by Ann Charles
Ray leaned back in his chair, clasping his hands behind his head, kicking his Tony Lama boots up onto his desktop. His icy blue eyes locked onto mine. “I don’t want a Calamity Jane Realty sign sitting in Wanda Carhart’s front yard. It would be a black mark on the reputation that I’ve worked damned hard to build for this office.”
My neck bristled. Of all the elitist, arrogant, pompous—
“That’s a legitimate point.” Mona interrupted my mental rant, surprising me by siding with Ray.
My tattered eyebrows shot to the top of my forehead. “What?”
Ray’s gloating grin made me want to grab my stapler and play whack-a-mole on his pearly whites.
“I’m not saying I agree completely with him, but as agents of Calamity Jane Realty, we need to appear as professional and trustworthy as possible. The locations we choose to represent reflect on our character. Our feelings for the client can’t cloud our judgment.”
I opened my mouth to object, but then thought of my handful of clients and how fuzzy the dividing line was between my personal and professional relationships.
Old Man Harvey now came for dinner a couple of nights a week. Jeff Wymonds and I took turns babysitting each other’s kids. Wolfgang Hessler had wined and dined me before trying to sacrifice me to appease his dead sister’s ghost. Doc and I had knocked boots once already, and given the opportunity, I’d most likely do it again. That left Detective Cooper, Harvey’s favorite nephew, who was on my calendar for a business lunch tomorrow. Lord only knew what was going to come of that.
I snapped my jaw closed, a guilty blush heating my neck. A glance at Mona’s half-smile confirmed that she and I were in sync on her unspoken meaning.
“I didn’t agree to sell the Carhart house,” I told both of them. No need to explain that Harvey had already talked me out of taking on the Carharts as clients because of the family’s recent tragedy. “I just said I’d go up to Lead and look at it.”
Ray snorted. “That’s a waste of time.”
“What Violet chooses to do with her time is her business, Ray.”
“Thank you, Mona.”
“You’re welcome.” She pushed her glasses up her nose and returned to clacking away on her keyboard. “But you might want to take a look at the clock. You’re running late.”
“Crap!” The home inspector was probably at Doc’s house already, waiting to be let inside. I grabbed my keys.
“Try not to burn the house down this time, Blondie.”
“You should take something for that impulsive oral discharge, Ray.” I slung my purse over my shoulder, giving him my sweetest smile. “Before someone plugs your pie hole with her size eights.”
* * *
I cruised along back streets to Doc’s new place, during which I tried not to think about the Carhart women and their sad state of affairs. A small part of me felt akin to them on the social pariah front.
The home inspector waited for me in the shade on the gabled porch of what would soon be Doc’s Queen-Anne-style beauty. The guy’s gray polo shirt stuck to his super-sized belly in several dark spots.
I scurried up the porch steps, trying to smile away my tardiness. “Sorry I’m late.”
He grunted, his red face rigid. Sweat ran down the side of his double chin.
So much for small talk during the inspection. I unlocked the front door and pushed it wide; the air rushing out to greet us was stale, but cool. I followed him inside, my nose wrinkling. God, I should have brought a can of air freshener along. He must have rooted in a plate of red onions for lunch.
Leaving the inspector to work his magic, I detoured to the kitchen, thirsty from the heat. A small stack of disposable cups sat next to the sink.
I stared out into the backyard as I drank the lukewarm water, watching a dragonfly flicker around the birdbath, wondering what the Carhart house looked like. The way Ray had protested, I imagined another redneck kegger-mess like Jeff Wymonds’ place, with junk cars overflowing the driveway and coffee cans full of used oil sitting about like yard lights. With Jeff’s project house already on my plate, I didn’t need a second.
Something thumped under my feet. The inspector must have found the door to the crawlspace on his own.
