Ghost of a Chance (Banshee Creek Book 2)

by Gonzalez, Ani

  Gabe, however, seemed totally unaffected. His shirt was unbuttoned and a bit rumpled for his standards, but he still managed to look neat and put-together. He greeted her mom with perfect equanimity.

  But he wasn't as immune as he wanted to pretend. He'd managed to straighten his clothes but the neck of his sweater was still a little crooked, and she could see the hickey on his neck. The sight of the tiny red spot gave rise to a small surge of satisfaction.

  She could break Gabe Franco.

  Then she realized her mom may also catch sight of the hickey and she panicked. If her mom even suspected there was something between Elizabeth and Gabe, she'd go into nuclear matchmaking mode. That wasn't something Elizabeth wanted.

  "You look well, Mrs. Hunt," Gabe said.

  Elizabeth had to agree. Her mom 's cheerful blue suit appeared tidy and professional, and Elizabeth felt a wave of relief wash over her. This was not the shambling old lady who'd meandered around the house in a wrinkled bathrobe for the past months. This was her mom. Of course, it made Elizabeth feel a little self-conscious about her own unkempt status. And why wasn't Gabe buttoning his shirt? She motioned toward her neck when her mother turned to inspect the office.

  Gabe, however, avoided her glance.

  "I feel very well." Her mom nodded, apparently satisfied with her perusal. "It's good to be back here." She frowned, however, as she caught sight of the plants.

  She stepped forward and touched the dirt inside of the pots. Her brows knitted in a puzzled frown. "You remembered to water the plants, Elizabeth. Thank you."

  Gabe, still trying to pretend that Elizabeth did not exist, didn't snitch on her.

  Cue sigh of relief.

  Her mom caressed the yellowing leaves gently. "Maybe they need more light," she said as she moved the pot to a sunny spot.

  "Sorry, Mom," Elizabeth said. "I should have moved them."

  Gabe hid a smile. Elizabeth frowned at him and jabbed at her neck again. A bewildered expression was his only response.

  "Oh, honey, don't worry." Mary Hunt adjusted the wooden blinds to let in more light. "I should have been here to take care of them."

  "Mom..." Elizabeth started.

  "Never mind." She turned to beam at Gabe. "What's done is done. How does Isabel put it, Gabe? A lo hecho, pecho?" She paused. "Or is it pato?"

  Of course her mom would beam at Gabe. She'd always had a soft spot for him.

  "I always loved that phrase," her mom continued. She moved another pot to the windowsill, stepped back, and looked around. "Well, we have work to do if we're going to meet our one-week deadline."

  She picked up the stack of listings, put on her reading glasses, and leafed through them quickly. The gesture was brisk and professional, and Elizabeth practically sighed with relief.

  "This is quite a list, Elizabeth." She finished reading and folded the paper into perfect squares. "It's going to take a lot of work, though."

  "We'd better get started then," Gabe said in his I'm-an-important-CEO voice.

  She hated that voice.

  Her mom, however, smiled fondly. "Yes. We can start with the Middleburg listings. Elizabeth can take you while I look through the rest of this list."

  Sorry, what?

  "But I was fired," she blurted.

  She wasn't entirely averse to driving Gabe around the city, waiting for a chance to jump into his pants, but she really wanted her mom to go with Gabe. Getting her mom back to work was a lot more important than getting Gabe Franco naked.

  Really.

  Her mom didn't meet her gaze. She looked intently at the plants. "It's going to rain today," she said plaintively, "and I think I'm coming down with that dreadful flu that's going around." She turned to look at Gabe beseechingly. "I'm sure you understand. Your dad was in bed for two weeks."

  Elizabeth watched the performance, speechless. Well, now she knew where her acting chops came from. Her mom wasn't half bad. She waited for Gabe's reaction. He'd been very clear yesterday. He didn't want her around.

  "I'm not sure Elizabeth is the right person..." Gabe started to say.

  "I'm not," Elizabeth blurted. "And anyway, I'm going to lunch with Zach."

  Gabe tensed and his face darkened in anger. Why? She couldn't give him a helping hand? After all, they were on the same side, if only temporarily. They both wanted her mom to take him on the house hunt, didn't they?

