Vampires of the Chesapeake Rees Morgan

By D. A. Rhine

Rees Morgan has the perfect career for a vampire; he works nights, uses his mind reading ability to decipher exactly what his clients need, and the pay is excellent. Life is good, uncomplicated, okay, maybe a bit lonely, that is until he walks into The Grind, and sees her, sitting alone at a table.

Rachel McCready’s friend is to meet her at the coffee shop for a long awaited girls’ night out. Since her husband died, more than two years ago, she’s lived like a hermit, but with two boys to care for, and a mortgage to pay, there wasn’t much time for anything else. When the bell rings above The Grind’s door, drawing her attention, she wishes she’d taken more time with her appearance. The man who walks in is stunning. As a text interrupts her ogling, letting her know her friend isn’t coming, she’s stuck at work; Rachel looks up to hear the stranger ask if he can sit at her table.

Their chance meeting evolves into one night of unbridled passion that flips their worlds upside down, when an unknown force threatens them both. Her first night of spontaneous pleasure, throws her into his world; a world she never knew existed, which now endangers her children, her parents, and her. And the one man who can save them, is the one man she has come to despise.

• Language: English
• Publisher: D. A. Rhine
• Release date: Apr 18, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311597205

D. A. Rhine

I hope you enjoy reading about my three favorite vampires and their lives. Visit me on Facebook or Twitter and let me know what you liked most, or who you liked most! Please, take a second to rate the books you read. It helps me and my series get noticed. ?Happy Reading!Warm Regards,D. A. Rhine

Book preview

~For my mother~

My mother entered this world on September 19, 1948 and left it on August 6, 2012 after a long, hard battle with stage IV colon cancer. She was 63 years old. I think of her every single day, and miss her. I love you, Mom.

A very special thank you to my incredible beta readers, Emma Pamela, and Mike. Your advice and feedback was insightful and invaluable. To my friends and Facebook buddies, I appreciate your inspirational words and encouragement. I wish the miles didn’t separate us. To my father: You continue to give me honest advice, and I can’t thank you enough. I love you, Dad. Semper fidelis! And last, but never least, thank you Children and Husband; you have put up with me staring at this infernal computer for years. I love you all. You are my life. May God bless each and every one of you.

Mostly it is loss that teaches us about the worth of things.

~Arthur Shopenhauer

PROLOGUE

October 24, Present Day

"I don't know how to do this," Lyla Hollingsworth said, breaking the silence with her shaky voice.

There is nothing for you to do, Rees Morgan responded.

He studied her as she watched the flames in the fireplace. A straight nose flanked narrow, almond eyes. Her thin, tight lips grimaced before she lifted the wine glass for another drink. With her free hand, she fingered a single strand of pearls resting upon her cornflower blue cardigan.

Rees glanced out the wide living room window to his left, which offered the best view of the St. Mary's River. The sun had set and left an intense orange glow in the clouds and over the water.

It's beautiful here, he murmured, watching the light play upon the water before returning his gaze to her.

Mrs. Hollingsworth, his newest client, turned to him and forced a stiff smile. Yes, money can buy all kinds of beautiful things, she said without a hint of emotion.

Rees looked at her; she flushed, and turned away.

You seem uncomfortable with me being here. Would it be better if I came back another day?

She'd been aloof since Rees arrived.

While staring into the fire she answered, Today is as good as any other day.

You seem tense. Maybe I can help. Without waiting for a response, he stood and moved behind the sofa, easing his hands over her shoulders. She shuddered, and he felt her muscles tighten.

When I was just a boy, I used to love watching the fire. I still do. It hypnotizes me if I stare at it long enough, watching its flames dance and curl. As a boy, I would camp in our backyard and the cold night air warred with the heat of the fire. It was a wonderful sensory feast. He gently squeezed her shoulders and used his thumbs to press between her shoulder blades. Rees took one thumb and slid it up and down her neck. Her muscles softened a little. He continued, I've always found when opposite forces collide they create the most enticing sensual experiences.

