Chapter 2
Chapter Two
A shley’s second, and perhaps most important, lesson about haunting came on the fifth day. A fake apparition couldn’t survive on sandwiches alone. When the breeze wafted the smells of the resort’s kitchen into the lighthouse through the open windows, she found her resolve to remain inside the building wavering. One excursion wouldn’t cost her anything. What were the odds the website advertised her favorites as the daily specials? BLT with scrambled egg, mushroom risotto, and chicken enchiladas verde had nothing in common. Except her.
Christopher must suspect she was back. Why else would the Inn screen Failure to Launch and The Cutting Edge over the past week? Attendance for both movies had seemed poor, as far as she could tell from the dirty windows.
She hadn’t been able to watch the action on the screen. The projector was angled out of her view. If he had done so on purpose, however, he had once again underestimated her. She’d watched both films enough to have the visuals memorized and enjoyed her favorite movies like radio plays.
Perhaps her husband was spurred by nostalgia. She preferred that perspective. Wistful, estranged husbands were easier to frighten than those who were too aware of their wives’ movements.
She’d waited for dusk before placing her order and sneaking out of the crumbling tower. She had changed out of her Victorian nightgown and into a black T-shirt and jogger sweatpants. Pants had been a relief. The billowing nightgown had been a pain inside the lighthouse, catching on the stairs and restricting her movement. Now she needed speed. With each step, she strained for any noise above her own labored breathing and pounding heartbeat. She wasn’t cut out for subterfuge.
Crossing the wooden bridge in a few hurried steps, she leaped to the lawn and dashed to the tree line that marked the property boundary, with unkempt woods behind a neat row of shrubs. The cool night air held the scent of pine and fresh-cut grass. She raced along the edge of the forest towards the Inn’s kitchen, past the restaurant and employee door.
She’d grown up at the resort and eaten almost every meal in the kitchen. Over the past decade, she had never learned how to cook for herself. Surviving off takeout and microwave meals, she hadn’t been put to the test. However, she'd finally reached her breaking point after nearly a week of peanut butter and jelly. She’d learn to cook a few basic things as soon as she was out of the lighthouse and into her home. Could she kick her husband out of the cottage?
A branch cracked under her foot, and she froze, taking in her surroundings. Night had descended around her. The sky melted from soft blue to inky navy. If anyone spotted her, she probably resembled a startled deer caught by headlights. In the north woods, darkness didn’t bring silence. The buzz of bugs rivaled traffic noise, in her opinion. A frog croaked in the distance. More importantly, she didn’t hear any human sounds.
She focused on her feet, picking her way through the forest. She neared the kitchen side door, and the wafting smells tickled her nose again. Once she had a hot meal, she’d reclaim her rightful place as owner and operator. She stepped into the thick row of tall boxwoods. Sharp branches dug into the exposed skin on her neck and arms. Physical pain was fleeting and only solidified her resolve. She was not pinning her future on the whims of chance. Her plan was solid.
For the time being, however, she hid in the bushes outside the kitchen’s back door, waiting for her food and replaying her tactics to date. Her mysterious sounds and lights hadn’t drawn any notice. She had to make the lighthouse impossible for Christopher to ignore so he’d abandon the Inn. Christopher wasn’t known for giving up. For years, she had enjoyed the full benefit of his loyalty. Ultimately, however, he chose to stay and proved his ties were stronger with her father than her. She’d had no choice but to leave.
At some point, she became the Wickham to his Darcy. And she hated that. Why was she the dissolute child of the respectable parent? Why couldn’t she be the steadfast, stable one?
She blamed his lack of imagination. As a kid, she was forced to come up with every ingenious plan to entertain them. And, of course, she’d taken all the blame when things went haywire.
It didn’t matter. She couldn’t change the past. Her future remained open with possibilities, starting with the Inn. Christopher wasn’t easy to scare, and he swore he didn’t believe in the paranormal. But she remembered the fear in his eyes as she told ghost stories by flashlight. She’d terrify him, and then she could reclaim what rightfully belonged to her.
He was hardly a Mr. Darcy. In truth, he was nothing more than a peacocking Mr. Collins. The entail was void. The rightful heir would claim her legacy.
Her stomach growled.
She pressed her hands against her belly, hoping to dull the sound. She’d been explicit in her instructions. The delivery driver was to leave the paper bag next to the large pine tree closest to the building’s side entrance.
