Haunted: A Love Letters Novel Read online

  Haunted

  A Love Letters Novel

  Kristen Blakely

  Copyright © 2016

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, without prior written permission.

  Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

  Contents

  Haunted

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Epilogue

  Inflamed

  Love Letters

  About the Author

  Haunted

  Not all gifts are treasured. Only one can be kept...

  I’ve given up on love, but Christmas unexpectedly ignites my bleak and solitary life with three men who represent my past, my present, and my future.

  Peter Warren, my high school and college sweetheart, who shattered my heart but rules my dreams…

  James Kerrigan, the principal of Havre de Grace Elementary School and my boss…

  Brandon Smith, the dashing New York City lawyer, who promises an escape from the confines of my small town life…

  Which man offers the gift of true love and happily ever after?

  Chapter 1

  The crush of bodies slammed against Holly Langford and rushed past her, sweeping her along like a tidal wave. The noise of raised voices and sneakers pounding against tile blurred into a cacophony that ricocheted through her skull.

  The assault had begun, and it wasn’t even 8 a.m.

  “Hello, Ms. Langford.”

  “’Morning, Ms. Langford.”

  The careless owner of a heavy winter boot stepped on her toes. “Oops, sorry, Ms. Langford.”

  Thank God, the boot had been child-sized. The foot, however, and the accompanying singsong apology had belonged to Aidan Warren, which called into question how accidental the toe stomp really was.

  Aidan’s grin was taunting, the gleam in his eyes malicious.

  Holly fought the flare of anger. “Get to class,” she ordered.

  The child’s grin turned into a smirk. He turned his back on her and stalked down the corridor. Holly pressed two fingers to the migraine burgeoning in the middle of her forehead. When had the children in her first grade class become such a pain in the—

  “Hey, are you all right?” James Kerrigan’s strong hand gripped her upper arm. His deep, smooth baritone anchored her against the rising tide of irritation. “Did you get back last night?”

  Holly glanced up at James, her boss and the principal of Havre de Grace Elementary School. “Yeah, I did.” A few deep breaths pushed back the surge of raw emotions. James’s presence, she had to admit, helped. He exuded serenity, as if he had an inexhaustible supply stashed in a secret desk drawer at his office. If she ever found his stash, she’d steal it. Heavens knew how much she needed peace, especially at Christmas, the seeming nexus of every wretched memory in her life.

  He studied her. “I expected you back in the new year, not in the last week of school before Christmas.”

  The concern she heard in his voice, combined with the emotionally wringing events of the past week, made her voice tremble. “It’s not like I needed to hang around after my aunt’s funeral.”

  “Holly?”

  She shook her head to forestall further questions, but the fragile smile on her lips quivered.

  James’s brow furrowed with a frown. “Do you need to take another day?”

  “No. You’ve had to put up with my class the entire week. Any longer, and they might drive you into quitting. We can’t afford to lose our principal.”

  He chuckled at her weak joke. “The kids in your class weren’t too bad.”

  “You must have been in an alternate universe.”

  “Either that or the threat of being sent to the principal’s office took on new meaning when the principal was actually teaching class. If I was in class, just imagine what kind of monster might have been camping out in the principal’s office.”

  “I really appreciate it, by the way.” Holly shifted her book bag to her other hand. Havre de Grace school district had been too short on funds to hire substitute teachers, so the elementary school coped by having teachers cover for each other. In a pinch, the principal helped too.

  “Not a problem,” he said. “Mojo missed you, by the way.”

  Holly grinned. “Now you’re just trying to make me feel better. Mojo was probably so busy playing with Lucy he didn’t even notice I was gone.”

  “I think Lucy’s still trying to decide if Mojo is a dog or a rug.”

  “He’s a rug, of course. How could there be any doubt?” She smiled. “Can I come by this evening to pick him up?”

  “Of course.” James nodded. “You take care. I’ll see you around.” He walked away, the swarm of students in the corridor giving way to him like the waters of the Red Sea before Moses.

  She knew she wouldn’t have nearly as much luck with the children, but thankfully, he left enough of his serenity behind to boost her flagging spirits. He always did.

  Holly drew a deep breath, infusing her lungs with the scent of Pine-Sol and children who hadn’t soaped nearly as thoroughly as they should have. It smelled familiar. Eight years into her career as a teacher, the sights, sounds, and smells of Havre de Grace Elementary School were as familiar to her as the essence of her own house. Her natural good humor sizzled through the hints of grudging resentment and ushered in a wisp of gratitude. However much Christmas sucked, it was good to be back where everything was familiar and welcoming.

  An excited chorus greeted her the moment she stepped into her first grade classroom. “Ms. Langford! You’re back!”

  She couldn’t hold back the smile. “Yes, I am.”