His hands continued a rhythmic movement and edged over to her upper arms. He worked there for a while as he spoke. Have you ever lain out on a hot summer's night, perspiration forming on your skin, and think you might go inside to find reprieve from the heat? But then a cool breeze blows over your body, goose bumps erupt on your skin, and you find you can wait a little longer. When the breeze ceases, you begin to perspire again. It is only because of the unbearable heat that you welcomed the cool breeze, while you would curse the same breeze on a frigid night. He moved his hands up and down her arms, stroking, and feeling for any resistance in her muscles.

She laid her head back against the couch. Her eyes shuttered. He bent slowly over her face, continuing to stroke her arms. His lips hovered above her pink, painted mouth, and he whispered, Passion is much like that. The warm… He kissed her lips as gentle as summer rain. The cold… He pulled back. The hot… He took her mouth and caressed her neck with his fingers. She groaned. He unbuttoned the top two buttons of her cardigan, unhurried, as he knew the passion web he'd spun could disintegrate. He kissed his way down her neck, until she tilted her head giving him ample room to maneuver. Mrs. Hollingsworth's breath came out in puffs, her chest heaving, as her wall of resistance crumbled.

Kneeling before her, he continued unbuttoning her cardigan, all the while watching her, minding her muscles, her expressions. Her eyes remained closed. That was for the best he thought. Should he become aroused, he'd have to hide his fangs from her.

The need to control his desire was paramount in this business. And he'd gone too long without being inside a woman. He shoved the thought away and recalled where he needed to focus his attention. On the client.

This wasn't a date. Mrs. Hollingsworth did not want him. She wanted revenge, and he was her means to that end. She wanted to give the philandering Mr. Hollingsworth a taste of his own medicine. It didn't matter that she had bought Rees's attention. In fact, it was preferred. She didn't want him and wanted only revenge, Rees believed she didn't intend to have sex with him, but she wanted him to pleasure her. Rees was a substitute for what her husband wasn't giving her, wouldn't give her.

In a way, she and Rees were a lot alike. Both creatures who desired something they couldn't have. He wanted his mortality, his wife, and unborn child back. She wanted her husband's love and attention. Neither of them would receive what they coveted.

The sun having set shrouded the room in darkness and only the oscillating flames provided a hint of light.

He kissed her chest, leaving on her sweater-set, and bra. Her hands remained at her sides. He skimmed his hands down her stomach and then moved to her hips, legs, and calves, ready to stop at any hint of tension in her body. He removed her shoes and massaged each foot. Her knees relaxed for him. She was lost in his touch, and he would keep her there, entranced by the sensations he evoked.

Once he'd undressed her, he proceeded without hesitation, unwilling to risk diminishing the ambiance he'd created. Anything that interrupted her might break the spell—a stray thought, an abrupt noise, or an unpleasant sensation. He laid her back on the couch and touched every inch of her body with his hands, his mouth, and then his tongue. When her breaths came faster, and her head flailed from side to side, he moved to bring her the fulfillment her body craved. She whimpered and shuddered her release.

Her body calmed. As the last tremors of orgasmic aftershocks moved through Mrs. Hollingsworth, he brushed his lips against hers. A satiated moan slipped from her mouth.

Her eyes fluttered open, and she turned her head to look at him for the first time since he'd begun seducing her. I want to see your body. I don't want to touch you. I want to see you, she demanded.

He nodded and stood. She sat up, grabbed the throw from the back of the sofa, curled her legs beneath her, and draped the throw over her naked body.

In front of the fireplace, he removed his sports coat and tossed it onto the loveseat. Taking one button at a time and removing the cufflinks, he took off his white dress shirt. She bit her lip, and her gaze roamed over his chest, then abdomen. Rees unbelted his black dress pants and unbuttoned them, easing the zipper down. She shifted on the couch beneath the beige throw.

He toed off his shoes, and then bent to tug off his socks. Standing straight, his pants slid down and he stepped out of them. Rees stood wearing his boxer briefs and felt his manhood twitch. Even though he didn't desire her, there was something erotic about standing before a woman's appreciative gaze. He eyed her wondering if she wanted to see all of him.

She answered his unspoken question. Would you…? She motioned with her index finger for him to take off his briefs. He bent and pushed them to the floor, and then tossed them to his side.

She stared at him. You're a sight to behold.

He waited. She kept the throw around her body and stood up. She moved behind the sofa further away from him and beckoned with one finger for him to follow her.

