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

by Keta Diablo

  I turn to leave so he can’t see my tears.

  * * *

  Assignment complete. Carolina City at rest. Lost Marshal found. Returning with report.

  The telegrapher looks at my request with wide eyes. "What is this about?" He looks up, and I can see him examining the bruise on my cheek from all of my adventures in Carolina City. I’ve tried putting powder on it, but it’s swollen and purpling. There’s no amount of makeup that can hide that. Between those bruises and the scar, I must look terrible.

  Instead, I give him a tight-lipped smile.

  "It’s a joke between me and my employer, good sir. No need to worry about that," I say, knowing that this will shut him up. After all, confidentiality is important in the telegraphing business, although I’m sure even if he knew about my adventure in Carolina City, he still wouldn’t believe me. Not that I could deny or lie about what happened in Carolina City. Good thing no one has asked me about the smoke that’s still burning on the horizon. "How much will that be?"

  The telegrapher narrows his eyes before bending down to count my characters and give me an estimate.

  "That’ll be $1.06, ma’am."

  Telegraphs—wonderful invention, but oh so expensive.

  I drop the money in the coin dish. "Please be sure that the entire message makes it all the way to St. Louis," I tell the operator. "You’d be surprised at how terrible it can be when it doesn’t."

  The telegrapher takes the money, mystified.

  I turn away and head out of the Western Union, stepping down the stairs to where Betsy is waiting for me.

  "Hi, girl," I say, leaning into her. "You ready for the ride back to St. Louis?"

  She pins her ears back in answer, and I feed her a carrot.

  She’s mine now. After I came back from Carolina City the night before, I went directly to Mr. Peterson’s shop and asked if I could pay for her. He cut me a good deal: $20. I’d have given a lot more, but he seemed to be bewildered that that I was still alive and that I cared so much for an old, blind mule.

  "She saved my life," I told him simply.

  "How?" Mr. Peterson asked. "What happened out there?"

  I remember giving him a small smile, which I’m sure made him even more confused. "I did my job, Mr. Peterson."

  He didn’t say anything else about my journey to Carolina City, but I made the decision that night that I had to get out of Nevada.

  After all, no one is going to believe that a lone woman had a bunch of ghosts come to her aid to kill an entire gang out in a ghost town.

  It sounds like a legend, doesn’t it?

  I chuckle to myself and pat Betsy again. "Let’s get you loaded up on the train, girl."

  I lead her to the horse car, where she stands next to a tall, purebred stallion who sniffs at her derisively. Betsy doesn’t even take notice as I tip the attendant and tell him to make sure that my mule is well taken care of. Like everyone else when it comes to Betsy, he looks shocked, but I just grin and head toward my train car, where I’ll be spending the entire trip back to St. Louis. My trunk and clothes were lost in the fire back at Carolina City, but at least I have the clothes on my back and my coin purse that I always carry.

  Frankly, I can’t wait to get there. I’ve decided that after all of this, I need time off from my job.

  I hand the conductor my ticket, and he nods before taking me to my private cabin. Another perk of being an employee of the Tremayne P.S.I Agency is the ability to get a first class ticket. I’ll be alone in my car the entire way, which will give me time to reflect upon my life, where I’m going and what I’ll do next.

  "This is your cabin, ma’am," the conductor says.

  "Thank you."

  With no luggage, no prospects, nor even friends, I step into the cabin. It’s not ladylike, but I kick off my shoes and lie down length-wise on the seat, ready to sleep off the entire debacle. The ache of longing and missing my other half is still there, but time will heal that.

  I’m sure of it.

  Sometime later, the horn sounds for departure, and I feel the entire train jolt forward as we start our journey back. I turn on my side, using my arm as a pillow, determined to sleep as much as I can on the way there.

  The door to the private cabin opens.

  "This is reserved," I say angrily without opening my eyes.

  "Exactly why I’m here," a familiar voice answers.

  I peek one eye open and then sit bolt upright, breathless. "Grant."

