The Good, The Bad and The Ghostly ((Paranromal Western Romance))

by Keta Diablo

  Depending on the gait of the horses, trot or gallop, he hoped he had time to blow up at least three of the kerosene jars. Of course, many factors hinged on whether he'd take down one, two or all of the men before they reached him. Would they be riding close together or would they spread out, thereby decreasing group exposure? Would they storm in or ride in cautiously? They thought he'd died after they shot him, but were they sober enough to make sure he died before attacking a helpless woman and her son? The thought of that renewed his determination to kill them all before they killed him.

  Domingo brought his hand up and halted the riders beside him. They all searched the confines of the property and then turned to focus on Domingo again. An animated conversation took place before Mutton Chop and Digger advanced. Side-by-side, yet separated by thirty feet, they rode forth, their eyes locked on the cabin.

  Coy called on his patience and next his resolve. He'd have to hit two glass jars to get them both, and time it perfectly. As soon as they were close to the red rocks, he aimed for the rock on his right. Bang! The explosion sent the horses into a panic and Mutton Chop flying through the air. Aiming for the second jar, the retort from his rifle echoed in his ears. The second explosion knocked Digger from his horse. He hit the ground face first, his body motionless.

  Coy looked beyond the carnage and through the haze of smoke to Benito and Domingo. As expected, they split up, one angling left, one right. When Domingo skirted the line of rocks, Coy knew the ruse was over. For now, he had to concentrate on Benito. He didn't appear to have misgivings about riding through the minefield directly for the cabin. Rifle raised, his knees hugging the sides of his horse, Benito fired off a shot. Coy felt its speed through the broken pane when it sent the rocking chair tumbling from beneath him.

  Coy landed on his side, aware of the acute pain, a white-hot fire, running through his back. Half-crawling, half–dragging his body to the window, he aimed for Benito's chest. A look of shock crossed the man's eyes before he slipped from the saddle like a rag doll. Like his cohort, he fell face-down into the dirt and didn't move a muscle.

  A curse flew from Coy's lips. While concentrating on Benito, he'd lost sight of Domingo.

  Chapter Thirteen

  "Ma, stop the wagon! Ma!"

  Jesse reined in and brought Mae and Maude to a stop.

  "Did you hear that? Rifle shots, lots of 'em. I gotta go back!"

  Slack-jawed, Jesse shook her head. "Are you crazy? You can't ride into that! They'll kill you, son."

  "I'm not riding; I'm running." He jumped from the seat in one swift motion. Rifle in the crook of his arm, he and Fetch sprinted toward the ranch, calling out over his shoulder. "Hurry, Ma, get the sheriff!"

  A mire of smoke and ash swirled through the air and landed on the roof when Grange came up behind the cabin. His stomach dropped when he looked higher and spied buzzards circling overhead. Someone had died. He prayed it wasn't Coy.

  Crouching beside a stand of mesquite, he looked at Fetch when the dog emitted a low, lethal growl. "Shush, boy. We don't want them to know we're here."

  Grange crab-crawled to the back of the house and peered through the bedroom window. From here, he could see into the kitchen. His heart skipped a beat when he spied the rocking chair on its side but couldn't see Coy.

  A shadow stepped out from behind a pillar of the porch and Grange held his breath. "Domingo," he whispered.

  The man's voice drifted in the small confines of cabin. "So, Amigo, you are a hard one to kill." His villainous laugh turned Grange's stomach. "Or perhaps I am stupid for not letting them put a second bullet in you."

  "I'll go for the second one, you're stupid, always have been."

  Coy's voice. Thank God you're still alive.

  "Not this time, gringo." He cocked his pistol and pointed at the floor near his feet. "Now I wait for the woman and the boy to come out. They are hiding, no, amigo?"

  Silence reigned.

  "The Santos Ranch will be mine after I hunt them down and kill them. Now tell me where they are and I will kill you fast."

  "Or....?"

  "I'll take my time and use my knife."

  "You really think you I'd ever tell you where they are?"

  "You made your choice, Coy Santos."

  Domingo pulled a long knife from his waistband and loomed over Coy. Grange pushed the barrel of his rifle through the two-inch opening of the window and aimed for the Mexican's torso.

