The Ghost of Christmas Present Read online

  THE GHOST OF CHRISTMAS PRESENT

  Jenny Massie Lykins

  Previous published 1997 Jenny Lykins by Berkley/Jove

  Copyright 2013 Jenny Massie Lykins Smashword Edition

  Smashword Edition, License Notes

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  CHAPTER ONE

  For the briefest of seconds, Alane Travis thought she saw someone looking out the front window of the rented mountain cabin. As she pulled the Jeep Cherokee into what she hoped was the cabin's driveway, the headlight beams penetrated the near-blizzard storm to sweep across frosty windows and Christmas garland swagged over the porch and balcony railings.

  Stress and fatigue, she told herself. And it was hard to see anything through that solid curtain of snow. Besides, the rental company said the cleaning lady would be there the day before to decorate a little. No one should be there now.

  Pulling her hood over her hair, she ducked her head, climbed out of the car, then grabbed two bags of groceries from the back seat. In a blur of white, she slogged through snow up to her knees then knocked the worst of the slush off her boots as she stomped across the porch.

  The welcome warmth of the cabin engulfed her the moment she stepped across the threshold. The interior was just as she'd hoped. Rustic, homey, loaded with personality. She could already feel the knots in her muscles dissolving.

  She found her way to the kitchen, dropped the groceries onto the scarred wooden table, then trudged out for another load. On her return trip with her suitcases, she raised her head to find the porch steps in the virtual white-out and thought she saw a movement in the window again.

  Had it been a reflection of something outside? Had the wind moved the curtain through a drafty window?

  A hard knot of fear curled in her stomach and inched its way up her throat. Should she run? Should she drop her suitcases and make a dash for the safety of the car?

  She reasoned with herself at the bottom of the porch steps. If someone was in there, surely they would have already shown themselves, whether they meant her harm or not. She’d made a mountain out of a molehill. Was she going to let a drafty window and fluttering curtain keep her from the much needed vacation?

  Stiffening her spine and straightening her shoulders, she tightened her grip on the suitcases and mounted the steps to the porch. She had to work on her painting, as well as use this opportunity to make a decision about her and David. She’d chosen to spend Christmas alone so she wouldn’t be distracted from either her work or her decision-making, and she’d be darned if she’d let a little gust of wind scare her away.

  In the distance a country church bell chimed eight o'clock. She sent up a little prayer, only half jokingly, that she'd live through the night.

  Showing more courage than she actually felt, she kicked open the door and swung the Samsonite ahead of her into the cabin, half expecting to see some psycho in a goalie mask with a chainsaw in his hand. But if the goalie came after her, he'd have to hack his way through the luggage to get at her.

  The living room couldn't have been more peaceful. Logs and kindling lay stacked in the fireplace, waiting for the touch of a match. No shadows moved. The house didn't feel like someone was hiding from her. She hauled her bags over to the tiny staircase leading to the bedroom, then peered up the stairs. The dark, gaping blackness at the top of the stairs was anything but inviting, but she forced herself to haul the suitcases up the creaking steps, then fumbled in the dark until she found a light switch and flicked it on. She jumped a foot in the air, with a scream, dropping her luggage, at the sight of something sprawled across the bed.

  “Oh, good grief!” Her heart raced beneath the palm she’d clapped to her chest, and then a timid little giggle escaped her throat.

  The creature lurking across the white eyelet bedspread was a fake bearskin rug with a cuddly teddy bear head grinning blankly up at her.

  “Way too much imagination, Travis.”

  She dragged her suitcases over to the bed, then scanned her surroundings. The room took up the entire second floor of the small cabin. Roomy, bright, and airy, it still held a cozy, welcoming feel. An antique shaving stand stood in the corner, complete with china pitcher and bowl and a matching chamber pot beneath. An afghan-covered rocking chair sat in front of a set of sliding glass doors that looked out on a small balcony and the lake beyond. A telescope stood just inside the doors.

  Alane flipped open her suitcases and started to unpack, but before she stored her clothes in the antique chest of drawers she decided she’d better put the groceries in the refrigerator.

  A little tingle at the back of her neck kept her from moving at first. Then she turned a full circle, scouring the room with her gaze, then dropped to her knees and flipped up the bedskirt.

  Not even a dust bunny stared back at her from the shiny hardwood floor under the bed.

  “Yep. Way too much imagination.”

  Her knees popped as she stood, then the floorboards and stairs creaked as she made her way to the first floor.

  The small kitchen held no space for someone to hide in so she tiptoed to the bathroom and peeked around the door.

  Nothing.

  "Looking for me?"

  Alane started so violently she bounced against the wall. Her hands flew to her chest as she backed away, trying desperately not to faint at the sight of the man in front of her...and the sight of the kitchen table showing hazily through his body.

  The last thing she remembered was the feel of her body sliding down the wall.