  He’s standing in the doorway, grinning at me like he’s just told me the best joke ever. "Hey, darling."

  He’s here.

  "You were left behind in Carolina City."

  He nods. "I was."

  "And you’re here."

  "I am."

  "And you haven’t appeared to me before now." That came out more accusingly than I would have liked, and we both flinch.

  His face falls. "I was afraid."

  "Of what?"

  "That you’d regret what we were. What we did."

  "Never," I whisper. "I’ll never regret what we shared."

  I sit there, watching him as my heart pounds in my chest. He steps forward, putting a hand over my heart. It feels solid, like he’s really here. I wish he was. God, how I’d give anything to have him be alive and well.

  "I’m here now," he says softly. "And you’re not going to be able to get rid of me."

  I get to my feet and pull his face toward me, kissing him. Damn proper etiquette. Damn anyone who sees a woman alone in her cabin playing out a fantasy. My love is here with me.

  He wraps his arms around me and cradles my head to his chest. There’s just enough of a hint of him to give me the sensation that I’m being held and cared for by the man I love.

  "Is it selfish that I don’t want to help you move on?" I whisper into his chest.

  He’s silent for a moment. "While you’re still alive, I don’t think I’ll be able to. I’ve got someone I need to protect. Unfinished business."

  I look up at him, giving a sly grin. "So this means that you’re haunting me now?"

  "I guess I am. It’s the best way to protect you from outlaws, ghosts, demons, police, other suitors—you name it."

  "I don’t think there’ll be many suitors with you around, my love."

  "Are you sure that’s all right? I don’t want to get in the way of you living a happy life."

  "You are my happy life. And death."

  "Don’t say that," he growls, but I cut him off by kissing him passionately.

  So this is my life now. Hattie Hart, former saloon girl, Tremayne Psychic Specters Investigations Agency agent, medium, and a spinster to anyone who doesn’t know my story. But I’m also Hattie Hart, the lover of a dead man.

  And that’s fine by me.

  * * *

  Thank you for reading How The Ghost Was Won. If you'd like to know more about Erin's books, visit her author home: http://www.erinhayesbooks.com/

  And her Amazon Author Page: https://www.amazon.com/Erin-Hayes/e/B009W8D29W/

  McKee’s Ghost

  By Anita Philmar

  Copyright ©2016 by Anita Philmar

  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 McKee's Ghost

  His fiancée called off their engagement after being accosted by a ghost in his house. Now, a beautiful ghost detective has shown up at his ranch, saying his brother has hired her to take care of the unwanted spirit.

  Konnor McKee is more than happy with P.S.I Agent Ruth Oliva Wilson. One look and he's hooked. Now, if he can only get some help from a ghost, he might be able to secure himself a bride after all.

  With the return of his ex- fiancé, his life is turned upside down by
an angry ghost, a vindictive woman, and a sexy medium. Konnor doesn’t know which way to turn.

  Can he get everyone out of this alive and marry the P.S.I Agent? Or has he lost all hope of a happy future because of the ruthless ghost of one of his ancestors?

  Dedication – to all the wonderful spirits who help me through every day of my life. I can’t thank you enough for your support.

  Acknowledgements – To all the ladies in this box set, it’s been a blast.

  Chapter One

  "Who the heck is that walking down the lane?" Henry Clark yelled from outside the barn.

  Konnor McKee wondered vaguely if having someone help him around his homestead was worth the cost. Henry asked more questions in the few weeks he’d been working for Konnor than anyone he knew could ask.

  Locking the door of the stall he’d just finished cleaning out, he grabbed his coat and slipped it over his shoulders. "Give me a sec. I’ll be right out."

  The young man rushed in through the open doorway and glanced around the dark interior.

  Konnor studied his young helper, noted his excitement in his antsy movements. Being of Irish descent, his fair skin looked wind-burned. Not a tall man, Henry had the slim build of a boy but the wide shoulders of the strong worker he’d someday become.

  "I believe you have a visitor." He waved an impatient hand.

