by Cindy Miles
“Allie?”
She blinked, turned, and grabbed clean panties and a bra from another drawer. Tossing them both on the bed, she glanced over at her nearly transparent friend. “Yes?”
“Tsk-tsk, love. Lost in your thoughts, hmm?”
Allie mock frowned. “Mind your beeswax, pal. I was just thinking about what I might learn tonight.”
The crooked grin on Dauber’s face stretched deep across his cheeks. “Indeed.”
“Well,” Allie said with a clap. “I am going to shower and then rest before dinner.” She cocked her head. “What are you going to do? Tell me you’re not going to sit in here and watch me sleep.”
Dauber flicked an imaginary bit of something from his sleeve. “Whilst a favorite pastime of mine, indeed, the watching over of you, I think instead I shall wander down to the wharf. Quite an interesting town, so it seems.” He gave a nod and another smile. “Until later, love.”
Dauber faded until he disappeared.
“Bye,” Allie said to herself. She smiled at the space of air her friend had just occupied, scooped up her overnight bag containing shampoo, conditioner, razor, lotion, soap, and other girl stuff, and stepped out into the hallway. She scooted across to the bathroom, anxious to wash the ten hours of airport/airplane germs from her hair and body. Then, she thought, a nice cozy nap before dinner . . .
Slowly, Allie cracked open first one eye, then the other. At first foggy, her vision adjusted to the dim, hazy late-afternoon light in the room.
As well as to the small figure standing beside her bed. A young boy. Staring. Scowling.
Allie blinked, and for a split second the outline of another figure—a woman?—stood directly behind the boy. It quickly vanished.
“Are you here to oust me mates from my home?”
Allie turned on her side and propped her head on the heel of her hand. She studied the boy. Auburn hair, with an adorable cowlick just off-center at the forehead, a creamy complexion, and the widest, bluest pair of eyes she’d ever seen. A half dozen tiny freckles trekked over his nose.
At present, those very blue eyes scrunched into an accusing stare.
“Well, are you?” he said in a strong Highland brogue.
Allie looked him directly in the eye. “I wouldn’t think of it.” She smiled, sat up, and stuck out her hand. “My name is Allie.”
The young boy, who looked to be about six or seven, gave her another in-depth inspection, and gripped her hand in a surprisingly strong shake. “Aye. And I’m Jake.” He cocked his head to the side. “Are you going to stay here, then?”
“For a while.” Allie rubbed her jaw. “You’re the boy I saw downstairs when I first came in. Do you live here?”
“Aye.” He toed a knot in the wooden floor. “Me mates says you are here to oust them.” He narrowed his eyes. “You’re no’, are you?”
“What do you think?”
One narrow shoulder lifted in a shrug. “Me da says aye.”
“Indeed, miss,” a voice said from out of nowhere.
“We do know for a fact your employed intentions.”
Had Allie not been completely used to ghosts and spirits materializing out of thin air, she would have yelped when the two young spectered gentlemen sifted through the wall and came to stand before her. Instead, she gave a short nod and smiled. “How do you do?”
Both gave a slight bow, and the shorter one, who still topped her by several inches, met her gaze. “I fear I’ve seen better days, miss. Himself has indeed employed you, aye?”
“Himself?” she asked.
“Gabe MacGowan,” the other answered. “Proprietor of this inn and pub.”
Allie nodded. “Right. Well, yes, he did.”
“So you are here to oust them?” Jake said.
Allie turned to the young boy. “Well, no—”
“Run along and wash up, lad. Supper’s ready.”
At the deep, gruff voice, Allie turned. The two ghostly men had vanished. Gabe stood in the doorway, arms crossed, expression stern. He didn’t make eye contact with Allie.
Jake looked at Allie, closed his eyes briefly, and gave a very grown-up, very aristocratic nod. “Until later, miss.” Then he scrambled from the room.
Allie rubbed her arms. “Cute kid. Your son?”
Gabe studied Allie for several seconds before answering. His face revealed nothing but indifference. “Aye. He willna be botherin’ you again.” He turned to go. “Supper’s ready. We’ll discuss your employment matters afterward.”