  So why was Gabe glaring at her?

  "Zach will understand," her mom said.

  "No, he won't," Elizabeth lied. After all, Zach didn't even know about the lunch date yet. "It's a working lunch."

  Gabe was still glaring. Yep, a big fat scowl. "Well, we can't let your mom make herself sick, Elizabeth," he said between clenched teeth. "That's more important than your lunch plans, isn't it?"

  She couldn't believe her ears. True, spying on Zach's remodeling efforts while guzzling copious amounts of sangría didn't really constitute work, but still, she could have lunch with whoever she wanted, couldn't she?

  Apparently not.

  "You're a sweetheart, Gabriel," her mom said, beaming her approval. "I should get reacquainted with the office. Elizabeth can take you to see the Middleburg houses." She smiled at him fondly. "Maybe you'll fall in love with one of them, and we won't even have to look through the rest of her listings."

  "Maybe," he said. But Elizabeth was suspicious. Yesterday, he'd been in a rush to get her out of his hair. Two minutes ago he could barely stand to look at her. Then he'd kissed her. Then he'd pushed her away again. Now he wanted to go house hunting with her. What was going on?

  Damn, she really needed that glass of sangría. This man was driving her crazy, and not in a good way.

  "You should get started," her mom said.

  Elizabeth opened her mouth to protest, but Gabe put his hand on the small of her back and pushed her toward the door.

  "We'll get going then," he said.

  She barely had a chance to grab her purse before Gabe opened the door and led her out into the parking lot.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  COLD DROPS of rain fell as Gabe led a very confused Elizabeth to his car. He couldn't blame her. What the hell was wrong with him? He didn't lose control like that. Ever.

  And he'd liked losing control. He'd liked it a bit too much.

  He'd never be able to forget the look in her eyes as she'd unbuttoned his shirt, single-minded and focused. He'd known that Elizabeth was intense, but he couldn't have imagined what it would be like to have that intensity focused on him. Only on him.

  Stopping her sexy explorations had been the hardest thing he'd ever done. And he'd agreed to go house hunting with her. What was he thinking?

  He was thinking he had no choice. Mary Hunt had maneuvered him into an early meeting with Elizabeth and expertly concocted an ironclad excuse for missing the house hunting. Clearly, serious matchmaking was afoot. His defenses had been breached, and it was time to retreat and regroup. He had to figure out a way to outwit Mrs. Hunt, and the house showing trip gave him a chance to do exactly that.

  Keeping Elizabeth away from his brother had nothing to do with it.

  He strode to his car, ignoring the wet drizzle. He wanted to finish the house hunt pronto. His real estate agent was entirely too attractive. The tall boots and hose made her legs look tantalizing. But why was she wearing sky-high heels in a town where, as his dad had found out when he'd tried to fix the pizzeria's walkway, a local ordinance required that exactly thirty-seven percent of all pedestrian surfaces be covered in cobblestones? Did she have a death wish?

  "We can take my car," she said. "My house is nearby."

  He pictured her woebegone vehicle, recalling the radioactive paint job and the bumper sticker that read "My Other Car is a Centaurii Destroyer." No. Just no.

  "We could also take all our clothes off and jump off the Falls, but we're not doing that, are we?" he said as he opened the passenger door to the Ferrari.

  She sighed dramatically and got into the car.

/>   Gabe stared intently at the pavement. Looking at the pavement was a lot safer than sneaking a peek at Elizabeth's legs. He shut the door and walked to the driver's side of the car.

  He meant to keep his best friend's little sister at arms' length. He was going to see a couple of houses, pick one, head back to the hotel, and take a cold shower. And then he was going to stay far away from Elizabeth Hunt.

  "So we're going on a house hunt," she said as he sat in the driver's seat. "Hell must have frozen over. You should call your PRoVE buddies. They'll want to get it on tape."

  "I wasn't that blunt."

  Elizabeth didn't answer. She seemed to be having trouble buckling her seatbelt. He forced his gaze onto the steering wheel though. He wasn't going to ogle her as she buckled herself in. No way.

  "Firing me was pretty blunt," she said. The belt clicked shut, and Gabe started the car.

