The Good, The Bad and The Ghostly ((Paranromal Western Romance))
Page 27
They’d been sitting on the porch, enjoying the cool breeze coming from the woods to the right of the farmhouse when he’d heard it.
The sound, just like the one he’d heard earlier tonight, was otherworldly, like something straight from a nightmare.
But there were no cougars in Reno. He was sure they inhabited the land outside town, the mountains visible in the distance, but he’d never seen one in town. Deep inside, he knew the sound he heard tonight wasn’t from any living animal.
It was the keening of a ghost.
The thought sent shivers down his spine.
* * *
Annabelle watched the sun climb over the mountains, painting the landscape in deep purples and vibrant oranges. She hadn’t slept very much, only dozed until the ghosts appeared again and she climbed from the dreams feeling lonely and powerless.
When she heard Mrs. Wemberly in the kitchen, she rose from the bed and went to the basin. She washed her face in the cool water, thankful for its bracing effect. The tiny mirror revealed the purple circles under her eyes and she wished she had a way to hide them. She smelled the rich scent of coffee brewing and she hoped it would clear the cobwebs.
She made her bed, smoothed the quilt and fluffed the pillows. After a quick check to make sure everything was just as she’d found it, she grabbed her carpet bag and headed downstairs.
"Someone tossed and turned all night long," Mrs. Wemberly said when Annabelle stepped into the kitchen. She was rolling out biscuits and placing them in a pan. "I almost came up to check on you."
"I’m so sorry I kept you up," Annabelle said. "I have trouble sleeping when I’m in a new place."
The older woman smiled and placed the rolling pin on the table. "Honey, I can see by the dark circles under your eyes that you haven’t been sleeping well for a while. Now I’m not one to meddle in other people’s business but if you ever decide you need to talk to someone, well, I’ll be happy to listen." She patted Annabelle’s hand, leaving it dusted with flour.
"I appreciate that, ma’am."
Mr. Wemberly came down a short time later. Dressed in a pinstriped suit, he kissed his wife on the cheek before he sat down at the table. "Morning, Miss Anna Laurens."
"Morning, sir. I hope I didn’t keep you up as well."
"Slept like a man with a clear conscience," he said, taking a sip of the coffee Mrs. Wemberly handed him. "Wish that happened more often."
"Well, you are a lawyer so I wouldn’t get too used to it," she retorted. The smile on her face told Annabelle that it was a familiar joke the two of them shared.
The three of them tucked into a hearty breakfast of buttered biscuits, fried eggs and bacon and sausage.
After a few minutes, Mr. Wemberly said, "Mrs. Laurens, what time will your brother-in-law be here to pick you up?"
Annabelle was busy eating and she missed that he was talked to her. When she looked up, the couple was exchanging a look that told her neither of them believed her story.
"I’m not sure," she said, forcing herself to smile. "I imagine he’ll be in town before lunch. He’s an early bird."
"You can tell us who you really are, child. We won’t judge you." The man’s eyes were so kind. "We’ll help you if we can."
"Thank you, sir, but you’ve done plenty already. I’ll be on my way as soon as I help with the dishes."
Mrs. Wemberly said, "I’ll do the dishes on one condition. You have to drop us a note when you get to wherever you’re going and let us know you’re alright."
Annabelle met her kind blue eyes. "You have my word, ma’am."
"And, honey, please be careful. If you’re who I think you are, your gift is powerful and other people will want to use it for their own benefit."
A shiver ran down the length of Annabelle’s spine. She didn’t know how to respond to Mrs. Wemberly so she simply nodded.
"I know it’s new to you, child, but in time you’ll learn to appreciate the gift, as outlandish as that seems."
"Are you—?"
Mrs. Wemberly smiled. "If you need anything, call on me. I’ve always got a cup of tea and a bushel of advice."
Chapter Three
Agent Cole Swansby was flipping through the Tremayne agency manual on hauntings when the door to his office opened. Even though he thought everything contained within the covers was complete and utter balderdash, he needed some fresh ideas for how to approach the case at The Blade. He closed the book, slid it to the corner of his desk and rose.
In the doorway stood a tiny woman with hair so rich and red it reminded him of a polished copper pot glinting in the sun. She wore well-fitted calico dress that made her eyes look like polished emeralds. She was beautiful and delicate, like a doll he’d seen in the window of the general store last Christmas. In one hand she held a tattered carpet bag and in the other a newspaper.
When he found his voice, he said, "May I help you, ma’am?"
"Are you Agent C. Swansby?"
"Yes, ma’am."
"I’m Anna Laurens and I’m here about the ad," she said. He heard the lyrical sounds of the South in her voice and it was like a fresh breeze. She stepped into the office and closed the door behind her.
"Have a seat," he said. "May I bring you some water?"
"That would be much appreciated."
The young woman was nervous. Her hands shook and she shifted from side to side on the small sofa. He poured her a glass of water and handed it to her. When his hand brushed against hers, he felt a sizzling jolt, a rush of energy through his veins and vessels. After glancing at the ring on her finger, he reminded himself that she was here to employ him not to court him.
