by Cindy Miles
Once downstairs, Jake ducked into the kitchen. Gabe pushed open the door and stuck his head in. The smell of pot roast filled the air, making his stomach growl.
He figured it would have the same effect on Allie.
With a frown at the random thought of her, he met his mother’s stare. “Thanks for watching him. I’ll be along in a bit to mend the fence and pick Jake up.”
His mother waved him away. “ ’Tis fine, son.” She pulled Jake into a brace—one his son was resisting. “We’ll have a grand time, aye?”
“Aye,” Jake muttered, frown still fixed to his brow.
Gabe pointed at him. “Behave, lad. I’ll see you in a bit.”
Jake stared but didna say a word.
Wee Mary passed on her way to the fridge. “Dunna worry about him, lad. He’ll be fine. We’re all but ready to serve—just waitin’ on the roast to finish up. Go see to your sale and we’ll set up for lunch when you’re done, aye?”
“Right.” Gabe glanced once again at Jake, whose expression hadn’t changed, and stepped back into the pub. The mahogany bar gleamed, the lamps were dusted, the floor scrubbed.
He couldna see how anyone looking to buy a pub and inn would possibly refuse Odin’s.
With a quick glance around, peering into darkened corners and shadowy alcoves, he heaved a sigh of relief. So far, no signs of the others.
He could only hope it stayed that way.
Rather, he could only hope Allie Morgan made it stay that way. Surely, she’d talked some sense into the ghostly pain-in-the-arses . . .
An abrupt thought suddenly hit him. He glanced around once more, then let his gaze travel upward, toward the stairs.
Where was the ghost ouster, anyway?
Approximately forty-five minutes passed before a white two-door compact pulled up and parked in front of Odin’s Thumb. A middle-aged couple climbed out. The man, portly and wearing quite a lot of tweed, hurried round to open the door for his companion—a woman, taller than he and also favoring tweed. As the blustery wind picked up, they both grabbed their tweed hats and huddled close.
With a deep breath and a final glance behind him, Gabe walked out to meet who could possibly be the next Odin’s Thumb proprietors.
“If he finds out I’m in on this, I’m gone. Fired. Back to the States,” Allie said, meeting each of her cohort’s gazes. “I just don’t know.”
“Pardon me, miss,” said Friar Digby, pacing in his old woolen cloak and rubbing his fingerless-gloved hands together. Friar Digby actually wasn’t old at all—only thirty-five years at the time of his demise, which had occurred in the year 1586 after a band of thieves jumped his wagon in hopes of finding coin. Instead, they’d found a large shipment of mead. They’d taken it, along with Drew Digby’s life. He also claimed not to have yet been a full-fledged friar at the time.
A somewhat comforting thought when conspiring to commit . . . whatever they were about to commit.
The almost-friar continued. “We were pulling tom-fooleries long before you arrived. ’Tisn’t anything new, I assure you.”
“Ah, that’s where you’re wrong, Drew,” said Captain Catesby. He glanced her way, a dangerous glint in his eye. “We’ve never had such gloriously gruesome ideas as the ones in which the lovely American has thought up.” He glanced at Mademoiselle Bedeau. “Can you recall?”
The mademoiselle shook her powdered-wig head. “Non,” she said, her French accent especially potent. “Not once, Capitan Catesby.”
Lord Killigrew stood by the hearth, arms folded over his chest. A wicked grin spread from ear to ear. “I say we do it. ’Tis a wondrous plan, Ms. Morgan.”
“Well, we’d best hurry, then,” Lord Ramsey said. He peered out of Allie’s window. “I think the hopeful proprietors have just arrived.”
All ghostly eyes turned to Allie. She shook her head and rubbed her temples. “I’m used to dealing with unsettled souls,” she said, glancing out the window at the couple emerging from the car. She looked over her shoulder, back at the others. “Not conspiring with them.”
“Well then, lass, your mission hasna changed a bit,” said Captain Catesby. “Yon MacGowan is the most unsettled of all souls here in Sealladh na Mara.”
“I really don’t know,” she said.
But it was too late. The Odin’s lot had most assuredly decided to go ahead with the plan. And like it or not, Justin had made a solid point.