  Jared Elliott looked down at the unconscious woman lying in a boneless heap on the floor. He guessed he should have expected that sort of reaction, but for the life of him - or the death of him - he'd never found a gentle way to reveal himself to the living, in all his two hundred years.

  The minute he'd caught a glimpse of those disturbing, dark brown eyes, he'd known he would never remain cloaked throughout her stay. And when she’d entered the house, obviously terrified, and proceeded to investigate, he’d found himself intrigued for the first time in decades. Had he ever encountered a woman with so much independence? He wanted to meet her, get to know her, and if she proved too afraid of him to stay, then at least he would have the cabin all to himself again.

  The woman's lashes fluttered against cheeks still pink with cold. Her eyes opened and she blinked at the ceiling for a moment, causing two little vertical lines to mar the perfection of her forehead.

  "I mean you no harm," he said, and sank to a kitchen chair to make himself less threatening. She shot upright, all color draining from her face, then she scrambled backward until she hit the bathroom wall. With enough force to tear it off its hinges, she slammed the door in his face.

  Jared smiled and shook his head. The living could be so illogical.

  "I truly mean you no harm," he said, raising his voice just a little. "And even if that door had a lock, you must know that I can walk through walls. I learned that in House Haunting 101."

  The door remained closed and total silence virtually vibrated from the other side. Well, he couldn't just leave her in there cowering on the floor.

  He strolled to the door and decided not to waste his lim
ited energy in knocking.

  "Hello? Are you decent?"

  A faint scuffling behind the door was his only answer.

  He moved around to another wall, then let his head and shoulders dissolve through the wood. She stood with her back to him, facing the door, a bathroom plunger held over her head as if it were a headsman's ax, ready to separate his head from his shoulders. Little did she know he could already do that, without the ax.

  "Excuse me, but do you plan on using that - "

  The woman spun, slicing the plunger through thin air. He flinched and dodged, a reaction left over from his mortal days, even after all these years. Remembering himself, he stepped through the wall and stood there with his arms crossed while she swung at him like a blindfolded child swinging at a piñata. Not until she began to tire did he bother to speak.

  "If you hadn't over-reacted, I was going to tell you that you can't - "

  She threw the plunger through his head and it clattered off the wall to land in the bathtub. Yanking open the door, she raced through the kitchen, the parlor and out the front door, hesitating only a second before skidding down the steps and doing a sort of loping, wading run through the snow to the car.

  Before she even climbed inside, he moved himself into the passenger seat with a mere thought. She slammed the door, hit the lock, then grabbed the steering wheel with white knuckle strength and stared at the front porch.

  "If you're looking for me, I'm not - "

  This time she hit her head on the door window when she jerked around. She grappled blindly for the handle, kicked open the door, then fell from the car, scrambling to her feet in the snow, then running toward the darkness.

  Did the woman never hang around through a complete sentence? Did she think she would get very far in this weather? He appeared before her, walking backward with ease as she struggled through the snow.

  "I really do mean you no harm."

  She changed directions and continued to lope away from him, her ragged breath bursting into the air in white clouds. Before she could lose sight of the mountain cabin, as well as her bearings, he placed himself in front of her, forcing her to stop or run through him. She stopped.

  "Look, have I hurt you? Have I done anything to intentionally make you fear me?"

  She bent, her hands on her knees, fighting to catch a breath that wheezed in her lungs.

  "I'm not going to hurt you. Look. I can't." He held out his hand to caress her face. A sharp stab of disappointment hit him in the chest when his hand passed right through her, even though he'd known it would.

  She flinched, then shuddered.

  "See? How can I hurt you if I can't touch you?" he asked logically, ignoring the voice in his head that mournfully echoed I can't touch you. I can't touch you.

  Her breathing slowed a bit and he thought perhaps a little of the terror left her eyes. She straightened and glanced around, no doubt looking for the cavalry, but from the looks of the way the snow was coming down, the cavalry couldn't get to her anyway.

  "Come back to the cottage. I'll leave you be, if you wish. But you can't set out in this weather, and you can't stay in your car. You really don't have an option."

  The woman swallowed hard. Little droplets of melting snow in her hair quivered with her body as she tried to look everywhere but at him.

  "All right. I'll leave you alone. But you have to admit, if I meant you any harm, I've had plenty of time to carry out my plans." He vanished then, reappearing immediately on the small, darkened balcony overlooking the lake.

  What would he do if she continued on? She'd surely die in the storm, if not by falling into the lake, then certainly by freezing to death.

  He sharpened his night vision, which, after two hundred years of honing, could spot a praying mantis in the middle of a garden at a hundred paces.

  She stood as he'd left her, her dark eyes an incongruous contrast against the wisps of cornsilk-colored hair escaping from beneath her hood. She looked back at the house, then into the darkness. She wrung her hands and glanced back and forth again, obviously weighing the risks involved in either direction.

  Damn. He shouldn't have revealed himself the way he had. But for the first time in nearly two hundred years he hadn't thought before he acted.

