Winter's Fyre Read online

  "Where did you say you spotted him?"

  "In the back bedroom."

  He nodded and motioned for her to stay put. “Yell if he comes your way,” he instructed, and disappeared down the hallway.

  As the minutes passed, Shelby stood by the front door with her arms wrapped around her chest. She was barefoot and still in her flannel pajamas, but it didn't matter. If that naked man came barreling down the hallway, she was taking off outside.

  But no one came running, hopping, or even casually strolling back to the foyer except for the deputy, who then ventured upstairs to check the empty bedrooms. When he returned, he was shaking his head.

  "Sorry, Shelby. There's no one here. I even checked your closets, the other rooms, and your windows. You're shut tighter than a door nail, so I have no idea how he got out. Even the kitchen door is still locked.” He frowned. “How do you think he managed to get in?"

  "I have no idea,” she confessed, relieved that the deputy believed her.

  "Can you give me a description again of the guy, in case I might see him around?” The man pulled a small spiral notebook out of his jacket pocket.

  "Umm, young. In his late twenties or early thirties. Dark hair. Blue eyes. About your height."

  "What was he wearing?"

  "Uhh ... nothing."

  The deputy's eyes grew larger. “Pardon? Nothing?"

  "Not a thing. He was bare as the day he was born,” she told him.

  "Can I ask what he was doing in your bedroom, uhh, naked?"

  The vision of the stranger bringing himself to the point of ecstasy threw a hot rush of embarrassment into her face.

  "I-I-I guess he was getting ready for bed, and he happens to like sleeping in the buff. Hell, I don't know, Dennis. I saw a naked man and bolted.” She gave a nervous giggle. “I didn't stop to ask him who he was or where he came from."

  "That's all right. Look, I'll put the word out and we'll be sure to keep our eyes open for this guy. Unless he kept a change of clothes nearby, he may be out there in the snow freezing his balls off. Either that, or he's sought shelter elsewhere because he sure isn't in this house anymore.” The deputy gave her a friendly pat on the shoulder and looked her in the eye. “If this guy shows up again, don't hesitate to call us back. Got that?"

  "Sure,” Shelby answered as the deputy went over to where the receiver was still off the hook. He spoke a few words into the phone before hanging it up.

  "Well, I'll go file a report. Have a Merry Christmas, Shelby."

  "Thanks, Dennis. You, too. Tell Vicky ‘hi’ for me."

  "I will."

  She watched him traipse through the snow and get back into his car. It wasn't until a blast of cold air came through the door that Shelby closed and locked it. Immediately her eyes slid back to the hallway. She needed to change into something warmer, plus get some socks over her frozen toes. But that meant going back into her bedroom where that guy had—vanished.

  Ohmygosh! He did!

  Her legs were already taking her back to the bedroom before she was aware of her actions. Her daddy had always claimed that a good defense was a good offense. And, hell, she wasn't about to be frightened out of her home by some pervert!

  The room was empty, as she half-expected it to be. Stopping beside the foot of her bed, Shelby glared at the walls around her. “Hey, you! You bastard. Show yourself, you prick! What in hell were you doing in my bedroom?” She waited, listening. Believing she was as prepared as she hoped.

  Nothing.

  "Guess you're too chicken to face me again, huh? Now that I've seen your dinky dick and what you have to do to get any action!” she taunted, and paused again.

  Still nothing.

  "Okay, Shelby. You gave it the old college try. Maybe you just imagined the guy in here. Maybe that's why he vanished when he tried to touch you.” Talking aloud had always helped her get her thoughts in order. This time it was helping to chase away the last of the tremors.

  Mentally squaring her shoulders, she turned to go into the bathroom when a figure loomed in the doorway. Still naked except for the fluffy blue towel draped around his middle and an angry glare on his face.

  Shelby gave another little shriek, threw a hand over her mouth, and literally fell back onto the bed in shock.

  "I'll ignore that dinky dick remark if you'll tell me what the fuck you're doing in my bedroom,” the man demanded.

  The comment rankled. Immediately Shelby retaliated before she had a chance to think. “Your bedroom? Since when?"