  "All right, let’s take a look." Not rushing, Konnor walked along the main aisle. He didn’t expect anyone he knew to be paying him a visit, but his parents occasionally stopped by when they were making a trip to Shelton.

  After stepping outside, he glanced down the path leading to his home. The dark object moving toward them appeared to be carrying two bags and walking steadily forward. Curious who might be heading his way, he strolled several steps along the lane. The sun setting low on the western horizon told him they only had a few more hours of daylight. Luckily, he’d harvested his crops weeks ago. Now, he needed to prepare for the harsh weather of winter. A North wind hit him in the face, reminding him snow would be here soon.

  "Is it that fiancée of yours coming back? Is so? I should high-tail it home. She didn’t like me much." Henry followed and paused at the edge of the corral’s fence.

  "No, Wilhelmina Keller is not likely to return." Konnor pointed to the house. "Why don’t you head inside and set out something for my guest to eat. Then you can call it a day and go on home."

  The crunch of Henry’s boots on the rough path let Konnor know the boy was following his direction. Keeping his focus on the person in the distance, he rushed down the lane. Topping out at six feet, he had a smooth gait and a toned body. Much like the draft horses he raised, he was built for the long haul. Within a few moments, he spotted a few details of the individual striding toward him.

  The wind whipped lengthy strands of reddish-brown hair up over the rim of a black hat. The short man had his collar pulled up close to his neck, and his knee-length, buckskin coat swallowed him. Drawing closer, Konnor noticed something billowing around his feet.

  Holy Moses, a skirt.

  Surprised to see a woman walking alone this far from town, he picked up his pace and stared at the bags she had in each hand.

  Where the hell was she going?

  He wasn’t expecting any woman to visit. Damn, his fiancée hadn’t made it more than two days in this remote location before calling off their engagement and leaving. Even though, there’d been other extenuating circumstances. Wilhelmina didn’t have what it took to be a rancher’s wife. He’d suspected as much when they met in Omaha, but she assured him she loved the great outdoors.

  "Sure," Konnor grumbled and raised his voice to catch the woman’s attention. "Excuse me, Madam. Are you heading in the right direction?"

  So busy watching her feet on the trail, her head jerked up as if she hadn’t noticed him approach. With a quick halt, she dropped her bags onto the path, crossed her arms, and stared.

  Noting her irritation, he hurried to convince her that she had traveled down the wrong road. Once, he drew closer, he tried again, "Who are you looking for?"

  "Mr. Konnor McKee. I was told this was his ranch." She didn’t budge. Her gaze ran from the top of his head to his toes as if inspecting him for flaws.

  A little bumfuddled by her answer, he shook his head. "You’ve got the right place, but I can’t imagine any business you might have with me."

  "Is your brother Barton McKee?"

  "Yes, did he send you?" He returned her scrutiny and noted her small stature. Her handsome face displayed soft pink lips, a slightly pointed nose, and hazel eyes. Automatically, his gaze dropped to her gloved hands. He wondered if she was married, and cursed any man for letting his wife travel through unknown territory by herself.

  "He contacted Psychic Specters Investigations Agency several weeks ago. Said you had a ghost. He wanted someone to check out the problem." She bent and retrieved her bags. "I met with him briefly and told him I’d be coming to see you today. He assured me he’d convey the information to you." She lifted an inquiring brow. "Apparently, he didn’t."

  "No. Wait, a sec, let me take those." He stepped forward and relieved her of her luggage. Her womanly fragrance brushed over his senses, and a feeling of recognition filled him. Trying to identify where they might have met, he drew in a breath and directed her down the lane. "He could’ve written me, but I haven’t been in town for a few weeks now. I told him Wilhelmina probably dreamed up the ghost as an excuse for breaking off our engagement. I’m not afraid of a few strange noises."

  "Right. Then I guess you won’t mind if I take a look around your house, seeing as he’s already paid for our services." She strolled by him and continued down the path.