Maybe Gabe MacGowan was the most unsettled soul in Sealladh na Mara . . .
“Well, MacGillan, you’ve quite a place here.”
Gabe stifled a growl. “MacGowan.”
The man, Stover, and his wife, Mrs. Stover, chuckled. Stover shook his head. “So right you are. Come, show us the rest of the place. It’s bloomin’ freezing out here.”
“It smells a bit fishy,” Mrs. Stover said, waving a hand in front of her face. “Does it always, Chester?”
Gabe wondered if her nose always pointed skyward.
“Of course not, Millicent. Come, now.”
Stepping ahead, Gabe held open the door and allowed the Stovers to enter. “Right on in,” he said, then followed.
“It’s quite dark in here,” Mrs. Stover announced. “I can’t see a thing.”
“We could fix that right up, love,” said Mr. Stover, bending over a lamp and twisting it about. “A few overheads would do wonders for this place.”
Gabe simply stood to the side, stuffed his hands in his trouser pockets, and allowed them to look around. He already knew there was nothing he could say that would sway their minds one way or the other.
Overheads, his arse.
Mr. Stover eased behind the bar and ran a hand over the mahogany. He made a face of disdain. “Needs stripping, I’d say. Wouldn’t you, Millie? Come feel. It’s rather rough and faded.”
Mrs. Stover found her way next to her husband, and ran her fingers over the wood. Again, the nose jutted skyward and she sighed. “I’m afraid he’s right, Mr. MacGiven.”
Before Gabe could correct their slip of his name, the one thing he was not expecting happened.
And performed by the least likely soul of the bunch.
Out of nowhere, Mademoiselle Bedeau’s lovely powdered-wig head began tumbling from the far end of the bar, rolled and rolled until it came to a halt directly in front of the Stovers.
An odd, bizarre noise sounded from deep within Mr. Stover.
Mrs. Stover simply gasped, eyes wide, mouth open.
With a squeak, Mademoiselle’s head turned and faced them both. “Oui, I would say that, indeed, this is the smoothest of mahogany. No need to refinish.”
Just then, the lamps all began flashing.
“As for the lights, monsieur, non. As you can see they work just fine. Only a nincompoop would desire a brightly lit pub.”
A slow, low sound began low in Mrs. Stover’s throat.
It didna take long to escalate into a full scream.
“Mr. MacDowan!” screamed Chester Stover, pulling his wife close and patting her with one of his big beefy hands. “What is this foolishness? Stop it at once, I say! You’re frightening my wife!”
“Oh, he cannot do a thing, monsieur,” said Mademoiselle’s head. “We do as we please here, oui!”
Gabe sighed, pinched the bridge of his nose, and barely peeked as Mademoiselle’s headless body came stumbling into the pub, arms outstretched, and, Christ . . . she’d conjured the illusion of blood spurting from her neck. She ran straight for the Stovers.
“Arrgh!” screamed Millicent Stover, slapping and batting at the headless body as it came toward her. Jumping up and down in place, she waved her hands. “Chester, get me out of here!”
Gabe almost didn’t notice Wee Mary, peering through the crack in the kitchen door. And he nearly missed one Ms. Allie Morgan trotting down the stairs.
“Wouldna you care to at least see the kitchen?” Gabe asked, feeling like an arse even as he spoke.
“No!” both Stovers said in unison.
They p
ushed their way past Mademoiselle’s ghastly body and Chester shouted over his shoulder, “You’ll be hearing from our solicitor, MacGowan!”
Funny, how they now finally got his name right.
Gabe watched as the Stovers stuffed themselves into their car and sped away.
The second potential buyer in less than twenty-four hours. That was a record, even for him.
Gabe turned to find Allie Morgan standing before him.
She gave him a weak smile. “Oops.”
He frowned, felt the space between his brows bunch, and all he could do was brush past her without a word.
Leaving Allie Morgan to stand alone.
Chapter 7
Allie rolled over and stared at the green illuminated numbers on her bedside clock. One a.m. She fell back with a sigh.
She hadn’t slept a wink.