From her position, crouched in the trimmed boxwoods that created a neat wall of greenery on the eastern edge of the property, blocking the wild, unmanicured forest, she’d be no more than thirty feet from her meal when it finally arrived. She’d duck out of her hiding spot, grab the bag, and hightail it back to the lighthouse before anyone was the wiser.
She wanted to take over a successful business, not terrify her customers and assume control of a ghost town. Hanging back allowed her to marvel at the beautiful structure up close. The expansive building was modeled after the great Gilded Age cottages on the East Coast. The roof boasted gables and two towers on either end. Luckily, the covered porch didn’t wrap around this side of the building but skirted the western edge, inviting guests to stroll and admire the sunset.
The building was immaculate and better than her childhood memories. When she left, she’d known where to step to avoid every rotting floorboard from the porch to the staircase to the top floor. Christopher’s handiwork? Or Dad’s ? Had she been such a burden that the pair and property were better off without her?
She’d wanted her absence to frustrate Dad. She doubted he’d laugh or flash a genuine smile without her around. He’d called her his joy, but she wanted to be his pride, too. He’d never taken her seriously enough to give her a chance to prove herself. And, in a moment of anger, she made a drastic decision, overwhelming herself with regrets.
A rolling lawn behind the Inn sloped towards the lake. From its perch, the Inn looked down on all its neighbors, including the old sawmill jutting out near the channel and the boardwalk on the south shore of Loon Lake. Owned by the Inn and the unofficial downtown, the boardwalk shops were just as mired in history and tradition. Leases passed from one generation to the next, so a Jenkins would always serve ice cream, a Phillips would run the arcade, and a Treacle would pull taffy.
She’d fought hard against history, hating the ties that didn’t just bind but suffocated. She’d had a partner in crime for childhood and then married him on a whim. But when she’d needed him most, he picked the better option, and she’d found the door on her own.
Headlights flashed.
Blinking, she shielded her gaze and spotted the car driving towards her on the road in front of the building.
The red sedan stopped on the driveway where the pavement circled back towards the main road.
A man hopped out of the driver’s side and strode to the main entrance.
The car engine ran, filling the air with exhaust. Carry-out orders waited at the host stand inside the restaurant’s front entrance. The man might be gone for as long as ten minutes.
She swallowed, fighting the cough building in her lungs. If she wasn’t so desperate for her favorite meal, the one she’d helped develop back in high school, she’d call the front desk about the idling engine outside. The earth wasn’t going to be saved by one car turning off. But every little bit helped.
As her vision adjusted to the car’s bright lights, she realized her hiding spot was no longer concealed. She knelt, branches scratching her as she repositioned herself on the ground. At least with the chill in the evenings in early June, she remembered to pack joggers, or she’d be covered in even more marks.
Footsteps echoed off the pavement.
In her back pocket, her phone vibrated.
She didn’t need to check the cell. She watched the delivery driver tap his phone and carefully set the bag in the designated spot. Her mouth watered. She could taste the smoky, thick-cut bacon with the rich eggs and crunch of the lettuce. Choosing between her favorites had been hard. She chose the easiest to eat in her cramped quarters.
“Please leave a good review,” the man yelled. “Thank you for the tip.”
She flinched. Had he seen her? Had anyone heard him? She couldn’t glimpse his face.
Heavy footsteps retreated. A car door opened and slammed shut. The sedan sped off, tires squealing on the asphalt.
Air whooshed from her lungs in a heavy exhale, her shoulders rounding forward. Pulling her phone from her pocket, she confirmed the delivery and left five stars. She shimmied out of the bushes, snapping the delicate branches and scrapping her exposed cheeks and arms with each twist. She probably left a human-sized dent of destruction in the poor plants. Mr. Willie, the groundskeeper, would demand an explanation and a budget increase to fix the problem.
When she was in charge, she’d gladly give him both. Darting out of the shrubs, she tripped over her feet on the way toward her dinner. Twisted ankles weren’t part of her plan. Righting herself, she grabbed the paper bag from its resting spot against the tree trunk and raced at full speed around the corner of the building. She leaped into the shrubs.
Cracks and snaps accompanied her, every movement as loud as fireworks over the lake. Her hands took the brunt of the assault. She sucked in a sharp breath, but she couldn’t slow down and assess the damage. She pushed on, past the bushes and into the forest, until she was sure her presence was undetectable.
She didn’t need an employee taking out the trash to spot her and call for help. She needed to reach the lighthouse on the little island several yards from the beach. Luckily, the cloudy night provided cover. Under a full moon, someone would spot her for sure.