  Two-inches to the right. Two inches to the right. His father's voice rang in his ears, giving him strength.

  Grange pulled the trigger, relieved he hit his mark when Domingo fell to his knees. The man turned his head and looked at him, his expression of shock bringing him a sense of satisfaction. Domingo's knife clattered to the floor next his body.

  Grange and Fetch ran around the back of the house, crossed the yard and took the porch steps two at a time. Entering the kitchen, he looked down on Coy. "Where are the others?"

  Coy grimaced when he said the words. "Dead, out in the yard."

  "You look half-dead too."

  "Benito shot me out of the chair. After that, I couldn't find Domingo and couldn't find the strength to shoot him if I did."

  The boy cast his gaze on the Mexican. "Told ya one day I'd kill him."

  The words wheezed from Coy's throat. "You did fine, boy, just fine."

  Grange knelt beside him. "Think you can make it to the bed by leaning on me?"

  Coy nodded. "Let's find out."

  Two hours later, wagon wheels creaked and groaned in the midnight air outside the cabin. Clutching her heart, Jesse scrambled through the door of the bedroom with Niall close behind her.

  "You're alive! You're both alive!"

  "A promise is a promise, Jesse Lucia Santos."

  The sheriff smiled down on Coy. "Domingo's lying in the kitchen and ain't looking too good."

  "I shot him," Grange said before Coy could answer.

  "I suspect if I light a lantern and take it out in the yard, I might find a few more bodies?"

  Coy nodded.

  Niall turned to Jesse. "Mind if I borrow your wagon until morning?"

  "Be my guest. I just want those varmints off my property, the sooner the better."

  "Come on, son. Help me load up the bodies."

  * * *

  Jesse settled onto the bed and took Coy's hand. "You're still the damnedest man I've ever met."

  "Oh, yeah...and what do you think about spending your life with the damnedest man you've ever met?"

  "You're staying? Is that a promise?"

  "No."

  She searched his eyes, her face suddenly serious.

  "It's a proposal."

  The pulse in hallow of her throat picked up speed. "A proposal? What kind of a proposal?"

  "I only know of one kind of proposal."

  Her eyes narrowed and honed in on his. "Are you asking me to marry you?"

  "Yes."

  "Just say it, Coy. I need to hear you say the words."

  He took her other hand. "Jesse....?"

  "Yes."

  "Well, you're already Jesse Santos. Guess I didn't think of that."

  "Coy...."

  "All right. Jesse Santos, will you marry me?"

  "Yes," Grange piped up from the doorway.

  Jesse looked at her son, laughed and then held Coy's gray eyes again. "Yes, Coy Santos, we'll marry you."

  "When?" Grange asked, happiness radiating in his expression.

  "Don't worry, son. As soon as he's well enough to travel, we'll make a trip to town and ask Reverend Minor to marry us. I'm not taking the chance he'll change his mind."

  "Only a foolish, foolish man would change his mind about marrying you."

  Grange cleared his throat and Fetch let out a howl.

  "And you too, of course, Grange." He gave Fetch a begrudging nod. "And you too, I suppose, ya old mutt."

  When his eyes started to droop, Jesse kissed his forehead, tucked the blanket up to his chin and blew ou
t the lantern.

  The last words he heard before he drifted off were, "Sweet dreams, cowboy."

  * * *

  Thank you for reading COMES AN OUTLAW, part of The Good, The Bad and The Ghostly boxed set. If you enjoyed the novella, please help others enjoy it too. Recommend the anthology to your friends and other readers.

  As you know, reviews help Indie authors remain viable in a highly-competitive market. Please review Comes An Outlaw and/or The Good, The Bad and The Ghostly. Tell others what you liked about the stories by leaving a review on Amazon and Goodreads.

  I hope you enjoy my story (and the others) as much as I enjoyed writing it for you, our most precious asset in the world in publishing! Please know that your enjoyment of my books is the main reason I keep writing.