  Suddenly grasping the intrusion this would cause in his routine, he stiffened. Did he want another woman staying with him even for a few days? After his fiancée had left, he’d come to terms with spending the rest of his life alone. In his youth, he’d avoided girls because he preferred occupying his time with his horses.

  Once he bought his ranch with his brother, he’d considered finding a wife. But with more chores, he hadn’t found time for romance. He had to work every minute of the day to achieve his dream of raising draft horses and building a solid reputation as a trainer. Seeing as he was almost thirty, Konnor felt he’d missed the boat and had given up on his search to find a bride.

  The woman in front of him turned and glared. "Mr. McKee, if those bags are too heavy. I can carry them."

  The absurdity of him not being able to handle her luggage drew a chuckle from him. "No, Madam, I was trying to decide what to call you. I don’t believe you’ve given me your name."

  "R.O.W. is what everyone at the agency uses. We have two Miss Wilsons so it keeps down confusion if you should need to talk to anyone else regarding the case." She hurried him along with a slight wave for him to catch up and continued along the trail.

  "Whoa, wait." He realized he dawdled too long behind her and rushed to catch up before he shortened his gait to match hers. "Are you telling me that even more people are coming?"

  "Not unless we require their help. I’m here to assess the situation and make contact with the ghost if I can. Depending on the nature of the entity, I’ll deal with it or call in someone else to help with the problem."

  He shook his head, amazed that there were jobs for folks who specialized in eradicating ghosts. "How exactly do you get rid of a spook?"

  She shrugged, and her gaze snagged on the corral where Buttercup stood. "Depends. Sometimes it’s as simple as asking them to leave."

  Seeing her fascination with his horse, he queried, "Are you familiar with Belgian draft horses?"

  Row nodded. "Yes, my father had a Clydesdale for a while back when I was a kid. We sold him when we moved to the city."

  "And that was?" He ventured in hopes of learning more about her.

  "Too long ago to let it distract me from the job I was sent here to do." She bypassed Buttercup without giving her a second glance and pointed to the
front porch. "If you’d be so kind as to show me around the house, I’ll get to work."

  * * *

  Ruth stepped through the doorway of Konnor’s home and paused. Directly in line with the entrance stood a set of stairs that reminded her of the ones she’d known as a child. The breeze rushing in shoved at her in the same way that her brother had when they were called in for supper. The memory of his youthful voice rang in her head. ‘Ruthie.’ A shiver of unforgettable heartache sizzled across her nerve endings.

  She blinked to mask the pain and walked into the sitting room on the right. Again, memories of the past assaulted her. The large stone fireplace matched the one of her youth, the tan leather couch mirroring the style of her grandparent’s home.

  Drawing in a calming breath, she suppressed her sense of nostalgia and searched for subtle differences in the decor. The red throw rug on the back of an old wooden rocker, the wingback chair upholstered in a flower-pattern, and the small footstool shoved up underneath it. Each of these items reminded her she stood in a house unrelated to her family’s.

  Konnor set her bags down in the entranceway, drawing her focus to him. "I’m sorry, Madam, but you need to give me a different name to call you. Row just isn’t proper for a pretty lady like you."

  Having heard this comment before, she smiled and studied his face. Curly mahogany-colored hair touched his dark brows and highlighted his beautiful brown eyes. A slight bend in his nose revealed he’d broken it at one time or another. His square jaw covered with the light shadow of a beard, indicated he hadn’t taken the time to shave today or he had very slow growing facial hair.

  With his broad shoulders and stout body, she’d wondered if he had a stubborn streak a mile long like most of the men she met. "I should have known you weren’t going to cooperate. Men from the central states can’t let go of their upbringing."

  She held out her hand. "The name is Ruth Oliva Wilson. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. McKee."

  His larger one closed around hers, engulfing it in a warm embrace. Heat traveled through her like a speeding bullet, sparking need in secret places she hadn’t acknowledged existed in months. His brown eyes narrowed as if he’d somehow tapped into the fact. "Please call me Konnor, Miss Wilson."