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

by Keta Diablo

  Whoa, Burke. You won’t be here long enough for romance.

  * * *

  She refused to like him. Why did Marshal Ted have to bring home a stranger with curious eyes and dangerous ideas? Ghost hunting, of all things.

  Clori wanted Burke James gone. And soon.

  To hurry him on his way she planned to ignore him, avoid his questions, and let him know she wanted nothing to do with him and his unhealthy interests.

  She had enough ghosts haunting her without him stirring the cauldron.

  Shaking her head, she forced herself to slow down. If she let her emotions whip the butter, it would soon be ruined. Moving the paddle in the churn at a smoother pace, she tried to wipe Burke James out of her mind. It didn't work.

  Ghosts. Why would Mr. James want to rouse more of them? Eagle Gulch had one too many already. The spirit of Horrible Horace refused to leave her alone. He kept her room cold as an iceberg, moved her things and even hid them.

  Once, he straightened up her dressing table. She'd found that odd, more like something a woman would do. In their entire marriage, he’d never cleaned anything. If he'd dumped out her rose water or powder, that would have been more believable. Sometimes, she woke up to the gentle brush of fingers across her cheek. That hadn't seemed like anything Horace would do either. Hit her maybe, as he had so many times.

  Could she have two ghosts?

  Taking a deep breath, she reminded herself she had it far better now with the Jamesons. Without Horace beating on her. Without his drunkenness and gambling. His ranting and cussing. Three long years she'd put up with the man. Life had been hell. But that had ended. She was safe now. Here.

  She gave the paddle a few last turns and set the churn aside while she stood up from her chair and stretched the kinks out of her back. As she removed the lid to check the butter, the marshal and his unwanted guest—unwanted by her anyway—walked into view out on the lawn. Ted was showing Mr. James around. She hoped they didn't come to the side porch, nearly hidden by wisteria vines, where she’d come to be alone. Cautiously, she backed into a corner to avoid being seen.

  Seen.

  There it came again, that feeling of being watched. The eerie sensation haunted her night and day.

  Sometimes she wanted to run to the old house, dig up Horace's bones and pound them to dust. Obliterate him at last. Even dead, he refused to leave her alone. She had killed his body, but his spirit remained. And just as horrible as always.

  He would haunt her to her death as long as she stayed in Eagle Gulch.

  Of course, she'd tried to flee before that terrible night when she shot him.

  For weeks, she had prepared to leave, gathering what coins and food she could. She'd made extra bread and stashed it away. But Horace found her hoard in the back of the wardrobe. Furious, he'd beaten her until she longed for death. The rotten, cruel bastard. Desperation and sudden rage had given her the strength and courage to grab his Colt and turn it on him.

  Afterward, she'd been so horrified by what she'd done, so afraid, she hid for two days under a huge spruce tree in the cold of April. Snow remained in drifts against the buildings. Lying there staring up at the dark green branches, she'd worried. What if he wasn't dead, only lying there hurt and alone? She had merely wanted to stop him from hitting her, not kill him. Had he expired? Should she go to the marshal and report what she'd done? Or just leave Eagle Gulch forever?

  When Horace didn't come looking for her, and the cold and starvation became unbearable, she left her hidey-hole and found the grave. Someone had buried him. She’d walked as far as her battered body could go before fainting. Dear Mr. Bankstrom found her and took her to town. She told Marshal Jameson what happened and fell in love with this kind, understanding man. Oh, not a romantic love, more an adoring hero-worshipping kind of love.

  Humiliated to learn that everyone in town knew about the beatings and the taunting she endured, she’d yearned for a hole to crawl into. But gratitude filled her soul to learn no one wanted to see her hung.

  Until she'd come to live with the Jamesons, she’d had no human friends, none at all.

  Out on the lawn, Burke stopped to play with his dog. Spook reminded her of a greyhound only prettier and sweeter. She had never known a dog like him. She felt certain he thought himself human. A member of the family. Burke’s family anyway.

  It touched her heart to see the way he treated Spook, so gentle with just enough firmness to teach the dog who was boss. He ran his hands over Spook’s body as if loving the feel of the short red hair. She wondered what it would be like to be touched like that, to have his hands on her.

  Clori! Shame on you, thinking such things.

