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  One Vampire Summer

  By

  Destiny Blaine

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

  One Vampire Summer

  Copyright ã 2008 Destiny Blaine

  ISBN: 978-1-55487-086-8

  Cover art by Martine Jardin

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.

  Published by eXtasy Books

  Look for us online at:

  www.extasybooks.com

  Dedication

  This book is dedicated to those patrons of The Big Orange in Fall Branch, Tennessee and to those who hang out at the cabin on Cherokee Lake--you also inspired this book.

  Chapter One

  The air smelled crisp and fresh yet held a smothering, if not suffocating, stillness at the same time. She tried to take a deep breath to inhale the morning air, but as she grasped the cool mountain smell, she found herself unable to exhale and incapable of breathing deeper.

  Carol Langley fell victim to another panic attack and no one appeared just for the sake of helping her. Why is this happening now? It existed as her last thought right before the trees began to blur. Her head felt heavy, and soon she was out cold…

  “Dear, can you hear me?”

  Carol’s neighbors, Maude and Clyde, must have walked down the hill to say hello as soon as they spotted her SUV pulling into the driveway. Carol could hear them, sense them, but she tried to slip further into her apparent sleepy state. After all, she wasn’t ready to take on her summer neighbors when she felt so peaceful. Occasionally, she peeked just a bit to see who was where and what they were doing. A quick glance quickly reminded her to stay still and practice silence.

  “I think she may be dead.” Clyde chewed on his cigar and leaned against the hood of her candy apple red Ford Expedition. Carol heard him move so she quickly blinked long enough to see him and then returned her eyes to a tightly shut position.

  Maude gently shook Carol. “Hon, can you hear me?”

  “Of course she can’t hear ya, woman, and if I had my ruthers, I wouldn’t be able to hear ya either.” Clyde had such a gentle way with words. “Besides, she looks white, kind of has a certain dead look going on if ya look at her close enough.” The gravel crunched again and Carol assumed he was standing over her once more.

  Maude continued to push her right forefinger into Carol’s shoulder. “You can’t be dead, hon. You just got into town.” Her voice pitch didn’t change because Maude had a tendency to speak in monotone most of the time. Living with Clyde likely did that to a woman. He probably drained his wife of any enthusiasm on the honeymoon. Carol almost laughed out loud and sent God a two-thumbs up when she didn’t.

  Carol barely opened one eye just quick enough to see the older fellow continue to gnaw at the stub, the only mere existence left of his cigar. He walked over and nudged her with his foot. “Yep, sorry, Maude.” He paused and took off his glasses while tugging an old handkerchief out of his pocket.

  “Here, you may need this. She is dead, really dead this time.” Regret may have presented itself in some form, but the man’s tone kept it undetectable. If in fact, he believed his neighbor to be dead. Apparently, he did.

  Maude stood up. Carol could tell because her voice drifted away from her and the heavy foot of a mad woman stomped away with her. “I’m so ashamed of you, Clyde Morris. You just get on out of here. This girl is very much alive. She’s breathing!” Though her voice rose a little louder, she didn’t panic. Maude remained calm. It must’ve been a gift she possessed--to remain placid under pressure. Lord knows the woman lived with enough of it--Clyde.

  She squatted back down over the young woman’s body and poked her cheeks with the same forefinger. “She couldn’t have been out long. I just saw her car or truck…whatever that thing is…drive by no more than five minutes ago.”

  Clyde spoke up fast. “Yep, but ya know, it sure don’t take too long for people to die these days, that’s like that fella at work. He just decided one day he’d had enough of his wife’s nagging, and his tired old body just fell over without any warning. He just fell over, I tell ya. Caput and he was outta here.” Carol’s eyes flew open long enough to see the old geezer’s arm raise. He used his thumb and pointed over his shoulder quickly, and then made a movement to drive home the point, as if the manual expression helped explain his meaning.

  Maude apparently tried really hard to ignore her husband’s ignorance.

  Carol often tried to avoid her neighbors during her cabin stays so she saw little reason to stay conscious. She went out for another minute--on purpose. Yes, it happened to be intentional.

  Maude instructed her no-good husband to go fetch a wet cloth, and return quickly. She propped Carol’s head up on her lap and tried to talk her back into reality again.

  She wanted no part of it, but finally grew tired of hearing Maude yell for Clyde and decided it seemed possible that they would stick around until she came to rather than allow her to lie on solid ground in peace and quiet. Besides, Clyde was too lazy to walk home to get a damp rag and her cabin remained securely locked.

  Carol placed the back of her hand over her forehead and started to move, moaning when she did. “What happened?” Even though she listened to the elderly couple make a fuss over her for quite some time, she wasn’t exactly sure how she ended up on the ground in the first place.

