Twice In a Lifetime by Shawn Lane - Excerpt Day

When Jude first walked into Vic’s Cae at just after seven-thirty, the only other customer was old Frank Carter sitting in the corner booth. As far as Jude knew he was here every morning and had been for years, even back when Vic himself had owned the place. Vic died before Jude ever moved to Sutter’s Bay and his son, Adam, owned the place.

Jude approached the counter and sat down.

Adam walked over wiping his hands on his apron. “Morning, Jude. You want coffee?”

“That would be great, thanks.” He picked up the tattered menu.

Adam brought his coffee in a chipped white mug and folded his muscular arms across his chest. The man was pretty good looking. Well, for someone in their forties anyway. He even had a touch of silver at his temples. He always wore the same thing every time Jude had seen him. Jeans and a tight white T-shirt.

“You look like hell,” Adam commented.

“Yeah. You got some Baileys for this coffee?”

Adam raised a brow. “A little early for that.”

He shrugged. “Maybe. You got some anyway?”

Adam bent beneath the counter and brought out a small bottle. He poured a dollop in Jude’s coffee. “What else can I get you?”

“What’s the special this morning?”

“Short stack, two eggs, choice of bacon or sausage.”

“All right, I’ll have that. Poached with sausage.”

Adam nodded and moved away, off toward the window to the kitchen.

Jude sighed and sipped his doctored coffee while still trying to push the dream…nightmare out of his mind. He hadn’t had the dream in a few months but he never went too long without thinking of that day.

The bell over the door jangled and Jude glanced in the direction to see who had entered the café. He blinked. The man standing there was a stranger. A fucking incredible one.

The stranger wore a black cowboy hat of all things, but he was tall, really tall, over six feet Jude guessed, and built of solid muscle. The hair he could see that wasn’t covered by the hat appeared to be the color of chestnuts. Blue jeans framed his backside and he wore a charcoal gray button-down shirt. Jude would bet five dollars he wore cowboy boots. In order to know for sure, though, he’d have to lean back on the stool which would make his perusal pretty damn obvious.

The man sat at the counter several spots away from Jude. Adam approached him, had a few words, and then brought the man coffee
.
Jude picked up his own mug and tried not to drool. Adam walked over to him with the coffee pot, offering him more.

“Bad dreams again?” Adam was one of the few people in the area who knew the truth of what caused Jude to flee San Francisco. Most people assumed he had a bad break up.

“How’d you guess?”

“You look like hell and the drinking is pretty early even for you.”

Jude grimaced. Even for him? Did Adam think he was an alcoholic or something? “As a matter of fact I did have the dream and it was awful thank you very much.”

“When was the last time you talked to Dr. Carew?” Adam referred to Sutter Bay’s very own psychiatrist. If anything ailed you, residents of the small city would give you the unsolicited advice of speaking to the good quack.

“I spoke to him at the grocery store. Nice polite chap.”

“I’m serious, Jude.”

He stared hard right back at Adam. “So am I.” He flicked his head just slightly in the direction of the café’s newest arrival. “Who is that?”

“Rex Warner.”

Jude raised an eyebrow. “Rex?”

“Uh-huh. He’s from Texas.”

Jude smirked and glanced the cowboy’s way. “Never would have guessed. Is he just passing through Sutter’s Bay?”

“Nope, he set up shop here,” Adam said.

“Doing what? Roping cows?”

Adam grinned. “Nah, he’s a vet.”

Jude tugged his bottom lip with his teeth and eyed Rex Warner with renewed interest. “A vet, huh? Competition for old Gonzalez?”

“Actually, Dr. Gonzalez plans on retiring before the end of the year and Dr. Warner is taking over his practice.”

“Well, aren’t you in the know?” Jude rolled his eyes and took another long swallow of his coffee. “Pardon me for asking and all, but did I just step into Mayberry?”

The other man shrugged. “You asked. Be right back with your breakfast.”

Jude couldn’t seem to look away from the new vet. Any minute now the man would turn around and demand he stop staring. In a way, Jude sort of wished he would because at the moment, Rex Warner didn’t seem remotely interested in glancing in his direction.