“Wait,” Allie said, rising and walking toward the door. “He wasn’t bothering me at all.”
Gabe stopped. Green eyes regarded her, and finally, he gave a nod—very similar to Jake’s. “Verra well.” He glanced at her arms, which she continued to rub with vigor. He frowned. “I’ll show you where the peat is kept so you won’t bloody freeze to death up here.”
With that, he left.
Allie stared after him, shook her head, and blew out a gusty sigh. “I just don’t get him. He’s so, so . . .”
Stodgy, a deep, amused voice whispered in her ear.
Allie shrugged. Maybe. Or maybe not . . .
With that thought in mind, she left the room, her prepaid phone card in her pocket, to call her mom and sisters before the time grew too late.
Chapter 3
“I dunna want to leave, Da,” Jake said. “Captain Catesby and the others are me best mates.”
Gabe inspected his son’s face in the mirror. They’d been Gabe’s best mates as a lad, as well. Still were, truth be told, but he’d never say it out loud. “You missed a spot.” He inclined his head. “Just there, at your chin.”
Jake took his washcloth and scrubbed at the smudge. “I dunna want to leave Sealladh na Mara, though. Da—”
“Stop your whining, lad, and finish up here. We’ll talk about this later.”
With a scowl, the boy met his gaze with eyes that reminded Gabe every day of Jake’s mother. “Aye.” And with that he hurried off.
Gabe stared at his own face in the mirror. Rubbing his eyes, he thought he looked as though he hadn’t slept for a solid week.
Actually, it’d been a bloody month. Ever since the dreams had returned . . .
He rubbed a hand over his jaw. Paler than usual skin. Scruffy cheeks. Dark circles beneath his eyes. He looked like the living dead.
He wondered what the American thought.
That thought pulled his mouth into a frown.
After a quick wash, he stomped out of the two-room apartment he and Jake shared on the second floor of Odin’s Thumb and made his way to the kitchen.
As he entered the dim interior of the pub, his gaze landed on Ms. Morgan straight away. Perched on a bar stool and cast in the amber glow of the Victorian lamp beside her, with that blond mass of curls pulled back and standing out stark against the black jumper she wore, she spoke with her hands as she animatedly talked to Willy, the grumpy fishmonger from next door who never spoke more than a few grunts of acknowledgment to Gabe.
Just then, old Willy barked out a laugh. Gabe blinked. Willy never laughed.
“Come, lad, and give me a hand with this, aye?”
Gabe broke from his thoughts at the request and turned to his aunt, Wee Mary—preferring Wee rather than Aunt—whose gray-shot red head poked through a crack in the kitchen door. “If ye can stop ogling the lass long enough to help us with this cod?” With a devilish grin, Wee Mary stepped back into the kitchen.
Gabe pushed open the door and followed his auntie, who came no higher than his ribs. She threw him one of the heavy canvas aprons hanging on an iron hook against the far wall. Slipping it over his head, he tied it round his back. “I’m no’ ogling, woman.”
Wee Mary simply grinned. “Fetch me that stack of cod, lad, and aye, ye were, too, ogling, and I’ll take no arguments from you.”
Gabe did as she asked and ignored her fun. Grabbing the large cutting board of fresh cod fillets, he set them next to the stove where his aunt had a larg
e cast-iron kettle filled with hot oil for frying.
“Your mum tells me she saw a lady screaming in terror from the pub this afternoon,” Mary said. She pointed to a stack of plates. “Pull those down, will you, love?”
Gabe did so and nodded. “Aye. Fifth one this month. The captain and his lot and their dodgy tricks.”
Battering several fillets, Wee Mary lowered each piece into the hot oil with a pair of tongs. The resounding sizzle and crackle waved through the room. “Have you ever thought you might verra well be making the wrong choice, lad?”
Gabe gave his aunt a frown. “Dunna start with that, aye? We’ve been through it enough times.” He set the fry screen atop the pot and resisted the urge to let out a long sigh. Aye, he thought he made an abundance of mistakes. Every bloody day. Where Jake was concerned, he was always questioning himself. But this decision was right. His son needed lads his own age to play with, not a lot of old ghosties.