Would any agent want to represent the Carhart house after the horror that had occurred within its walls? There was no way Millie and Wanda could pull off a For-Sale-By-Owner. They were way too timid, especially Wanda. Not to mention the amount of energy and stress that came with FSBO’s. They really needed a professional to guide them through all the paperwork.
What would drive someone to bludgeon his own father with a rolling pin? It must have been marble; a wood one probably wouldn’t have been hard enough. Or would it? I recoiled at the direction of my thoughts and dumped the last swallow of water down the sink.
“Hello, Violet.”
Jerking in surprise, I dropped the cup and whirled around. “What are you doing here?”
Doc leaned against the counter, his usual lazy grin on his lips, dark hair ruffled, hands in his pockets. Wearing a pair of blue cargo shorts and a white T-shirt that emphasized his broad shoulders, he looked tanner than he had the last time I’d ogled him. “Awaiting the inspector’s report,” he answered.
“I thought you couldn’t make it.”
“Something changed my priorities.”
“What?”
His dark brown eyes held mine. “You.”
“I haven’t even talked to you.” Not that I hadn’t tried—for almost two damned weeks now! “Only your voicemail.” I couldn’t resist that little dig.
“Frustrated?” He prodded back.
Hell, yes! “A little. But only as your Realtor, of course.”
His smile widened. “Of course.”
More muffled thumps below reminded me that we weren’t the only two people on Earth. “The inspector is under the house,” I said. Pride held a tight rein on my tongue, keeping me from asking why Doc hadn’t bothered to call me back.
“So I hear.” His gaze made a leisurely crawl down to my painted toes and back up. “Great dress. It matches your eyes.”
“Thanks.” I straightened my green wrap dress; a blush heated my cheeks and spread south. I fanned myself with my hand. Dang it! How was it he could make me feel naked when I was fully clothed?
“I like those shoes.”
“They were a Christmas present.” My mother fed my shoe addiction annually—not that Doc cared about my gifts from Santa.
“But I prefer your purple boots.”
I shivered at the memory of digging my boot heels into his bare flesh and then fanned harder, my internal temperature spiraling out of control. “Doc, what are you doing?”
“Making small talk while we wait for the inspector to finish.”
“Right.” Bullshit. “What are you really doing here?”
“Harvey called me.”
I groaned. I should have known.
“He said you were on the verge of signing a listing agreement to sell another albatross.”
My blush roasted even hotter, fueled by exasperation. “Harvey has a bucket mouth.”
“So you’ve mentioned before. Do you think this is a good idea after what happened last time?”
I aimed my index finger at Doc. “Let’s get something straight here. It’s nobody’s business but mine which houses I contract to sell.”
Having sex with me didn’t give Doc the right to question my actions, especially if sex wasn’t going to become a hobby for us.
He raised a brow. “Maybe so, but you do tend to have a nose for trouble.”
“Leave my nose out of this.”
“But it’s a cute nose.”
My libido sat up and panted for more. “Quit trying to distract me with your flirting.”
“Is it working?”
“No.” I glanced away from his dark chocolate eyes before my underwear caught fire.
“Then why is your cute little nose twitching?”
We both knew
why, for the same reason I was rotten at playing poker.
I heard footfalls going up the stairs. The inspector was heading north, probably into the attic.
Sighing, I rubbed my forehead. There were so many questions I wanted to ask Doc, so many answers I needed to know about us—if there even was an “us.” But baring my soul like that, risking the ultimate rejection, scared the living daylights out of me. “So, let me guess. You think my selling the Carhart place is a bad idea?”
“If that’s the albatross, then yes.”
“Because it will add further damage to my already tarnished reputation?”
“Partly.”
I stared at him, waiting to hear what the other part was to his reasoning. When he didn’t elaborate, I nodded about nothing. “Okay, then. Your opinion has been heard. Shall we head upstairs to see how Mr. Inspector is doing?”
I didn’t wait for an answer, moving past Doc toward the main stairs.
“Violet.” He caught my arm, stopping me.