It was unnerving, really, the man refusing to look his way. Usually when someone blatantly stared it became so noticeable you couldn’t help but look. Not so Rex.

Jude coughed. Frank Carter glared his way, but Rex didn’t even move. His eyes were locked on the menu Adam had given him earlier.

He sighed and gave up. What did he care if some straight cowboy noticed him anyway? He got up from his stool, went around the counter and grabbed the coffee pot to refill his cup. He resisted adding more Baileys after Adam’s implication a few minutes before. He was about to set the pot back on the warmer when he noticed Rex Warner’s cup.

Shrugging, Jude walked over to the man and poured coffee into his half-empty cup. He waited for Rex to look up. The man had set his menu down and had picked up a newspaper.

“Eggs over easy, bacon crisp, fried potatoes, and an English muffin.”

“Right, I’ll tell your server.”

At that, Rex did lower the paper and stared at Jude.

He decided then and there dark chocolate eyes framed with long, black lashes ought to be illegal. The man was a bloody god, no doubt about it.

“Your hair is green,” Rex said, his gaze flickering up to Jude’s dyed green curls.

“Yes.” It wasn’t a question, but Jude answered it as though it was and that was all he managed to say. He just stood there staring at Rex, the coffeepot in hand.

Adam came hurrying over and with an eye rolling look at Jude grabbed the coffeepot. “Um, sorry, Dr. Warner. I’ll be with you in second. Jude, your breakfast is at your seat.”

Jude wanted to say something else, but couldn’t begin to think of anything that would sound halfway intelligent so he sauntered back to his seat and picked up his fork to eat his breakfast.

He felt more than just a little bit ridiculous. He’d finally managed to get Rex’s attention and all he’d done was stare as though the man were a zoo exhibit.

Bloody brilliant.

He reminded himself the dude was likely arrow straight and completely off limits to him. Besides, Jude was not looking for anything but mind numbingly great sex which he had wisely decided to seek outside Sutter’s Bay where no one would know him. Best to keep it that way.

He ate his food quickly, probably too quickly as he barely tasted it, and then threw down his money on the counter. He was suddenly quite anxious to be done with Vic’s.

“Thanks, Adam,” he called as he rushed through the door.

Untitled Excerpt by Shawn Lane

Michael Westin peered out the dirty smudged window at the young man and older woman below getting out of a compact car.

“It appears we have visitors again, Sabin,” he announced to his companion.

Sabin’s ears flattened back and he rose from his nap on a nearby chair, his black fur rumpled. He began licking his paws to give himself a bath.

“I told Mrs. Livingston and Mrs. Bartley not to allow anymore guests.” Michael sighed and turned from the window. “They deliberately ignored me.”

He strode from the room and quickly down the stairs. The objects of his ire were behind a tall counter whereupon a guestbook and pen sat. He gritted his teeth.

“Who are they?” he demanded, gesturing to the people outside.

Mrs. Livingston jumped. “Mr. Westin…we didn’t see you there. Are you sneaking around again?”

“Never mind that,” he snapped. “Why do those two have bags with them? They aren’t guests are they?”

Mrs. Bartley, the older and shorter of the two middle-aged women who’d taken over his house, smiled. “Well, of course they are.”

Mrs. Livingston cast her a worried frown. “What Mrs. Bartley means to say is that they are not guests from London. Didn’t you say you wanted no more snotty, cigarette smoking tradition bashing youths from London invading your house?”

“If they are not from London, then where?” He looked through the front bay window. “Do not tell me they are Scots!”

“Would we do that you? No, Mr. Westin, they are American visitors,” Mrs. Bartley said smoothly.

Michael turned to gape at them. “Americans? Here? Devil take it. Except that I lack the power, I would sack the two of you in an instant.”

“Now, now, everything will be fine. Our guests are a widowed romance writer and her nephew. They won’t bother you at all,” Mrs. Livingston assured him.

“No loud rock music or demands for televisions,” Mrs. Bartley concurred. “You won’t even notice them. Nor they you, hopefully.”

