His grandparents wanted to help, but Wanda had refused to let them dip into their savings to bail her out. She was happy for them to pitch in with the kids, but she wouldn’t take their money.
Wanda had worked part-time as a legal secretary throughout her marriage. After the separation, the law firm agreed to upgrade her status to full-time. Of course, more hours at the office meant fewer at home with her children. That was where her parents stepped in, so that she didn’t have to work extra hours to pay for day care for Vanessa and after-school care for Evan. And when Wanda was looking for a new home that she could afford on her budget, she’d been lucky to find one just a few doors down from her mom and dad.
Dorothea and Michael McGowan had been more than grandparents to Evan and Vanessa—they’d been surrogate parents. They were there when their grandchildren got home from school, they helped with homework and assignments, and they attended school assemblies and sporting events. They more than filled the gap created by their former son-in-law’s disappearance, they filled Evan’s and Vanessa’s lives with love and laughter.
Though Evan had spent a lot of time with both of them, there had always been a special bond with his grandmother. She seemed to understand what he was thinking and feeling even when he was unable to express those thoughts and feelings. And through all the years that had passed, their closeness remained constant.
Evan pulled into his mother’s driveway, shaking his head as he parked behind her ancient minivan. More than once, he’d offered to buy her a new car, but Wanda wouldn’t hear of it, insisting that her Honda, despite showing signs of age, got her where she needed to go. He’d offered to buy her a new house, too, something bigger and nicer, perhaps in Bronco Heights instead of Bronco Valley. But she refused to even consider moving, assuring him that she was happy in the little bungalow filled with memories of her family.
He wondered if it was true, if she was somehow able to focus on the good times they’d shared together rather than the financial burden she’d shouldered alone for far too many years. He thought it probably was, because she smiled a lot and laughed easily these days, but it continued to be a source of frustration to Evan that she wouldn’t let him make some sort of grand gesture to show his appreciation for all the sacrifices she’d made.
The ghost tour business was surprisingly lucrative, and he’d made some smart investments when he’d had the money to do so. The decision to expand into merchandising had been a boon, too, and now the storefront booking office was also a gift shop, selling hats and T-shirts and a wide assortment of other items branded with the company logo. He even had Christmas ornaments this year, though those had been his mom’s idea.
He didn’t understand why anyone would want a glass ball advertising Bronco Ghost Tours, but Wanda had insisted that decorating the tree was, for many families, a happy trip down memory lane. He knew she was right, even if it was a trip he preferred not to take.
Shoving aside the unwelcome thought, Evan knocked on the door to announce his arrival, then used his key in the lock. After removing his boots at the back door, he strolled into the kitchen and sniffed the air appreciatively.
“Something smells good.”
“I’m cooking a pork roast with those little potatoes you like,” Wanda said, stirring something in a pot on the stove.
“You shouldn’t go to so much trouble,” he protested, bending down to kiss her cheek.
“It’s no trouble at all. And I only worked half a day today.”
When Vanessa had finished college, Wanda had decided that she could afford to cut back her hours again. Now she worked full days on Mondays and Wednesdays and every other Friday, and half days on Tuesdays and Thursdays.
“But—” she glanced at the clock “—you’re early.”
“I had an appointment out of the office this afternoon, so I came straight here after.”
“And I’m happy to see you,” she said. “But you’re in my way, so get yourself a drink and go into the living room to visit with your grandmother until dinner’s ready.”
“I could do that,” he said. “Or I could give you a hand in here.”
“The two I’ve got are plenty. I just need you out of my space.”
“Okay,” he relented, opening the refrigerator to retrieve a can of cola for himself and one of ginger ale for his grandmother. Then he filled a glass with ice, knowing that she didn’t like to drink out of the can.
Grandma Daisy looked up when he walked into the room, her hazel eyes lighting with pleasure. She’d moved into the bungalow after Grandpa Mike passed away three years earlier, not because she wasn’t capable of living on her own, as she made very clear to her family, but because she didn’t want to. And Wanda, feeling a little melancholy over the fact that her nest was empty now that Evan had a place of his own and Vanessa was living and teaching in Billings, had been glad for the company.
“There’s my favorite grandson,” Grandma Daisy greeted him now.
“You always say that when I’m the only one around,” he remarked in a dry tone.
“And that’s why you’re the smart one, too,” she said with a wink.
He couldn’t help but chuckle as he handed her the can of soda and the glass.
“Thank you.” She turned her head, offering her cheek.
He obediently touched his lips to the soft skin, breathing in the familiar scent of her White Shoulders perfume and shoving the niggling memory of that social media post firmly to the back of his mind.
“Now hand me my tote,” she said.
“You have a sudden urge to sketch my picture?” he teased, reaching for the bag.
“Cheeky boy,” she chastised, sliding her hand into the side pocket and pulling out the flask of Irish whiskey she kept stashed there.
He only grinned as she unscrewed the cap and added a generous splash to her glass of ice before topping it with the soda. He’d heard that seventy-five was the new sixty-five and couldn’t imagine anyone who personified that theory better than Grandma Daisy with her ageless style, endless energy and quick wit.
