Haunting Ellie

by Patti Berg

  Well, it would take a whole lot more than eerie noises to make her run away. Montana didn’t have earthquakes—at least, not the house-leveling kind they had in southern California. This place was standing on solid ground. Its walls were upright. Those were good enough reasons to keep her from going back to L.A. Sapphire, Montana, and this rickety old hotel were home—and she planned to make the best of both of them.

  Right after she took a bath.

  Right after she found the army she needed to help her turn the hotel into a showplace.

  oOo

  Bathing had proved rather difficult. Reddish-brown water that looked like strained minestrone didn’t appear too appealing to Elizabeth. She’d run out to her car, dragged in the ice chest, and taken a sponge bath with ice she’d melted on top of the stove. Her efforts took care of one layer of dust, enough to make her presentable. If she didn’t find a plumber soon, she’d have to melt snow in order to bathe.

  She’d halfway tackled her first task of the evening. Now came the time to work on the second.

  The army.

  She’d called Matt Winchester to ask if he knew anyone looking for work. All he’d said was ask the mayor, that he himself didn’t have time to help her out now. “Maybe when I return from visiting my folks in Florida,” he’d said, and rushed her off the phone. His evasion speech was perfect. Just the right amount of laughter, the right amount of sincerity. She’d done the same thing a time or two. Yet it didn’t feel so good being on the receiving end.

  But that was in the past. The hotel needed refurbishing, she needed help and had to locate the mayor, and she was hungry—now.

  She slipped into her coat and gloves and thought about how she would navigate the icy steps and road to get across the street to the Tin Cup Cafe. She’d already fallen three times since her arrival, and twice she’d been seen. Adding a fourth fall to an already eventful day didn’t sound promising.

  She was just about to open the door when she heard heavy footfalls on the stairs and porch, and an even heavier knock against the door. The steps sounded familiar. She’d heard them stomping away earlier in the day, and the thought of facing Jon Winchester again didn’t sound any more promising than falling on her rump. What could she do, though? She had to open the door.

  He stood on the porch with his arms laden with firewood—no smile; no lopsided grin. Snow dusted his Stetson and the shoulders of his coat that three normal-sized men could probably squeeze into.

  She didn’t smile, either. Instead, she waited for an apology.

  Which didn’t come.

  “I didn’t see any smoke rising from the chimney and figured you might need some wood,” he said, brushing past her and walking straight to the parlor and the pink marble fireplace as if he knew his way around... as if he had every right to just walk into her home.

  “I’d prefer heating the rooms with the furnace,” she said, ignoring her earlier thoughts about a cozy fire. If he couldn’t apologize for the fight he’d tried to start this morning, she didn’t have to thank him for the wood. “Wood fires aren’t nearly as efficient,” she said.

  He ignored her comment, of course, and proceeded to dump the wood into the hearth and strategically place each piece. He stuffed kindling here and there, building the framework for a fire that would probably blaze and warm the room within seconds.

  And probably be very efficient.

  Slowly he rose from his crouched position and scanned the room for a moment, his gaze settling on the slight sway of the chandelier.

  “It’s the drafts,” Elizabeth told him. “All the chandeliers swing just a bit when I enter the room.”

  The lopsided grin touched his face. “I used to sneak into this place when I was a kid. The chandeliers shook back then, too.” He walked toward the center of the room and steadied the swaying fixture with the casual, easy reach of his arm. “I thought there was a ghost sitting up there, watching me.” His grin widened. “Did Matt tell you about the rumors?”

  “Yes, I’ve heard the rumors. No, I don’t believe they’re true.” Ghosts! Personally, she thought it was a lot of nonsense.

  He went back to the fireplace, leaned against the marble mantel, and folded his arms over his chest, a mannerism that was beginning to infuriate her. “Have you heard the laughter?” he asked.