Mrs. Livingston came out from behind the counter and hurried to the window. “They’ll be coming to the door soon. You’d better make yourself scarce.”


“Well, this is rustic, isn’t it?” Henry Porter frowned at the faded old house. The battered sign swinging in the breeze in front of the gate clearly said “Haverly Inn” in washed out black paint.

He debated getting back into the rental car and driving right back out of the English village called Dragon’s Point. The happily expectant look on his Aunt May’s face made him hoist his bag over his shoulder instead.

“I think it looks cozy,” his aunt announced, reaching down for her own suitcase.

“Cozy.” Henry blew out a breath and briefly leaned on the car. Well, he supposed if she really planned to write a romance set in England she couldn’t ask for better atmosphere.

Tucking a flyaway blond hair behind his left ear, he eyed the two-story inn. Hadn’t the website said it was once some titled Englishman’s country estate? Easy to see why he abandoned it. The cracked and peeling ocean blue paint gave testament to the fact the owners of the inn didn’t do much upkeep.

“At least it smells nice,” he commented as a gust of wind blew the scent of wildflowers toward them.

“There you see. We’ll have a wonderful time,” Aunt May said cheerfully. “Dragon’s Point is supposed to be the second most haunted village in England.”

“Hm.”

“You promised to have an open mind, dear.”

“To the ghosts. You didn’t say anything about the accommodations.”

Henry once more studied the inn. It might have been nice once. But those days were definitely long past. The small white gate leading to the path that would take them to the front door of the house rested on only one hinge. The shutters on the windows were half on and half off. Well, perhaps more off. The hole-ridden screen covering the front door banged in the wind.

When his widowed aunt asked Henry to accompany her on this Haunted England trip, he’d decided the vacation would help him twofold. Aunt May would be happy, a rare event since the death of Uncle Charlie; and Henry could finally take time off his job as a corporate lawyer. He hadn’t had any real vacation in five years. And he could get away, at least physically, from the painful breakup with Tad.

Henry pulled up the handle on his other suitcase and started wheeling it toward the gate.

Aunt May moved in front of Henry and pushed the wooden gate aside. It creaked and then crashed to the ground.

“Oops.” Aunt May shrugged sheepishly.

Henry rolled his eyes and followed his aunt to the front door. “You know, I’ve been meaning to ask you. Why are we visiting the second most haunted village?”

“Pluckley is far too touristy, dear. Everyone goes there. The people from Pluckley themselves admit they don’t really have any spirits.” Aunt May sniffed derisively. “I’m looking for something more authentic.”

He didn’t have to remind his aunt he did not believe in ghosts. They’d had the discussion numerous times. Which was why he’d promised to have an open mind. Sort of.

“I hope this place has indoor plumbing,” he said only half-joking.

“Of course it does. The website said so, didn’t it?”

Henry grimaced and opened the door. “The place doesn’t exactly look like it does in the website. The Hyatt, it’s not.”

Aunt May patted his arm. “Thank God for that. Who needs one of those stuffy hotels anyway?”

She moved through the door briskly. Henry entered the dark hallway at a slower pace. Noticing the light bulb hanging from the ceiling with a single chain, he reached up and pulled it. Dim light lit the formerly dark hall.

Shaking his head, Henry reached for the handles of the suitcases once more. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught movement to his right. Glancing up quickly she saw a man standing just outside the hall. A very handsome man with dark curly hair dressed all in black except for a snow white scarf at his throat.

He took a moment to study his clothes more closely. The pants were tight fitting, as though tailor made, and on his feet were highly polished black shoes. His coat was short, but also looked expensive and the snow white shirt matched the scarf. No, not a scarf. A cravat, wasn’t that its name? His attire was straight out of a PBS production of Pride and Prejudice.

Someone dressed for a theater production? Perhaps for the Historical Festival? He could not make out the color of his eyes in the dimly lit hall but they were staring at him, assessing him.

"You startled me." Henry laughed and raised a hand to his chest.

The man's lips curved up at the corners just a tad. "Your pardon. It was not my intent."

He had an English accent, very proper sounding, and he wondered if it was part of his act.