  "Since I bought the place!” he raged.

  He hadn't made another move toward her, but it irritated her to see him dripping water all over her hardwood floor. On top of that, his towel was slowly heading south. Shelby tried to ignore it. “What do you mean, you bought it?” She let out a nervous albeit angry giggle when he had to grab the towel to stop its descent. “This inn has been in my family for nearly thirty years, buster! And I'm not about to sell it!"

  The man looked confused. Good for him. “Then explain to me how I was able to purchase it a month ago and move in. And why are you—” His words suddenly stopped, and that paleness creep back into his face. “Oh, shit."

  "What?” She watched as he glanced around, then turned to look behind him. Since he didn't seem to mind the puddle of water gathering at his feet, Shelby was of half a mind to jerk that towel right off of him, and bend down between his legs and ... mop it up.

  Nice going, her little devil praised her with a shit-eating grin. Let him. Now that her initial fear was over, she was getting to appreciate the sight of those bumpy abs and wide pecs. Not to mention the bulge starting to show in the center of the towel. The blue towel.

  Blue towel? Wait minute. She didn't have blue towels like that one. Not any solids ones, anyway.

  She started to mention the fact when he stopped examining the room, and his eyes bored directly into hers. “What day is this?"

  "Day? Christmas Eve. Why?"

  "What's your name?” he almost growled, and the sound sent a little shiver through her as well as pricked her anger.

  "My name is Shelby Fyre. This is the Fyreside Inn. And you, Mr. Jerk Off, are trespassing!"

  She started to stomp out of the bedroom and head back to the telephone when the man made a move to stop her. She threw up her arms to ward him off—and he was gone. Again. Just like that.

  Oh, shit. Now she definitely had to sit down before she fainted.

  Shelby nearly collapsed on the rumpled bed as she glanced around the room, looking for another sign of the guy. But he was gone, his towel was gone, and the water puddle on the floor had vanished as well.

  "Okay. Either I'm coming down with something, I'm dreaming, or Momma was right and this place is haunted.” But who ever heard of a cover model ghost with a raging hard-on?

  And what would she do if he came back? At some point or other, wouldn't he have to wear clothes? Or did real ghosts run around naked as jaybirds, and no one in the know cared to pass on that anomaly?

  "Why do you keep disappearing on me?"

  Gasping, Shelby turned around to see the man standing near her closet. And this time he was dressed. Dammit. “Me? You're the one who keeps fading out!” she bit back. She started to say more when she caught sight of her open wardrobe. Her mind started to dismiss what she saw, until reality came crashing down around her.

  Those weren't her clothes. In fact, there was not one thing in the closet that she recognized, and definitely none of it was feminine. Feeling that little thread of fear weaving itself back into her stomach, Shelby glanced up at the man. “Who are you?"

  "My name's Wayne Winter, of Winter Renovations.” He started to hold out his hand, the same hand he had used to masturbate with, then thought twice about it and withdrew it.

  "What's going on, Mr. Winter? Why are you here?"

  He sighed as he ran that hand through his hair. Nice, dark, slightly wavy hair. Not too short and not too long. Definitely thick and—

  Shut up,
Shelby and listen to the man talk!, her subconscious chided her.

  "I buy old homes that I feel are marketable. Then I refurbish them and resell them. I bought this place last month after the owners died."

  "That's impossible,” Shelby told him. “No one approached me to sell the inn. And I definitely haven't signed anything other than checks to pay the bills.” She gave a nod toward the wardrobe. “Why are your clothes in my closet?"

  He threw a quick look behind him. “I always move into whatever house I'm working on. It's cheaper than renting a motel for the duration. Sometimes it can take me up to a year to get a house back into shape. So, since I own the place, might as well live here.” Wayne gave her a small grin. “I'm sorry, Miss Fyre. It appears we may have been hoodwinked."

  "Hoodwinked? How?"

  "Somebody rooked me into believing this place was for sale, and I swallowed it."

  "Wait a minute, wait a minute.” Getting to her feet, Shelby tried to make sense of it all. “You said you bought the inn a month ago?"

