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Molly Harper - Better Homes and Hauntings

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Author of the beloved Half Moon Hollow series of vampire romances (Nice Girls Dont Have Fangs), Molly Harper has created a standalone paranormal romance in which a dilapidated haunted house could bring star-crossed lovers togetherif it doesnt kill them first! When Nina Linden is hired to landscape a private island off the New England coast, she sees it as her chance to rebuild her failing business after being cheated by her unscrupulous ex. She never expects that her new client, software mogul Deacon Whitney, would see more in her than just a talented gardener. Deacon has paid top dollar to the crews hes hired to renovate the desolate Whitney estatehe had to, because the bumps, thumps, and unexplained sightings of ghostly figures in nineteenth-century dress are driving workers away faster than he can say Boo. But Nina shows no signs of being scared away, even as she experiences some unnerving apparitions herself. And as the two of them work closely together to restore the mansions faded glory, Deacon realizes that hes found someone who doesnt seem to like his fortune more than himselfwhile Nina may have finally found the one man she can trust with her bruised and battered heart. But something on the island doesnt believe in true loveand if Nina and Deacon cant figure out how to put these angry spirits to rest, their own love doesnt stand a ghost of a chance.

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Molly Harper

Better Homes and Hauntings

For Melissa Boldry, Brenda Metzger, Iris Garrott, and youth librarians everywhere who maintain the paranormal nonfiction sections and keep kids like me entertained and inspired

Acknowledgments

THANK YOU, as always, to my ever-patient agent, Stephany Evans. And to my lovely, possum-obsessed editor, Abby Zidle: thanks for letting me try something different. There were so many revisions to this manuscript, and you both stuck by me, without saying I told you so once. That alone puts you in the running for publication sainthood.

Thank you to my mother, Judy Harper, who let me watch an inordinate amount of Scooby-Doo as a child, which led to my lifelong obsession with haunted houses. And to all of the school librarians who put up with me repeatedly checking out the nonfiction Mysteries of the Paranormal type books over the years: I was not a normal little girl. Thanks for never holding it against me.

To my critique partner/life-support system, Jeanette Battista: thank you for all of your time, patience, and honesty. Ruthless, ruthless honesty. To Liliana Hart, Heather Osborn, Nicole Peeler, and Jaye Wells, my beloved S-Sisters: you all inspire me, so you only have yourselves to blame.

1

Ignoring the Frantically Waving Red Flags

BEWARE ALL ENTERPRISES that start with the purchase of Crocs.

Nina Linden glared down at the bright orange clogs protecting her from slipping on the deck of the S.S. Sine Waves and, for the third time that morning, cursed her assistants poor choice in boating shoes. Too wrapped up in the details of the Whitney project for shopping, Nina had told Carrie she needed something safe to wear when ferrying back and forth between Narragansett, Rhode Island, and Whitney Island, something that wouldnt be ruined by traipsing through the gardens she was responsible for resuscitating. Nina should have been more specific. She should have said, No foam-rubber shoes in radioactive colors that make me walk like a hobbled duck.

But considering that she was barely able to pay Carriewho was a competent and loyal assistant in all areas save fashion senseNina knew she shouldnt complain. The shoes, while unfortunate, were not what she needed to focus on right now. She needed to pull herself out of her negative funk. This was the start of a new phase in her life. Demeter Designs would be a going concern. Hell, it would be a sought-after service among the ridiculously rich. All she had to do was survive the next three months.

Nina leaned her forehead against the sun-warmed teak railing of the perfectly lovely yacht used to ferry the renovation staff back and forth to Whitney Island, a small spit of land twenty miles southeast of Newport.

Nina had been through so much worse than seasickness in the past year. Near-bankruptcy. Identity theft. Stolen garden tools. This was going to be an adventure, she promised herself. Shed played it too safe with Rick, and it had cost her. She needed this time away. She needed to clear her head.