  The children rushed to the front of the class, and she didn’t have the heart to tell them to stay in their seats. Instead, she knelt to hug them as they came up to her.

  “Where did you go for so long?”

  “It was just five days, Perry.”

  “Five days is a whole week!”

  “No, you silly,” Trina cut in. “A week is seven days.”

  “Well, five days is a whole school week, so Perry is also right,” Holly interjected.

  Perry and Trina glared at each other.

  Leona tugged on the side of Holly’s jeans. “Where did you go?”

  “I went to New York City. Do you know where it is?”

  “In New York State,” Leona said smugly. “Where the super tall buildings are.”

  “That’s right.”

  “I’ve been to New York.” John bounced on the toes of his sneakers. “Daddy and Mommy took me last summer.”

  “Why did you go to New York, Ms. Langford?” Trina asked.

  Holly took a deep breath. “My aunt passed away.”

  “Oh.” Trina blinked. “Like your daddy passed away.”

  “Yes, two years ago.” At Christmas. Holly’s voice remained steady even though her heart trembled. The frankness of children was both a blessing and something to be dreaded.

  The children exchanged uncertain glances.

  “Can you get back to
your seats?” Holly asked before the silence grew awkward. “We should get started.”

  The children scrambled past the rows of desks and settled down in their assigned places. Holly’s gaze swept across the class as she marked off attendance. For a moment, her attention lingered on Aidan, who had not come up to meet her. He was only seven years old, but firmly established in his role as the class loner and troublemaker. His eyes were the deep green of his father’s, his hair as blond as his mother’s, and his cherubic appearance showed promise of his father’s masculine good looks. The sullen frown on his face, though, was entirely his own.

  If Holly had had a son, he might have looked like Aidan, minus the scowl.

  The bittersweet twinge in her chest was so familiar that Holly scarcely felt it anymore. She pasted a smile on her face. “Let’s review what Mr. Kerrigan covered with you last week. Who remembers something from one of his lessons?”

  The first half hour proceeded smoothly until Trina let loose a piercing shriek. Holly jerked up her gaze in time to see Aidan release his grip on Trina’s ponytail.

  “Aidan!” She slapped her pen on her desk and strode to the back of the class.

  Trina hunched in her seat. Tears leaked out of the corner of her eyes.

  “She’s a crybaby!” Aidan sneered. He clutched strands of Trina’s auburn hair in his fist.

  “Apologize to her.”

  “I don’t apologize to crybabies.”

  Holly pulled Aidan out of his seat and pushed him toward the front of the class. “Go to the corner. You’ll stand there until you apologize.”

  Aidan snorted and stalked past the rows of desks. When he reached the first desk, he paused and looked over his shoulder, meeting Holly’s eyes. His upper lip tugged into a mocking half-smile, an expression far too bitter for a seven-year-old child.

  Holly was staring him straight in the face. There was no mistaking what Aidan subsequently did as an accident.

  He shoved Perry’s chair over, sending the other boy tumbling into Leona, who yelped as she and Perry landed up in a tangle on the floor.

  An outraged babble filled the classroom.

  “That’s enough.” Holly gripped Aidan’s upper arm and dragged him to the door. “You’re going to the principal’s office right now.”

  She stared at Aidan’s back as he trekked along the familiar path to James’s office. The subdued headache pulsing at the back of her skull threatened to explode into a full-blown migraine within the hour.

  Sweet Lord, and it isn’t even 9 a.m. yet.

  Chapter 2

  Later that afternoon, after classes were over, Holly hurried along the school corridor.

  “James is looking for you,” a fellow teacher said as she passed. “And she’s in his office.”

  Holly grimaced. The last thing she wanted was to see her again, but there was no avoiding it, not when the other parents in the class had followed through on their threat to file an official complaint against Aidan. What did they expect James to do? Suspend Aidan? The boy was only in the first grade, and besides, no one could stay home with him. Debra, his mother, was always working, which, Holly supposed, was part of the problem, and Peter, his father—well, Peter had never been around, which was most of the problem.

  Holly paused outside of James’s office and brushed her hair back from her face. Some childish part of her wished she had stopped long enough to touch up her makeup. The more rational part of her reminded her that the war between her and Debra had been won eight years earlier—by Debra.

  Aidan was living proof of it.

  She knocked on the door.

  “Come in,” James called out.

  She straightened her back, raised her chin, and pushed the door open.

  Her gaze flashed past James and Debra to fix on the other man in the room. Shock stole her breath. When had he come back to town?

  “Holly.” Peter Warren pushed to his feet and extended his hand to her in greeting.

  She didn’t move.

  The years rolled back. Memories roiled forward.

  How could eight years have passed when the memories and the pain were still fresh? Peter had stood in front of Holly, his handsome face a mask of regret. Debra stood behind him, her hand placed protectively on a stomach that had yet to swell with her unborn child. “Holly,” Peter pleaded quietly. “You know what you mean to me.” He reached out to her with both hands and took a step forward.

