Everand Logo

Welcome to Everand!

  • Discover millions of ebooks, audiobooks, and so much more with a free trial

    Only $11.99/month after trial. Cancel anytime.

    Inseparable
    Inseparable
    Inseparable
    Ebook107 pages1 hour

    Inseparable

    By Christiane France

    ()

    Read preview

    About this ebook

    When Alison Palmer leaves L.A. and flies to England to escape the financial mess left by her late, philandering husband, she has no money and no job training of any kind. Her future looks pretty grim—until she gets a job house-sitting Foxton Hall and meets the handsome Nick Berringford and the ghost of his deceased, identical twin brother, Nathan.

    Nick tells her his parents once owned the Hall, and that he and Nathan were hoping to buy it back from the current owner. But then Nathan was killed in a freak accident and, according to rumor, Nathan’s ghost now haunts the room in the Hall where he died.

    Alison doesn’t know if it’s Nick who’s lately been haunting her dreams or the alleged the ghost of his dead brother. She loves the idea of the house being haunted, but if it’s Nathan, she wonders why he’s hanging around. Is it because of the close bond he shared with Nick? Or a simple case of unfinished business and he’s waiting for Nick to buy back their childhood home. But if Nick succeeds in repurchasing the property, then what? Will Nathan feel free to permanently disappear, or will the bond he shared with his twin brother keep him forever tied to the Hall?

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherChristiane France
    Release dateJun 16, 2017
    ISBN9781386003434
    Inseparable

    Read more from Christiane France

    Related to Inseparable

    Related ebooks

    Paranormal Romance For You

    View More
    View More

    Related podcast episodes

    Related articles

    • Article

      The Man I Should Have Married

      Dec 29, 2019

      The Man I Should Have Married
      11 min read

    • Article

      Life In The past Lane

      Aug 27, 2021

      Life In The past Lane
      5 min read

    • Article

      End of THE LINE

      Jan 13, 2021

      End of THE LINE
      3 min read

    • Article

      All Of Us Here

      Jun 4, 2020

      All Of Us Here
      6 min read

    • Article

      Who Was That Girl?

      Apr 21, 2021

      Who Was That Girl?
      7 min read

    • Article

      Caught Out

      Oct 2, 2022

      Caught Out
      9 min read

    • Article

      Editor’s Letter

      Mar 25, 2022

      Editor’s Letter
      2 min read

    • Article

      Editor’s Letter

      Mar 25, 2022

      Editor’s Letter
      2 min read

    • Article

      It Happened to Me…

      Sep 7, 2023

      It Happened to Me…
      8 min read

    • Article

      Cross My Heart

      Sep 1, 2022

      Cross My Heart
      6 min read

    • Article

      The Wanders: When home is not a haven.

      Jul 25, 2013

      The job in the North was a good job for what it was. I was not excited about it, but I was satisfied because it would take me away from the city where I had lived with Paul, and where every drugstore and bar and credit center was heavy with the memor

      13 min read

    • Article

      Summer Reads

      Dec 30, 2019

      Summer Reads
      7 min read

    • Article

      Crime Wave

      May 10, 2019

      Crime Wave
      13 min read

    • Article

      ‘Cygnet’: Featured Fiction from Season Butler

      Jun 25, 2019

      A excerpt from Butler's debut coming-of-age novel, set in an appealingly rich world with quirky, flawed characters and a dramatic oceanfront landscape. The post ‘Cygnet’: Featured Fiction from Season Butler appeared first on The Millions.

      4 min read

    • Article

      The Island

      Jun 4, 2018

      The Island
      8 min read

    • Article

      A PRECIOUS Moment In Time

      Jun 17, 2019

      There’s something about Lambrook Hall that always draws me back and I’ve lost track of how many times I’ve been here. I don’t really care if it’s hundreds, to be honest. I can’t resist it. I’m in the dining room again now. Not the ballroom or the lib

