Hauntings & Harleys

By Kathleen Pasley

Rowan is a witch. She is also a biker. She runs into an old flame who needs her help. Rowan is not at all thrilled at his reappearance in her life and is terribly uneasy at his request.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Nov 13, 2020
• ISBN: 9781644240168

Book preview

Chapter 1

Rowan slammed the heavy oak door as hard as she could, spun herself around, and stomped on the wood floor in front of the stairs.

Shit! she yelled out loud at the top of her lungs. She whipped her leather coat off then whipped it down on the floor several times. She banged the walls with her fist on each side of the hallway, stomping her feet, trying not to run wildly into the kitchen, spilling knickknacks crashing to the floor as she went. Her leather biker boots made a satisfying noise on her wood floor. Her yellow-eyed black cat, Bastet, picked her way carefully around the shards of crystal and glass, sniffing at those that contained some type of perfumed oil or the like or maybe smelled of something interesting.

After her boots crunched down on the glass pieces, Rowan banged the tea canister in the middle of the counter and slammed the tea kettle onto the gas burner on the old-fashioned white ceramic stove a little harder than absolutely necessary after filling it roughly with water. Tea always calmed her, and this was an especially needful situation that required her to be calm.

"That bastard! Great goddess, he makes me so freaking mad!" Rowan tossed the tea canister sloppily back on the counter, dumped herself some hot water on the aromatic tea leaves in her cup by practically spilling it in, and glared at the large, yellow Lab dog that lay on a pillow of sheepskin bed that gazed at her with worshipful eyes while she stirred her hot tea furiously. The sophisticated stately cat licked her right rear leg in a very specific manner, smoothing her dark sleek fur the way she preferred it to look but didn’t meet her eyes. They were both used to her occasional rants.

Rowan finally began to breathe easier after taking sip after sip and sighed deeply, holding the warm teacup close to her lips. She allowed herself a few seconds of pure comforting bliss of the warmth from the cup before grimacing, thinking of her earlier conversation with that stupid.

Well? Are you finally through throwing a fit? Raven asked. She was slouched in a kitchen chair, legs crossed. The crossed leg’s shoe dangling from her crimson-painted toes. The shoe was white leather with a short squat heel and buckles. She was wearing what looked like a Roaring twenties flapper-type dress with her white satin stockings rolled down below her knees, see-through enough to see her bright toenails. A long onyx cigarette holder held a smoking cigarette that hung carelessly from the relaxed hand of the arm slung relaxed over the back of the chair. Her black brown hair was in a short bob, bangs brushing below her eyebrows above her startling sharp green eyes.

"A fit? No. Being pissed? No. Breaking things? Probably not. God, he pisses me off!" Rowan said, setting her teacup extra slowly and extra carefully on the ceramic kitchen table centered before a bank of windows before leaping up and stomping around the kitchen. Her table was not a forgiving surface when something breakable was slammed on it. She scrubbed both hands through her longish hair, blond streaked from riding long hours in the sun, her own green eyes furious.

I can see I was wrong in asking that question. Never mind. I’ll be back later. I just thought you might want some advice. You could wake the dead with all of that screaming and stomping! I was just wondering if you were all right, Raven shrugged her shoulders after dramatically rolling those startling eyes lined with kohl and dragged deeply on her cigarette, blowing her smoke out of her mouth in rings before snuffing it into a nearby clean plate.

"I ran into that prick of a man that I hate the most in the whole world and could burn his entire body with acid and fire and ice and stones. I will pile them up over his bleeding and blistered body, letting him suffer. Always suffer. The asshole! And then pour more acid on his blisters and bruises and squished body and . . ."

"Sorry, I asked again. I’ll talk to you later, hon," Raven slowly eased from her perch after casting a quick look at Rowan.

Rowan ran to her, holding her arm. No, really, Rav. I’m done. But that man! It had to be freakin’ Reynolds, stopping me in front of the diner. Seriously! she quipped, responding to Raven’s surprised expression.

