MacGowan's Ghost

by Cindy Miles

  She felt it clear to her bones even now.

  In the distance, a boat’s horn blasted in the sound, and it carried on the wind and echoed through the village. Prawn traps were set at the far side of the loch, their white foam markers bobbing with the tide. So serene, peaceful.

  And yet Gabe’s wife drowned in that very water.

  Allie walked faster, the uphill climb making her thighs burn, her lungs expand, and it felt good. Yet nothing she did could make thoughts of Gabe MacGowan fade from her mind for long.

  What would she do once she left?

  There was so much Gabe hadn’t told her, yet she knew with ferocity that he felt their connection as strongly as Allie. She could see it in his eyes, hear it in his voice, and by God, she could feel it in his touch.

  Yet . . . there was quite a lot she hadn’t told him, either.

  Perhaps they were both a little fearful?

  She wasn’t a mushy, doe-eyed young girl with fanciful dreams of picket fences and knights on white horses. She knew firsthand the reality of heartache. Jared had shown her that. The actual heartache wasn’t real anymore, but the memory of what it’d felt like certainly was, and Allie never wanted to experience anything like it again. She knew successful relationships required work.

  Work, and honesty.

  Gabe wasn’t the only one with ghosts.

  She had them, too.

  And betrayal had been part of the reason her heart had been broken. Another of her ghosts . . .

  Turning onto the walk, Allie headed up the way to Odin’s. As she passed the bakery, she waved at Leona, who smiled and waved back. A bit farther up, Willy MacMillan, the fishmonger, grinned and held up a freshly filleted cod.

  Allie laughed, shook her head, and continued on her way. In a very short time she’d been accepted by the folks of Sealladh na Mara. They were kind, funny, and welcoming. They looked after each other.

  Hey—they accepted a pub filled with various ghostly souls from various centuries as if they were their favorite relatives.

  As she made it to Odin’s, she stopped and glanced up at the sign. Colorful and bright, it stood stark against the whitewash of the five-hundred-year-old building itself, and the sign hung on a black wrought-iron bracket that groaned when the breeze blew it.

  She suddenly felt as though she’d stood beneath the Odin’s Thumb sign a hundred times before, and that she’d gone through its doors another hundred. It felt familiar.

  Strangely enough, it felt like home.

  Briefly, she wondered what Gabe would think of her ghosts.

  A dangerous thought, she knew. But just as she couldn’t help falling for Odin’s proprietor—she could admit that now, even if only to herself—she certainly couldn’t help falling for the seaside town filled with quirky, loving people, like the fishmonger who waved dead fish through the picture window.

  As well as the quirky, loving spirited souls, of course.

  A gloomy thought crashed over her as she pushed into Odin’s. She might not be able to help falling for Gabe MacGowan and the folks—live and spirited—of Sealladh na Mara, but she’d better get over them, and quick.

  Because in a month, she’d be gone.

  And as she easily walked into Odin’s, into the kitchen where she lifted one of Wee Mary’s aprons off the wall hook and began getting lunch together, she told herself if she said it enough, her heart just might stay intact when it happened.

  By six o’clock, Odin’s Thumb was filled to the gills with patrons. Everyone who came brought a covered dish of food, and so there was always plenty to eat. As usual, a huge turnout of folks showed up to welcome home his da and the other longshoreman from his outfit who’d returned. “Another safe sea journey, aye?” passed round, and every time his da or one of the others replied, “Aye, unscathed and bloody starved!” a rousing round of cheers passed through the pub. Gabe never grew tired of hearing it. It meant his da was indeed home safe. And from the glow in his wee mother’s eyes—eyes she couldna take off Gerald MacGowan—well, it was made that much more special.

  To have a love like that? Christ. Gabe could barely imagine it.

  His eyes immediately sought out Allie Morgan. Funny, that.

  The lass sat at a table in the center of the pub, his mother and da on one side, Jake on the other, and the Odin’s ghostly lot perched on stools as close as they could get to her.

  More than once Justin Catesby had slipped Gabe a fierce scowl. They’d not spoken since that night in the workshop, but they needed to. He didna like fierce words to go unsettled—especially with family.

