With ghosts like these, who needs TAPS?
If Dana Cummings was inclined to list the best ways to meet men, having one arrest her for burglary—during a tornado, no less—wouldn’t be in the top ten. Dating isn’t high on her agenda, period. She’s sworn to never again fall for know-it-all men with fiery gazes and devastating smiles.
Besides, she’s only in Wyoming to help her eccentric aunt find out if horny ghosts really do haunt the family bed. And hopefully bust a hellacious case of writer’s block. Extracurricular activity with a gruff, hunky lawman is off limits, even if he does fire her libido.
Witnessing too much of life’s seedy side led Brennan Marshall to live by three simple rules: work hard, play hard, and never fall for a sweet-faced female with a witty tongue and snappy comebacks. Especially the ones with a dollop of vulnerability—like Dana. But their razor-sharp sexual tension cuts right through his defenses and leads them on a dangerous journey.
One that will test the limits of their beliefs—and could cost their lives.
This book has been previously published.
Warning: Contains sexy ghosts doing the hunka chunka in the basement, red hot love scenes, and “spirited” language. Not responsible for paranormal hanky panky that reading this book may stir up.
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This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Samhain Publishing, Ltd.
577 Mulberry Street, Suite 1520
Macon GA 31201
Marshall’s Law
Copyright © 2010 by Denise A. Agnew
ISBN: 978-1-60504-867-3
Edited by Bethany Morgan
Cover by Angela Waters
All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
First Samhain Publishing, Ltd. electronic publication: January 2010
www.samhainpublishing.com
Marshall’s Law
Denise A. Agnew
Dedication
To my own “Brennan”, Terrance Brennan Agnew.
Chapter One
Thunder roared overhead and startled Dana Cummings as she drove her Taurus into the long driveway of Aunt Lucille’s old Victorian home.
Sheet lightning arched through the clouds surrounding the mountain town of Macon, Wyoming. Dana held back a vehement curse as a hard gust slammed against the car. Trepidation tightened her arm and leg muscles. Wind had buffeted her vehicle for the last few miles. Towering thunderheads gathered overhead, deepening to purple and black mixed with green.
Not exactly an appealing sight.
Good thing no one had accompanied her on this road trip. They would think she’d lost every brain cell in her possession. Whenever something unpleasant threatened, like a tooth extraction or an impending visit to the Motor Vehicle Department, Dana broke into self-chatter that had others looking askance at her.
She took a firmer grip on the steering wheel as wind tried to shove the car to one side of the dirt driveway. Muttering another choice obscenity, she snail-crawled the car up to the house.
Tall ponderosa pines surrounded the home, guarding the building like towering sentinels. “Perfect atmosphere for a haunting.”
Static sizzled over the radio. “Well, folks,” the announcer said, “this is Charlie at WKNR and the big one seems to be hitting us right now. Conditions are ripe for a tornado. Please stay tuned to this station for more information. Keep your eyes on the skies with WKNR.”
“Lovely.” Dana sighed. “Figures. Perfect. Just perfect.”
Lightning streaked across the darkening sky, and thunder crashed.
Dana winced. “Whoa.”
Her reaction seemed to introduce the storm’s opening fury. Clouds burst, sending horizontal rain slashing across the windshield. Nothing like a good old-fashioned frog-strangler storm in August.
The DJ came on again. “Received a—”
Static broke his voice.
“Too many calls at present. Just keep tuned for updates. If you hear—”
Static obscured the man’s voice again.
She scanned for another radio station and received nothing but white noise.
“Probably isn’t another station in this itsy bitsy town.” She glanced at the house and noted the dark windows. Aunt Lucille had said she’d be home, but there was no sign of her station wagon.
Instead, the place looked scary and empty. Like something Dana would create for one of her novels.
Think I can settle in Macon long enough to find more inspiration for another horror novel? Like Stephen King, I could start writing most of my novels set in a particular state like Wyoming. The Macon Horror. Yeah, that’s it. No. The Macon Demon. The Macon Menace. Ugh. How completely unoriginal and banal.
“Fat chance in hell.”
So much for vacation optimism.
Aunt Lucille had moved into the Victorian house three months ago and had heard strange noises emanating from the basement. Weird and crazy sounds.
Dana didn’t know whether to believe her aunt or not, and that had precipitated this trip as much as other annoying factors.
Of course, if Aunt Lucille did have a ghost in her house, it might spark some intriguing ideas for the novel Dana had started a couple months back. Maybe. Hopefully.
What more could she ask for?
A couple nights in bed with a gorgeous man.
“Shut up,” she said to her subconscious.
Dana turned off the ignition and the Taurus sputtered, then died.
Patting the dashboard, she smiled grimly. “I hope to you were just coughing bugs out of the grille, Bertha.”
As the unrelenting storm pounded the car, Dana decided she would make a mad dash for the front door. She scrambled out of the car. Rain soaked through her short denim jacket and T-shirt. Lightning rammed across the sky. She flinched as thunder rattled her nerves.
