The Bad Boy of Bluebonnet

  The Bad Boy of Bluebonnet

  By

  Jessica Clare

  Copyright © 2013 by Jill Myles

  JillMyles.com

  This story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission in writing from Jill Myles.

  The Bad Boy of Bluebonnet

  Emily Allard-Smith enjoys running her tiny bed and breakfast in quiet Bluebonnet, Texas. The only problem? It’s haunted, and she’s got no one to call when things go bump in the night.

  Enter Jericho Lozada. He’s tall, sexy, mohawked, and good with his hands. He’s also not scared of Em’s ghost. And just when Em decides that she needs a man in her life with lots and lots of tattoos...her ex shows up again.

  Now Emily has to figure out if she wants to keep a hold on the ghosts of her past...or look into a future with Jericho. But does Jericho even want a future with her?

  This novella contains a Harley, a hero with a mohawk, and not a single paranormal event. Promise!

  The Girl’s Guide to (Man) Hunting

  The Billionaire of Bluebonnet

  The Care and Feeding of an Alpha Male

  Hot Summer Nights

  The Expert’s Guide to Driving a Man Wild

  The Virgin’s Guide to Misbehaving

  The Bad Boy of Bluebonnet

  SIGN UP FOR JESSICA'S NEWSLETTER HERE

  CHAPTER ONE

  Emily Allard-Smith lay in bed alone and stared up at the ceiling, listening to the sound of footsteps shuffling overhead.

  This was the third night in a row that she’d heard someone walking upstairs. It had happened five times in the last month.

  She looked over at the clock on her bedside table. 3:32 AM. She rolled onto her back again and stared up at the ceiling for a bit longer¸ debating.

  Get up and check it out? Or barricade herself in her room and wait for dawn?

  Another scraping noise came from above, and the fine hairs on the back of Emily’s neck stood up. All right, that decided things. The noise was definitely coming from above, and the only guests she’d had in her bed and breakfast had checked out last night. She was alone in the big, spooky Victorian. Her one tenant of the moment, Elise Markham, was gone more than she was here, and tonight was one of those nights where she was gone. Things seemed to be quiet when Elise was in residence.

  So naturally, the moment she was out, the ghosts started up again.

  God, she hated this house. Turning on a light, Emily winced as it flickered. Stupid wiring. Stupid house. The room seemed to dance with ominous shadows, and Emily swung an arm under the bed, grabbing her emergency kit: a crucifix, a rosary, and a baseball bat.

  With that in hand, she sat back amongst the pillows in her bed, clutched the items, and waited for morning.

  Why on earth had she ever bought a haunted house? She must have been insane.

  ~~ * * * ~~

  “Bluebonnet PD,” a voice said on the other end of the line. “How can we help?”

  “Hi,” Emily said brightly, tucking the phone against her shoulder as she kneaded dough on the counter. “It’s Emily Allard-Smith. Listen, I know it’s early, but I was wondering if someone could stop by and check my place out?”

  “Hullo, Miz Allard-Smith,” the man on the other line said. “Another ghost?”

  She gave a self-conscious laugh. “Well, I don’t know if it’s a ghost for sure, but I heard someone moving around in my attic. What if someone came in and set up shop upstairs? What if it’s a vagrant?”

  “Ma’am, there are no vagrants in Bluebonnet,” he said patiently. “We’re not a big enough town.”

  “I know.” She did know that. Just like she was pretty sure it was a ghost, and the police wouldn’t be able to help her. But still…she didn’t have anyone else to call or depend on. She was on her own…and she was more than a little unnerved. “I just figured I was making this big batch of chocolate croissants and thought, well, Charley loves these, and I was wondering if he could stop by—“

  “Chocolate croissants?” The man on the other line said, suddenly interested.

  “That’s right. You think someone can come by? I made extras for you boys down at the station.”