  Aye. Justin and the others were family. They were to everyone at Sealladh na Mara.

  Gabe watched his father rise, kiss the top of Laina’s head, and make his way toward Gabe. In his hand, a tall glass of water, just like Gabe’s. When Gabe had stopped drinking, his da, even though he didna have a problem, stopped social drinking, as well. He loved the man for that.

  Gerald MacGowan took the bar stool next to Gabe, met his gaze, then glanced out at the Odin’s crowd. “Your mother tells me you’ve been busy since I left,” he said. “She dunna look much like a ghost ouster.” He nodded. “Look at how they surround her.” He glanced at Gabe, mischief in his eye. “Looks like you got scammed, lad.”

  Gabe chuckled and kept his eyes trained on Allie, who sat laughing at something Killigrew had said. “She’s certainly something, aye?”

  “Indeed she is,” Gerald said. “You know she’s got that grumpy fishmonger in her hands like putty.”

  Gabe smiled. “From the very first day she arrived.”

  Gerald nodded. “So you’ve changed your mind about leavin’?”

  Gabe met his gaze. “I’m considerin’.”

  Gerald looked at him. “What happens after your contract is void with the Realtor?”

  Gabe met his gaze. He knew exactly what his father meant. “She goes back home, Da.”

  Gerald simply nodded, took a long pull on his water, and nodded again. “She’s a fine lass.”

  Gabe sighed. “I know.”

  Sliding off the stool, Gerald gave Gabe’s shoulder a hearty slap and a smile. “Then that’s all that matters, lad.”

  He went back to the table.

  It was more than a few hours later when the only beings left in Odin’s were the otherworldly souls, Gabe’s parents, Wee Mary, and Allie. Gabe walked down the steps, having just put a sleeping Jake to bed, and joined the small group huddled around the large middle table in the pub. Gabe slid into the seat across from Allie. Her hair was pulled half back, and small curls framed her face. She wore a soft gray woolen jumper and a pair of jeans. Comfortable. Casual.

  Perfect.

  “So, you make a livin’ oustin’ spirits back in the States, then?” asked Gerald.

  Allie nodded. “I don’t really oust them, actually. I’m more of a . . . mediator. Or interpreter. Usually, the souls I’m hired to oust just need a bit of help finding the cause of their troubles. They need someone to talk to, who understands. And”—she grinned—“more likely than not it’s the mortals who are the troublemakers. They hire me to get rid of the troublesome spirits invading their homes. I simply discover what the matter truly is, solve it, whether it be finding out their cause of death, what happened to their loved ones, and so on.”

  Gabe watched the play of the lamplight on Allie’s face, how her lips formed words, and how she continuously talked with her hands. He found he liked that about her.

  A lot. As much as how she spoke to his Odin’s lot as though it were most natural thing to do.

  “And how, my dear, are you able to decipher such?” asked Gerald.

  Allie sort of shrugged. “Because I can relate, I guess, so I talk to them, find out who they are first, and some of the last things, places, dates they can recall.”

  Wee Mary smiled and patted Allie’s hand. “No offense, love, but how can you relate if you’ve never been dead yourself?”

  Allie laughed, but Gabe could immediately tel
l ’twas no’ the same Allie laugh he was used to hearing.

  “You know,” she said, “I guess just being around so many ghosts, I just . . . adapted.” She glanced at her watch. “Wow—look at the time.” She smiled and pushed away from her chair. “I promised my folks I’d call tonight before it got too late.” She smiled and started off. “I’ll see you guys bright and early tomorrow, right? We’ve got some potential buyers arriving first thing in the morning.”

  With that, she waved and walked out of Odin’s.

  Gabe looked directly at Dauber. “What just happened?”

  Dauber glanced around, then sighed. “She’s quite all right, young Gabe. ’Tis simply a topic she’s uncomfortable with in front of you, is all. She’ll return.”

  “What is it?” Gabe said, and stood.

  Alexander Dauber inclined his ghostly head to the front door. “I fear only Allie can be the teller of that tale. If you can wrench it from her, that is. But I’d give her a few moments to herself, were I you.”