  Only a couple of hours. He could survive a couple of hours.

  She checked her phone for the address. He turned on the car's navigation system, and she stabbed the address into the screen impatiently.

  "You also kissed me," she continued stubbornly. "Which is kind of confusing, because you made it absolutely clear you don't want me around. And then you let my mother maneuver you into taking me with you. What was that about? You don't strike me as the type that's susceptible to manipulation."

  "I'm not going to waste energy fighting the inevitable. Might as well play along."

  "Is that what that kiss was? Playing along?" She finished putting in the address, and the navigation system started mapping it out.

  "The kiss was a mistake."

  "Which one?" she asked, her mouth curving into a smile. "The first one or the second one?"

  "Either. Both."

  He regretted the blunt answer immediately. It was the kind of response that worked beautifully in the business world but was somewhat less successful in more intimate settings. He sighed and braced himself for an inevitable avalanche of hurt feelings.

  But Elizabeth just laughed. She didn't seem bothered by his answer, which was a relief. "Why drag me along on a house hunt then?"

  "I'd catch hell if I forced Mrs. Hunt to show me houses." He exited the parking lot smoothly, turning on the wipers. The rain was starting to come down hard. "I know when I've been outplayed. Face it, our parents are conspiring against use."

  That wiped the smile off her face. "Crap."

  "You hadn't noticed?" He glanced at her, gauging her expression. He didn't think she was in on the plot, but...

  She looked suitably horrified. "I hoped it was just my imagination."

  Her expression was reassuring, if not exactly flattering. "You're confusing me. Kissing is fine, but matchmaking crosses some kind of boundary?"

  "Kissing is great. More than kissing would be fabulous. Interfering relatives and obnoxious neighbors, not so good. Do you want to walk down the aisle at St. Michael's?"

  The image alone sent a shiver of fear running down his spine. "No. However, I do want to get to Middleburg, which I notice is not where the navigation system says we're going."

  She glanced at the screen on the Ferrari's dashboard. "Oh. You saw that," she said, exhibiting a complete lack of repentance.

  "Why are you showing me a house in town?"

  "It'll only take a minute. And it's on the way to Middleburg."

  "Are you joking? We're almost to the river. There's nothing left except for—"

  The navigation system's sultry voice chirped a warning. They had reached their destination. He didn't even have to read the weathered sign on the corner. He knew this house.

  "You want me to buy the Dudley Farm?" His voice rang out with disbelief.

  The Dudley Dairy Farm was old, really, really old. It was older than the Hagen House, older than the Haunted Orchard cidery, older than Banshee Creek itself. The town limits had been far, far away when the Dudley Farm had been built. As the town expanded, the Dudley heirs had sold the land around the farmhouse first to the cidery and then to the neighborhood developers. Jeremiah Dudley was the only family member who'd refused to sell. He'd lived in the farmhouse until his death.

  "The Historical Preservation Committee will sell it to you," Elizabeth said with inappropriate cheerfulness.

  "They own it?" he asked, but he already knew the answer. The Historical Preservation loonies were the only people crazy enough to buy the Dudley Orchard.

  "Potential buyers found the historical preservation restrictions a bit..." She paused, trying to find the right word. "Intimidating. Jeremiah Dudley spent years trying to sell it, and when he died, he retaliated by leaving the house to the Committee."

  "The restrictions?" Gabe's voice rose. "What about the alien experiments he claimed took place here? Those aren't, how did you put it, intimidating?"

  Not that he didn't admire Jeremiah Dudley's entrepreneurial spirit. The man had found a exsanguinated cow in his yard in 1976 and turned the unlucky bovine into a cottage industry. He'd published three treaties on the alien experiments that had been supposedly carried out in his backyard and, when those had sold out at the UFO conventions, he'd gone on to write two books on his experiences as an alien abductee. Gabe was very familiar with Jeremiah Dudley's contributions to the literary world. Cole had made him read all of them.

  But Elizabeth dismissed his concerns with a careless wave of her hand. "Those were just books. No one believed the old geezer, not even the guys who did the PBS special."

  "Your brother believed him."