  Finally she turned back to the house, yanking her hood tighter and ducking her head as she waded back to the house in near knee deep snow.

  He sat, perched on a step of the tiny staircase, his body cloaked in transparency as she stomped her way across the porch. He heard the twang of the old screendoor opening, then she pushed the front door inward. Only her head appeared as she scanned the room. When she saw no sign of his presence she inched her way in, looking back at the open door as if deciding whether or not to close it.

  With exaggerated stealth, she tiptoed to the door and closed it without so much as a click. Jared grinned at her caution and noted that she didn't lock the door behind her.

  After standing for a few indecisive seconds, she virtually dove toward the fireplace. With clumsy fingers she produced a match from its box - several matches, actually, which now littered the floor at her feet. After two unsuccessful attempts to light the match, the tip finally flared to life. She held it to the firestarter and kindling, and within seconds a nice, hungry fire roared in the grate.

  She huddled by the fireplace and looked around, as if she expected the flames and heat to keep him away as it would a wild animal. He grinned again.

  How naive of her.

  He settled back and watched, dipping every now and then into her thoughts, becoming more intrigued with every passing moment.

  *******

  Alane cowered against the fireplace until her legs went numb and she had a crick in her neck. Frozen food sat thawing on the table while she starved and waited for some ghost to come along, carrying his head under his arm, no doubt, with intentions of scaring the life out of her.

  Her rational voice told her he would have done that by now if he was going to. Her irrational voice told her if she didn't move a muscle then maybe he wouldn't see her and she could run to safety in the morning.

  Yeah, right.

  Straightening her painfully cramped legs out one at a time, she got to her feet and pulled herself upright. While she stayed close to the fire, she fought to gather enough courage to go to the kitchen. Maybe she’d imagined him. Maybe, as Dickens suggested, he was the result of a bit of undigested beef.

  From the corner of her eye she caught a movement near the stairs. The air shimmered for a moment then formed the shape of a body sitting on the steps.

  "I figured it was harder on you not knowing where I am. This way you can keep an eye on me," the translucent ghost said in a conversational tone. Alane shook her head and backed up until the stone of the fireplace bit into her back. Why hadn't she listened to her mother and gone on a cruise?

  "How...," she cleared her throat and tried not to croak again, "...how long have you been there?"

  "Oh," he tilted his head to the ceiling and rubbed the back of his neck, "couple of hours, I guess."

  Anger replaced fear at his words. The whole time! He'd been there the whole time she'd huddled by that fire, baking on one side, freezing on the other, starving to death, trying not to draw attention to herself while he no doubt had a good laugh at her expense.

  Exhausted, her adrenaline now on a downward spiral, she stepped away from the jabbing stones of the fireplace and rammed her hands on her hips.

  "Look, you...you ectoplasmic peeping Tom. I don't appreciate being scared out of my wits, watched like a bug under a microscope or sharing a cabin I paid for with the likes of you. So vacate the premises, Casper. Spare me the boyish smiles and let me concentrate on my work!"

  "Boyish smile? Really?" His grin brightened by at least a hundred and fifty watts.

  Alane growled part of a curse before she caught herself, then marched into the kitchen to put the thawing groceries away, the ghost be damned.

  As her temper faded, so did
her bravado, and she found herself watching the door to the living room while she stocked the refrigerator. Maybe if she made a run for it out the back door. But one look out the window at the thick, horizontal snowfall changed her mind. Why couldn't her car have broken down before she got to the cabin?

  He appeared in the doorway, then leaned against the counter and crossed one foot over the other.

  "Now you won't be wondering when I'll appear." With his last word he widened his eyes and fluttered his hands, like the melodramatic, theatrical ghost he probably was. Her initial reaction was to narrow her eyes and glare at him.

  "Oh, well, excuse me for over-reacting. Coming face to face with a walking, talking dead man shouldn't have upset me so much!" Had those words really just come out of her mouth?

  She slammed the refrigerator door shut then started putting things in cabinets. When she used up what little storage space she had on her side of the kitchen she realized she would either have to leave the rest of her things on the table or start using the cabinets he was propped against. Sucking in a deep breath, she balanced a half dozen cans of soup in her arms, marched up to him and threw open the cabinet door next to his head. The handle slipped from her fingers. The door flew back through his head, bounced off the cabinet and banged shut. All six cans of soup hit the floor when Alane cringed at the thought of the door hitting his head.

  When she opened her eyes he hadn't moved. His eyes - not quite brown, not quite green - very nearly twinkled with amusement when he smiled.

  "Missed me."

  CHAPTER TWO

  Alane dropped to her knees and chased rolling soup cans across the ancient, uneven floor of the cabin. She used that time to desperately try to get her heart pumping again. The door had bounced right through his head! His smile had sent her heart to her feet!

  She scavenged three cans from under the table, one from behind the stove and one from the farthest corner of the kitchen. The sixth lay innocently at the feet - make that in the feet - of her ghost. A ghost in cowboy boots.