Guilt probably played some small part in her sleeplessness. While she felt bad for coming up with the head-rolling-down-the-bar act, she could definitely see where Gabe MacGowan had an issue or two.
And that he might be making a drastically wrong decision to leave Odin’s Thumb.
Not that it was her business to meddle.
Even in just the few short hours she’d spent with Captain Catesby and the others, she could tell, could feel how much they cared for Gabe and Jake. It was why she communicated so well with the unliving. She had a way with souls—living or not.
And she could certainly tell Gabe MacGowan had a troubled soul.
And she aimed to help him.
He hadn’t spoken to her during lunch, and then he’d disappeared right after and she didn’t see him for the rest of the evening.
Not that she blamed him.
But one thing she could tell about Gabe MacGowan was that he loved Odin’s Thumb just as much as he loved the ghostly lot who resided there. So what was making him want to leave? It was far more than desiring a stable environment for Jake. She could tell that, too.
She buried under the covers and stared at the hearth. The fire had nearly died out, and she’d used the rest of the peat earlier.
Easing out of bed, her teeth chattering, Allie went to the dresser, pulled out an extra pair of sweatpants, pulled them over her long underwear, and found her NC State University sweatshirt and pulled that on, too. With a big pair of thick wool socks on her feet, she eased out of her room and into the corridor.
Down the stairs she went, creeping as quietly as she could, until she reached the second floor. Glancing down the corridor, toward Gabe’s room, she paused. Maybe he’d be awake? She should try to explain herself . . .
Again, she paused, listened, but didn’t hear a TV, a stereo—nothing. With a sigh, she rubbed her arms vigorously and continued to the first floor.
Only a few lamps burned in the pub, throwing the room into an even softer light than usual. She liked Odin’s. Masculine, yet with a slight touch of femininity by way of the Victorian lamps. Comfortable. Welcoming.
She wondered why a great-looking guy like Gabe didn’t have a girlfriend.
Or maybe he did?
She headed toward the back hall, close to the kitchen where Gabe had shown her where to get peat for the hearth in her room. Boy, if he does have a girlfriend, she is one strong woman to handle that veritable powerhouse of grumpiness . . .
As she drew closer to the peat closet, a noise caught her attention. At the kitchen, Allie paused and listened. A strange scraping—no, tapping—sound seemed to be coming from close by. As she glanced around in the shadows, her gaze landed on a door, ajar, at the far end of the hall, next to the kitchen. Easing closer, she noticed a small line of faint lamplight spilling out into the hall.
Gently, Allie placed her fingertips on the wood and pushed.
Gabe sat at a workbench, an iron lamp with a bendable neck tilted toward something he had in his hands. He wore an untucked white, long-sleeved button-up shirt and jeans, and was barefooted, with one heel resting on the rung of the chair, the other leg sprawled out before him. He worked intently on . . . something. Head bent, he either ignored her or had no idea she was watching . . .
And she certainly watched. She couldn’t help it. Intrigued by his rough, aloof behavior yet obvious love for his son, she now learned another interesting fact: he had a hobby. And it was one he kept a secret.
Various chunks of stone, perhaps marble, sat against one wall. A long shelf ran the length of the other, with small pieces of . . . She stared but couldn’t make them out. She squinted and stepped a bit closer.
Just then, an iced chill raced up her spine and raised goose bumps on her skin. Out of nowhere, a fierce gust of wind blew the door shut right in her face.
Allie stifled a squeal and stumbled back. Her heart raced, taken aback by the unexpected something.
What had just happened?
Wrapping her arms about herself, she eased away from the door. Best Gabe didn’t even know she’d been standing there—
Just then, the door cracked open. Gabe leaned against the jamb and crossed his arms over his chest. He stared at her with that potent stare for an uncomfortable amount of time before inclining his head. “Come in.”
“Thanks.” Allie scooted past him, but not so fast that she didn’t feel the heat coming from his body. She swallowed and ignored how the sensation had made her heart flutter.
Gabe stepped in and pushed the door, leaving a small crack open.