      6 min read

    • Article

      The Leather Coat

      Apr 4, 2024

      The Leather Coat
      6 min read

    • Article

      The Escape Of Koravitch

      Sep 30, 2019

      The Escape Of Koravitch
      16 min read

    • Article

      The Convict

      Jul 10, 2020

      The Convict
      5 min read

    • Article

      Longer on Moon

      Sep 22, 2022

      Longer on Moon
      19 min read

    • Article

      It Happened to Me…

      Feb 25, 2021

      My sister and I have always been fans of spooky and unnerving stories, and particularly those associated with Devon and Dartmoor, our favourite holiday destination as kids. We both, therefore, knew the ‘Devil’s Hoofprints’ story better than any other

      4 min read

    • Article

      Sexual Tension

      Jun 5, 2023

      Sexual Tension
      13 min read

    • Article

      Musings On My Father

      Aug 8, 2022

      Musings On My Father
      5 min read

    • Article

      Joshua Mohr: The Time I Robbed a Liquor Store

      Mar 10, 2017

      Our alibi was a sandy blanket in the back of my truck, an acoustic guitar, a knockout brunette in the passenger seat. Our alibi was a night picnic at the beach. When we got pulled over—if we got pulled over—the cop would peer in the cab and he’d thin

      6 min read

    • Article

      I’m So Glad To Be Gay

      Oct 20, 2021

      Even in so blessed an era of sexual- preference enlightenment, coming out to a parent isn’t easy. One might imagine it were otherwise. One may, in one’s smugly hetero way, assume that any ‘stigma’ perished too long ago to make such a confession one i

      3 min read

    • Article

      Ice cream DREAMS

      Jul 28, 2021

      Ice cream DREAMS
      8 min read

    Related categories

    Reviews for Inseparable

    0 ratings

    0 ratings0 reviews

    What did you think?

    Tap to rate

    Review must be at least 10 words

      Book preview

      Inseparable - Christiane France

      Inseparable

      ––––––––

      Foxton Halt next stop. Foxton Halt in five minutes. Anyone for Foxton Halt?

      When I bought my ticket at the station in London, the clerk had warned me that Foxton Halt station wasn’t a stop in the accepted sense, just a brief hiccup as the overnight express train made its way north to Scotland. Something to do with technical stuff like spur lines and switching gear, but all I needed to know was the train would slow to a crawl when it reached the Halt, and hesitate for a few seconds while it waited for the signals to change in its favor. In other words, be ready to jump because the first scheduled stop is several hundred miles further on. If I miss the announcement...well, you can guess the answer to that one.

      My seat is miles from the nearest door, and I’ve spent most of the journey worrying about falling asleep in the overly warm compartment, or failing to hear the station name being called. But, by some miracle, I’ve managed to remain awake, and I heard the announcement loud and clear.

      I wave frantically at the trainman, indicating my intention to get off at the Halt. Then I grab my bags and drunkenly weave my way through the swaying, fast-moving train, banging my hips against every hard object I pass, but somehow making it to the exit without losing my balance.

      As the train slackens speed and moves into the station, the trainman is already there, opening the door. The instant it slows to a crawl, then hesitates, he shepherds me, and my luggage, onto the platform in a fast, and obviously well-practiced, move. Before I can collect my wits, let alone say anything, the door has closed and the train is on the move again, leaving me to mouth my thanks to a winking red light as the train disappears down the track.

      I glance around at my immediate surroundings. From what I can see, Foxton Halt appears to be your everyday, small country railway station—a few yards of cracked, concrete platform, two long, plastic-made-to-look-like-wood benches, a couple of low wattage lights to assist passengers find their way in the dark without suffering any injury, and a tiny, unlighted station house I assume is locked up for the night. As I’d expected, there’s not a cab in sight. But I don’t have much luggage and the short walk to the village won’t kill me.

      Excuse me? Is someone picking you up?

      I turn around to see a man standing a few feet away—a devastatingly attractive man, holding a briefcase in one hand and a supermarket bag in the other. I feel a delicious zap of awareness crackle between us. He looks to be a little older than me, I’d say somewhere in his late thirties. Tall, thin, with long, dark hair that brushes his collar, and a pale, classically handsome face. Going by looks alone, he could have stepped straight from the pages of a Victorian romance novel, yet I know I’ve seen him somewhere before. I try to think where and then I recall seeing him board the train with a flurry of other last minute passengers, seconds before we left London.

      A woman alone can never be too careful, so I give him my best thank-you-but-no-thank-you smile. I was hoping to find a taxi. But...it’s really not a problem. I don’t have far to go.