"I couldn’t believe it either. I haven’t talked to him at all since high school. We’re talking damn near twenty years, and he comes up to me, me, and tells me he needs my help. Me! Well, I look him up and down. He still looks pretty damn good, by the way, and I say, ‘Well, isn’t that interesting? You need me? Hmm. Let me think of how to respond to that . . . How about tough?’ You should have seen the look on his face! Rowan held herself laughing but stopped when she saw Raven’s new facial expression. What?"

Well, I was just thinking that he might be wanting to apologize to you. You know, over what he did in high school when he dumped you?

Yes. Thank you very much. I do recall why I’m ultrapissed at him. Thank you very much, Miss Butt-in-Sky! Why would he choose now to apologize?

Chapter 2

Jake roared down Highway 49 toward his cabin on his Panhead Harley-Davidson motorcycle. A blast of fresh air was always good at clearing out the old head from hangovers, bad moods, hot tempers, old memories, or all the above. He shook his head, hair flying crazily behind him. Luckily, he didn’t have a hangover, or brushing it out would really be an effort.

Jake owned and operated a motorcycle part engraving shop on property adjacent to the cabin his father had built. He had the shop for several years now. He had inherited the property from his dad three years ago when he passed away from an unexpected heart attack. He was still updating the house/cabin. He had built and modified the shop himself. Carefully negotiating his way on the loose gravel to park his motorcycle in front of the shop, the sudden quiet was almost overwhelming when he shut it off. The ticking of the engine sounded like a door slamming. He set the kickstand and sat still for a minute.

What the hell was her problem? He didn’t remember her being so . . . pissed. Blinking several times at the thought of her rage, he rubbed his chin. He had never confronted anyone who hated him so much. Pure hatred was something to see. When it was directed to you, not so interesting, and what he ever did to deserve that type of hatred he couldn’t begin to fathom. And he was absolutely sure she could help him. In fact, she was probably the only one who could.

Huh. He really didn’t care that Rowan was angry at him. It was her problem not his. Wait a minute. It was his problem. Christ! He took off his sunglasses and slipped them in his pocket. He could hear Knucklehead, his dog of indeterminate lineage and age, barking inside the cabin, and the dog blasted out the doggie door that Jake had installed. He came to a screeching halt once he realized who it was and stopped barking immediately.

Jake bent down to pet Knucklehead while the dog wagged his tail frantically and sniffed the saddlebags for treats. Jake laughed and unbuckled the saddlebag, chuckling at the dog’s mournful expression.

Still laughing, he said, Knucklehead, you are just what I need right now. Unconditional love, buddy. Unconditional love.

Knucklehead obliged by licking Jake’s one hand at the same time trying not to appear too concerned about what Jake’s other hand was getting out of the saddlebag. He was failing miserably, and Jake chuckled again.

"I didn’t forget you, bud. I got these before I saw her."

Jake reached deep inside the butcher paper bag that held a large cooked beef bone from the local butcher shop. They knew Knucklehead very well there.

There you go, buddy, handing the bone over.

The dog grabbed the bone very carefully, and then trotted off to his favorite spot to chew in private. Jake stood still for a moment, gazing at the woods surrounding the property. Very thick woods, the trees grew densely together, and he didn’t think even the deer had ever made a path through it. Hell, any track of any kind got swallowed up in there. After a very deep sigh, he slapped his thigh with his leather gloves and walked up the steps of the large porch that was built in the front of the old pine cabin.

He unlocked the old-wood door and pushed it open with his shoulder. He sighed deeply again and tried unsuccessfully again to not think of how great Rowan looked. Man, she looked good. He leaned up against the shop. She was obviously riding her motorcycle a lot. She was covered with what appeared to be a really well-established suntan, and her face was pink with health, hair bleached blond in streaks. Her jeans still fit nicely over her very well-toned body. Jake took a minute to recall how her butt looked in them when she walked away from him. He had forgotten how her green eyes could snap at him. Man! She was mad! But boy, did she look good.

The shampoo or whatever lotion it was she was soaked in smelled like flowers. Sexy flowers. Her cheeks turned so red and her hair practically stood on end crackling with her fury. He figured it was only the weight of it that kept it from actually standing up. It was longer than it had been the last time he saw her. Last time, her hair had been shoulder-length and flipped slightly up at the ends. Come to think of it, last time he had actually talked to her. She had been pissed then. He shrugged his shoulders and thought perhaps he would try calling her later to try to set up a meeting. Give her a chance to cool off.