Good. She’d made it to the porch intact. Sighing in relief, she clasped the ring suspended on a chain around her neck. She fingered her father’s gold college ring and looked into the dull blue glass facets. How many times had she touched this jewelry and polished it for luck like a superstitious person rubbed a bald man’s head?
As she shook water out of her hair, she rang the doorbell. Several moments passed. Lucille didn’t answer. Dana tried knocking on the door and ringing the doorbell again. Nothing. She shivered. Right now a hot tub and a steaming cup of green tea sounded great.
“A hot tub, a cup of tea and a sizzling man.”
Now wouldn’t that be a nice combination? She smiled.
Thunder cracked overhead. She put her hands over her ears and squeezed her eyes shut. Rain slanted onto the porch, splattering her shoes. She let her hands drop from her ears.
“Oh God.” Funnel clouds, ripe to create havoc, lowered over Macon. “This is not good.”
Dana knew what she had to do. Get inside to the basement. She remembered Aunt Lucille kept a spare key hidden inside the garden shed.
More rain landed on her legs and shoes. She had to take shelter. If a tornado came, she couldn’t afford to be caught in the open.
“It’s now or never.”
She ran down the steps and rounded the left side of the house to the detached garage. To her surprise, Aunt Lucille’s garage door was open about three inches. After she yanked
up the garage door, Dana rushed inside the dim interior. Her aunt’s station wagon sat inside.
“What on earth?” Mild panic, supplied by the storm lashing outside, surged into Dana’s system. “If Lucille’s car is here—”
A burst of light and thunder heralded a close hit that almost vaulted her out of her shoes. She gave a startled shriek. She left the garage and ran for the shed nearby.
She’d gone three steps when a branch ripped from a pine near her and sailed through the air toward her. She lunged sideways. Not good enough. The limb caught her across the top of the shoulders and the back of her head. Pain slammed through her, and as she landed face first onto wet pine needles, her breath whooshed from her in a rush. She gasped for air and blackness threatened. Struggling for oxygen, she managed to suck air into her lungs. She groaned, reaching for consciousness and the awareness of rough ground beneath her cheek. Dana’s fingers dug into the earth as she pulled herself up on her hands and knees and shook her head to clear the fuzziness. Stumbling to her feet, she staggered toward the garden shed. She couldn’t afford to pass out now.
She jerked open the door and reached inside where the light toggle should be. She flicked the switch and got—nothing. Electricity out. A terrific crash of thunder made her start. She fumbled around trying to prop the door open. If she couldn’t see, how would she find the little metal key holder Aunt Lucille promised to leave inside the door? Touching a metal garden shed while lightning streaked overhead wasn’t exactly a good idea.
Seconds later, she found the key holder and let out a hoot. “Hot damn!”
She left the shed, slammed the door, then ran toward the back of the house. Aunt Lucille had said the key opened the back door only. Not only did Dana need to take shelter, but if something had happened to Aunt Lucille, she had to get inside and help her. Dana knew she’d never forgive herself if she didn’t check on her aunt.
Shaking off dire thoughts, she pulled open the screen door and jammed the key in the lock. For a moment it wouldn’t go all the way in and she made an impatient noise. “Come on, come on, come on.” She twisted the handle. It wouldn’t budge. She tried pulling the key out of the doorknob. It came out halfway then stuck. She gave the key another yank and it slid from the doorknob, and took a healthy chunk of the skin on her index finger along with it. “Ow!”
Pain lanced through her right hand. Blood seeped from the side of the offended digit.
“Sheriff’s Department! Hold it right there!”
Another yelp erupted from Dana as her heart crammed into her throat. She whirled around. “What the…”
A large, mean-looking dude stood several feet away, leveling a gun at her. He held the weapon in his right hand, his left hand supporting his right wrist. His stance, slightly bent at the knees, suggested law enforcement. His attire did not.
Water dripped off the man’s tan baseball cap and straight into his just-below-the-collar length dark hair. His red-checkered flannel shirt over a tight, dark T-shirt said lumberjack, and so did his slim-fitting jeans and brown boots. With a week’s worth of beard and mustache on his face and a don’t-mess-with-me scowl, he looked ready for anything. Including shooting her where she stood.
Now that she thought about it, she’d been A-number-one stupid for whirling around like that. He could have gotten trigger-happy and shot her butt off.
Her hands went up. “Hey, wait a minute—”
“Don’t move.” His words came like bullets fired without mercy. “What do you think you’re doing, breaking into this house?”
Fear slid into instant hacked-off and ready to rumble. She’d about had enough of today. She glared at him. “Trying to get inside before I drown. What does it look like? In case you haven’t noticed, it’s raining like Beelzebub, and it looks like a tornado—”
The warning siren went off, wailing over her words. Fright rocketed through her. Any minute now she’d either be sucked up by a tornado or arrested by this weird-looking lawman. She could see the headlines now. Best-selling horror novelist inhaled by tornado. The body has yet to be found. Or best-selling horror novelist’s fame cut short by out-of-control policeman in little Wyoming town.
The so-called lawman uttered a curse and ran toward her. “Get in the house now.”