“And just for that—” she returned the flask to its not-so-secret hiding place “—I’m not going to tell you that I made apple crisp for dessert.”
“You don’t have to tell me—I saw it on the counter. But now I’m wondering...pork roast for dinner and apple crisp for dessert? What’s the occasion?”
“We knew that you were coming for dinner.”
“Because I’m here almost every Thursday.”
Grandma Daisy sipped her drink rather than point out that he tended to make more excuses than visits between Thanksgiving—coming up the following week—and the end of the year. “Now tell me about this Yuletide Ghost Tour I heard you’re going to be operating.”
In addition to teaching art at the local senior center, his grandmother belonged to a book club that met every Monday night and took a yoga class three days a week. As a result, she had a network of sources that ensured she was privy to all the latest gossip in town.
And because Grandma Daisy, more than anyone else in the family, seemed genuinely intrigued by his tall tales of alleged supernatural happenings and psychic events, he told her, even including details of his visit to Happy Hearts and the story of the ghost horses.
He stopped short of mentioning that he’d heard something that sounded like a woman crying when he was at the farm. Maybe because Callie’s meticulous research hadn’t turned up any mention of the spirit of the rancher’s daughter lingering, and in that moment, he’d been certain she was the woman he’d heard crying. But now that he was away from Happy Hearts, he wasn’t entirely sure that what he’d heard was anything worth mentioning.
It was quite possible, after all, that what he’d heard was a wild animal, as Daphne had suggested.
Or the wind.
Or maybe a creaky gate.
Or the wind moving
a creaky gate.
There were all kinds of reasonable and rational explanations for what he’d heard, and not one of them was a ghost.
So he shook off the discomfort he’d experienced, because ignoring and denying his feelings was one of the things he did best.
* * *
“You didn’t tell him,” Dorothea admonished Wanda after dinner had been eaten and Evan had gone, taking a container of leftover apple crisp with him.
“I know.” Her daughter sighed as she folded the tea towel over the handle of the oven door. “I was going to... I wanted to...but he seemed a little preoccupied tonight.”
“He’s always preoccupied, always thinking about the business,” she pointed out.
“He works hard,” Wanda acknowledged. “Maybe too hard.”
“He learned that from you,” Dorothea said. “And maybe, if he knew that you were finally enjoying life a little, he might be encouraged to do so, too.”
“Or he might freak out to hear that his mother has a boyfriend.” She shook her head. “Truthfully, it freaks me out a little. A boyfriend? At my age?”
“You’re fifty-five and, if you want my opinion, you’ve spent far too many of those fifty-five years alone.”
Dorothea had enjoyed five wonderful decades with her Michael before he was taken from her, and she was counting on the memories of those years to help her through however many she had left.
In addition to love, they’d been blessed with children, each one a joy—and occasionally a trial. Wanda had given them the least amount of grief. Sure, there had been some rough patches during her adolescence and teenage years but, on the whole, they’d had no major cause for complaint. And when Wanda started dating, they’d tried not to interfere, letting her make her own choices—even when she’d chosen Andrew Cruise.
Still, despite the end of the marriage, Dorothea knew her daughter had no regrets about the relationship that had given her two amazing children. And everything Wanda had done, she’d done in the best interests of her son and daughter. Though Evan and Vanessa were both grown now, it was a mother’s prerogative to worry, and she continued to do so.
“I wasn’t alone,” Wanda said now. “I was lucky to have both my kids and my parents.”
“And now you’ve got a man to remind you that you’re not just a mother and a daughter but a woman, too,” Dorothea said. “And you need to tell Evan about Sean before he hears about him from someone else.”
“He’s not going to hear about him from someone else.”
“Don’t be so sure,” she cautioned. “Because if you don’t tell him, I will.”
Wanda sighed again. “I just wish Evan would find someone special to share his life with. Of course, he’d have to have a life first.”
“He’ll figure things out eventually,” Dorothea said, wanting to assuage her daughter’s worries.
“Working so many nights can’t be conducive to building a relationship,” her daughter noted. “Do you think he’ll ever turn his attention to a more...mainstream kind of business?”
“Why would he want to when the business he has now is successful and growing?” she challenged.
“I probably shouldn’t be surprised that he managed to turn his penchant for scary stories into a vocation,” Wanda mused. “Do you remember how he used to terrify Vanessa when she was little? She slept in my bed almost every night for three years because she was afraid of ghosts coming into her room.”
“I remember that you thought Evan was making up the stories for attention after Andrew left.”
“Because he was. Even the doctor agreed. Thankfully, Vanessa stopped having nightmares when we moved in here—because Evan told her the house was too new to be haunted. Of course, that was after he refused to even step foot inside that cute split-level on West Street, insisting that something really bad had happened inside.” She shook her head. “He always did have a vivid imagination.”
“I think you’re forgetting that, almost two years later, the family that bought the house on West Street had a flood in the basement, and when they pulled off the ruined wallboard, they found the mummified corpse of the former owner’s mother in the wall.”