The other passengers seemed nice enough. Theyd all boarded the Whitney yacht at the same time, and of course, Nina had immediately managed to whack the GQ cover model running the boat in the shin with her rolling suitcase. Instead of getting annoyed, hed simply offered her a brilliant white smile and taken her bag in addition to his own.

The other woman on board, a sweet-faced blonde who might have doubled for a fairy-tale princess if not for her Jessica Rabbit figure, was clearly at home on the rocking, creaking vessel. The minute shed stowed her bags, shed slipped on her sunglasses, slipped off her shoes, and begun sunning herself on the deck on top of the tiny cabin. For a moment, Nina thought she was the girlfriend of their benefactor, but then she realized how unlikely it was that social-media magnate Deacon Whitney would have let his girlfriend make the crossing with the help. Nina wasnt exactly sure what the other womans role was to be in this . . . mission of theirs.

Twenty-eight and so upwardly mobile he practically had his own galaxy, Mr. Whitney was the sole programmer/creator of EyeDee, a social-networking site with nearly one billion users that had changed the face of online interactions. Users could EyeContact anyone from former high school classmates to childhood friends toheaven forbidtheir parents and share every waking moment of their lives. Whitney had launched the site just after graduating from New York University, eventually parlaying a public offering of his companys stock into one of the largest personal fortunes in the United States. He was now using that fortune to restore his familys dilapidated Gilded Age mansion to its former glory, using the team now assembled on the yacht.

Nina knew she should walk over and say hello to the others. They were going to be working and living together on the Cranes Nest property over the next few months, until the renovations were finished. But at the moment, she could only concentrate on keeping her breakfast down.

The boat hit a particularly rough wake, pitching Nina back against the cabin. She moaned, bending at the knees and propping her arms against her thighs.

A smooth, tanned hand appeared at the corner of Ninas vision, bearing brightly wrapped candies. She startled, drawing up to her full height, and swayed. The other hand steadied her at the elbow. Whoa, there, he said, a laughing lilt to his soothing tone.

Sorry about that. Nina groaned, squinting up at the owner of the outstretched hand.

Seasick, huh? he said, eyeing her sympathetically over the rims of his mirrored aviators.

Ever since I was a kid, she said, glaring at the water glittering in the distance. I ruined every family fishing trip. My brother always told me it would help to keep my eye on the horizon. But I think my brother is a dirty liar.

Try these, he said, pressing a few foil-wrapped candies into her clammy palm. Ginger drops. Theyll help your stomach. And as far as the horizon goes, I think its better to concentrate on more immediate surroundings.

Unwrapping the candy, Nina followed his line of sight to the blondes long, tanned legs and rolled her eyes. Of course, he was eyeing the pretty blonde. He was practically a work of preppy art himself. Perfectly mussed sandy hair, bright blue-green eyes twinkling out over the aforementioned aviators. Pressed khakis, a light purple madras under a navy sport coat. He was fit and tan and managed to pull off the lavender shirt thing without seeming effeminate.

Well, not terribly effeminate. Definitely metrosexual.

Watching his eyes trace the line of the blondes ankles, Nina subconsciously rubbed a hand over the bridge of her nose, which tended to burn if she wasnt religious with the sunscreenthe price of being a redhead. Typical, she thought wryly: the blonde got ogled, and she got treated like a kid sister.

The mans lips quirked a bit when he realized Nina had caught him looking. Jake Rumson, he said, offering his hand. Amateur yachtsman and chief architect whos supposed to be undoing the mess were getting into.

Nina, she said. Linden.

Like the tree, he said, smiling. Youre with Demeter Designs.

Like the tree, exactly, she said, a genuine grin breaking through her uneasy expression. She tamped it down quickly. Not everybody catches that.

I cheated, Jake whispered, the smooth faade melting a bit to reveal a naughty-schoolboy smile. I got a look at Whits staff list ahead of time. Youre the landscape architect, and youre named after a tree, and bam, instant mnemonic device.

Do you use little tricks like that often? she asked.

Youre reducing my famous charm to parlor tricks? Thats harsh, Jake teased, elbowing her in the ribs.

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