  "My brother cried when my parents told him that Close Encounters of the Third Kind wasn't a documentary. He was a nut."

  He couldn't deny that. He'd spent a long, cold weekend camping out in Dudley land with Cole, waiting for an UFO to appear. "Why isn't the Committee restoring it?" he asked, looking at the peeling paint on the sign. "Isn't that in their job description?"

  "They had Liam draw up some plans, but he refused to take on the restoration. He claimed to be suffering from Post-Traumatic Chandelier Disorder."

  "Is that what it's called?" he asked, chuckling. "Are hallucinations in the symptom list? If so, you should get checked for it. It might explain why you think I might buy this house."

  "The Committee will waive most of the restrictions," she said enticingly, a real estate Eve unloading her tainted fruit.

  He narrowed his eyes in suspicion. "You already spoke to the Committee, didn't you? You were planning to foist this house on me all along."

  "Not all along," she replied, looking deeply offended. "Just since last night."

  "You don't give up, do you?" he asked with reluctant admiration. "Fine, I'll bite. What does 'most' mean?"

  "You have to keep the original structure," she said, a prim look upon her face.

  He laughed. "The one that Liam wouldn't touch with a ten-foot pole? That's the one I have to keep?"

  "The town will take that into consideration when determining the price of the house."

  "What else?"

  "The land has to be turned into a public park."

  "What? I have to build a park?" A community space for little green men? No wonder the Committee couldn't find a buyer. "Where am I supposed to put it? Down the hill where the crop circles used to be?"

  "Yes," Elizabeth said firmly. "The Committee wants to change the image of the town. They want something that recognizes the original farm. But not cows. They really don't want any dairy associations. Maybe some apple trees, or a wishing well fountain."

  "A fountain," he repeated, picturing a flying saucer with sprinklers. "I don't want a fountain. I thought I explained this to you. I just want a good-sized house with no ghosts, real or celluloid. Why is that so hard to understand?"

  She beamed. "This house has no ghosts." A note of triumph crept into her voice. "None whatsoever."

  He felt a throbbing in his temples. Was she serious? Did he have to add "no extraterrestrial tourism" to his list of requirements?

  "C'mon, Gabe. Why don't we just take a loo
k at the house? Give the town a chance."

  "Why are you so obsessed with having me buy in Banshee Creek? It's just a town. And Middleburg is right next door."

  She remained stubbornly silent.

  He sighed and turned onto the unpaved road. He shouldn't, of course. He should keep driving until he reached Middleburg, found the closest real estate office, and hired the first agent he saw there.

  But he didn't.

  He had to admit he liked driving around with Elizabeth, arguing about their crazy town. Liked it a little bit too much.

  "One quick look and that's it. Ten minutes tops. No, five."

  But a park? He couldn't keep himself from adding up landscaping costs in his head as he drove up to the house. He wasn't familiar with the residential real estate market, but he knew how much commercial landscaping cost. Had the orchard been kept up? He doubted it. That meant all of the trees had to be torn down and replanted. As the driveway went on and on, the numbers scrolling in his head reached six figures. And he hadn't even reached the house yet.

  He focused on the house. The small farmhouse had been charming at one time. Now, it was just old. The white paint looked like flaky dandruff, and the glass on the windows was cracked. A fair number of roof shingles were missing. Overgrown azaleas obscured the porch, but didn't hide the sagging columns.

  No self-respecting alien would abduct anyone in this house.

  "It's structurally sound," Elizabeth said.

  "Yeah, and that's pretty much all you can say about it."

  She didn't respond. Instead, she grabbed an umbrella from her purse and opened the car door quickly, as if she was afraid he would change his mind and drive off.

  He turned off the engine, and stepped out of the car. Icy droplets hit his face as he inspected the property. The farmhouse itself wasn't unattractive. With freshly painted white siding and new shutters, it would look decent.

  He stopped short. Decent? Where had that thought come from? This was absolutely not the kind of house he wanted. He walked quickly to catch up to Elizabeth, who was wobbling her way to the farmhouse. He waited for her to plunge headfirst into a mud puddle, but she made it to the house in one piece. Luckily for her, the porch was a more forgiving surface. Barely.