  Gabe sat for a few minutes and listened to his father tell a couple rousing longshoreman tales before he pushed away from the table, excused himself, and headed straight out of Odin’s front door.

  It seemed they both had hidden ghosts whose bones needed rattling once and for all.

  And he was in the mood to rattle.

  Chapter 18

  Tears streamed down Allie’s face as she hurried up the walk. The night was clear and cold, and a thin mist slipped in from the sea. Angrily, she swiped at her cheeks but her eyes continued to leak. It only irritated her, and she cried more.

  Why that conversation? Why had that topic been brought up? Why on earth had she never experienced a problem answering the same questions to others before? She’d been asked the very same questions dozens of times. She knew how to respond. So why an issue tonight?

  She’d not told Gabe everything—that was why.

  There’d been no way to divert it, either, that topic. She’d stepped right into it. Things she hadn’t been prepared to tell anyone at Sealladh na Mara—mostly Gabe MacGowan—simmered right there at the brim of discussion, and she had no choice but to laugh it off like some lunatic, and right in front of the one person she didn’t want to find out—

  Strong fingers wound around her upper arm and Allie yanked to a halt. She didn’t have to turn around to know who it was. Instead, she quickly swiped her eyes with her free hand, turned, and smiled.

  “Gabe, you scared me! I’ll be just a minute.” She nodded toward the red pay phone on the corner. “I’ll call my mom and sisters and be right back.”

  He didn’t let her arm go. Instead, he pulled her closer and studied her face, looking right at her damp cheeks. “Allie,” he said, his voice calm, deep. “What are you goin’ to call them with?”

  She smiled. “My phone card.”

  Gabe continued to stare. He lifted his other hand.

  Her phone card was gripped between his middle and forefinger. “You left this on the table.”

  Allie took it and sighed. “I’m not a good faker.”

  Gabe gave a half smile. “Nay, you’re no’.”

  She looked at him. “I’m usually not a crybaby, either.” She blew out a gusty breath. “I just made an ass out of myself in front of your family, didn’t I?”

  With his index finger, Gabe tapped the end of her nose. “Darlin’, you’re standin’ next to the biggest horse’s arse in the northwestern Highlands,” he said with that crooked way he talked. With his thumb, he wiped first one teary cheek, then the other. “No, you didna make an arse o’ yourself. Dauber and I were the only ones who noticed anything out of the ordinary, anyhow. ’Twill be all right. Trust me.”

  Allie glanced down the walk, toward the wharf. She crossed her arms over her chest, and wanted badly to just go somewhere and talk, get the weight of her ghosts off her chest.

  “Stay right here,” Gabe said. “I’ll be right back.”

  He turned and ran back to Odin’s, ducked inside, and when he came back, he had a large, thick wool blanket. “We’ll go sit by the wharf and you can talk me ears off, aye?” he said, draping the blanket over her shoulders and securing it with his arm.

  How Gabe knew that was exactly what she wanted to do, she couldn’t explain. But it was right, and it felt right.

  Gabe felt right.

  “Aye,” Allie said, and leaned into him.

  Minutes later they were seated on her favorite bench, just a few feet from where the sea lapped at the shore. That odd mist crept over the loch, illuminated by a thin slice of moon shining from over the hills behind Sealladh na Mara. Gabe lifted the blanket, draped it over them both, and pulled Allie close.

  Then he allowed her to take her time.

  Finally, Allie told a story she hadn’t told a soul—save Dauber—in years. She took a deep breath.

  And before she could begin, Gabe felt for her hand, found it, and laced their fingers together. He squeezed gently.

  It gave her strength.

  She looked at him. “When did you change from a rude, aloof man to such a sweet and considerate one?” she asked.

  Gabe shrugged and squeezed her hand tighter. “Must be the company I’m keepin’ lately.”

  “Indeed.” She took a deep breath in, then let it slowly out before she began. “I haven’t always been able to see spirits,” she started. “But it wasn’t until I died myself that I could not only see and interact but . . . relate.”

  She felt Gabe tense beside her. “What happened?” His voice was low, steady, and yet she could tell how her statement had affected him by how heavy his brogue had become. She’d noticed that about Gabe. The more excited, angry, or concerned, the thicker his accent became, as well. She found she liked it quite a lot.