Do you have protection? she asked. Perhaps she did want to have sex, he considered.

His briefcase leaned against the wall in the foyer. He got a condom from his briefcase and returned.

Shall I? he asked, holding up the wrapper. She shook her head, took it from him, and tore off the wrapper.

Anticipating her touch, his heartbeat increased and his manhood grew. The damn thing had a mind of its own. Ignoring his psyche's pleas for control, it rose to taunt him. It didn't matter whether his mind found her attractive. His body craved release. And release was its single goal.

She gripped his penis, and he sucked in air. She grinned. Rolling the condom over his erection, Mrs. Hollingsworth then pushed him back to lie on the floor. The moment his head touched the Persian rug, she cupped him, and his erection twitched. Her hands, warm, felt good on him. He reminded himself this was not about him or his fulfillment. He was here for her, and she might decide to have sex with him so, he needed to hold back.

Rees pulled her down to kiss her and stall her actions, but she stiffened and sat up shaking her head. No, she said in an icy voice. I want to watch you now. She grabbed him and pumped.

Flinching at the sudden friction, and her firm grasp, he closed his eyes and envisioned a kinder face hovering near him.

As he hardened, Mrs. Hollingsworth moved quicker. He felt his stomach muscles tighten. His hips rocked upward, and he strained for release. His fangs had already extended, and he fought to keep them hidden behind tightly pressed lips.

If need be, I could wipe her memory should she see them.

He knew he was taking a risk allowing her to study him this intently, but he was greedy and desperate for a touch other than his own. He kept his eyes closed and wished it were another's hand, but his body was too desperate to care.

Expectation heated his blood, feeling the approaching orgasm. In a few more strokes, she would send him over the edge. She continued to pump her hand over him and then cupped him again. Rees inhaled sharply through his nose. His breathing ragged, a deep moan escaped from his throat. Lifting his hips, he prepared for the explosive release as the pressure built. His member throbbed. His breath rushed out in gusts. Every muscle in him tightened. He was so close, he thought. A few more strokes—

She stopped.

Rees opened his eyes, squinting, and searched her face. Both her hands held onto the afghan now. Did she want him to enter her? Mrs. Hollingsworth scowled and a snide sneer crept across her face.

She stood and snatched his clothes off the floor.

While he lay supine, confused, aching, and afraid to move, he stared up at her. As she held his clothes over him, he realized she was finished with him. He inhaled slowly and exhaled silently. His body tensed, rigid with anger and unspent sexual energy.

Once his breathing slowed to normal, he stood, grimacing. Both fangs retracted. Closing his eyes, he slid off the empty condom; the motion along his ultra sensitive part caused him to jolt. Rees took his clothes from Mrs. Hollingsworth, although he wanted to rip them from her hand. She glared at him, her one hand still grasping the throw.

He dressed, considering if he should kiss her cheek, but the thought sickened him. He smiled and rather than kiss her mouth, took her hand and placed a peck upon her knuckles.

It was business, he reminded himself. She had an agenda, and his pleasure didn't matter. If he showed his fury, she would not hire anyone from K. M. Escort Services again.

After straightening, he picked up his briefcase, and walked toward the front door. She followed.

Opening the door, he paused, and asked, Did you have a good evening? It was his way of making sure he'd done what she'd wanted.

You served your purpose, she said formally.

Giving her a rigid smile, he responded, I'm glad I served my purpose. After all, your pleasure is my business. He turned and before she shut the door, he added, Goodnight, Mrs. Hollingsworth.

Chapter One

Maryland - October 31, Present Day

The autumn sun melted into the dark water of Smith Creek, while an angry wind beat the surface into white caps before blowing the waves toward the shore. Rees Morgan sprinted across the lawn en route to the wedding tent.

Two large, white tents monopolized the backyard. He lifted a flap and stepped inside. An oppressive wave of heat greeted him. The wind continued battering the outside of the tents, probing for any weaknesses, but inside, heaters created a summer-like temperature. He tugged the collar of his white tuxedo shirt, feeling like a turkey roasting in an oven.