I looked over my shoulder at him. The grin was gone from his face, a furrowed brow in its place. “What?”
“This could be dangerous.”
“Are we still talking about the Carhart house?”
“Yes.” His frown deepened. “And no.”
I glared. I couldn’t help it. It was that or pinch him. “Have I ever told you how much I adore the way you speak in riddles?” I tugged my arm free and tightened the belt to my dress. “I mean, really, is this some kind of special torture you save just for me? Because I certainly don’t see you spinning Harvey in circles.”
“I spin you in circles?”
A fresh dew of anger coated my skin. I dropped the professional veneer. “Yes, damn it. You do. With this whole hot-for-me one moment and then cold-as-a-glacier the next. I’m beginning to think I’m just some kind of plaything for you. A little toy to keep you from getting bored.”
A muscle ticked in his jaw, but still nothing from him but a scowl.
I threw my hands in the air. “This is exactly what I’m talking about! You can obviously see how twisted up I am about you, about us—about what happened back in your office. Yet you just stand there, cool as an emperor penguin in the middle of an Antarctic winter.” I huffed, which did little to calm me. I needed some space—and to stop letting my son talk me into watching the National Geographic Channel so often. “I’m going upstairs.”
“No!” He moved so fast that my back was up against the kitchen wall before I realized he’d moved. He loomed over me, the woodsy scent of his cologne cranking up my senses. “You think you’re the only one messed up inside? The only one confused as hell?”
“Yes ... I did, anyway. But with that crazed look in your eyes right now, I’m starting to have some doubts.”
“Why do you think I left town for a while and didn’t return your calls?”
That was the million dollar question. “You wanted to see more of America?”
The intensity lining his face softened. “Not quite.”
“Inquiring minds would like to know.”
“I can’t stop thinking about you.” His gaze fell on my mouth. “Or your boots.”
“So you left town? Sheesh, you’re hard on a girl’s self-esteem.”
“This thing between you and me—” He loosened his grip on my shoulders, trailing his fingers down my arms, his eyes climbing back to mine. “It’s a little unnerving.”
“Unnerving?” I laughed. I couldn’t help it. “Spoken by a man who claims to be able to sniff out ghosts and frolic with the spirit world.”
During the long days and nights since our last encounter, I hadn’t forgotten about Doc’s so-called ability to interact with the dead. As a matter of fact, I’d gone so far as to check out a couple of books at the Deadwood library about some of history’s most famous psychics, mediums, and clairvoyants—which probably hadn’t helped my newfound reputation for ghost-loving, judging from the raised eyebrow I caught from the starchy librarian.
“Shhh.” Doc pointed at the ceiling, his voice low. “That’s different. I can control that a little.” He paused before adding, “Well, sometimes.”
Ah, there it was, the heart of our problem. “You don’t like to be out of control.”
“You do?”
“Doc, I have two kids—twins, with no father on the scene since their conception. My life’s been twirling out of control since the day they popped into this world.”
His frown returned. “I like to at least think I have some control.”
“I’m more interested in what you’re going to do about this.”
“I’m still working on that. There’s a lot at stake here.”
“Yes, there is.” As in me and my feelings.
“I don’t want to hurt you, Violet.”
This was getting way too serious for a Wednesday. All I wanted was Doc to return my phone calls for a change. Everything else could just wait. I tried to lighten things up with a fake smile. “Don’t worry. My skin is tough. Rhinos have nothing on me.”
Doc’s fingers skimmed back up to my shoulders, then slid around and cupped the back of my neck. “Don’t take on the Carhart house.”
“I probably won’t.”
His chuckle came from deep in his chest. “Is that as far as you’re going to bend?”
“On this subject, yes. But I’m willing to bend a lot more for other purposes.”
He leaned toward me, his eyes focusing on my lips. “If that’s a come-on, it’s working.”
“It’s not a come-on.” I rose up on my tiptoes, closing the distance, clutching his T-shirt. “It’s a shut-up-and-kiss-me.”