  “Creaking floorboards,” she threw back. “Look, Jonathan—” She waited for his eyes to narrow when she called him that instead of Jon. He’d said no one dared to call him Jonathan, but he didn’t flinch. Not one muscle. “I don’t believe in ghosts,” she continued, “and if there was one living here I’d welcome the companionship. I’m sure it would be preferable to keeping company with some of the other residents of this town.”

  He laughed, and a few glints of light bounced from his eyes. “I’m starved,” he said, ignoring her once more. “I’m meeting a few friends for dinner. They might not be the company you prefer, but I thought you might consider joining us anyway?”

  What? No I’d love to have you join me? No Would you care to go out with me? The man was absolutely insufferable, but she could dish it out, too. “You thought wrong.”

  “Suit yourself.” He tipped his hat and walked across the parlor, through the entry, and out the front door.

  It wasn’t supposed to happen that way, Elizabeth thought. He was supposed to argue; he was supposed to convince her, ask her to change her mind. Heavens! She could have at least held his arm and let him help her across the road.

  She rushed after him, threw open the door, and planned to holler at him before he went inside the cafe. But he had the nerve to be leaning against one of the pillars on her porch, arms folded, with that Stetson tilted low over his eyes. “Change your mind?” he asked.

  “Not really. I was on my way to the cafe when you barged in. I do have to eat, you know.”

  “Well, maybe you’ll at least let me help you get across the street. If you’d like, you can sit on the opposite side of the room from me once we get there.”

  She couldn’t help but laugh. He said it so seriously, yet she could see the twinkle in his eyes and just the beginnings of a grin. “Thanks for the offer,” she said, closing the door behind her and taking hold of his arm. “If you’re sure I wouldn’t be imposing, I would like to join you and your friends, too.”

  “If you were an imposition, I’d tell you. I don’t mince words.”

  “I’ve noticed. Of course, you don’t talk a lot, either.”

  “Always believed if you don’t have anything important to say, you shouldn’t say it.”

  “Then I imagine the two of us will have a rather quiet dinner.”

  He looked down at her and winked. “Don’t forget, we’re joining some of my friends. I’m sure they can keep the conversation going if we can’t.”

  They headed down the stairs and into the street. He squeezed her hand tightly around his arm when she felt the slippery pavement under her shoes. The road didn’t seem nearly so treacherous when she walked at his side.

  He stopped right in the middle of the street and she had the horrible fear he planned to let go of her arm and walk away. Instead, he started pointing out landmarks. It seemed a crazy thing to do at twilight, with the snow falling down. But it was quiet out, the street wasn’t exactly bustling with traffic, and it was the first time the storm had let up enough for her to see the town.

  Besides all that, it felt rather nice being held in such strong arms. If he kept it up, she just might find herself liking him.

  “All but one of the buildings in town are well over a hundred years old,” he told her. “Used to be a thriving community when copper was mined here. Not much left anymore.” He pointed to a narrow, two-story white clapboard structure west of the cafe. “That was the newspaper office once; now it’s the grocery store and post office. You won’t find everything you need there, but it beats driving fifty miles for milk or beer. That’s Matt’s real estate office next door, and if you haven’t seen it by now, that place at the far e
nd of town, past the gas station, is Winchester Place—Matt’s home.”

  Through the lightly falling snow she saw an immense white mansion with columns out front. It looked like it belonged in the deep South rather than in cattle country.

  “My great-grandfather considered himself a southern gentleman. Actually, he’d been a river-boat gambler before he came west, and when he struck it rich, he built a place that reminded him of home.”

  Jon turned slightly, drawing Elizabeth’s attention to the other end of town. “We have only one church in Sapphire and most everyone shares it,” he said, pointing to the end of a tree-lined walk just east of the cafe. The church was white clapboard, like the grocery store, and had half a dozen stairs leading to its double doors and a tall steeple with a cross on the top. It looked exactly like every church she’d ever seen in black-and-white westerns on TV. So did the entire town, only Sapphire wasn’t quite as big as Dodge or Tombstone, and there weren’t nearly as many people.

  “That big stone place up on the hill,” he said, a smile of pride on his face, “that’s where I live.”