And Christ, the nightmares. They had returned, plaguing not only his nights but his days, as well. And he knew why . . .
Wee Mary tsked. “ ’Tis a hard head ye have, nephew. A hard one, indeed.” She sighed, then pointed a wooden spoon toward the door. “Your ghost buster out there seems to have charmed that stodgy old fishmonger.” She elbowed Gabe in the ribs. “Quite a feat, wouldna ye say?”
Gabe grunted in agreement.
“I’d bet my knickers she’ll charm your grumpy self before it’s over.” She lifted a brow. “Does the lass know just what she’s getting into here at Odin’s?” Mary asked. “Has she met the lot?”
With a heavy set of steel tongs, Gabe settled large fried slabs of cod on the inn’s plain white plates. “Aye, she knows, and aye, she’s met most of them, I think. Including Jake. And she’s no’ from a dating service, Wee. She’s a paranormal investigator. A professional.”
“Och, that scalawag Catesby no doubt has his eye on her already. She’s quite bonny, and you know how the captain is with the lasses,” she said, ignoring Gabe’s comment.
Again, he grunted.
From another boiling pot of oil, Gabe lifted the screened basket of chips and clicked it into place to drain. A minute later, he released it and heaped a mound onto each plate of cod.
“Now shoo, and get those patrons their dinner. And wipe that scowl off your handsome face before you frighten someone.”
Gabe grabbed several plates of food, balanced them across his forearm, and lifted two more with his free hand. “How long is Katey going to be out?” The girl was much more efficient with serving than he was.
“She had a baby, Gabe MacGowan. It’ll be several more weeks.”
Stifling a curse, Gabe pushed out of the kitchen and started across the dim interior of Odin’s. The usual patrons greeted him as he set down their food, including Jake, who sat by Chadrick Ferguson, Sealladh na Mara’s postmaster, and by Gabe’s third trip out, he had served everyone. Except Allison Morgan, that is.
Glancing around the room, he found her sitting in a corner alcove, alone, and staring out the window. He stepped back into the kitchen, grabbed two more plates of fish and chips, and made his way through the dwindling crowd toward her. As he walked up to the table, she turned and smiled, as if she had not been in deep thought. Gabe knew better. ’Twas a big, bright, sincere smile, he noticed, with lots of white teeth showing, and for some reason that irritated him. Setting the plates down, he eased into the seat facing her and gave a nod toward her food. “Supper.” He couldn’t help but remember their encounter earlier, when he’d walked into her room.
“Thanks.” Lifting her fork, she stabbed a single plain chip and popped it into her mouth.
Gabe shook his head, grabbed the brown sauce and vinegar from the caddy, and gave a generous squeeze of both to his chips. He set the condiments before her. “Try that.”
She did, and nodded her approval. “Dee-lish.” She dug into her fish. After a few bites, she wiped her mouth, tipped her head to the side, and studied him. And ’twas with far too much intensity for his liking. The glow from the lamplight made her eyes twinkle mischief. “So, tell me, Mr. MacGowan, just what sort of trouble are your Odin’s Thumb tenants stirring up? They seem to be rather friendly, actually. And more importantly”—she leaned forward and met his gaze—“why are you losing sleep over it?”
An intense, smoky look came over Gabe’s face, complete with narrowing of eyes and clenching of jaw. He didn’t look away when she continued to stare; instead he set down his fork, finished chewing, and took a long pull of water from an icy mug. Green eyes met Allie’s over the rim of that glass before he set it down and wiped his mouth.
She found it odd that he was about the only Scotsman in the pub who wasn’t drinking a pint of beer.
“There’s no’ much to tell, Ms. Morgan. The inn and pub are haunted—you’ve met the spirits, and I want them out.”
Allie rather liked how his out sounded more like oot, and how his r’s rolled around spirits.
She sipped her soda. “Why?”
Gabe blinked. “They’re making a bloody nuisance of themselves by scaring off the potential buyers.”
“Why?”
He frowned. “Why what?”
“Why do you want to sell the pub and inn?”
The smoky look returned. “That’s none of your business, lass.”