  All my best,

  Keta Diablo

  Long A Ghost and Far Away

  by Andrea Downing

  Copyright ©2016 by Andrea Downing

  Cover art by ©Charlene Raddon

  This book is a work of fiction. References to real people, events, establishments, organization, or locales are intended only to provide a sense of authenticity, and are used fictitiously. All other characters, and all incidents and dialogue, are drawn from the author's imagination and are not to be construed as real.

  About Long A Ghost And Far Away

  When Lizzie Adams returns as a ghost to a life she led in the 1800s, she is surprised to find herself on a ranch in Wyoming, but delighted to learn she was married to a handsome and loving man. The reasons for her return become clear when she discovers how she died, yet the unresolved issues surrounding her death leave her unable to either live in the 1800s or return to her present life.

  Colby Gates misses the wife he loved, yet a ghost is a poor substitute. Re-married to a woman he doesn’t care for, and with outlaws searching for buried gold on his ranch, the spirit of his wife is a further complication.

  Perhaps if the questions surrounding Lizzie’s death can be answered, the two can be together.

  For all time.

  Chapter One

  2016

  Lizzie Adams wrung her hands as the two burly men hefted her new acquisition up the narrow stairway toward her third floor apartment. The three drawers of this exquisite purchase, with their finely wrought brass pulls and marquetry inlay, were placed at her feet as she took in the struggle that proceeded above her. The bare, beefy arms of one man held up the bottom of her proud possession, while a tear of perspiration made its lonely way down from his receded hairline, along his sideburn and off his chin. She silently prayed their sweaty hands did not ruin the fine mahogany finish of this antique.

  As they stopped to rest at the next landing, Lizzie gathered the drawers and made her way up the first flight, her cargo awkward in her arms. Met by the dark, disgruntled faces staring down at her accusingly, she placed the drawers back down on the step above her and met their gaze.

  "Who’da thought a mirror could weigh so damn much?" The man at the top had laid her precious item slant-wise against a step and now stood huffing for breath.

  "It’s mahogany. A mahogany cheval mirror," she explained.

  "I can see that, miss."

  "And I’ve removed the drawers from the base."

  "I can see that, too. Doesn’t seem to help."

  The man on the lower step grunted and motioned with his chin to resume, and the unhappy party continued up the next flight.

  Lizzie frowned, two things now at the back of her mind: one, this was going to cost her more than the agreed eighty-dollar delivery fee from the antique shop where she worked to her apartment; this was going to cost her at least a twenty-dollar tip. ‘Two’ was more important: Jason was going to be angry.

  She was right about both.

  * * *

  "What did you do?"

  Lizzie thought there might be steam coming out of Jason’s ears, but if there was, it was dissipating in the cool St. Louis air.

  "Are you out of your frigging mind?" he continued. "Have you completely lost any sense of reality at all?" There was no reply. The silence seemed to irk him further. "We agreed, we agreed you were going to buy a chest with drawers that would fit my clothes. This frigging place is so small, I can hardly keep my two feet side by side, and you go, and you completely disregard anything I said, and buy a mirror? A mirror?"

  "But...it has three drawers. It—"

  "I don’t give a shit if those three drawers are filled with gold and sing you lullabies at night. This thing is going, Lizzie. And that’s final."

  "No."

  "What? What did you say to me?"

  Jason’s nose was now within an inch of her own. The smell of the beer, or possibly beers, he’d had before coming home filled her nostrils with sourness and yeast.

  "It’s my apartment, Jason." She pulled herself up to her full height, all five feet four of it, and looked him in the eye.

  "Your apartment. I see. So, all this time I was mistaken, I thought it was our apartment since we had agreed to live together. Well, sorry, miss. Sorry for being such an intruder, such an imposition."

  "I fell in love with it, Jason. Look at it, look how beautiful, the work on the mahogany, the marquetry, the beveling on the mirror. Think of the people who’ve looked into this mirror, who’ve owned it. As soon as it came into the shop I knew, I just knew I had to have it."

  The look on his face was a snarl personified. If his lip could have curled any further, he would resemble a wolf about to attack.

  "Take. This. Back. Exchange it. I need someplace to put my clothes."

  "What if I give you the shelves in the closet and I take these drawers?"

  "Really? You think your things are going to fit into those three miniscule drawers?"

  "I...I can get those plastic baggy things that fit under a bed."