She drank the water down quickly and placed the glass on the corner of the desk. Her eyes met his and in them he saw a desperation he didn’t expect. Anna was feeling something much deeper than nervousness.
"What can I help you with?" he asked after settling into his chair.
"I’d like to be an agent."
He raised one eyebrow. "You’re not here to hire me?"
She shook her head. "Quite the opposite, sir."
She didn’t look like an agent. While the agency had a handful of female agents, this petite woman looked too young, too naïve. The last thing he needed was a woman who was little more than a girl getting scared or hysterical at the worst possible moment. When he’d placed the ad, he’d hoped to find a like-minded man whom he could work well with. "What makes you think you’re qualified?"
Anna took a deep breath and looked out the small window that faced Sierra Street. She chewed on her bottom lip. "I dream things."
"We all dream things."
"These dreams are different. People who have passed visit me in my dreams. Every night."
"Who are they?"
She shrugged her shoulders. "I don’t know them."
"Do they scare you?"
"They did at first but now, after four years of facing them every night, I’ve gotten used to them."
"They talk to you?"
"They want me to take messages to their loved ones."
"Do you oblige them?"
"I don’t know how I would ever find the people they’re looking for but they keep coming back anyway."
"You’re sure they aren’t ordinary nightmares?" She wouldn’t be the first woman who’d been driven insane by the life she was forced to live here in the West.
She shook her head vigorously. "They’re not the same. Not at all. The people that visit me in my dreams are real."
Cole reminded himself that he didn’t believe in ghosts. If ghosts didn’t exist, the living couldn’t communicate with them. Simple logic. But this woman seemed honest, earnest and for a sliver of a moment, he believed her, or at least believed that she believed the dead talked to her. "Are you a widow?"
"He died in the Fire of 1875." Her voice quavered a bit and she wouldn’t meet his eyes. The woman in front of him was lying.
"You came from Virginia City?"
"Got here last night."
"How old are you?"
Anna flinched and her eyes went wide. "Twenty-three. I look young for my age. People tell me that all the time," she said with a nervous giggle.
There was more to this story. While Cole might not strictly believe in the mission of the Agency, he was a damn good detective and he smelled a rat. She was running from something. He’d bet his paycheck on it.
"What’s your real story?"
"What on earth do you mean?"
He leaned back in his chair and looked directly at her. "Level with me and I’ll consider hiring you."
By the way she exhaled and dropped her shoulders, he knew he’d hit the nail on the head.
* * *
Agent Swansby wasn’t what she’d expected. Not at all.
Tall, with hair the color of coal and eyes so dark she could barely see the pupil, he was lanky and wiry. He wasn’t like the men she was used to seeing in the west. Instead, he had a gentility, a neatness she hadn’t seen since Kentucky. He was dressed in a well-tailored suit, a sedate gray vest over his bright white shirt.
He was an extremely attractive man and her heart fluttered, skipping a beat before settling into its familiar steady rhythm.
"I. . . ." She hesitated, unsure of how to explain her situation. She leaned forward and tried to still her mind. She wondered how much she should tell him and how much she should keep to herself but the scent of his bay rum aftershave was doing strange things to her senses. "The ad says you’re willing to hire widows."
He nodded. "Are you really a widow?"
She held up her hand and showed him the thin gold band. For some reason, she was finding it hard to lie outright to this man. Even though she’d only just met him, he seemed honest and trustworthy and she felt a strange urge to put her best foot forward and not only in the hopes of getting a job.
"You could’ve bought that anywhere. You don’t have to be married to wear a wedding ring." He held up his own hand and pointed to his own ring finger. "You can’t assume I’m not married just because I don’t wear one."
His hands had never seen the hard work of mining. They were smooth with well-trimmed nails.
"Are you married?" The question slipped out of her mouth before she could stop herself.
"You first."
Totally alone and in a strange town, Annabelle was scared. Although her father was a violent drunk, he’d offered some protection from the outside world, but now she was on her own and she had to trust someone. "I’m neither married, nor a widow."
His expression didn’t change but his eyes roamed over her. "You don’t have the look of a scarlet lady."
"Finally a compliment," she said.
When Agent Swansby smiled, he looked like a wholly different man, softer, kinder. "I know a beautiful woman when I see one."
He’d called her beautiful. For the first time since she’d left Kentucky, with him smiling at her, she felt like one. "Thank you."
"Now, back to business," he said, tapping a stack of papers on the corner of his desk and lining them up with the edge. "Why would a beautiful young woman like you want to come to work for me?"
In a split second, she decided to tell him the whole story. "I came West with my father four years ago. It’s been the two of us since my mother died back in Kentucky. He’s fallen into drink and he’s was going to marry me off to the undertaker who’s at least twice my age."
"So you ran away?"
She nodded. "Today was supposed to be my wedding day. My father promised me to Mr. Cheever."
"How was he going to force you into a marriage you didn’t want?"
She looked down at the plank floor. "If I refused, he’d threatened to lock me in the house and never let me go. Not even to check on my hens."