Allie studied Gabe’s face. Fading dark half-moons lay just beneath both eyes, evidence of too little sleep, or none at all. She couldn’t help but wonder what had made such a vibrant, young, good-looking guy so uptight and aloof.
She threw him another smile. “How badly do you want them out?” Not that she could make them leave, of course. But she needed to know his reasons anyway. It would help when interacting with the Odin’s Thumb gang.
She had a feeling Gabe might be too stubborn to acknowledge all those reasons.
Then Gabe surprised her.
With a resigned sigh, he leaned back in his chair, studied her for a moment, and scrubbed his jaw with his hand. An unintelligible word emerged on a frustrated exhale, and he met her gaze. “I’m raising Jake alone. He’s young and impressionable, and needs a more stable environment than living in a pub with a ghostly lot of bad influences. Those are my reasons, Ms. Morgan. I need the ghosts out. Or at least to keep bloody quiet. I canna move if I dunna sell.” He leaned forward, his stare penetrating. “I need your help.”
It was the first time in a long while Allie didn’t have an easy comeback. What could she say to all that? Gabe’s sincerity—and desperation—struck her hard, although she still thought he was keeping something from her. Why wouldn’t he? It wasn’t as though they were friends, or that they’d even known each other for a while.
They hardly knew each other at all.
That struck her, too. Gabe MacGowan was putting quite a lot of faith in her abilities.
Damn.
With a fork, she pushed a bite of fish around her plate, stabbed it, and popped it in her mouth. As she chewed, she stared at the man across the table. A dusting of dark stubble the color of his short-clipped hair covered his jaw, and green eyes bored into hers. Great lips, and she could only imagine how those lips could form a fantastic smile.
She’d not seen him do that yet.
She hoped desperately that she would.
With a napkin, she wiped her mouth. “I’ll help you, Mr. MacGowan, but I’ll need to know a little more about the pub and inn, including all the inhabitants.” She grinned. “A little about your history with them wouldn’t hurt, either. The more I know, the more I’ll be able to do my job. Savvy?”
Gabe stared at her for several seconds, no blinking of eyelids, or averting of gazes, or twitching of lips, before finally giving the briefest of nods. “Fair enough. What exactly do you need to know?”
Chapter 4
Gabe scratched his chin. He studied the American sitting across the table with close scrutiny.
She’d just polished off the last of a fried Mars bar.
Her second
one.
Where the bloody hell did she put it all?
No doubt if Wee Mary brought the girl out another, she’d eat it, as well.
Allie Morgan licked the spoon, met his gaze, and grinned. “Those are the best things I’ve eaten in my entire life.”
Gabe grunted. “I can tell.” No’ shy about eating, that one. Quite different from most females he’d encountered.
If she heard the comment, she ignored it, and instead set down the fork and leaned back in her chair. “So you’ve grown up with Captain Catesby and the rest. They’ve lived here for how long?”
“Centuries.”
She rubbed her chin with her index finger. “And the whole village knows about them?”
“Everyone in Sealladh na Mara has grown up with them. They’re like family. We’ve sort of a reputation.”
“For being cursed?”
Gabe shrugged. “I’m no’ sure cursed is the right word, but it’s well known in the Highlands that Sealladh na Mara is a haven for spirits.”
Allie cocked her head. “Why is that?”
He gave an indifferent shrug. “Who knows? ’Tis an old pirates’ cove, wi’ plenty of lore and mystery shrouding it.”
Allie rubbed her chin. “And everyone simply . . . accepts it?”
Gabe met her gaze directly. “You seem to.”
“It’s what I do.”
“ ’Tis what we do, as well.”
Leaning back, Allie studied him with those wide blue eyes. “Well then, if they’re like family, and everyone accepts the spirits, and you’ve grown up with them, why do you want to move away? Why do you want to sell Odin’s?” She held up her hand. “And don’t say it’s none of my business. You hired me to help you. So it’s all my business.”
He hardly had anything to say to that.
He wondered briefly what her response would be if she knew his dead wife was haunting him every single night . . .
“Mr. MacGowan?”
Snapping from his thoughts, Gabe looked at her straight-on. “As I said before, my son needs a more stable environment. ’Tis bad enough he’s without a mum. He deserves to be with children his own age.”