      What do you call far? There’s nothing between here and the village of Foxton, and that’s more than three miles away.

      Three miles? I was told it was just a little over a mile.

      I’m afraid someone lied.

      Story of my life. He’s the best looking man I’ve seen in months. He comes across as very formal and polite, yet he exudes raw sex in ways that both excite and unnerve me. Under different circumstances, I’d want to cut through the formalities and check him out a whole lot more. But I try for a jaunty grin instead and fail. Which isn’t too surprising since I’m bone weary, I have eyestrain from staring out the train window, worrying about missing my stop, and the muscles in my neck and shoulders are starting to spasm from weeks of jangled nerves and too much stress.

      I’m going in that direction, if you would care for a lift.

      Would a starving woman like a slice of bread?

      Umm... Again I feel the pull of something between us. I can’t quite decide if it’s genuine attraction, or plain old-fashioned lust because, to tell the truth, despite being tired and stressed out, I also feel horny as hell. Maybe it’s because I can barely remember the last time I had any, and the guy just happens to be one hundred percent my type. I adore men with dark hair. However, it’s late at night, he’s a complete stranger, and I’m not totally stupid. I know better than to judge by appearances—he could be an escaped criminal, a rapist, or a deranged killer for all I know. Although, if he is any of those things, and what he said is true about there being three miles between the station and civilization, I could scream my head off and no one would hear me.

      He gives me a tentative, almost smile, making the idea of a rapist running around clutching a briefcase in one hand and groceries in the other sound ludicrous, even to me. But a girl can never be too careful.

      I see a narrow road leading away from the station into what I assume is a forest. And while there’s a full moon tonight, it’s too dark for me to be sure exactly whether the road goes through the forest or around it, and I’m not wild about the idea of checking it out by myself.

      I give the nearest bench a quick sideways glance, wondering if I should play it safe and camp out until first light. Problem is we’re already well into November, the weather is cold and damp, and this is England. As I’ve already discovered after leaving my sweater outside on a friend’s patio in London, anything that stays out all night in this country will be soaked with dew by morning, guaranteed. And a couple of weeks in bed with a bout of pneumonia is the last thing I need.

      The man’s smile grows a little broader, and he takes a careful, non-threatening step toward me. We’ve never met before, so I understand your caution. Even so, I wouldn’t recommend that bench for a good night’s rest, he says, obviously guessing at the direction my thoughts have taken. The smile smooths out the severe lines of his face, and he comes a few steps closer. I’m Nicholas Berringford. I live in Foxton, and work in London. I promise to take you straight to wherever it is you want to go. I can assure you I’m quite harmless.

      I hesitate. He’d hardly tell me if he was dangerous. Serial killers and crazy people don’t go around warning their victims in advance. But the man is so damn attractive, I refuse to entertain such depressing thoughts and decide to take a chance, as I say, I’m Alison Palmer, then hope I’m not making a huge mistake. Most people call me Ali.

      And I generally answer to Nick. He transfers the supermarket bag to the hand with the briefcase, and picks up my largest piece of luggage. You’re American. Yes?

      Is that a problem?

      No. Just an observation. He really smiles this time. A warm, friendly smile that eases my concerns a fraction and makes me wonder if he’s fancy free like me, or if he’s married or otherwise off limits. You have friends in Foxton, Ali?

      No friends. Just a job.

      He looks surprised. A job?

      I’m house sitting for a man named Sam McIven. Do you know him?

      The smile vanishes, and he shrugs. We’ve met a couple of times.

      I wait for him to say more, but that doesn’t happen. Instead, he leads the way out to the parking area where he puts my bags in the back of a dark-colored station wagon, opens the door for me to get into the passenger seat, and we take off down the narrow road. This is the road to Foxton, he informs me.

      Since it’s the one and only road there is, I’d already assumed that’s where it must go. But it could be the road to hell for all I know, and, at this point in my life, I don’t much care if it is. Rather than voice my thoughts aloud, I lean back in my seat, inhale a faint heathery scent I assume is the soap Nick uses, and close my eyes.

      I’ve learned a lot about hell in the almost

      Enjoying the preview?
      Page 1 of 1