As he walked down the long, narrow, white carpet, trying to avoid the red rose petals scattered over it, he ran his fingers through his hair. The carpet stretched from the back of the wedding tent to the front where the altar stood. Rees reached the altar and took his place to his right. Once again, he tugged his collar, and then surveyed the wedding guests seated before him. He stuffed one hand in his trouser pocket, the other dropped to his side, as he tapped his foot waiting for the groom to take his traditional place beside him, the best man.

Behind Rees, adjacent the altar, a string quartet played, Winter, a classical piece from Vivaldi's The Four Seasons.

The guests whispered to their neighbors. Some stood to greet familiar faces before the bride made her grand entrance.

He filled his lungs as he felt the handkerchief in his pocket, running his fingers over the varied textures. The rough, circular stains were stiffer than the surrounding unmarred, white cotton. He knew the red splotches were dried blood. With his free hand, he tugged the black bow tie around his throat, feeling as smothered by his neck attire as he did by the fifty people staring at him.

Across from Rees, on the opposite side of the altar, the matron of honor fussed with the rose in her hair. Sandy was her name, Rees remembered. He'd recently met her. After repositioning the white rose, Sandy smoothed her black silk gown. In her other hand, she held a small bouquet of red rosebuds interspersed with baby's breath and white roses. A strawberry-blond tendril had escaped from her elaborate hairdo, and she blew the curl to the side of her face. Glancing at Rees, she gave him a strained smile. He wasn't certain if the wedding caused her anxiety or if knowing vampires were in the tent with her was the root of her apprehension, but he sensed and felt her unease. Sandy sighed and lifted her chin. He considered slipping into her mind to satisfy his curiosity, but then the tent flap rustled, lifted, and in walked Kian.

The frigid, autumn air barged in with the groom, slapping the white, stringed lights hanging from metal rods, which held up the tent's ceiling. The swinging strand created a flickering effect on the tent's walls. Shadows of guests flashed on and then disappeared from the wall. A spray of red roses decorated each chair closest to the aisle and the wind rushed the floral scent around the intimate space.

Kian MacTiernan walked along the right side of the tent, not on the carpet, and took his place next to Rees. Kian's straight, dark, shoulder-length hair was tied at the nape of his neck. He flicked a bit of lint off his tuxedo's lapel. Kian lifted his chin, straightened his bow tie, and then smoothed the front of his white shirt before centering his black cummerbund.

Finally situated, he turned his gaze toward Rees, flashing him a wide smile. Rees couldn't help but grin back. The man was indeed happy. Hell, he'd waited over three hundred years to find a wife, and Rees believed Darcy had been worth Kian's wait.

Rees shook his head wondering why his friend hadn't bothered to shave off the five o'clock shadow. Kian turned his head toward Rees and answered the unspoken question, Because my damn beard grows faster than I can shave it. He winked and looked straight ahead. Rees grimaced. He hated when his boss read his thoughts.

Soon the bride, Darcy Engel, would walk down the aisle. She would take her place beside her beloved, Kian, her mate for life. Rees could hardly believe it.

You nervous? Rees leaned over and whispered to Kian.

Nope, he answered without hesitation. Do you have the ring?

Rees tapped his left breast pocket and nodded. Of course. Was Darcy's mother able to make it?

With a quick nod, Kian answered but kept his green gaze upon the grass. Kian's mother-in-law had terminal cancer. Darcy wanted her mother to see her happily re-married, as her previous marriage had ended when her ex-husband confessed to having an affair and fathering his mistress's child.

Kian and Darcy had hastened their wedding date to ensure Mrs. Engel was there. They knew she had very little time left.

Rees searched for Mrs. Engel. He scanned the front row and found her to his right. Her skin was ashen, but her blue eyes, twinkled with joy. They were sunken and cupped by grayish-purple half moons, which even her deftly applied make-up couldn't hide. She wore a soft blue gown, with what looked like, a matching jacket over her ankle-length dress. Surely, the autumn air chilled her brittle form even with all these blasted heaters blowing from every corner of the tent.

Rees noticed her fiddling with a Kleenex as she probably tried to steady her nerves. The bones in her skinny fingers moved incessantly, twirling a tissue around her index finger, and then unwinding it to repeat the motion.

She still doesn't know? Rees whispered.