She didn’t stop until she reached the fake lighthouse, racing over the wooden bridge and into the building. She dropped onto her air mattress, taking up much of the floor space in the large room, and dug in. She’d figure out her next step. When a person had nothing to lose and everything to gain, they were unstoppable. She snorted. That summed up her situation.
* * *
Christopher had heard he didn’t have feelings more times than he could count. Now, he started to believe public opinion. Operating with cool efficiency made the resort a success. He didn’t need friends. The closest he’d ever had ended up hightailing it out of Loon Lake the second she could and hadn’t been back in ten years.
Except, of course, she’d returned and now crouched in one of the bushes at the front of the property. Standing on the front porch, he was half hidden by a potted topiary. Coming outside after twilight was one of his favorite traditions, almost like meditation. He’d breathe the fresh air, inhaling a unique perfume based on the season. In late summer, the air hung heavy with honeysuckle; in the fall, dirt and leaves took precedence; in the winter, woodsmoke. But with spring finally giving way to summer, he smelled fading lilacs and hyacinths. No matter what happened during his day, he paused outside, to appreciate the beautiful place where he lived and worked.
Long ago, he’d vowed to give the business his all. What started as duty morphed into pride. When his commitment faltered, and his heart wanted him to track Ashley down, he found an inner strength and kept going. With the lines blurred between his professional and personal lives, he couldn’t stop one without impacting the other. Of course, she wouldn’t realize that he stayed for her sake. If he’d left, she wouldn’t have had any financial support.
He had resigned himself to accepting she could never appreciate the tough position he was in. Her father had given him a chance to prove himself but ended up relying on Christopher completely. Xavier had insisted on keeping her out of the mess his poor financial management and sidelined her. She’d been frustrated. Christopher hadn’t been able to explain then and doubted she’d agree with his characterization of his devotion now.
She had wanted grand—if somewhat reckless—gestures and over-the-top speeches. He had believed in actions. Although she couldn’t know the depth of his loyalty to her and her father without breaking her heart, she would learn Christopher’s true fortitude now in a fight for their respective futures.
As he took his evening stroll, he’d been intrigued by the sedan pulling in front of his hotel. The faded red car parked at the end of the building, near the pine tree planted fifty years earlier that had grown so large they needed a crane to string the lights for the annual Christmas festival. He did a double take when the car’s headlights beamed onto her.
He knew she was back. Her presence changed the atmosphere. Seeing her was startling, nonetheless.
She hadn’t aged a day in ten years. She was perhaps a bit at a disadvantage, hiding in the shrubs. Dressed in black, her flawless skin glowed like a phantom.
He was surprised she’d lasted five whole days in the lighthouse.
Last night, a worried guest had approached him, asking if a hurt animal was trapped inside the stone structure accessible via a rickety bridge. With a rope strung across the bridge, the little island and building were off-limits to anyone with sense. Not that Ashley had ever concerned herself with logic.
This scheme was classic Ashley behavior. He used to find her plans fun. She livened up his days and made him look at the world from an absolutely bonkers perspective.
But that was before he’d needed to step up and take over the resort. At the time—and to the present day, if he’d done his task correctly—she had had no clue how dire the finances were. She was protected in that way, insulated from life’s reality. Her father limited her exposure to the inner workings despite bringing her on board as his apprentice. Christopher had been complicit in keeping the knowledge of the Inn’s poor finances from her. Now she wanted to push him out? After he’d not only saved the resort but reinvented and expanded it, drawing more clientele than even in its heyday? No chance.
All he had to do was wait her out. Easy. He’d been doing that since the dawn of time. While she might be brash and bold, she wasn’t particularly insightful or observant. She’d claim she suffered from harsh discipline. Never seeing the twitch in her father’s stoic smile. The man couldn’t stay mad at her and had rarely enforced her punishments.
Christopher had had a hard time with it, too. She’d had to be the one to walk away. He never could.
He’d foolishly wanted to see her at the will reading and settle everything then. For a man who prided himself on dealing with clear-cut absolutes, he’d let her twist and turn him upside down. But she hadn’t been informed of her father’s death at that time. Christopher had instructed the lawyer to find her, and then he’d waited for her return.
This morning, he’d had enough stalling. He requested a change to the day’s specials. Then he updated the website himself. And last, he opened the windows in the dining room facing the lake and turned on every fan in the kitchen. His lame excuse of proper ventilation fooled no one. But, luckily, none of the staff questioned his odd behavior or why he was in the kitchen. He used the excuse of discussing the latest menu printing concerns as a cover.