Pushing off the shop wall, he walked to the cabin and shoved open the front door after unlocking it. He ambled into the bathroom to use the facilities there and glanced at the mirror while washing his hands and face. Dark-brown eyes stared back at him, dark hair and beard dripping with water.

You’re just kidding yourself, you know, he said to his reflection. She hates you. She won’t help you. She won’t help you at all.

Drying off with a towel, he had grabbed from the shower rod, scrubbing harder than he normally would, and dropped it on the floor.

Time for supper, I think.

The dog, having followed Jake inside, leaving his bone behind on the rug for later chewing, wagged as hard as he could from his position on the floor in front of the bathroom to show his approval.

Chapter 3

Rowan carefully packed the saddlebags on her Shovelhead Harley-Davidson motorcycle with dried herbs and stones she had gathered from her basement and from her living room. She was taking them to her store that she had named Brightest Blessings. She sold loose herbal teas, incense, candles, dried and fresh herbs, empowered gemstones, and various jewelry made by local artisans. Due to its clever name, the shop received a variety of customers, and she appreciated every one of them. One of her best friends, Adrienne, worked with her and luckily would have opened the store herself because Rowan was running a bit late. Adrienne saw herself as an employee, but Rowan thought of her as practically coowner. Hell, she handled most of the management duties that Rowan either didn’t like to do or wasn’t any good at doing. Not to mention, opening the store when Rowan was running late.

Sometimes, Rowan had to bring in some of her private stock of herbs and teas if the shop ran low before the stock order came in. Today was one of those days, so she actually had a good reason for being tardy.

She waved goodbye to Bastet and Anubis. See you guys later. I’m off to work.

The cat sniffed, sitting in the kitchen window, raising her nose, and turning her head as if she wasn’t interested, and the dog’s pink nose snuffled through the slats of the picket fence that bordered her property, wagging. Rowan started the bike and pulled into the street.

Traveling down the local main drag through town, she thought a bit about Jake. She was very calm now. She had had a good night’s sleep, a good breakfast, a good pot of tea, and good weather. She hadn’t really talked to Jake at all since they had dated. Well, when he dumped her in high school.

High school! Gosh, she hadn’t thought of high school in years. She pulled her motorcycle at the back of the shop and parked her bike where she always did—in a spot next to the back door. Carefully maneuvering around the large stack of flattened boxes for recycling with her arms full of bags of herbs, she used her hip to prop open the door and set her armload down on a nearby table before dropping into a handy overstuffed chair.

Adrienne had been feather-dusting the shelves that held Wiccan knickknacks and gasped, realizing that it was close to ten o’clock, the time that Rowan was usually at the store. She had thought she would check the supply of loose tea in attractive bins with lids on them. The teas never had a chance to go stale—they sold too well and too quickly. Adrienne was thinking of perhaps starting to sell already-brewed tea. Not too many varieties because she sure didn’t want to spend her entire day serving tea as much as she loved them. Perhaps just in the morning. She was standing, tapping her finger on her bottom lip, thinking when she heard a door in the back open and close. So Rowan was here. G ood thing, she thought. As she unlocked the front door and flipped the sign to open. She headed into the back room, wanting to discuss the tea issue with her before the morning crowd.

Rowan watched Adrienne pour her some fragrant coffee into Rowan’s over-large Harley mug with a picture of a girl riding one on it. She really needed the extra boost of caffeine today and smiled at her friend’s thoughtfulness. She usually drank herbal tea, basically because she loved tea, and it was always good for business. But today was definitely a coffee day. Adrienne’s wide blue eyes were taking in Rowan gulping the contents of the mug as well as searching Rowan’s face intensely.

Okay, what’s wrong? Tell me. What is going on?

Adrienne settled herself on a stack of boxes after snooping through the contents of Rowan’s bags, getting herself comfortable for hopefully a long story. She was married happily for twenty-five years to a rock-and-roll musician, Buzz Rogers. She glanced in the long mirror that was bolted to the nearby wall, fussing briefly with her curly blond hair and checking her lipstick.