  If that were all she had to tell . . .

  As if he understood, Gabe again squeezed her hand.

  She continued. “I was two months short of turning eighteen years old when I walked into a convenience store and startled a robbery. I was shot here.” She lifted her sweater and pushed down the waist of her jeans, exposing the raised, four-inch scar just below where her appendix used to be. “And here.” She lifted the other side of her sweater, to just below her lung where another like scar rested. Gabe leaned forward to look, and then he settled back against the bench. The muscles in his jaw worked.

  “I died twice, actually,” she continued. “Once on the floor of the Quickie-Mart, from blood loss and respiratory failure from a collapsed lung, then again in recovery, right after surgery.” She looked at him, and his gaze was fixed toward the sea. The moon shone from the hills behind them and coated the right side of his face in silver.

  “Unlike a lot of people who experience near death, I remember everything.” She shivered, and Gabe must have thought it was the cold because he lifted his arm behind her head, tucked her close beside him, and pulled the blanket close. He grasped her hand again, and held tight.

  It calmed Allie, his presence. And it made the telling of the rest not quite as difficult as she’d imagined.

  “My father was right there, waiting. I’d missed him so much that at that moment, nothing mattered—not my mom, my sisters—nothing, except staying there, with him. Even if it meant staying dead.” She shook her head, and Gabe leaned his head close, pressing his lips to her temple. “I remember pacing in the recovery room, peering between the nurses and doctor and anesthesiologist and respiratory therapist at my body as they scrambled around, trying to bring me back. My father paced with me, and then jerked me around, hugged me tight, told me he loved me but I’d better get my scrawny ass back to where it belonged, that I was too young to die, that I couldn’t leave my mother and make her suffer another death. Still, I wouldn’t listen. I tried to run, the people trying to save my life completely oblivious to the fact two ghosts were zipping between them, a father chasing his disobedient daughter.” She breathed, and gave a short laugh. “And then the team quit. They stopped working on me.” She glanced up at him. �
��They were done trying to bring me back and they called the time of death.”

  Gabe simply stared at her, waiting. He said nothing.

  “I froze and stared at myself, lying on that recovery room gurney. I looked horrible. I wanted to go back, but I couldn’t move.” She smiled. “The last thing my father said was, I love you, brat. Tell your sisters and mother I love them. And that I’m watching, and always near. Then he pushed me. Pushed me so damn hard I squealed.” She smiled. “He pushed me right back into my body. Later, the nurses would tell me how, just before my heartbeat registered on the monitor, they heard me squeal.” Again, she laughed. “They said it scared the willies out of them.” She shrugged. “It took me months to recover. No bones had been shattered—it was all internal injuries. I’d lost a lot of blood. But after, once I healed? I’d started college and had entered the chapel when I saw Alexander Dauber sitting on a pew alone.” She smiled at the memory. “Gosh, he was funny. He glanced my way. I must have had a wide-eyed look, and he blinked, over and over, wiped his eyes, and blinked some more. After that, more spirits began to appear, many more than before, and I could do little more than just interact. I could feel them, their suffering, and I could figure things out they couldn’t figure out themselves. I could lessen their pain. Unsettle them, if you will.”

  She still hadn’t told him the worst of it.

  With a deep breath, Allie turned to the left, so she faced Gabe directly. He looked at her, all serious and intense as usual, with his jaw clenching. She searched his eyes, noted every small detail of his face at close range, and she found she liked everything she saw—every laugh line at the corner of his eyes, his nose, his jaw. “When I was shot, the bullet hit a few things.” She looked down, then lifted her chin. “I can’t have children.”

  Gabe searched her eyes, then glanced out over the loch.

  “I’ve accepted it, and I’m not looking for pity by telling you. But it makes me feel like . . .” She stuttered, and felt tears making her eyes burn. “Like I’m not a whole person because of it.” She shrugged and wiped her eyes. “It’s not something I bring up immediately upon meeting a new guy.” She looked at him and tried to smile. “Tends to scare fellas off. Ya know? Makes people treat you differently if they know you’ve been through trauma.” She sighed. “I don’t like to be treated different, so I keep it to myself.”