Narrowing his gaze, he refocused on the boxwoods. The neat wall of shrubs created the last vestige of civilized order before the forest full of chaotically arranged pines and aspens. Christopher couldn’t spot her.
The driver exited the hotel, passing Christopher on his way. He strode to the old pine at the end of the shrubbery row, set the bag on the ground, shouted something, and hopped into his car. Tires squealed as the car peeled out of the Inn’s driveway.
Christopher caught his breath, holding it until his lungs burned. He wanted a clearer glimpse of the one who got away. For as long as he’d drawn breath, he’d loved Ashley Hale. While he wasn’t her enemy at the moment, he wasn’t classified as her friend either. He wanted to settle the business between them so that they both won. He just hadn’t figured out how. For someone who always had a sensible solution, he really hated the current predicament.
Once again, he’d been trapped between a rock and a hard place, aka his wife and his father-in-law.
She burst out of the shrubs, branches snapping and interrupting the insects’ nightly serenade.
He winced. Her sudden movement was startling.
If her skin wasn’t a bleeding mess from scratches at risk of infection from dirt, it would be a miracle. The groundskeeper, Liam Willie, would be livid with the human-shaped broken branches. He’d sneer at every small child he spotted in the morning. Christopher would have to redirect the groundskeeper to work on the other side of the property tomorrow.
She grabbed the bag at a run and tore off around the side of the massive inn. Dressed like a thief, she raced away like she’d been caught red-handed. The clothes hugged her figure, reminding him of the feel of her in his arms.
He clenched and unclenched his hands into fists at his sides, fighting the muscle memory. He would not risk his composure in his workplace for something he could never have. Once, he’d been a fool to think he could hold her. He wouldn’t make the same mistake twice. The wounds from her departure still ached.
He strode back into the hotel, taking the shortcut through the lobby and out the doors to the patio. She raced over the rickety bridge, flying like a raven. For a second, he was lighter than air. More than happiness, he liked being right. Or so his actions of the last decade would proclaim on his behalf. Years ago, he’d been victorious, and for his prize, he had claimed a cold, lonely bed in a marital home that felt like a mausoleum without her nonstop singing and chattering to fill the high-ceilinged rooms.
With a shake, he focused on the present.
He’d known food would lure her out and asked the chef to add her old favorites to the menu, feigning a memory of some important guest’s preferences. He risked too much because he wanted to see her.
He strode back inside the building, nodding and smiling at the guests he passed on his way to the spiral stairwell near the kitchens. With each step, he climbed to his office in the attic and refocused on his goal. He’d taken the section in the turret for himself, liking the ability to glance north, south, or west with ease from his desk. And, because he couldn’t stay in their marital home by himself. The decision had been his biggest gamble and most successful payout.
It had been that chance that solidified Christopher’s heir apparent status. Xavier Hale knew Christopher would manage. When the time came, however, Christopher hadn’t felt prepared. Losing his father-in-law and mentor, knowing the full depths of the emotional damage that had never been reconciled between Ashley and Xavier, Christopher had ached to do the right thing. For the first time in years, however, he didn’t know what that was.
Xavier must have sensed the unease within Christopher at the prospect of taking over the Inn from Ashley and had, no doubt, included the odd stipulation to comfort Christopher in accepting what he had rightfully earned. The Inn at Loon Lake was as well-known for the gregarious and outgoing personalities of the Hale family as it was for exceptional customer service.
Christopher wanted a compromise. He could give her fifty percent of the profits, and she could start over wherever she wanted. Or she could stay and work for him. But, knowing his wife’s stubborn personality, she would balk at reporting to anyone and especially him.
Whether he liked it or not, he was trapped in a winner take all scenario.
He crossed the room to his private office, closed the door, and settled behind the large partner’s desk. With summer starting, he had enough work to remain chained here around the clock. From the corner of his eye, he saw the lighthouse in shadow. Hopefully, she remembered to ask for utensils. As a rule, they didn’t pack disposable forks with every order and gave up on plastic straws years ago. He chuckled, imagining her using the crusts of her bread to spoon every bite of scrambled egg.
She was creative and inventive. She’d find a way. Because she always did. And he couldn’t help but cheer her on, even when it was against his best interests. He’d always been a fool for her, and he couldn’t seem to change his ways.