“I did forget that,” Wanda admitted, frowning now. “Are you suggesting that Evan somehow knew there was a human skeleton in the house?”
“I’m not suggesting anything,” Dorothea said. “I’m just pointing out that he wasn’t wrong to want to stay away.”
“I just wish I knew why he’s so determined to stay away from personal entanglements. I just want him to meet somebody special to share his life.”
“Don’t worry about Evan—when he meets the right woman, he won’t stand a chance.”
* * *
Daphne was nibbling on her thumbnail, a habit from childhood that she told herself she’d kicked a long time ago but occasionally fell into again when she was feeling anxious. The butterflies in her tummy were having trouble flitting through the tangle of knots, a sure sign that she was as nervous as she was excited.
Because tonight was the first presentation of the Yuletide Ghost Tour.
Evan had assured her that her presence wasn’t required, but she wanted to be there. Not just to ensure that his guests were respectful of the animals on the property, but to hear him tell the story of the fire—and to know if anyone heard anything else.
She’d been living on the farm for several months before she let herself acknowledge the sound that Evan had heard on his first visit. Of course, she’d tried to dismiss the mournful weeping as something—anything—other than a grieving ghost. But more than the sound, it was the feeling of sadness that weighed on Daphne’s heart, forcing her to recognize the tragedy that had happened on what was now her land and accept that Alice Milton was not resting in peace.
So she wanted to be there to gauge the reactions of Evan’s guests, but mostly, she just wanted to see him again.
He’d stopped by earlier that day with a contract outlining the terms and conditions of their agreement, including that Happy Hearts Animal Sanctuary would receive five dollars out of every Yuletide Ghost Tour ticket sold, a charitable donation rather than remuneration to ensure that each party would be held harmless in case of accident or injury on the property. But while he’d been reviewing the contract terms, she’d been thinking about how much she wanted him to kiss her.
Just one kiss, so that she’d know for certain that he was the one, as she’d told her brother.
Or to prove that she was making something out of nothing, as Jordan had suggested.
And maybe he was right.
Maybe she was starting to feel a little desperate because while she did hope to fall in love, get married and have a family of her own someday, she’d been growing increasingly skeptical that it would ever happen for her in this cattle ranching town. Her own fault, perhaps, for choosing to locate her animal sanctuary in Bronco, but she’d believed the pervasive ranching culture in the area was just one more reason that she needed to be here.
Of course, that knowledge didn’t lessen the sting of the whispers that circulated about her in town—and not always quietly. Many of the local residents thought she was a spoiled little rich girl thumbing her nose at Daddy. Worse was knowing that her father apparently believed the same thing, and that he sometimes referred to her shelter as Hippie Hearts, as if it was funny. As if her desire to help animals was nothing more than the punch line of a joke.
Cornelius had always chided his only daughter for her soft heart, warning that she wouldn’t survive life on a ranch if she didn’t grow a thicker skin. Instead of toughening up, she’d moved out.
But that had done nothing to reduce the tension between Daphne and her father, and whenever they disagreed about anything, he somehow managed to spin it so that he was the injured party. As he’d done the previous day, when she’d suggested bringing portobello mushrooms stuffed with eggpl
ant and Gorgonzola as her contribution to the family’s Thanksgiving meal. Cornelius had not only refused her offer, he’d gone on to complain to Jordan that Daphne had demanded their stepmother add vegetarian options to the menu when she’d done no such thing.
So maybe there was some validity to Jordan’s concern that she was trying too hard to find love simply because it had thus far proved elusive. At least until Evan showed up at the farm and her heart had started to full-out gallop inside her chest.
Still, a kiss didn’t seem like too much to ask as proof that he felt something, too.
Because so far, aside from a little bit of casual flirting, he’d been all about business. But maybe that was because their limited interactions had focused on his business, and hopefully that would change.
So after finishing her chores and feeding the animals, she’d showered and dressed in clean jeans and her favorite knitted turtleneck sweater. She’d dried her hair but left it untied, so that it fell to the middle of her back. After a brief internal debate, she dabbed a little bit of mascara onto her lashes and swiped some gloss over her lips. Not enough to be obvious—she hoped!—but enough to highlight her features. Then she tucked her feet into fleece-lined boots, slid her arms into the sleeves of her puffy coat and headed outside to wait for the van.
She remembered Brittany telling her that Bronco Ghost Tours offered year-round ninety-minute walking tours of the town’s haunted sites, but there was a fifteen-passenger van available for use in inclement weather and extreme temperatures. Since Happy Hearts wasn’t exactly on the beaten path, she suspected that the group would have come by van even if the air temperature hadn’t been well below freezing.
She saw the vehicle’s headlights in the distance before she heard the crunch of tires on gravel, and the butterflies in her tummy started fluttering around again. Evan stopped the van beside the house rather than pulling up closer to the barn to avoid disturbing the animals.
A Cowboy's Christmas Carol Page 4