  Elizabeth looked beyond the wrought-iron gates, past the high granite barrier that tapered down to a lower wall and eventually became a wooden fence that seemed to trail on forever.

  High on an incline she saw the white stone fortress, its black slate roof and copper spires looming over the town. At each end were towers with tall arched windows. Stained glass panels framed both sides of the massive front doors. “It’s beautiful.”

  “Most people find it intimidating.”

  “Not much intimidates me.” She looked at Jon and grinned. “Not even you.”

  He only laughed and continued on across the street.

  When he pushed open the cafe door, Elizabeth was amazed by what she saw. It was like looking back in time into a gay nineties saloon with red glass chandeliers and a highly polished bar. She expected to see a burly man with a handlebar mustache tending to customers and saloon girls sashaying around, serving drinks. But the place was nearly empty except for a few tables scattered about. It wasn’t brimming with patrons, either, just two men sitting at a center table.

  She stepped inside and turned around, smiling her pleasure to Jon.

  “I take it you like our cafe,” he said as he entered, his broad shoulders barely squeezing between the jambs. He even had to tilt his head down to keep the top of his hat from brushing the dried mistletoe hanging overhead. He looked powerful and intimidating, just like the mansion he lived in, but she sensed that buried deep beneath that ominous exterior there might be a touch of warmth.

  “The atmosphere’s wonderful,” she said, slipping off her gloves as she studied the room once more.

  She was just unbuttoning her coat when she felt Jon’s hands on her shoulders, felt the leather of his gloves lightly touch the hair at the nape of her neck. He was standing very close, peeling her coat away as she released the last of the buttons, and she felt uncommonly warm all over. In fact, she realized, she’d felt warm ever since she’d opened her front door and seen him on the doorstep with firewood in his arms.

  Their gazes met when she turned around, his sapphire eyes shining brightly from under his hat. He reached somewhere to his right and got rid of her coat. And he didn’t look away. Not once.

  He swept his black felt Stetson from his head. A lock of wavy blond hair fell across his forehead as he smacked the brim against his Levi’s to shake off the snow. It was the first time she’d seen him without his hat. Oh, she’d seen the neatly trimmed sideburns, but she hadn’t noticed the way his thick blond hair waved around his ears and just barely brushed the collar of his coat. She liked what she saw, and she liked the way that errant strand fell right back over his forehead after he combed his fingers through the top.

  With their gazes locked, she was finding breathing difficult. Somehow she tore her eyes away and watched him shrug out of his jacket, getting her first good look at his body. Not an ounce of fat anywhere, and she’d been right when she’d made her earlier observation about his build. He was definitely a combination of every he-man on record. Through his blue denim shirt she could make out the play of muscles in his arms and his chest, even the flat planes of his stomach. She couldn’t picture him standing on stage with his body oiled and glistening. No, Jon would never stand around flexing and posing. He didn’t have to prove himself that way.

  He took her arm, drawing her attention from his chest to the smoothness of his cheek as he leaned over to whisper in her ear. “My friends have been staring at you since we walked into the room. Promise you won’t ogle them like you’ve been ogling me.”

  His words stung, and she tried to pull away, but he kept her close, that insufferable grin spreading across his face before he whispered to her again. “They’ve got wives at home who might not approve. I don’t have a wife—”

  She gritted her teeth and started to throw back a retort, something like An arrogant son of a gun like you will probably never have a wife, but he ushered her across the room before she had the chance.

  “Elizabeth Fitzgerald,” Jon said, as they reached the only occupied table, “I’d like you to meet Andy Andrews and Harry Dodge.”

  “Nice to meet you,” she said, shaking Andy’s hand.

  “You, too.” He was short and rotund, with gray hair styled in a crewcut. He stood and reached a red flannel-covered arm across the table, taking her hand in his and pumping it up and down. “I own the spread just south of town. You probably drove through a few miles of it on your way here. Couldn’t miss it.”

  “You mean the place covered with snow?” Elizabeth laughed. “Of course I remember it.”