"That was a real threat?"
Annabelle rubbed her jaw. It was still sore. "Yes. It was."
"You don’t think your father can find you, renew the threat and reschedule the ceremony?"
"I’m hoping he doesn’t look for me."
"Why was he so intent on marrying you to Cheever?"
"Money. Papa is a gambler, a bad one, and Mr. Cheever promised him a great deal of money in exchange for my hand."
"He’ll look for you. I’m sure of that." Cole flexed his jaw muscles, clenching his teeth. "Not to speak ill of your father, but he deserves to be shot for that."
"On that we agree," she admitted. It had been so long since someone was looking out for her best interest. It felt nice, very nice. "But I don’t want to harm him; I just want to be free of him."
"Reno isn’t very far from Virginia City. Only a few stops on the train." He leaned back in his chair and chewed on the end of a pencil. "You’re a sitting duck here."
"It’s temporary. I’m going home to Kentucky as soon as I can earn the money for the trip. My grandmother is in very poor health and I’d like to see her, once more, before. . .." She couldn’t bear to say it aloud. Even though she hadn’t seen Granny since they’d boarded the train in Louisville, they’d written letters back and forth. Granny’s spidery handwriting had been hard to read but it was worth the effort. The letters were filled with details that made Annabelle feel like she was visiting her hometown. A stack of envelopes, tied with a red ribbon, were her only link to the people and places she loved. It seemed like a thousand years had passed since that morning she’d left the cool blue-green grass behind her. "I need to get home again."
"What’s you real name?"
She hesitated, unsure if she could trust him, then her eyes met his and she couldn’t lie to him. He’d believed her story and was trying to help her. "Annabelle Lawson."
"Let’s stick with Anna. It’s a common enough name."
Annabelle breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank you."
"And we’re going to have to do something to change your appearance. Stand up." His eyes roamed over her body, moving from head to toe and back again. It was hard to ignore the tingles that spread all over her skin, making her feel warm all over. "New dress, some higher heels, and some makeup. That should do the trick."
"Can’t we just hope he doesn’t find me?"
Cole shook his head. "Money is to a gambler what water is to you and me. If you represent a windfall, he’ll look until he finds you and gets the payoff."
"But I don’t have the money to spare. Shoes and ready-made dresses are expensive."
"I’ll take care of it."
"Agent Swansby—"
"Cole," he corrected.
Even though the excitement of being so familiar, calling him by his first name, was enticing, it wasn’t appropriate. "I’d prefer to call you Agent Swansby."
"Calling me by my first name is part of the disguise. Not only are you going to be my clerk, you’re also going to be my wife."
She stared at him, blinked her eyes several times. "I’m going to be what?" She shook her head. "I came here to avoid being someone’s wife."
"My pretend wife." His face remained expressionless. "Would that be so terrible?"
Looking across the desk at his roguish grin and the mischief in his eyes. "No, it’s just that, I don’t know—"
"Relax. It’s in name only. I’ll get a forged certificate and start calling you Anna. We’ll keep up the ruse until your father is convinced you’re officially off the market and then we’ll go our separate ways."
"But I need to be working, not just hiding."
"I really need a clerk; you really need the protection of a husband. The job comes with board and I can pay you a small salary. No one will see any impropriety in a married couple working side by side."
Anna wasn’t naïve. She’d been in the West long enough to know that every favor demanded a favor. "What’s in it for you?"
The glint in his eyes dulled and corners of his lips t
urned downward. "I won’t stand by and let a woman be hurt. It’s not right."
It didn’t take a detective or a physic to figure out that it was personal with him. "Your mother?"
He shook his head. "My only sister. It went too far."
"I’m sorry." She knew better than to ask for details. The pain was etched on his face and it made him look several years older.
"I won’t let that happen to you."
"Will the marriage include. . .? " Her voice trailed off.
"None of the extras." The grin was back but it wasn’t as carefree.
"Then I’d be happy to work for a place and enough to start saving for my trip home." She sighed. "I’d also appreciate the protection of a husband." A single woman in the West didn’t have many options, not ones Annabelle would ever want to consider. She’d be a fool not to grab onto his offer.
Cole leaned back in his chair and ran a hand over his beard. "I’m working a very important case right now and I’ll have to be out of the office quite a bit. Can you handle talking to potential customers and keeping the place tidy?"
She looked around the room. There were only a few pieces of furniture and a couple of bookshelves. It would take her less than an hour to clean it from top to bottom. "Where would I stay?"
"Follow me." He walked out the front door and around the side of the small building which was really more like a shed. At the back, there was a narrow flight of stairs that led to a door. She followed him upstairs. He unlocked the door with a skeleton key he took from his pocket. "It’s not much but it’s clean and you’ll be safe here."
It was one large room with one glass window that looked over the street below. In the middle of the room was a cast-iron bed covered with a faded quilt. There was a small table beside it that held a lantern and a pitcher and basin. A small pot-belly stove was situated in the middle of the room. Two mismatched straight-backed chairs sat along the wall. The floors were polished wood, clean and glossy.