  “No, I don’t.” Her heart breaking, Holly stepped back. She tugged the engagement ring off her finger and dropped it. The tinkle of the ring hitting the tiled floor in Debra’s kitchen was inaudible over the roaring in her mind.

  The heartache rose to swamp her, drowning her.

  “Holly.” James’s voice recalled her to the present.

  Grasping onto his voice like to an anchor, she inhaled sharply. Memories flowed away from her, but the present was no kinder than the past. It still came down to Holly on one side, and Peter and Debra on the other.

  Peter did not take his eyes from Holly. “I was in town, and Debra thought it would be a good idea for the both of us to attend the parent-teacher conference together.”

  Holly glanced at the sullen-faced boy slouched against the wall.

  Peter, Debra, and now Aidan, Holly reminded herself. Aidan stood between them, as he always had, even before he had been born.

  Grateful for James’s calming presence, she took the remaining seat in the room.

  James’s gaze rested on Holly for a moment before shifting back to Peter and Debra. “Thank you for coming in to talk to us. As you know, this isn’t the first time we’ve had parents complain about Aidan’s behavior in class.”

  Debra slanted Holly a narrow-eyed glare. “How do we know these complaints are justified or even fair? I mean, Holly’s his teacher—”

  Holly’s jaw dropped. “Are you suggesting that I’m not treating Aidan fairly in class?”

  “You’ve never liked him.”

  James cut in. “This isn’t about Ms. Langford. The issue here is how Aidan is treating his classmates. The other parents are concerned about their children getting hurt by Aidan and, equally importantly, being influenced by the example that Aidan is setting.”

  Debra snorted. “Influence.” She flipped her wrist. “People throw that word around as if it’s all Aidan’s fault when their kids act up. If their kids were raised right from the start, they wouldn’t have to worry, would they?”

  Holly frowned. “Children will mirror behavior they see—”

  “So now it’s my fault?” Debra flung her arm out at Peter. “Where’s your psychoanalysis of the impact of Aidan’s absent father? I’m the one putting in forty hours a week to keep a roof over his head and put food on the table—”

  “I pay child support,” Peter said stiffly.

  “The same damned amount since he was born. Inflation increases, but apparently your dollars don’t,” Debra said.

  “You want to take that argument to the judge?”

  “I did, but he—like everyone else in this damn town—seems to think it’s my fault. I’ve been paying for this thing for eight damn years.”

  Thing? Holly’s gaze darted to Aidan, who stood white-faced and silent against the wall. She stood and held out her hand to the boy. “Aidan, come with me.”

  Without a word, he slipped his small hand into hers and followed her from James’s office into the reception area.

  The school’s administrative assistant looked up quizzically.

  “The discussion degenerated really quickly into finger pointing,” Holly explained. “Can you keep him out here? We may need him later, but certainly not now.”

  “Sure.” The assistant gestured to the sofa in a corner of the reception area. “He can have a seat over there.”

  Holly guided Aidan to the seat. “Now, can you wait here for a few minutes until one of us comes out for you?”

  He sneaked her a quick look. “They’re arguing.” His voice trembled.

&nb
sp; “Yes, but right now, the argument isn’t about you. Sometimes, adults use children as excuses for discussions and arguments they’ve been avoiding.”

  The sudden gratitude in his face shocked her. He sank onto the couch and stared at his sneakers.

  Her chest unaccountably aching for the boy who was more trouble than all the other students in her class added together, Holly returned to James’s office.

  “Why did you take him away?” Debra snapped at Holly even before she closed the door behind her.

  James spoke up. “Ms. Langford is well within her rights as his teacher to remove him from a potentially damaging situation.”

  Debra’s head snapped back to James. “Are you saying that—?”

  “We’re here to discuss Aidan’s behavior in class.” James’s voice remained calm. “Not child support payments or your choices as parents. Typically, his behavior would warrant a suspension—”

  “You can’t!” Debra said. “I have to work. There’s no one to stay at home with him.”

  “I highly doubt a suspension will result in improved behavior,” James said drily. “I’ve arranged for appointments with a child psychologist.”

  Peter snorted. “A shrink? Come on, he’s just high-spirited—a normal seven-year-old.”

  James shook his head. “Aidan requires a great deal of individual coaching and attention, something that Holly cannot spare with a class full of other children.”

  Debra snorted. “And even if she could, of course she won’t.”

  James gave her a steady look. “Ms. Richardson, I will not tolerate insinuations that my teachers are anything less than fair in their treatment of the children in their class, especially Ms. Langford. All teachers, myself included, who have taught Aidan have made similar observations. Ms. Langford, in fact, has held back on filing reports of Aidan’s behavior.”