  "And I can smash this frigging mirror," he sneered into her face, backing her against the wall, "and put an end to this frigging conversation."

  "Don’t do that, please." Lizzie stepped sideways to stand in front of the mirror protectively. "You don’t understand. When it came in, when this person brought it in and Neetie saw it, and I saw it, there was just something special, so special about it. Neetie even thought of keeping it herself, but I begged and pleaded. When I look into it—"

  "You’re out of your frigging mind, you know that?"

  "No, I...I...." And the words were out of her mouth before she knew what she’d said: "I’d rather have this mirror than have you."

  That’s when Jason’s fist met Lizzie’s jaw, sending her back into the mirror.

  And the world went black.

  * * *

  She couldn’t breathe. Something was squeezing her intolerably tight, as if all her bones were being crushed and suffocating her, bearing down on her hips, stomach and chest. Had she broken ribs when she fell?

  Lizzie shook her head to rid herself of the cobwebs and tried to sit up, but found she was inundated in fabric, lots and lots of fabric, as well as something that was totally constricting her movement. Gasping for breath, she managed at last to open her eyes and push herself to a sitting position. But this wasn’t her room, this wasn’t her apartment. And there were peculiar smells, and a darkness that seemed to have a life of its own. Trying to think clearly as she struggled for breath, she wondered if she were in some kind of hospital; yet in the dark, the fabric now beneath her hand didn’t feel anything like hospital sheets. And why would the room be so black? And smell so strange? Not hospital disinfectant, that was certain.

  She moved her hand from her neckline down to her waist. It felt like some kind of dress. Where the hell was she? In an insane asylum? A prison? No, don’t be silly. How long had she been out?

  She tried to stand but this binding made every movement so difficult. And then she took in the strange smells, as if she were in a barn. Horse, leather, the sweet smell of what must be hay or straw. She moved the flat of her hand around the floor near her. Yes, it felt like planks with stra
w on it. What? Had she been taken prisoner somewhere?

  As her eyes slowly adjusted to the dark, she began to see slits of light coming in through chinks in the walls. It had to be some kind of barn. But where? How? She maneuvered around to try to stand, tripping slightly as she squatted and struggled to get up in what felt like swathing. She pulled at the fabric to loosen it away from her body, yanking at it, but apparently unable to rid herself of whatever was swaddling her torso. At last, she felt a clear space on the floor, pushed herself up to stand, and found the fabric came with her. A dress. A voluminous dress. What the...?

  Desperately, Lizzie felt the buttons of the bodice and fought to push them open, reach inside and find what was encasing her. After one more layer of cloth she found a corset? Maybe a whalebone corset? Is this some kind of joke? Did Jason think it was funny to encase her in some Victorian get-up while she was out cold? Because of the damn Victorian mirror? Then plunk her in a barn somewhere? You have to be kidding.

  Pulling her arms out of the sleeves of the dress, she realized if she got out of this clothing, she might not have anything to wear. Frantically, she started looking around in the faint light, feeling around on the floor to see if her jeans and shirt were anywhere near. Nothing. Well, at least she could get the hell out of the corset and wear the dress on its own.

  Lizzie stepped from the dress and peered down at her body covered in some sort of long cami or chemise, and then armored in the corset. She slipped out of the corset cover, leaving her in the corset and a pair of open-crotch bloomers. Pretty darned sexy! Boy, you think those Victorians were prim and proper but look how they were ready for anything! She had to laugh a bit at herself, but this was no laughing matter. Where was she? How was she going to get home? Hitch a ride looking like a crazy woman? And not wearing a bra... The whole situation was ridiculous, plain ridic—

  The barn door screeched open.

  Chapter Two

  Colby Gates stood stock still in the half open door of his barn. He stared, disbelieving, into the gloom. Dust motes danced in the shaft of sunlight, while his head felt light. The feeling his knees might buckle at what he thought he was seeing there, there in his own barn, right in front of him, made him stop breathing. His hand rested on the latch; his mouth, he knew, hung open in disbelief. Dry. He blinked once, twice, but the vision wasn’t going anywhere, except now the apparition was scrambling to pull a dress on.