Haunting Ellie

by Patti Berg

  The four-by-four jolted to a stop in front of a rustic log restaurant with Michelob, Coors, and Budweiser neon signs hanging in the windows and at least a dozen other four-by-fours parked outside. “This place has the best steak in the West. Great dancing, too. You do know how to dance, don’t you?”

  She just smiled, and wondered how she could get herself involved with arrogant men over and over. As for dancing, a good, slow waltz sounded more her style than some kind of country line dancing, although after Matt Winchester’s comment, she was ready to give anything a whirl. But would she know what to do when her feet hit the dance floor?

  They were ushered to a table near the center of the room by a cute young thing with long blonde hair and a short gingham skirt, and the way Matt was checking out the girl, Elizabeth thought for sure he was going to pat the blonde’s butt and whisper sweet nothings in her ear.

  Would Jon have looked at the waitress in the same way? Would he have made some condescending remark about her dancing?

  Oh, heavens! She wished she could just put Jon out of her mind and concentrate on his cousin. Matt wasn’t all bad, just conceited and arrogant—in the extreme. Jon’s arrogance was a little more subtle; a little more likable.

  Elizabeth drank three-fourths of a beer before a monstrous plate arrived bearing a sizzling steak half the size of Montana and a spud as big as Idaho. It might take her a good hour to clean her plate, but she had nothing else to do while Matt related more stories about himself. Even the men she’d known at home weren’t quite this self-centered.

  She found herself concentrating on the men playing pool at the far end of the room, at wooden beer steins lined up over the bar with names burned into them like Buck and Jake and Tom. And she watched the entrance, wondering if she could somehow sneak away and manage to find her way back home—alone.

  She was staring good and hard at that entry door when it opened and Jon Winchester walked in, all six feet six inches of him, one big hand square on the shoulder of a petite, sophisticated redhead.

  “Well, look what just walked in,” Matt said, sliding an arm possessively around Elizabeth’s back. “Think we should invite them to join us?”

  “They don’t exactly look like they’re interested in anyone else’s company,” Elizabeth stated, wishing she could crawl under the table or out the door and not have to see Jon again tonight... especially now that she knew what had suddenly come up that was better than having dinner with her.

  “Oh, I don’t know,” Matt answered. “This could be fun.”

  In less than a heavy heartbeat, Jon and the woman neared their table, but Elizabeth doubted Jon had even seen her sitting there. The big oaf was too busy talking to the lady on his arm. But what could he possibly see in her? She had on a conservative navy business suit and plain old navy pumps. It didn’t matter that she had the most gorgeously elegant red hair Elizabeth had ever seen, or big blue eyes and plump pink lips.

  Elizabeth grabbed hold of her beer and took a long swallow. In thirty-one years of living she didn’t think she’d ever been struck by jealousy, but tonight it was blazing as bright as one of the green neon signs in the window.

  “ ‘Evening, Jon,” Matt said. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

  “I hadn’t planned on running into you, either.” Jon’s voice was hard, his demeanor less than friendly. His frown turned from Matt to Elizabeth, and that look that normally warmed her toes and fingers turned them to ice.

  “Hello, Elizabeth.” Jon tipped his hat in greeting.

  “Hello.”

  Jon drew the redhead a little closer to him. “Elizabeth Fitzgerald, Matt Winchester, this is a friend of mine—Francesca Lyon.”

  The woman’s handshake was firm and friendly. She had a nice smile, a lovely voice. And Elizabeth despised her.

  “Care to join us?” Matt asked.

  Jon looked down at his companion, then back at Matt. “Not tonight. Hope the two of you enjoy your dinner,” he said, and without any further words, led Francesca to the far side of the room where the hostess was waiting to seat them.

  “Jon’s always had a penchant for picking pretty ladies,” Matt said. “Wonder where he found this one?”

  “Does it really matter?” Elizabeth snapped, instantly regretting her tone of voice.