Of course not. No need to tell a dying woman her daughter is a vampire and her fiancé made her that way. He cleared his throat and adjusted his bowtie.

Yes, of course, that's best. Rees inhaled deeply, removed his hand from his pocket, and squeezed Kian's shoulder.

The music stopped. A silence fell over the crowd. The sound of waves crashing and the monotonous hum of electric heaters filled the vacuum.

At the back of the tent, two attendants in black tuxedos lifted the flaps. The string quartet resumed playing movements from Vivaldi's concerto. Then, the quartet's volume and timing increased, as they transitioned to the movement, Spring. Darcy Engel emerged from the darkness, stepping through the opening, and onto the carpet.

Everyone stood.

With her first steps forward, rose petals lifted off the carpet and separated behind her like a red wake. She was breathtaking. Rees's heart tightened a little at the sight of her. She walked alone, proud, and independent. There was no one to give her away as her father had died many years ago. Besides, she was a grown woman, had her own career, and home for several decades now. The old custom didn't seem appropriate at this stage in her life, she had once told him.

How Rees envied the modern Americans' ability to create their own customs with such ease and acceptance. It was something not available to him during his human days.

Darcy progressed down the aisle in time with the bouncy spirit of the music. It suited her.

Kian exhaled, and Rees stole a glance at his friend and employer. Kian's lips parted, and his expression stilled, as he, the guests, and Rees all watched the bride make her way toward the altar.

A sheer veil covered her face and tea roses in red and white encircled her head. Her white dress hugged her rounded hips and full bosom, at which Rees realized he shouldn't be looking. Kian glared at him. Rees shrugged apologetically. Apparently, Kian had heard Rees's thoughts. God, he hated the mental intrusion.

Embroidered over the white satin gown were intricate Celtic knot designs. The material shimmered beneath the tent's soft lighting. A v-neckline modestly dipped between her cleavage, revealing only the upper swells of her breasts. Rees cleared his throat and averted his gaze lower. She carried a large, round bouquet of red and white roses, with a bit of greenery and baby's breath. Long, sheer, form-fitting sleeves trimmed with pearls ended at her wrists. A court train—Rees remembered that's what Darcy had called it—settled like a white pond around and behind her feet as she stopped in front of the altar. The bottom of her dress reminded him of a silky upside-down trumpet.

Rees looked at her face again. Even from behind the veil, he could see her smile and brilliant blue eyes, which stared directly at Kian. Her shiny, black hair was long, and loose, cascading in smooth waves over her shoulders. Anyone could easily see her loveliness, but knowing her, Rees understood her beauty extended to her soul.

She had endured much torment and nearly died because she'd fallen in love with a vampire, stayed with that vampire when most would have fled. He respected her, respected her loyalty; loyalty she had not been afforded in her first marriage.

The guests sat down, and the wedding party faced the immortal priest. To mortal eyes, there was nothing unusual looking about the priest. He dressed like any Catholic priest, wearing the traditional robes and a clerical collar.

Father Callahan had shortened the ceremony from a traditional Catholic wedding with mass to a more typical protestant length ceremony. It was a practical choice, not a religious one. When you had a mix of immortals and mortals in the same room, for any length of time, there was always the possibility of humans becoming snacks. And having guests devoured during the ceremony, was not a recommended activity or a cherished photographical moment.

Rees's stomach rumbled at the thought of blood, however.

Father Callahan welcomed the guests. Dearly beloved, he boomed, and then Rees tuned him out.

The altar was simple; a wooden podium surrounded by greenery at its base and flanked by two black iron, floor candelabras. He was thankful there weren't too many candles. Fire was one of the few elements that could kill an immortal.

Rees stole glances at the happy couple. He watched their mouths move in answer to questions the priest asked, but Rees's mind wandered. He hated traditional gatherings, especially domestic scenes.

His wife had died over a hundred years ago but to him the pain remained present and fresh as if it'd happened but a year ago. Slipping his hand into his pocket, he held the handkerchief. Weddings and other human customs were agonizing reminders of what he'd lost and what he lacked.