  “Well now,” he said pleasantly. “I’m sure someone can swing by at some point this morning. I just—” the phone rattled on the other end. “Hang on—”

  More wrestling on the other end, and then the speaker switched. “Em? That you?”

  Luanne. Her sister seemed to live at the station now that she was employed there as office manager. Emily sighed. “Hey Sis.”

  “What on earth are you doing calling the police department at six in the morning?”

  “The usual,” Emily said, getting her rolling pin and viciously squishing dough underneath it. “Couldn’t sleep.”

  “More poltergeists?”

  “Actually poltergeists aren’t really ghosts,” Emily explained. She knew way too much about this sort of thing, more was the pity. “Poltergeists are just energy manifestations of a troubled subconscious.”

  “Ummm, yeah. Okay. That sounds like Braden talking.”

  “Who do you think taught me so much about the paranormal?” Emily smacked the rolling pin on the dough.

  “So why don’t you call the super-famous Braden Smith and tell him you have ghosts and you need them gone?”

  Why couldn’t her little sister just stay out of things for a change? “Because Braden’s team doesn’t actually get rid of ghosts? They just investigate and take pictures for their stupid TV show. They wouldn’t know what to do if they actually found one. And I have one and I need it gone.”

  That, and Braden wanted to put her sweet little bed and breakfast on his Spooky Society show and she was having none of that. He wasn’t interested in her as much as he was interested in helping himself. He’d happily show up…until she said that she didn’t want the Peppermint House on television. Then he’d be ‘really busy’.

  She knew the drill. Her ex-husband was a jerk. No big deal, lots of ex-husbands were jerks. “Listen, Luanne, I realize you mean well, but I know how these things work, and I’m telling you that there’s a ghost. I hear footsteps at night. The lights flicker. I know the signs, all right? I have a ghost, and I want someone to come by.”

  “And what do you think old Charley is going to do? Wave his nightstick at it?” Luanne sounded amused.

  “What about Hank?” Hank was Luanne’s boyfriend. He was tall, quiet, and reassuring. “Maybe he can just come and take a peek in my attic? I’d feel better if someone looked at things.” Mostly she just wanted someone to come by and distract her, because this was a big, creepy old house that made lots of unexplained noises and she was here alone.

  Always, always alone.

  It was depressing if she thought about it for too long, so she tried not to think about that sort of thing.

  “I’ll send Hank by on two conditions.”

  “Name them.”

  “One, that you call a carpenter to get your lighting checked out, because I’m pretty sure you don’t have ghosts.”

  Emily rolled her eyes. “I don’t need a carpenter. I’ve been watching lots of wiring videos on YouTube and I know what I’m doing—“

  “Humor your little sister,” Luanne said, a hard note in her voice. “I worry about you.”

  She wasn’t the only one. Emily sometimes worried about herself. “Fine, fine. What’s number
two?”

  “Number two is that you send enough chocolate croissants this way for your favorite sister.”

  Emily laughed. “I think I can manage that.”

  ~~ * * * ~~

  Hank found nothing in the attic, of course. Being that he was a rather nice, obliging sort of man, he checked all of her rooms in the big Victorian (six), all of the closets (nine), and even the crawlspace under her porch. There was nothing out of the ordinary. No dead bodies. No vagrants. No ghosts.

  Emily thanked him profusely and sent him back to the station with double helpings of chocolate croissants and some red velvet cupcakes she’d made (because she knew Old Charley liked those quite a bit). For the rest of the day, she cleaned up her kitchen, baked some fresh lemon poppy seed bread in case she had visitors, and then went back to work scraping wallpaper min one of the back bathrooms.

  In the last two years, the ramshackle three-story Victorian had seen vast improvements. It had been a wreck when she and Braden had bought it, but with time – lots of time – and effort, it had turned into a fascinating project and a fun place to live. If she ever got done remodeling, it’d look downright beautiful, but there was always more to be done. Not that Emily minded – she loved home improvement projects.