  "Yeah."

  "And you've been living here since then?"

  Wayne shrugged. “Yeah, give or take a couple of days. Why?"

  "Then why haven't we bumped into each other before now?"

  He seemed as lost as she was. “I have no earthly idea. But I think I've heard you."

  "Heard me?” Now it was her turn to be confused.

  "Yeah. I kept hearing someone talking, like they were talking to themselves. It was a female voice, and it sounded a lot like you."

  Like they were talking to themselves? Girl, you are so busted.

  "Wait a minute. I've been hearing things, too. Like last night, I could have sworn someone was hammering outside the house."

  A funny look came over his face. “I worked on the shudders, trying to get them secured before the storm hit. It was dark before I finished."

  Another thought came to her. “What did you fix for breakfast?"

  "This morning? Bacon and eggs. Why?"

  The smell of bacon frying. It had been because of Wayne.

  "What are you thinking?” he asked her, eyes narrowing.

  "There's something not right here,” Shelby said.

  "Oh, you figure?"

  "What I really can't understand is why you keep disappearing,” she continued, ignoring his sarcasm.

  "Hey, wait a minute. I'm not the one doing the Casper act here,” Wayne started to say. He took a step toward her as if to make a point—

  "Well, fuck, Wayne! There you go again!” Shelby cried out.

  Waiting, she listened for the sound of his voice to make another grating remark, but there was nothing but the soft patter of snowflakes against the window. Giving a little growl of anger, she hurried over to her chest of drawers to find something to wear since her closet was no longer hers. Fortunately she kept her sweatsuits in the bottom drawer. She slipped into the bathroom to dress since there was no telling if or when he would show up again. Pulling her hair back into a ponytail, she managed to wash her face without further interruption.

  Padding softly in her stocking feet, she returned to the parlor to check on the fire she'd left going in the fireplace. Wayne was sitting on the couch. He waved a silver object at her. “You're dead,” he told her.

  "Beg pardon?” She put her hand on her hips and stared at him.

  "I called the city clerk to check on birth and death records. More specifically to ask about you.” His eyes roamed up and down her figure, and a smile tilted the corner of his lips. “Shelby Fyre died of influenza when she was twelve."

  Too stunned for words, Shelby plopped down on the opposite end of the couch. She was afraid that if she got any closer he would vanish again, and she didn't want to take that chance.

  "I was very sick when I was twelve. I had pneumonia so Momma and Dad had to put me in the hospital. I almost died, but obviously I didn't."

  "No, you didn't,” he agreed. “At least, not in this time."

  "You'd better explain yourself. You're not making any sense."

  Wayne started to say something when a shiver when through him. It aroused a motherly reaction from Shelby. “Cold?"

  "Yeah. This place is freezing."

  Freezing? She looked at the crackling fire. It popped and snapped like a loud breakfast cereal.

  "You're not cold?” Wayne asked softly.

  Shelby shook her head. “Nope. The fire's keeping me plenty warm. Maybe you're coming down with something."

  "Or maybe I don't have a fire going like you do."

  "Huh?” She turned to face him. Now that she could take her time, she could see that his outline wavered a bit. Like water around a frame.

  Lifting a hand, Wayne gestured around them. “Something ... about this house, I guess. We're both occupying the same place at the same point in time, but in different dimensions, I guess you could say."

  "I have no idea what you're talking about."

  "Neither do I, but how else can you explain what's going on?” He looked at her with those melting blue eyes. It was evident he was as confused as she was, but at least he was attempting to find a logical solution.

  "In my time line you died. Your parents died this year, and the inn went up for sale. I bought it to renovate it and re-sell it. End of my story. But at some point the timeline must have split. At that split you didn't die. So when your parents died, you remained to take care of the inn. Which means I didn't buy it. End of your story."

  "Then ... how am I able to see you? Or you to see me?” Shelby softly asked. The story was intriguing to say the least. And mesmerizing at the most. Before today she would have believed incidents like this could only happen in make-believe.

  He sighed loudly. “I have no idea."