  “I like this one, Jon,” Andy said, pumping Jon’s hand just as he’d done Elizabeth’s.

  Harry had stood, too, extending a thick, callused hand which seemed the perfect match for his darkly tanned weatherbeaten face. He had near black hair salted with white, a broad chest, and an even broader stomach that pushed at the buttons on his green plaid shirt. “I’m the warden for fish and wildlife,” he said rather quietly. “It’s nice you could join us.”

  “Thank you,” she said, taking the chair Jon pulled out for her.

  A petite, white-haired waitress with a pencil stuck above her ear bustled over to the table and slid white ceramic mugs in front of both Jon and Elizabeth. She poured coffee and placed the black and bronze thermal pitcher in the center of the table. “You must be the new owner of the hotel. We heard you were coming. Elizabeth Fitzgerald, right?”

  Elizabeth had no time to answer. The woman talked so fast she could hardly keep up.

  “I’m Libby. I own this place, along with my husband, Jack.” She nodded to the bald man sliding a steaming plate onto the stainless steel counter between the kitchen and the dining room.

  “Nice to meet you,” Elizabeth said.

  “You, too, honey.” Libby whipped a menu out from under her arm and held it out to Elizabeth. “You can order just about anything you want, but the special tonight’s pork chops. Same special every Monday night. That’s what Harry and Andy are having, and I highly recommend it—right, Mayor?” She looked straight at Jon.

  “Right, Lib. Best in Montana.”

  Mayor? Jon Winchester was the mayor of Sapphire? He didn’t look like a mayor; he looked more like a rancher just in from the range.

  “So, would you like the pork chops, hon?” Libby asked.

  “If that’s what the mayor recommends, guess I’ll give them a try.”

  “Make that two, Lib,” Jon said.

  “Double order?”

  Jon grinned. “You know me too well.”

  “Been feeding you since you were a baby,” she said, pouring out more coffee. “Orders will be up in just a few minutes. I’ve got fresh huckleberry pie in the back, too. Make sure you save room.”

  As Libby tucked the menus back under her arm and bustled away, Elizabeth picked up the steaming mug of coffee and turned her attention to Jon. “You didn’t mention anyt
hing about being mayor.”

  “No, guess I didn’t.” He dumped two heaping spoons of sugar into his coffee and stirred it slow and easy. “Harry and Andy are the town council,” he said with a laugh. “The sign at the edge of town says three-seventy-two, but it’s more like one-hundred-and-one, give or take a few. Not too much to govern, and not much to make a big deal over.”

  “Most of us aren’t big on politics,” Andy chimed in. “Just want to keep things running right around town.”

  “Would that include helping me find a contractor to do some hotel renovation?” She started to relate Matt’s comment about the mayor helping her out but remembered Jon’s reaction the last time Matt’s name had come up and decided it might be better left unmentioned.

  Jon tilted his cup toward his mouth and watched Elizabeth through the steam. “We don’t have any contractors in town. No builders, no plumbers, no electricians, and no handymen.”

  “What do you do when you need something fixed?”

  “Do it ourselves.”

  “Is everyone in town that self-sufficient?”

  “Have to be when you live out here,” Harry told her.

  “Well,” Elizabeth said, “I can do a lot on my own. Nothing ever stopped me before. Of course, I’ll need help with the heavy stuff. Maybe you know some high-schoolers looking for spending money.”

  “Kids are in school and have chores and sports after. Sorry, Elizabeth,” Andy said, “there just aren’t too many people in Sapphire looking for jobs. They’re either retired, working out of town, or too busy.”

  “Andy’s right,” Harry said. “This town’s too small, and anyone who’d be able to give you a hand is probably already busy at something else. You could try calling someone in Anaconda. Maybe Butte or Helena, but I’ve never seen anyone want to come this far out to work.”

  “I’d have thought the city council would be eager to assist me. Once I get the hotel opened, there might be a few more people frequenting Sapphire businesses. That means more money in town.”