The room was small, and a space heater in the corner kept the area nice and toasty. It didn’t take long for Allie to warm up. Although interested in the pieces sitting on the shelf, she turned to Gabe instead.
“I think things have gotten off to a bad start,” she said. “About today—”
“Today’s forgotten.”
Allie blinked. “Why?”
The very smallest of smiles tipped one corner of Gabe’s mouth.
It completely changed his appearance.
And it made her heart skip a beat.
She couldn’t fathom what a full-blown grin would do to her.
“Because. Whilst I seek to find a buyer for this place, I dunna want to turn it over to a horse’s arse who wouldna appreciate it.” He scrubbed his jaw. “I’m fairly sure the Stovers wouldna fit in well at Sealladh na Mara, aye?”
Allie couldn’t help but smile. “I’ll have to agree with that.” So he really did care about Odin’s. She cocked her head and studied Gabe in the dim light. Never before had she thought much about a Highland brogue, but hearing it on Gabe’s tongue? Good Lord. Sexy didn’t quite sum it up.
“I’ll work a bit more with the others. You know,” she said, easing toward the shelf against the far wall. “They really care about you and Jake—”
“If it’s all the same to you, we’ll leave your employment as you were hired,” he said. “I didna ask you to come here and be my personal counsel.”
That stung. “I know,” she said, covering up the sting. Deciding not to push, especially before she had the chance to sit down and get every ounce of information possible from the others, she glanced down at the small pieces of marble and lifted one. It appeared to be a miniature medieval warrior, complete with a sword. “What are these?”
“Chess pieces,” Gabe said, right behind her. So close, she could once again feel the heat from his body.
“Such intricate work.” She glanced up and over her shoulder. “You made all of these?”
He shrugged. “Passes the time.”
She inspected the dark circles beneath his eyes—and not for the first time. “You don’t sleep much, do you?”
Again, he shrugged.
His eyes didn’t move from hers.
After a too-long moment of silence, Allie moved to set the chess piece back on the shelf, but it fumbled in her fingers and dropped. She jerked down to catch it and her forehead bopped against the wooden shelf. “Ouch,” she muttered, and when she lifted her head, it smacked right into Gabe’s chin.
They both stared at each other, rubbing their injured body
parts.
She gave him a half grin as he scrubbed his jaw. “Sorry.” Carefully setting the chess piece down, Allie folded her arms over her chest. “Well. I suppose I’d better get that peat and head off to bed.”
Gabe said nothing. He just continued to watch her. “Okay, then,” she said, easing by him. “I’ll see you tomorrow—I mean later, I guess.”
She had nearly made it to the door when he spoke, that smooth brogue washing over her.
“Why do you do it?”
She rubbed her still-aching forehead. “Do what?”
He gave her that smoky look. “Hang out with specters.”
She mimicked his shrugging. “Why not?”
Gabe glanced down, lifted one shoulder, and then met her gaze again. “Why no’ with real people?”
She looked Gabe directly in the eye. “They are real people, Mr. MacGowan. They are the exact same souls they were when they had a live body to live in. Being dead doesn’t destroy the soul. Just the live flesh.” She moved past him and out the door. She paused and glanced over her shoulder. She smiled. “They’re just as real as we are. Remember that.”
With that, she turned and left.
At the back corner alcove, the Odin’s Thumb lot sat. Justin sat quiet for a moment, and then met his ghostly mates with a sincere gaze. “That Allie is some gel,” he said. He glanced at Dauber. “Has she always been that way?”
Dauber gave a nod. “Yes, indeed. A good soul, through and through, that one. I’ve yet to see her unable to help settle those who needed settling.”
“Aye, but has she ever tried doing the like with a mortal?” asked the friar.
Dauber scratched a place under his cap. “I can’t say she has, although she seems to have a way with them, as well.” He looked up. “There’s something there, between those two. I can sense it.”
Justin frowned. “ ’Tis been naught but two days, man. That canna possibly be so.”
Lord Killigrew grinned. “ ’Tis bothersome to you, the joining of those two, aye?”
“Of course it’s not,” said the friar. “We’ve known Gabe since he was a baby.” He glanced at Justin. “We desire the very best for him, and for young Jake.”