Even one of his favorite holidays, when he was human, now brought him no joy. Christmastime came and went without a tree, presents, or company. Thanksgiving, had never turned out well since becoming immortal. Guests drooled over the turkey, and he drooled over the guests. Easter—Not unless they made blood centered chocolates, and besides, he hadn't been in the mood to celebrate anything having to do with God in the last two hundred years. He remained indifferent towards all things holy, at best, or resentful at worst. Halloween, now, that holiday had potential. It might be fun to open the door, extend his fangs, and yell, Boo! But in a small town, word might get around the crazy man in condo five was scaring the neighborhood children.

No, human events weren't his style.

Not to mention, temptation at these events tested his will. These gatherings enticed him with a plethora of entrees, each with their own sumptuous scents, causing his gut to clench with hunger. And unfortunately, all guests were forbidden fruits.

He removed his hand from his pocket, rubbed his brow, peeked at his watch, and stared at the white tent wall behind the priest. No cross, he noted, not because crosses troubled or harmed vampires, so he wasn't certain why the cross was missing. Did some human, privy to the knowledge of vampires' existence, remove the cross? Bram Stoker's novel, Dracula, had perpetuated and popularized the myth that crosses repelled vampires. But as far as Rees knew, no religious symbols had ever burned or deterred any immortal.

When his eyes burned from staring too long, he shifted his gaze to the musicians. They looked as thrilled as he felt. The violinist, Nikolaus Schild, some famous immortal, brushed a strand of his blond hair off his forehead. The cellist, human and nervous, sat ramrod straight in her chair. Her gaze fixed on the grass as she toed a golden leaf. He heard her heart thudding behind her ribcage. She was quite contrary to the violinist, who Rees knew had performed for much larger audiences than this gathering of about fifty. He was the epitome of relaxed, as he tapped his bow on his thigh, head held high, scanning the crowd. The double bass player stood with one foot slightly in front of the other. He kept a death grip on the neck of the large instrument. And the violist—

Kian elbowed Rees.

Rees tore his gaze from the quartet and looked at Kian, and then at the priest, who had raised his bushy brows so high they nearly touched his slick hairline. Rees wasn't sure why the priest stared at him so intently. He glanced at Darcy. She held out her left hand with splayed fingers and batted her lashes at him.

The ring! he mentally shouted.

Rees thrust his right hand into his breast pocket and retrieved Darcy's wedding band. Handing it to Kian, he heaved a sigh. Kian snorted a less than dignified laugh. In another few seconds, Sandy handed the groom's ring to Darcy. Vows were exchanged, and then the priest announced, You may now kiss the bride.

Kian lifted her veil, wrapped his arms around his wife, and kissed her passionately. When he finally came up for air, the priest smiled and said to the guests, May I present to you, Mr. and Mrs. MacTiernan.

Kian and Darcy faced their friends, Darcy's mother, and their co-workers. The guests clapped, and the string quartet struck up the recessional, Hornpipe, from Handel's, Water Music. Kian offered his arm to his bride. She took it, and they walked together as husband and wife.

Guests tossed rose petals at the newlyweds as the couple passed by. Ruby red petals showered down onto the white carpet. Kian and Darcy ducked and bobbed trying to avoid the colorful rain. They probably threw sheep or axes during Kian's time. Rees chuckled at that thought.

He remained frozen in his spot, watching the smiles, hearing the laughter, the human heartbeats, the pounding of warm blood through soft veins, as he took in the aroma and closed his eyes.

I think we can go into the reception tent now, Sandy interrupted Rees's dinner plans, before he had time to scan the guests for an entree.

He nodded curtly at Sandy and gave her a tight smile. They walked silently to the adjoining tent. Darcy and Kian sat at a long, rectangular table covered with a white cloth, which touched the grass. Two seats to Darcy's right were vacant; Sandy sat next to the bride. Rees sat on Kian's left.

Not much longer, Rees thought, and then he could leave this domestic scene and get a bite to eat. His stomach spoke up, offering its opinion on the matter.

At least the placement of the wedding party's table gave him the perfect vantage point from where he could search the crowd for dinner.

Unsuspecting humans mingled with vampires, exchanging smiles, looking for their tables.

