Read Online The Haunting of Ashton David by Gina Watson - Free Book Online

heal a little. I was wrong to leave you alone. You’re tormented and I had hoped to help you through it, but you’ve shut me out. The reason I couldn’t go through with my wedding is because I’ve never stopped loving you.”
    His grimaced as her admission cut her deep. I’m sorry your father got behind the wheel that night and I’m sorry that it was my father that wrote the report that solidified his fate, but it wasn’t me. I’m here and I want to help you. I still love you, even through it all.”
    His jaw was so tight she thought he would shatter teeth. “Don’t you get it? We can never be together because every time I look at you all I see is the noose around my father’s neck.”
    She gasped. Nothing more needed to be said, for that statement hurt more than if he’d said he had no love for her.
    ***
    Ashton stood at the front door, listening for the Hallelujah strains, but they never came. A pattern had begun to emerge. Whenever he thought about, desired, or was happy about something she’d done, the song would play. Footsteps creaking overhead would accompany his father’s sickening laughter. Now that she was gone, his father’s ghost had become contented.
    Message received, Dad. Please go away now
.
    Now that he could walk, relatively, he planned to do a lot of it and the day drew him out. He didn’t want to spend another minute inside, cooped up with the ghost of his father.
    He’d dressed in his usual jeans, T-shirt, and boots. Walking, he took it slow and easy. He’d found a stick and carried it to assist with his shifting weight. He inhaled deeply, enjoying the property. It had been a long six weeks. He’d slept little. Whenever he’d think or dream about her he’d be awakened by that song or the footsteps overhead. He thought maybe tonight he’d set up a tent out on the property just to take a break from it all and attempt to get some much-needed sleep.
    Most of the land was extremely flat, but after walking for about thirty minutes, his ankle started to throb. He should have done the stretching exercises before setting out on his inaugural march.
    He needed a place to sit and take his weight off of it, but currently he was deep in the woods. Recalling the cottage nearby, he set his course for the little building he’d avoided for years.
    Once in a while he’d pass the cottage on horseback or when in the truck, but he’d always look the other way. He hadn’t wanted to resurrect those memories.
    When he stepped from the dense grove of trees he was awarded with his first glance at the old living quarters. It reminded him of those too-sweet paintings that his mother had liked, but he’d never taken a fancy to because he thought they were a gross misrepresentation of American life.
    Flowers bloomed yellow, orange, and blue in the flowerbeds that he was sure he’d burned beyond the ability to grow ten years ago when the sight of their flowering had made a mockery of his pain.
    The entire place had been cleaned—the years of caked on mud and mold gone, making the little house more pristine than he’d ever known. Pavers had been laid between the beds and led up to a bright green door that drew him like a bear to honey.
    The warm copper door clutch sizzled in his hand as he depressed the plunger to open the door.
    Honeyed eyes met his. Her anxiety at his presence hit him in waves. She jumped up from elbows and knees where she’d lain among a sea of pillows.
    “Ashton.”
    Dirty Dancing played on the television. He’d stepped into the past. His mind was playing games. Shaking his head he looked at the woman in the center of the room. It wasn’t the child from his youth, but the woman he’d come to know over the last few weeks. He walked toward her and turned off the television. That’s when he saw the rug—
their rug
. She had all the snacks scattered around in a circle: bugles, squirt cheese, Nutter Butter.
    Even the walls had been painted and the windows replaced. His eyes scanned the