  Eyes narrowing, Matt studied Elizabeth’s expression and grinned. “Jealous, huh?” He sliced off a hunk of steak and held it to his mouth. “Not a wise thing where that cousin of mine’s concerned. Love ’em and leave ‘em, that’s the story I’ve heard.”

  Elizabeth managed to laugh. “Isn’t that typical for most men? You, for instance?”

  “Possibly. One big difference with me: I don’t pretend to be anything other than what I am. I have no intention of ever hooking up permanently with a woman. I like having a good time, with no strings attached.”

  That statement didn’t surprise her a bit.

  Matt talked, and somehow they laughed the evening away. They danced, too, and Elizabeth managed to enjoy herself, except on those occasions when she caught sight of Jon and the redhead: the two of them talked incessantly, arms on the table, leaning intimately close, sharing confidences.

  As if they enjoyed each other’s company.

  A dark, bearded man in army fatigues stopped by and chatted with Matt. No one bothered to introduce her, but Elizabeth didn’t care; she was much too busy spying on the table across the room. She knew she shouldn’t, and she wondered why she should even care what Jon did tonight—with Francesca or without.

  The man with the beard was more than annoying. The few times she pretended to be interested in the conversation the man was having with Matt, he was stuffing another wad of chew in his cheek and swigging a beer. Their discussion was just as uninteresting as the man was disgusting. She couldn't care less about the alligator skin boots Matt had picked up in Florida, but the two men seemed to find it rather funny.

  When Matt’s friend finally left the table, Matt spun Elizabeth around the dance floor one more time. She never once saw Jon and Francesca in the midst of the dancers; instead, they stayed together at their table and talked. She would have liked seeing him dance. Could that titan’s body move as well as Matt’s? she wondered. Would his hand at her waist make her tingle and wish he would pull her close? Matt’s hadn’t.

  In the midst of her staring, Francesca got up from the table and headed toward the ladies’ room. Jon was alone now, and his gaze darted across the room to her table. He frowned, then searched the room. His eyes found hers and stayed there—very intense, very cold.

  Matt twirled her around, but she could still feel Jon’s gaze on her back, a feeling she’d known again and again since that day she drove into town. That look still took her breath; still haunted her lonely evenings.

  The music slowed, the dancing stopped for now, and Matt held her close as they returned to their table. She was laughing; she was having a good time in spite of her partner, until she saw Jon leaning back in one of their empty seats, his arms folded across his chest.

  “Where’s your girlfriend, Jon?” Matt asked. “Lose her so soon?”

  “Not exactly.” Jon sipped on a mug of beer. “Are you doing business with Floyd Jones again?”

  Matt shrugged his shoulders, his ever-present grin not leaving his face in spite of the fact that sheer contempt was flying from Jon’s eyes. “We’re friends ... old friends.”

  “He just got out of jail for poaching.”

  “Yeah, I heard that. Poor guy’s looking for a new job now. Not too many people want to hire felons, I’m afraid.”

  “What about you?”

  “He knows Montana better than most hunters, and that’s the kind of man I need to lead my expeditions. You think I should hire an amateur? Put a bunch of greenhorns in the hands of someone who doesn’t know how to stop a grizzly if it comes charging?”

  Jon laughed. “Always have the perfect explanation, don’t you?”

  “I work hard at it.”

 
Elizabeth could almost see the friction firing from Jon’s eyes to Matt’s.

  “I suppose you heard about the latest poaching incident out at Schoolmarm.”

  “Yeah,” Matt said, taking a sip of beer and appearing totally disinterested in the subject. “Heard they missed one of the cubs.”

  “I heard that, too. How much do you think the poacher missed out on? Another gallbladder, four more paws? Worth a pretty penny, huh?”

  Matt laughed. “How would I know? My business is on the up-and-up, and this asinine suspicion you have is wearing on my nerves. I’ve been investigated ad nauseam, and no one’s found a thing.”

  “That’s something that’s always bothered me,” Jon said, shaking his head.

  “Don’t lose any sleep over it, cousin. There are more important things to worry about in this world than a few dead animals. But I’ll tell you what. I’ll keep my eyes out for poachers and for little lost bear cubs, and if I find anything, I’ll make sure you’re the first to know.”