  Conversation trailed into quiet until all she could hear was the fire and distant bellow of the wind outside.

  "Pretty soon I'm going to have to go get some more wood for the fire,” she murmured, more to herself.

  Wayne gave a feeble laugh. “I've been staring at a cold fireplace all this time."

  "What?"

  "This place is in sad shape, Shelby. The fireplace needs to have the firewall inspected before I can build any kind of fire in here."

  She glanced down the length of the couch where they were sitting. He noticed where her attention was focused, and commented, “All the furniture is still covered in old sheets and oil cloth. I haven't gotten around to selling the stuff and moving it out yet.” He paused as he studied her. “What do you see, Shelby? What's this place like on your end?"

  "I have a fire going in the fireplace. The furniture is old but in good condition. The wind is blowing outside, but I spent enough time and money having the outside eaves and shingles repaired so there wouldn't be any leaks.” She glanced around to see the familiar pictures on the walls. Her mother's knick-knacks on the mantel. The nostalgia these surroundings evoked was one of the reasons why the inn was so well loved, and one of its basic draws as a bed and breakfast. She turned to ask him how much the inn had suffered when he sneezed. Her response was automatic.

  "Bless you."

  "Thanks.” He sniffed and got to his feet. “Think I'll go get something warmer to wear."

  "You're not working today?"

  "Not on Christmas eve."

  He grinned as he gave her a wide berth. Apparently he was thinking the same thing she was. Close was a no-no. Not while they were attempting to learn more about each other and this crazy dual reality.

  "You know, that sheepskin jacket should keep you nice and toasty."

  Wayne paused in the doorway. “How did you know about my jacket?"

  "How? I saw it. It was hanging on the door of my wardrobe. Excuse me. Your wardrobe."

  She rubbed her forehead, hoping the pounding behind her eyes wasn't the start of a major headache. All of this was still too freakish to take in all at once.

  "Shelby ... how could you see my jacket? I can't see your world, no more than I thought you couldn't see mine."
<
br />   "I don't know.” She sighed. “I don't care, either. But to be honest with you...” She looked up at him and gave him what she hoped was a warm smile. “I'm glad to meet you, Wayne Winter."

  "The feeling is mutual, Shelby Fyre. I have to admit, it's not pleasant to have to spend the holidays all alone."

  "I know what you mean."

  She got to up to follow him into the bedroom and parked herself on the bed to watch.

  "Oh, that's right. I'm sorry. Your parents are dead in your time line, too."

  He pulled on the jacket, holding out his arms once he had it on. “Well?"

  "Nice."

  "It sucks."

  "Excuse me?” Shelby laughed.

  "There you are, an independent, strong, self-sufficient young woman. And a gorgeous woman, to boot. Go ahead and blush,” he laughed. “But there you are, someone who caught me in a most compromising situation, and, dammit, I want to get to know you better. But I can't because you're not alive. You're not real. You don't exist because you fucking died twelve years ago!” Now he was yelling at her, and tears were sparkling in both her eyes and his. He was so right. It sucked.

  It took him a while to regain his composure. She still could feel the tightness in her throat and chest as he continued.

  "I don't know how or why this is happening. In some ways, I wish it never had because I can't get you out of my mind when you're gone. But in other ways I would like to thank whatever fate or deity brought us together."

  "I know. I know exactly what you mean,” she whispered.

  The phone ringing caught her attention. She started to say something to Wayne, but when she glanced back at the wardrobe, he was gone. So were the clothes she'd seen in her closet. The world was back to the way it was meant to be in her time.

  Mumbling a choice curse word, Shelby went to see who was calling.

  * * * *

  The hours passed without Wayne reappearing. Every so often Shelby thought she could hear someone calling her name, but it was easier to believe it was the wind playing tricks with her imagination.

  Dinner came and went. She turned the radio on to listen to the old favorites.

  One of the patchwork quilts from the Lavender Suite needed re-stitching. She had dumped it into her To Do pile exactly for times like this when she could relax and concentrate. Gathering the quilt and her sewing basket, Shelby went to sit in the parlor where she could be warm while she worked.