“But—”
“Don’t have time to argue.” He ran onto the small porch and stuffed the gun back into a shoulder holster under his lumberjack flannel. “Get inside.”
“It won’t open. That’s what I was trying to do when you showed up and scared me half to death.”
Sending her a searing, I-don’t-give-flying-flip look, he jiggled the doorknob, then grabbed the key out of her hand when she held it out to him. He tried jamming the key in the lock. “This isn’t the right key. Stand back.”
He growled as he took a swift kick at the door and it flew open, sailing with a tremendous bang against the wall. Before she could protest, he grabbed her right arm and shoved her inside. He latched onto her arm again. “Gotta take shelter.”
“The basement?”
“The basement.”
He tugged her through the utility room and into the living room. One set of stairs led upstairs, the other down. She went down the steps ahead of him. On the carpeted stairs she almost lost her footing and overcorrected as she leaned back.
He caught her arms to steady her. “Watch out. Hurry up.”
“I am hurrying.” Dana plunged down the steps and almost fell forward into the basement.
“The bathroom.” He grabbed her hand and raced past the pool table, the ping-pong table, and the bar.
As they passed a king size, heart-shaped bed, Dana rammed her toe into one of the legs, and as pain zipped through her she let out a howl. She hopped on one foot. “Damn it all to hell.”
Law Man pulled her into the tiny bathroom and shoved her toward the bathtub. “Get in.”
She held back. “We need the mattress as a shield.”
“No time and it’s too big. Won’t fit through the door.”
A roaring sound echoed overhead, and Dana let out a gasp. “Oh God. It’s coming. It’s coming.” For a few seconds stark terror arched through her, and she linked gazes with the man. His dark, chocolate eyes registered that same fear, then cleared into determination.
She hopped into the bathtub.
Before she could say a word, he climbed into the tub and stretched over her, his weight smashing her. She wanted to protest, but she knew he had a good reason for plastering himself to her like moss on a log.
Along her length Dana felt nothing but rock-solid man. He covered her head with his arms and buried his face in her neck. As the roar above them increased, she felt a shudder ripple through his body and into hers. She thought she might suffocate.
His voice came harsh and rough. “Keep your eyes closed. Hang on to me.”
She followed the stranger’s command, wound her arms around his trim waist and held on with all her strength. Above them, the roar increased and Dana’s heart hammered. Her ears popped, and she couldn’t get her breath.
Darkness swirled in front of her vision. Oh, damn. As the earth seemed to tremble all around them, she let the blessed blackness envelop her.
Chapter Two
Heat. Hardness. Warmth. Protection. A gentle touch along her cheek.
The weight pressing down on Dana lifted somewhat. She inhaled and caught blessed oxygen and a musk scent that teased her senses. Her arms remained wrapped around his waist. Convulsively, her fingers dug into hard muscle. It felt good to have an anchor in the swirling world. Her temples throbbed, and her neck ached. His rapid breath puffed against her ear. Something unyielding pressed against her side. His gun.
Someone cupped her face and Dana thought she felt a callused thumb caress her cheek.
“Hey, you all right?” A husky, rumbling voice prodded her into consciousness. “Come on, talk to me.”
“Yeah,” she croaked.
Anxiety mixed with her dazed state. Shudders rolled
through her body. She held back a moan as she opened her eyes to semi-darkness. An amalgamation of anger and worry mingled in the depths of his eyes. His hair, still soaked, dripped water onto her face. She swiped at the tickling liquid, and his penetrating gaze narrowed again. He brushed his fingers over the other side of her neck and held up fingers smeared with blood.
“You’re bleeding. Where are you hurt?” he asked sharply, and levered himself away from her. He climbed out of the tub and knelt next to it as she sat up.
“I’m fine.”
He tore off some toilet paper and wiped his hands.
Then she remembered. “Aunt Lucille!”
“Easy. Take it easy.”
Mortification.
She’d wanted to be brave, and, instead she’d wimped out under the strain. Very heroine like. Put that in a book, why don’tcha?
“We’re alive.” Dana looked around the bathroom and realized it remained intact. “We’ve got to look for my aunt.”
She jumped over the side of the tub and ran for the door, the big man following close behind. She rushed up the stairs, calling her aunt’s name. As they searched the house looking in each room, Dana’s stomach tumbled. If anything had happened to Aunt Lucille, she didn’t know what she’d do.
“I don’t think she’s here,” the man said as they checked the bedrooms.
“And how do you know my aunt isn’t here? Her station wagon is in the garage. And she was expecting me this afternoon.”
“I don’t know. I came to check on Lucille and warn her to watch out for the weather. That’s when I saw your car.”
“And you automatically assumed a burglar was trying to get into the house?”
One corner of his mouth lifted in a half smile. “No, ma’am. Not until I saw the shed door open and heard someone cursing and rattling the back door. Besides, she doesn’t use that kind of language.”
She wanted to make another scathing comment, but realized she didn’t have one in her ammunition right now. Not only that, this man may have saved her life. There was no reason to get snippy with him. Fear made her agitated and uneasy.
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