More white lights lined the reception tent's ceiling giving the interior a cozy atmosphere despite the cool autumn air, which pushed against the tent's walls. Small, carved jack-o-lanterns rested in the center of each table instead of votive candles. The lighted centerpieces were the only indication of a Halloween wedding.

More fire, he grimaced and shuddered as he stared at the flickering flame within the orange fruit.

He needed to feed…soon.

Chapter Two

October 31, Present Day

Carved jack-o-lanterns sat on Rachel McCready's front steps as an orange glow emanated from their hollow eyes, noses, and mouths. Inside, her six-year-old son, Rawley, ran around the living room dressed in his Scooby Doo costume. As he ran, the tail wagged furiously back and forth. Scooby Doo's head sat on top of Rawley's head. His small face peeked out of Scooby Doo's neck.

Scooby dooby doo! Rawley hollered as he ran.

Hey, settle down. You don't want to tire yourself out before you've even started. Rachel went to the front door and turned on the front porch light, signaling to the neighborhood her house was ready for trick-or-treaters.

Bounding down the stairs Tommy jumped onto the landing, pulling out his light saber, as he waved the saber around the foyer saying into the costume's breather, Shaaaa…haaaaa…shaaaa…haaa! Prepare to die, Scooby doo!

Rachel had purchased the breather for the Darth Vader mask, but had to hide it from her nine-year-old since he'd kept playing with it and draining the batteries. She'd feared he'd break the thing before Halloween.

Okay, Darth Vader, put away your weapon and pick up your trick-or-treat bag. She turned to Scooby who was now running circles in the foyer around her and the Dark Lord of the Sith. Scooby, get your bag and let's go over the checklist.

Ro-kay, Rawley barked and snatched up his pumpkin shaped trick-or-treat basket.

Light sticks? Rawley and Tommy nodded their heads in unison. Check. Watch? Tommy held up his arm, his black sleeve slipped down his forearm partially revealing his digital watch. Check. Trick-or-treat bags? Both boys held their respective containers high. Check. Okay, time to make the rounds and get that candy! The boys ran to the front door. Before she opened it, releasing her sons into the night, she reminded them, Darth, be home in no more than an hour and a half. Scooby, you stick with Mr. Vader, no running off with the neighborhood kids. All right? Go as far as the Haddington's house one block up and come back on the other side to the Thompson's, then straight home.

Yes, Mommy! the boys answered as she opened the door and watched them run onto the front walk. A swift and icy wind assailed her. She shivered and wondered if the weather would keep most kids at home tonight.

No running! She smacked her forehead and shook her head.

They slowed to a jog, and she chuckled as she shut the door. Sighing, she pushed her bangs off her forehead, closed her eyes, and then headed upstairs to her studio above the garage to work on her current project. The quiet helped her get into the zone, where time stood still, as her brush floated over the canvas, applying colors, forming images, bringing the white space to life.

A local woman had commissioned a portrait of her beloved Bishon Frises. Using the client's photograph as a guide, Rachel had painted Klondike and Snow sitting upon a black throw. She had taken artistic liberty and placed the small, white dogs and the velvety black throw onto a burgundy colored chair. The hues were striking. The two dogs, with their slightly curly, white coats, and deep black noses, looked like small polar bears sitting with their heads tilted quizzically. She needed to finish painting their eyes, which were nearly as dark as their noses and then the painting might be finished.

Rachel planned to paint until she heard the doorbell and then she'd hand out candy only to return upstairs to continue painting. It was to be like this for an hour and a half until the boys came home. Or so she thought…

Unfortunately, she failed to take into account the room's advantage of seclusion was a serious disadvantage for hearing the doorbell and reaching the front door quickly. After two trips up and down the stairs, one false alarm, within fifteen minutes, Rachel waved the white flag, abandoning painting, and plopped onto her living room sofa, which was in sight of the front door.

This year brought more trick-or-treaters than previous years had. She wasn't sure why more came tonight. The frigid, windy weather should have been a deterrent and last year's weather was actually better than tonight's. In past years, she'd received about ten trick-or-treaters, so she expected tonight to be the same. Regrettably, more than ten kids had arrived after the first two rings, which put the kibosh on painting.

She threw her leg over her knee and bounced her foot in mid air. Rachel would sit and wait for the next round of trick-or-treaters. She didn't