  Maude and Clyde decided to tell her at the same time, which resulted in an annoying jangle of monotone and hillbilly. They both agreed they watched her drive in alone. They quickly walked down to say hello, but instead found her lying on the ground. They quickly established and reestablished that Clyde thought Carol died on arrival. Yes, definitely DOA.

  Maude asked her if she experienced one of those nervous breakdowns again. Carol explained, as she always did. She didn’t have a nervous breakdown, but a panic attack. Clyde never heard a word she said because he continued to ramble on about someone buying the cabin next door.

  Carol felt confident Maude and Clyde probably waited all winter to share the news with her. Never mind the fact she fainted upon her arrival or the fact that she really didn’t feel like talking at the moment.

  “He’s nice.” Maude beamed. “We met him the first day he came out here from the city to check everything out before some sort of closing on the deal.”

  Something in the way the older woman described their new neighbor seemed off, but Carol dismissed it and focused instead on her choice of words. Poor Maude would never understand business. The closing on the deal would’ve been the real estate closing on the cabin, but why bother explaining the whole concept to a woman who went from her father’s home straight into Clyde’s bed. Oh, but what a scary and morbid thought. Carol suddenly felt sick when she captured a mental image of the two. The act itself would be enough to destroy the average woman--poor Maude.

  “He ain’t married, Carol.”

  Leave it to Clyde to stick to the subject when it concerned Carol and her sexuality, or the possibility of finding a male companion. She groaned as she tried to stand up from her seated position. Every summer she drove three hours to be greeted by his badgering and every June, he began her summer the same way. Five…four…three…two…

  “You ain’t gay, are ya?” Clyde said it as soon as she thought it.

  She rubbed her head and grumbled again, this time with exaggeration as she headed for her porch to sit down for another minute. He couldn’t wait ten minutes before starting into his routine, not even thirty seconds after she came to and started to feel better. Started being the choice word--Clyde stopped a full recovery.

  These two people were exactly why her mother always avoided the beautiful little place. The serenity found there sometimes proved difficult to experience, but it didn’t really matter. Carol’s mom only had one concern when she visited the cabin. She worried constantly that someone would buy the old Thompson place and the privacy once cherished at the cabin by Carol’s grandparents would be forever ruined. Now, with the invasion of some young investor from the city--albeit unmarried, it appeared her worst fears were realized. She probably rolled over in her tomb. Okay, so she had been laid to rest in the cold ground--in a coffin, but Carol didn’t like to think about it.

  All of her family had the money to buy the property next door at any given time, yet they decided to postpone the purchase and just leave the sale of the place in fate’s hands. After all, maybe no one would buy it. Her own procrastination came with a hefty price tag--privacy.

  After so many years of putting up with Maude and Clyde, dear old friends of her Grandmother Jane, it appeared she had another nearby resident equally as irritating as her elderly guardians up the hill. Her thoughts were abruptly inter
rupted, which happened a lot when she spent her summer days near the happy Morris couple.

  “Clyde is going to always have this sneaking suspicion that you are gay until you marry.” Maude’s smug little grin might have been adorable if she didn’t support her husband’s assumptions. After she locked eyes with him and an uncomfortable silence fell on deaf ears, she patted her young neighbor’s knee.

  Geez, the gay-lesbian thing again, she couldn’t seem to catch a break with these two. They were a comedy act in the making, a very poor one, but comic relief nonetheless.

  Maude winked and then looked over at Clyde with sickening affection. “You have to understand it is the only thought he has about sex all year.” She grinned as if she approved of Clyde’s mind being preoccupied with Carol and her sexuality.

  Great, this man, who knew my grandfather, is having one thought per year about sex, and it involves me. Carol felt herself blush before she inhaled the fresh air.

  The couple took about thirty minutes visiting with Carol. Rather than telling her of the local gossip surrounding the Cherokee Lake area, they surprised her by asking about her life in the city.

  The city was Nashville and, even though it was only a three-hour drive, Carol’s lake cottage near the old town of Rogersville, Tennessee seemed like a world away. She chatted with them about the city and they seemed satisfied with the answers she provided to their questions.

  The Rogersville area was simply beautiful. Set deep within the mountains of Eastern Tennessee, the town area resembled a historical little community with less than five thousand people. Cherokee Lake, located nearby, provided the main purpose for Carol’s annual visits. The peaceful setting of her late grandparents’ cabin brought her back each summer. It was typical small-town USA.

  The downtown area prided itself on the Fourth of July festivities. With fireworks, bake sales, parades and children running everywhere. Overall the people of Rogersville enjoyed a life of simplicity. It was an uncomplicated town with easy pleasures where neighbors, with the exception of Clyde, genuinely cared about their neighbor.

  The place provided a safety net for Carol, far from the crime-ridden streets of a bigger metropolitan area. In fact, the town wasn’t a place for even low crime for a great number of years. Since the year 2000, few violations or felonies were reported in the region, unless someone counted the scattered burglaries, which usually involved theft of prescription drugs.