Jake Reynolds, that’s what’s wrong. That’s why I’m a bit late this morning. Had a run-in with him. In front of Sally’s! Rowan blew on her coffee, trying to cool it a bit more before gulping it down.

"Jake Reynolds? Jake? That Jake? From high school?"

Adrienne had also gone to Andrean High School with Rowan and Jake and her husband, Buzz, though the same year as Rowan. She tapped her bottom lip again with her finger, an unconscious habit of hers.

What the hell could Jake want from you? And by the way, shouldn’t one of us be out front? I unlocked the door before I came back here.

Adrienne didn’t particularly care for Sally or the local diner. Too many people and too many tourists. Not to mention Sally. She didn’t like her at all. Sally had lots of enemies in Valparaiso, especially with the wives of several married men.

"He grabbed my arm and said that he needed to talk to me. To see me. I guess I always knew I was going to meet up with him sometime. I mean, sure, he lives on the other side of town. But I wasn’t ready for it. If only I had some warning! He said that all I had to do was listen to him for five minutes. If I decided not to help him, which is exactly the way he said it, I could walk away basically. But he said that he needs me . . . me! What the hell could he need from me? Oh. I suppose you could turn the sign to open."

Rowan didn’t particularly care. Really, yes, she did.

Already did, boss. Are you trying to keep the conversation with me going as long as you can so you won’t have to stock shelves? You didn’t want to do it the day before yesterday, and you don’t look like you want to today. You sure weren’t looking forward to doing to it. I have a huge list and a whole lot of stock. You brought in some chamomile and a bag of crystals. Here. Take a look at these lists, will you?

Adrienne knew her too well. She had finally decided to do some stocking back here.

He may need something herbal as a gift or something religious or maybe even tea!

Rowan put her hands on her hips, trying unsuccessfully to crumple the lists as Adrienne pulled them from her and smoothed them out.

What do you have planned for today? She was trying unsuccessfully to change the subject.

Nothing as good as what you have. Guess! No? I was thinking about brewing some tea for mornings. What do you think? I mean, have a special tea each day? Might bring some people in . . . Adrienne was thinking hard, leaning against the counter. She could picture it. "But you’re not going to get away that easy, missy! You better sit back down and tell me what happened. And then you have to stock the shelves. I’m assuming you weren’t arrested for murder because you’re sitting right here, so I know you didn’t kill him, so . . ."

That’s an awesome idea, Adi! Look into pricing brewers, and we’ll go from there. I think we’d better look into hiring us some more help though.

She noticed the look on Adrienne’s face. Oh, all right. No, I wasn’t arrested for murder because I didn’t kill him. But I thought about it. Let me tell you! I sure thought about it! But he was being polite, and he seemed, oh, I don’t know, serious, I guess? He looked worried. Not to mention that the entire diner was staring at us through the damn window!

Adrienne gulped hard and swallowed her tea. What do you mean the entire diner?

The entire diner was crowded around the big window in front of the diner. Noses practically pressed against the glass, heads swinging back and forth as Jake and I talked. And for all of a minute or two!

Rowan reached down on the right side of her chair and pulled out a tube of lip balm. She looked closely to determine if it was hers. It was.

When are you going to meet with him? Tonight?

Adrienne stood up and began opening boxes, futzing with the contents but not really looking for anything in particular—just keeping herself busy since she had already handed the stack of lists to Rowan.

Want a witness?

Yes. No. I don’t know! I can’t imagine what he wants, can you? He didn’t say, and I didn’t ask. I suppose he’ll call. Or stop by. Crap. Rowan stood and stretched, back cracking in spots. You guys see him all the time, right?

Not really, Ro. Buzz sees him now and again because they’ve been friends for years, and they both ride Harleys. We never talked about you. Not once. Not all of a person’s friends get along with each other. We have sort of kept you apart. But Buzz would tell me if Jake had mentioned you, especially about something like this.

Rowan dumped her coffee into the porcelain sink next to the long mirror. She ended up spooning tea into the mug and pouring hot water over it sighing.

I may as well forget it for now, though. Work awaits!

I’m tired. Had the grandkids overnight last night. They can be very demanding and usually take a lot of entertaining. Last night, I resorted to bribery. A pot of hot chocolate works wonders.