  “Keeping your eyes open would be a wise decision, Matt. You never know who might be watching.”

  Elizabeth hadn’t taken her eyes off Jon, wondering when his calm would ignite, but he seemed totally in control. She found herself breathing hard, caught as she was in the middle of the fray, and the cold look Jon bore when he looked into her eyes did little for her composure. Was he angry, disappointed, or what? It was impossible to tell, but her insides quivered and a lump formed in her throat.

  This definitely hadn’t been a good night for him to catch her with Matt.

  It hadn’t been a good night for her to see him with Francesca, either.

  “Sorry to interrupt your evening. I’m sure you two have plenty to talk about,” Jon said, as Francesca walked up to the table. He tipped his hat. “See you in the morning, Elizabeth.”

  “Nice meeting you, Francesca,” she said. It was a lie, but a polite one. “Goodnight, Jon.”

  “So now you know a little bit more about my cousin,” Matt said, after Jon and Francesca left the restaurant. “Lover of animals. Protector of the environment. That kind of nonsense doesn’t set too well with most folks around here.”

  Matt’s sense of humor was disappearing rapidly. He gave his watch a quick glance, then shoved out of his chair. “It’s late, Liz,” he said, grabbing his coat and tossing her parka into her hands. “Let’s get out of here.”

  Elizabeth shivered when she stepped outside into the below freezing temperature, and Matt’s arm around her shoulders did nothing to alleviate the icy chill that permeated her body. Even adjusting the temperature in the Explorer to “hot” appeared useless. She couldn’t warm up, not the way she could when Jon came near.

  “Why is there so much animosity between you and Jon?” she asked, as Matt maneuvered the turns at breakneck speed.

  “Animosity? I think you’re reading something into our disagreement.”

  “There’s a lot of sarcasm in those words you just uttered. Tell me the truth, Matt.”

  He laughed. “What can I say? There’s been a feud going on between Jon’s side of the family and mine since the turn of the century, and Jon won’t let it rest.” Matt grasped the wheel with his left hand and stretched his right arm across the back of her seat to play with the wispy hairs that had slipped out of her braid. She felt no warmth in his touch, nothing tender or gentle, not like she had with Jon. He did it by rote, mechanically, without much thought. If there’d been more room in the car, she might have moved away. She was trapped, though, and she hated the feeling.

  “Only two Winchesters left now—Jon and me,” Matt continued, “and he’s bound and determined to make me regret we’re related. The guy doesn’t have much tolerance for outfitters or hunters, and he’s going out of his way to prove I’ve been part of the poaching.” Matt laughed. “It seems as if I did something wrong in my past and he’s sworn to get revenge.”

  “That’s a little melodramatic, don’t you think?”

  Matt shrugged. “He doesn’t care too much for my real estate practices, either. But what the hell?”

  It was the longest, most uncomfortable drive she could remember. Matt drove even faster than he had on the way to dinner. They hit ice a time or two, and one time came close to sliding into a ditch. Matt didn’t seem to care. Elizabeth did, and she swore she’d never get into a car with him again.

  oOo

  The vehicle slid to a stop in front of the hotel, and Elizabeth gave a quick prayer of thanks for having gotten home safely. “Thanks for dinner, Matt,” she said, wishing she could get out of the car and inside the hotel before he made a move, but she wasn’t that lucky. He’d rounded the Explorer and had hold of her arm before she closed the door.

  She could feel the tight possessiveness of his grip through the sleeve of her coat, and when they reached the door he pressed his cold, leather-gloved hands to her cheeks and kissed her, hard and swift, and his lips were just as cold as the cowhide. “It was a nice evening, Liz. We’ll have to do it again sometime.”

  All she did was smile and put her key in the door. “Thank you again, Matt,” she said, praying he wouldn’t ask to come inside.

  And her prayer was answered in an instant. Matt blew her a kiss and walked away.

  She twisted the key and stepped inside. Solitude had never been so welcome.

