window, stopping at a certain point. “There’s a draft. That’s probably the problem. I can fix it.”
There was no way a tiny wisp of air could move that thing. The old rocker was handmade and solid. She didn’t care how crooked the floorboards were or how hard the wind blew. “We need to go. We shouldn’t disturb her like this.”
He rubbed a hand across his jaw. He nudged the chair again, but when he saw the way she flinched, he moved away from it.
And away from the presence she felt there.
She caught his arm as soon as he was in range. Hugging the letters tightly to her chest, she pulled him toward the door. In all the time she’d spent reading those letters before he’d arrived, she hadn’t been uncomfortable, but now the dread was seeping right down to her bones. “Let’s go back downstairs and finish our meal.”
“It’s all right,” he said. “There’s nothing to be afraid of.”
She caught his hand to make sure he didn’t dawdle. He paused to pull the chain on the overhead light, but she led him down the stairs and closed the attic door firmly behind them. They made their way back to the kitchen, but, as if on cue, a clunk from the basement sounded once they got there. Callie jumped back, bumping into Carter, but air started blowing through the kitchen vents.
He wrapped his arms around her. “Relax. Deep breaths.”
Callie stopped and tried to center herself.
“Is this what it’s been like for you here?” he asked.
She let herself lean back against his big body. “It’s worse when it’s dark outside.”
But not always...
He sighed, and his hold tightened. “Maybe I’ve been coming at this wrong.”
“What do you mean?”
“Strange sounds, footsteps, and cold spots.”
“Don’t forget the blinking lights and the falling shutters.”
“Which can be explained...”
“But—” She turned around in his arms. She’d thought he was beginning to understand. She’d thought he was beginning to see.
“After the fact,” he said, giving her a squeeze. “I always arrive too late. I never experience it like you do.”
“You saw the shutter.”
That muscle in his temple twitched. “Yeah, I saw the shutter.”
He gently rubbed his thumb over the spot on her head where it had hit her. “I’ve got an idea. What if instead of you staying with me, I stay with you? Here, so I’m in the moment and able to respond.”
“And see Adelaide?”
“And catch the bastard who’s been playing with you.”
Playing with her?
“You think this is a game? Why would anyone try to scare me like that? Other than because it was Halloween, and they thought it would be a good prank?” Now that she considered it, it would have been Shadow Valley’s ultimate prank. Aagh. She balled her hands up against his chest. He had a point.
“I don’t know anyone who would do that to you, but it’s time we found out.” He rubbed her back. “So, what do you think? Can I move in?”
She hadn’t even considered where she was going to spend the night, but one thing was for certain: she was going wherever he was going. He made her feel safe—not to mention distracted and interested in things other than ghosts. The town was already talking about them, no matter where they stayed, but if he moved in here, were they asking for trouble?
The light coming through the kitchen window was low on the horizon. She hadn’t realized how late it had gotten. They’d spent so much time immersed in each other that the autumn day had passed. Dusk would be arriving soon. She either needed to pack now or prepare for a night back here, in the very house she’d run away from.
The fear inside her was still raw, but hadn’t she learned more today? Things that had made her curious enough to come back? Adelaide seemed to have accepted her presence. She’d even led Callie to a part of herself the world hadn’t known about.
Callie looked at the letters she still held in a vise grip. “Let’s stay here.”
“We’ll leave if it gets to be too much for you,” he promised.
She lifted an eyebrow. “You ran pretty fast when you heard one little squeak, buddy boy.”
He cocked his head. “Are you sure about this?”
“I came here to communicate with Adelaide, to learn more about her.”
“What are you going to do with those?”
She looked at the yellowed envelopes with the careful printing. She hadn’t thought about it. She’d acted on instinct when she’d taken them, but suddenly she knew. She’d been meant to find these letters. “I’m going to write Adelaide’s story.”
The whole tale had yet to be told. It was up to her to finish what her great-aunt had started.