“Uhhh-hmmmm.” Someone cleared his throat.
The inspector. Crud! Where’d he come from? I hadn’t heard his footfalls.
Doc groaned and pulled free of my grip, bee-lining out of the kitchen before I could catch my breath.
Every cell blushing, I stepped away from the wall and tried to act as if I hadn’t been about to play tongue twister with the home’s future owner.
The inspector avoided my gaze. “I need to check out your plumbing.”
Doc’s bark of laughter coming from the other room made my skin tinge even redder. The inspector’s jowls darkened.
“I mean the plumbing,” he said, staring at the clipboard in his hands. “Here. In the kitchen.”
“Yeah, sure. Have at it.” I couldn’t escape the room fast enough.
I found Doc sitting on a stair step, staring at the closed front door. Dropping onto the step next to him, I clasped my hands so they wouldn’t wander his way. My mind fumbled for a safe subject. “Have you been in the Carhart house?”
“Nope. Where is it?”
“Lead.” I dropped my voice to a whisper. “You think there’s a ghost in it?”
Doc looked at me for a long pause, his eyes narrowed. “You don’t believe in ghosts, remember?”
“Maybe I’ve changed my mind about that.”
“Have you?”
“Not really.” I didn’t think so, anyway. “I need some proof.”
“If it were only that easy.” Doc turned back to the front door. “I don’t know if there’s a ghost or not. I haven’t been in the place.”
“You interested in finding out?”
“Violet, stop right there.”
“What? I’m just saying you could come with me this afternoon when I go.”
“Why are you even going?”
“I told them I’d come.”
“You could just call them.”
“We have an appointment. You’re a businessman. You know what that means.”
He nudged my knee with his. “You just want to see the house where the murders occurred.”
“Maybe.” A dark curiosity had been growing inside of me since Harvey had mentioned the chilling event.
“I can’t join you. I also have an appointment.”
With whom? When Doc wasn’t sniffing out ghosts, he was running his own financial planning
business. I looked forward to the day when I could talk money with Doc. But until I had more than a pocketful of finances that wasn’t already earmarked for my kids, I could only stand on the sidelines and watch.
“But you’re not going to sell that house, right?”
“Probably not.”
“Violet.”
“What?”
His cell phone chirped. He kept his focus on me as he dug it from his pocket. “Promise me.”
“Come on. What are we? Ten?”
“I know you, Violet. You don’t have to seek out trouble. It finds you.” Whatever was on his phone’s screen made him grimace.
“Then what’s the use of me making a promise?”
“Humor me.” He stood, pocketing his phone. “I have to go.”
“Where?”
The inspector chose that moment to interrupt again. “I need the key to the detached garage.”
Doc opened the front door. “Promise me, Violet.”
“Doc—” I stood.
“If you could just give me the key, I can wrap this up.” And get the hell out of here, the look on the inspector’s face finished his sentence.
“Just a second. It’s in my purse in the kitchen.”
“Violet.” Doc pressed, straddling the threshold.
“Doc, I ...” I didn’t know why I was hesitating.
“Lady, the key.”
“Just say it, Violet.”
“Fine!” I yelled. “I promise. Happy now?” I glared at both men in turn.
“I will be, lady,” the inspector said, “as soon as you give me the damned key.”
Doc shut the door behind him, the sound of his laughter seeping through the seams.
Chapter Three
The inspector didn’t stick around long after Doc left. Either the house and garage were in tip-top shape, or I unknowingly had leprosy. I hoped it was the former as I watched him lumber down the sidewalk to his pickup and disappear in a belch of stinky black exhaust.
With an hour to spare before I had to show up on the Carharts’ welcome mat, I headed home for lunch. Call it mother’s intuition, but something told me that I needed to check on my kids to make sure they weren’t dissecting road kill on the front porch or creating awesome fireballs with the microwave again.