  And in the daylight, she even enjoyed the big house with its fascinating rooms and its historical charm.

  After the sun went down, though, she kind of hated it. Especially when the bed and breakfast was empty, as it often was. Bluebonnet wasn’t exactly a hub of commerce, but Emily had gotten a decent chunk in the divorce and the house was mostly paid for. She was doing just fine monetarily as long as she watched her pennies and had a few guests a month. But still, only a few guests a month tended to make things lonely. Now that her sister Luanne had moved out of the Peppermint House and in with her boyfriend Hank Sharp, Emily found herself home alone most nights.

  And she really, really hated that.

  So she watched Antiques Roadshow repeats on television. She flipped through the newest issue of Better Homes and Gardens. Played Sudoku on her phone. Scraped more wallpaper. Walked down to the hardware store and picked up a small can of paint for door trim. There was a paper on the bulletin board at the register. HANDYMAN – JERICHO LOZADA. GENERAL CONTRACTOR – NO JOB TOO BIG OR TOO SMALL. Several phone numbers were written on small torn strips at the bottom of the page, so she ripped one off and pocketed it. Why not. She’d promised Luanne she’d get the lighting checked out, and she had other projects she could use help with, too.

  Then she returned home. The house was too still, so she turned on all the lights and watched a movie. When she could avoid it no longer, she headed up to her room for bed.

  Emily’s bedroom was still her favorite room in the house. In one of the front turrets on the third floor of the old Victorian, it was an octagonal shape, which she adored for its uniqueness. She’d painted the room a soft burgundy with a paler pink trim, and matted art pieces in pale pastels dotted the walls. In the center of the room was her big, circular bed with the curving upholstered headboard in a matching pale pink. Her blankets were a mixture of burgundy and pink, and throw pillows dotted the head of the bed. It was a fluffy little paradise, and a cozy place to hang out.

  Or at least it was until the noises started late at night again.

  That night, she went to bed with the cross sitting on the pillow next to her and her cellphone clutched in her hand. Sure enough, at nearly four in the morning, she awoke to the sound of scuffling across the ceiling. The hairs on her body prickled, and Emily ducked under the covers like a child, clutching her phone.

  Who to call? Who would be up this early? Who could even help her?

  Biting her lip, Emily thought for a moment, and then began to text.

  Hey Braden, I keep hearing footsteps upstairs. Remember we thought this place was haunted? I think it is. She felt like an idiot for reaching out to her ex. Braden could be a real jerk when he thought she was bothering him, even if it was something as benign as “I found a bag of your gear in a closet, want me to ship it to you?”

  But that was one reason why they’d gotten a divorce. He’d felt like she was holding him back.

  And Emily? Well, Emily had just wanted to set up her house. Run a bakery. Maybe start a family. Funny how things worked out. Now she had a business she didn’t want, no husband, and no chance of starting a family anytime soon.

  Her phone buzzed just as she was drifting off to sleep again. Under the blanket fort, Emily scrambled for it, then hastily read the screen.

  We’re in the middle of filming an overnight shoot so have to make this brief. Have you seen any full body apparitions? Do you have EVP footage? If so, send it to me and I’ll judge.

  She groaned aloud. Why had she texted Braden? He was so useless.

  Emily texted him back, because she was this far in. Might as well respond. No full body apparitions. Just footsteps. Lights flickering. Not gonna tape stuff. Can you help me or not?

  A few minutes passed.

  Then, he sent back two words. Busy. Sage.

  She groaned and clicked the phone off. Screw Braden. Sage indeed. Like she was going to light some sage and wave it around the house in the hopes of ‘calming’ an angry spirit. He pulled that shit on his TV show, Spooky Society, and she knew it never worked.

  She’d figure something out. Somehow.

  The lights flickered as if to agree.

  CHAPTER TWO

  One week later

  “So, any ghosts today?” Luanne asked, reaching across the kitchen counter and grabbing a double chocolate muffin.