"Henry, are you coming?" Aunt May asked from further into the house.

"Well," Henry said, smiling. "I guess I'd better go. I hope I will see you later."

He inclined his head but made no remark, and then stepped aside to let him pass.

Henry entered what was obviously the lobby of the inn. Directly in front of him was a tattered Queen Anne sofa with the stuffing coming out. In front of the sofa was a small coffee table.

In the furthest corner was a tall counter, in front of which, Aunt May stood. Behind the counter was a woman wearing glasses roughly the same age as Henry’s aunt, which was in her mid-fifties. The woman behind the counter was slender to Aunt May’s plump.

“This is Mrs. Livingston, dear,” Aunt May called.

Henry left the suitcases where they were and approached the counter.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Porter.” Mrs. Livingston shook his hand warmly. “Welcome to Haverly Inn.”

“Thank you. My aunt and I are excited to be here.”

“Oh yes.” Mrs. Livingston beamed. “It’s a very popular time of year for tourists. Spring is quite lovely here.”

Henry signed the registry Mrs. Livingston pushed toward her. “We’re looking forward to the Historical Festival in Dragon’s Point Town Square. How long have they been having it?”

Mrs. Livingston cleared her throat and took the registry. She turned away from her guests and dug through a drawer in a desk behind her.

“Mrs. Livingston?”

“Well, actually,” the woman said blushing, “this is the first year we’ve ever had it.”

Henry blinked. Next to him Aunt May stiffened ever so slightly.

“But your website said it was an annual event,” Aunt May interjected.

Mrs. Livingston smiled. “We mean to make it so.”

Henry gritted his teeth. “I see.”

“Anyway, it has been very popular so far.” Mrs. Livingston pushed two actual keys at them.

Henry glanced down and saw the numbers 202 and 210 on the keys. “Our rooms were supposed to be adjoining.”

“The inn has very few rooms converted to guest quarters,” Mrs. Livingston explained. “We weren’t able to accommodate adjoining rooms.”

Aunt May touched his sleeve. “It’ll be fine, dear.”

Henry nodded. Tempted as he was to make a fuss, this was Aunt May’s dream vacation that she wanted to take with Uncle Charlie for years. He wouldn’t spoil it anymore than it had been by the fact Henry was here instead of Charlie.

“Okay.” He smiled.

“Now, then. Your stay has already been paid for. You’re staying for a full week, is that right?” Mrs. Livingston asked.

“Right,” Aunt May said. “I plan on doing a lot of ghost hunting.”

“Splendid, splendid. I am sure that you will run across hundreds of ghosts.” Mrs. Livingston scribbled a note down on a pad of paper, then looked up at them. “As I am sure you will recall, the Historical Festival is two nights and it begins tonight at seven.”

“I think I already saw one of the gentleman attending,” Henry remarked.

“Oh?” Mrs. Livingston and Aunt May asked at once.

“In the hallway.” Henry gestured over his shoulder. “Nice costume, too. Pride and Prejudice.”

“Oh, I am sure you’ll see many people in costume wandering around here.” Mrs. Livingston averted her eyes for a moment, then flashed them an even brighter smile.

“I’m going as Marie Antoinette,” Aunt May confided to their hostess. “Before she lost her head, of course.”

Mrs. Livingston laughed. “Of course. And you, Mr. Lincoln?”

“A sorcerer,” Henry announced with no little satisfaction. “You know like Merlin from King Arthur?”

“Merlin? Tsk, tsk. A handsome man, like you?” Mrs. Livingston frowned her disapproval.

Henry held up the two keys. “Room 202 or 210, Aunt May?”

Aunt May glanced at Mrs. Livingston. “Which one is closer to the bathroom?”

“202.”

“Wait a minute.” Henry’s stomach dropped. “Closer to the bathroom? I…aren’t they in the rooms?”

Aunt May patted his arm again. “No, dear. I thought I told you about that.”

“This is an old manor, Mr. Porter. There’s one lavatory on each floor.”

“Cozy,” Aunt May repeated her initial impression of the inn.

“Rustic,” Henry repeated his.