  Yes, Carol felt comfortable in her surroundings when she visited the lake cabin. She enjoyed the country setting and the welcoming water in her backyard. She liked lazy days when the only sounds she heard were the sounds of nature.

  Clyde began to speak again. Somehow, she didn’t see Clyde in her ideal picture of natural landscape. Who knows, maybe National Geographic would find him interesting and even consider him an unusual species.

  She longed for the silence. Clyde had such a way about him. If he opened his mouth, anyone would’ve gladly paid him to close it again. The man could’ve potentially made a fortune.

  “Are you going to sit there all day or are you going to get unpacked?” He stood by the tailgate of her 2006 automobile. If someone drove by the cabin right then and saw him standing there, they would have sworn he looked ready to jump right in with a helping hand.

  Carol smiled. “I suppose I’ll sit here all day and let my kind neighbor unpack for me.” She winked at Maude knowing the slightest mention of work would send the old geezer right back up the hill, and it did.

  First, he huffed several times. “Well, then you have a sit. I’m going home.” He turned with a grumble and started up the incline.

  One down, one to go. “So much for lending a helping hand,” she called after him.

  The better of the two patted Carol on the back and just shook her head as they both began to unload signs of an extended stay. Carol always dreaded the unpacking of a loaded-down vehicle. She also needed to spring clean the cabin, which remained locked up all winter. Maude offered to help as she always did. Carol declined, just as the older woman probably expected.

  “Before I go,” Maude began, “I do want to tell you about our new neighbor.”

  Carol waved her hand slightly. “I don’t want to know. If I meet him, I meet him.”

  Maude looked at her, puzzled. “Well, of course, you’ll meet him. He’s your next-door neighbor, and he’ll be here anytime!” The older woman should have left it at that, but decided to add, “You know, if you would try being slightly sociable with this man, he would make a nice friend for you when you’re here in the summertime. He is one of a kind.”

  “Like Clyde, I suppose?” She couldn’t hide the smirk creeping across her face.

  She shook her head sternly. “No, no, not like Clyde. This young man is polished and, as you writers would say, refined. Well, you’ll just need to meet him yourself.”

  Carol began scooting her luggage around to one neat little pile in the center of the floor, scanning the cabin for the broom. Covered with dust and cobwebs, the place needed a good swipe with the feather duster, too.

  Maude, clearly agitated because Carol paid her no mind, finally headed for the door. She paused before she stepped out onto the porch. “Carol, can I ask you something?”

  She sighed and replied, “Sure, you can ask me anything.”

  The other woman threw her hands on her seventy-something-year-old hips. “Are you a lesbian?”

  Chapter Two

  Alone at last, Carol went to work. She uncovered the furniture and stripped the bed. She swept out every nook and cranny. She washed down everything from her woodwork to the appliances to the front and back doors. The smell of Murphy Oil Soap filled the air. When she finished, she unpacked her belongings, which included pretty much everything from clothing to her home office.

  As she started unpacking the canned goods she brought from home, she looked out over Cherokee Lake. The natural beauty of it all drew her with a magnetic force. She stood at the window taking in the mesmerizing view. The calm waters seemed endless and the mountains were spectacular. The image created truly became Carol’s slice of heaven. She could sit on her porch for hours and just breathe.

  The cabin was small, but more than enough for her. It only had five rooms, if she counted the open living room and kitchen as separate areas. In addition to the kitchen and living area, there was a bathroom, a bedroom and a sunroom, which she made into her office. The laundry room occupied the tiny closet off the enclosed porch, so she didn’t consider it for anything more than storage.

  Her favorite place in the cabin was her office in the expansive sunroom, which fronted the lake. When the lake didn’t hum with activity, she opened the old wooden door off the back and exposed the screen so fresh air drifted inside. It was when she found the most inspiration for her stories. Carol sat to take it all in for a moment.

  Her grandparents built the small place in the sixties. They planned to live out much of their retirement years there. Unfortunately, their plans never materialized because Carol’s grandfather died instantly in a car accident the week before his much-anticipated retirement. Her grandmother’s death followed soon after, some believed she died of a broken heart or at least that’s what the hopeless romantics around Rogersville thought. The truth didn’t exactly belong in a romance novel--her heart disease should’ve killed her years earlier. Once depression set in, she stopped taking her medication and death came right up to her door. After all, she invited it in by refusing to follow doctor’s orders.

  Carol’s mother, Sally, soon took over the cabin in all of her glory. She never appreciated it like Carol believed her grandparents would have, but then again, Sally never appreciated anything. She thought of her mother, on occasion, but always upon arrival to the cabin. Sometimes when she first arrived, she thought she felt her mother’s presence there, almost like an untamed soul searching and waiting for her daughter’s arrival. It spooked her actually, but generally only lasted a moment. Still, the feeling stuck. Her mother’s ghost lived in the cabin and seemed determined to haunt her whenever she came back.