  The foyer chandelier was swinging full force, and Elizabeth wondered if the firm Montana ground had decided to shimmy and shake like southern California dirt.

  And then she heard it.

  Spitooey!

  She didn’t want to hear it, though.

  She closed the door gently, leaned against it, and listened.

  And listened some more.

  Impossible, she decided, and tried to convince herself that she’d heard nothing more than the tinkle of swaying crystals. She’d imagined the noise, but heavens, it had sounded as if someone had spit something nasty off their tongue. She imagined it was the same thing Jon would have done if he’d been peeking through the glass in the door and caught sight of Matt kissing her goodnight.

  There was nothing to worry about, though. Matt’s kiss had been as dry and tasteless as recycled cardboard, and she hadn’t felt anything but a lump of foreboding in her stomach.

  Quite similar to the foreboding she felt right now, thinking about that sound, and watching the chandelier sway when she’d felt no draft at all.

  Chapter 6

  Sometime in the middle of the night the storm subsided. The shrill screams of wind that had blown through the loosened windows quieted, and the long, bony fingers of the naked poplar outside the hotel ceased their incessant scratching on the glass and shingles. Yet the soft moaning in the attic continued, and Elizabeth lay awake, listening to what sounded like a sad, tearful man.

  It’s only the house, she told herself again and again. The floorboards. The windows. The ancient furnace.

  Amanda...

  Elizabeth’s muscles tensed as stark, cold fear raced through her body. She shivered, pulling the blankets tightly under her chin for warmth and what little protection they could provide from the unknown. She focused her eyes on the darkened ceiling, waiting for another sound, for movement, for something that would explain that noise.

  She listened more intently, slowing her own breathing so she wouldn’t miss a sound, a heartbeat, a misplaced step across the floor.

  Amanda...

  No, floorboards and windows didn’t resonate at all like that. They didn’t echo through the rooms, or make the tiniest hairs on her arms prickle. She’d listened to floorboards and windows before. She’d listened to rafters and wall studs. She’d lain beneath them and listened to them groan and whine, stretch and crackle, but they hadn’t cried, and they’d never sounded like a tormented phantom, or a lonely, sorrow-filled man.

  Amanda...

  And her house had never called out the name of a woman. Not once had anyone called Elizabeth.

  She’d known loneliness. And that’s what she heard n
ow. As much as she wanted to deny the fact, at the back of her mind she couldn’t help but wonder—could it be a ghost, some troubled spirit haunting this forlorn and desolate hotel? She continued to listen, but the lamenting had stopped just as the storm had ceased, and she found the quiet even more disturbing.

  And even more lonely.

  She rolled over in bed and hugged the fluffy down pillow, pretending for just one moment a lover rested beside her, someone with strong, caring arms. Someone to ease her loneliness and fears. She looked at the pillow and envisioned a face with a lopsided grin and sapphire eyes, and a slow, tender smile tilted her lips. She hugged the pillow tightly and sighed. Jon had such a unique way of warming her insides, making her tremble when he touched her.

  But how could she think about him now? He’d ditched her tonight for some pretty, petite redhead. She punched her fist into the pillow and twisted over in bed.

  A lonely cry broke through her frustration and reverie, pushing thoughts of Jonathan completely from her mind. The desolate weeping was louder this time, stronger... an echo of her own inner thoughts. She needed to seek out the sound, needed to know why it came in the night. Was it only the wind howling through windows, or a lost, hopeless soul?

  She climbed out of bed and crept up the stairs. The crying deepened as she neared the attic, but she added no sound of her own, her sock-covered feet quiet on the hard, dusty oak floorboards.

  A thin stream of light sneaked under the partially open door and around the edge. Elizabeth rested her fingers on the dingy white wood and pushed gently. The moon shone through a far window, and just as she entered, the curtains dropped and fluttered as if someone had been holding them back to peer out. Listening intently, she heard no sound of footsteps. Searching the room, she saw nothing moving, no one hiding in a darkened corner. Nothing inhabited the room; not a soul occupied the large, empty space. And then she realized—the crying had ceased.