  “The usual last night,” Emily said, rubbing her eyes. “And don’t eat all the muffins. They’re for the library fundraiser.”

  “Oooh, lookit me, eating all the muffins,” Luanne teased, cramming one into her mouth and pocketing the other. “Can I bring a few for Hank and the boys?”

  Emily pulled a half-dozen off of the plate she was Saran-Wrapping and put them on a separate plate for Luanne. At least she’d stopped by to see how Em was doing. “Of course you can. You know that. Just tell Hank I appreciated him checking out my attic this last weekend, even though it didn’t lead to anything.” Just more of the same. Noises, but nothing found in the attic.

  She was starting to get really freaked out. Maybe she needed to call in Braden and his ghost hunter television show after all.

  “So what’s on the schedule today?” Luanne asked, licking her fingers clean.

  “Elise is out and about but I think she’ll be home later tonight, which means I need to make something for dinner.” Emily checked her watch. “The new carpenter’s supposed to be by here in the next hour. I’m going to see if he can fix some of the water-damaged eaves outside, since I have a hard time reaching those without help.” She brightened and looked directly at Luanne as her sister snuck another muffin. “I don’t suppose you want to help—“

  “Gotta go,” Luanne said, hopping off of her stool. She snagged the plate of muffins in her free hand and crooked her head at the door. “Working on the county law enforcement server. Can’t help. Sorry!”

  Emily’s mouth twisted into a slight smile. She knew that would make Luanne run off, and just in time before Emily had to make an entirely new batch of muffins. “Of course. See you later.”

  ~~ * * * ~~

  Scraping wallpaper wasn’t the most satisfying of tasks, but there was something almost orgasmic about lifting one corner and finding that it peeled up a foot of ugly grayish floral paper. Emily’s fingertips tugged gently at the paper, and she held her breath as the piece lengthened and continued to lift from the wall. If she didn’t mess this up, this would be the biggest chunk she’d removed yet—

  A muffler roared somewhere outside of her bathroom window, jarring her. Emily’s fingers slipped; she ripped the paper just before it got to a particularly ugly section. Damn it! She turned and tried to peer out the window – it was thick, stained glass (and very pretty) but you couldn’t see out of anything ex
cept maybe the yellow panels, which were a bit faded. Someone had pulled up something very loud on her lawn, not ten feet from the bathroom.

  Irritated, Emily swiped at her brow and ran for the front door. She was sweaty and dirty, and she needed a shower. Of course, she needed a bathroom with a working shower first. There were several in the guest quarters of the house, but she didn’t use those because she liked to keep them clean in case of drop-ins.

  Maybe this person – however rude – was a drop in. She could use the company. Elise was dating someone and was spending a lot of time away. Emily didn’t mind the money she was missing out on, but she could have used the company.

  Emily headed toward the front of the house, paint scraper in hand, and opened the front door just as the person on the other side was reaching for the doorbell.

  The man blinked, pulled back a little, and grinned at the sight of her.

  Emily just stared.

  Bluebonnet, Texas was a small town. Last time she’d checked, there were no more than two thousand people living in the area. That meant a long drive toward anything resembling a city, and that meant that most of the people that came through were locals, or family members of locals.

  This man did not look like a local.

  For one, he was wearing leather. A patch-covered leather jacket hung on his broad shoulders. He was also tall – almost as tall as Hank, Luanne’s lanky boyfriend. Tattoos covered his neck, there was a stud under his lip, and his black hair was stiffened into a mohawk.

  He was also gorgeous, if you liked the type.

  She frowned at the sight of him, though. A man alone arriving at her house never signified anything good. Men never stayed at a bed and breakfast alone – she always got couples. Add in the tattoos, the bike, the mohawk…and her hackles went up. Plus, the motorcycle was sitting on the spot under a tree she’d been trying so hard to grow grass in. Combine this with no sleep and she was a bit pissy, to say the least.