  Shaking her head to clear it of the tantalizing images she’d created, she went back to work on the butter.

  Chapter Five

  For the second day in a row, Burke had hung around after breakfast, offered to help Clori wash dishes, and tried to get her to talk with him. At one point, when Spook found them she’d played with the dog, totally charming Burke and giving him hope. Then she looked at him, her face closed up, and he knew he’d lost his chance.

  Discouraged, he’d gone out to the stables to wait for Ted. When he saw he was alone in the stable, he took his watch from his pocket and texted Gabe.

  Come on, come on, Gabe. Answer.

  A rider rode up the lane. "Marshal!" the visitor called as Ted emerged from the house.

  Good. A few more minutes. Come on, Gabe.

  "What is it, Poke?" the marshal answered.

  Poke reined in beside Ted. "George Ames's smokehouse was broke into last night, Marshal. Thief took an eight-pound rump roast right off'n the hook."

  "Well, damn." Ted took off his hat and slapped it against his thigh. "Just getting ready to saddle up. I'll be there in a shake of a snake's tail, Poke."

  The man nodded, turned his horse, and headed back toward town.

  Ted stood for a minute watching the man go, then aimed for the stable.

  Cursing, Burke nearly had his watch back in his pocket when it signaled an incoming text.

  Gabe: Meet me. Need to talk.

  Burke: Can't. Somehow landed in 1881.

  Gabe: Joking?

  Burke: No.

  Gabe: How?

  Burke: Find fallen gate, field by house. Cross over. Head for town. Text me.

  Gabe: OK.

  That his partner asked no further questions or accused him of insanity little surprised Burke. Like him, Gabe had seen things most people would consider impossible.

  Ted entered the stable. "Have to go to town. Want to accompany me? Been a bunch of thefts lately. New one this morning. 'Bout time I put a stop to it, if I can catch the bastard." The marshal went to work saddling a bay gelding.

  "Sounds good to me."

  "Saddle up that mare in the next stall. Her name's Dusty."

  Burke grabbed a saddle and tack from the tack room. He slung a blanket over the mare's back. "You think it's the same perpetrator committing these robberies?"

  "Seems that way." Being more used to saddling a horse, Ted finished first. "I'll tell Nellie we're leaving."

  He set out toward the house.

  As soon as Burke had Dusty saddled, he went inside and used the small bathroom under the stairs to clean up. When he came out, Clori stood halfway down the stairs in a simpler, sort of pin-striped suit with a fitted jacket and matching skirt with no bustle. He had thought yesterday she couldn’t look prettier. He’d been wrong.

  "Morning, Mrs. Hall." He tipped his hat, and she resumed her descent. "You look lovely today."

  "Thank you, Mr. James. I see you're still with us."

  "For now." He smiled, hoping to get a smile in return.

  Poker-faced, she said nothing.

  "The Marshal and I are going into town. There's been a theft."

  She halted but didn't face him. After a second, she continued on to the warm, cozy kitchen.

  Had the mention of the theft troubled her? Why else would she hes
itate like that? He followed, wishing he could get her to talk to him. "You have any idea who the thief might be?"

  "No, Mr. James. I do not." She glanced at him over her shoulder as she put on an apron. "If you'll excuse me, I need to put some beans on the stove."

  "You don't like me much, do you?"

  "I neither like nor dislike you, Mr. James. I don't know you."

  He grinned. "You aren't likely to get to know me, always running off the way you do. I don't bite, honest."

  "I never thought you did." She went into the pantry, closing Burke out.

  Hell, she was tough to get to know. She struck him as a troubled soul. He wanted her to confide in him, let him help her. All he could do was keep trying.

  At the stable, he led the two saddled horses out into the sunlight. He waited out front until Ted showed up.

  "Hell, boy, you're handy to have around." Ted smiled broadly. "I don't know whether to hire you as a deputy or a wrangler."

  "Reckon I could do either one." He swung himself up into the saddle and recognized a desperately needed opportunity. A paying job, a reason to stick around, get to know Clori and gain her confidence. Plus, he could still do his job—banishing Horace Halstead. "Have lots of experience with ranch work, although it's been a heck of a while."

  "I wasn't serious. I want you as a deputy. If your current employer can see fit to let you go."

  "Be proud to work with you, Ted, if you think I can be of help. I’ll notify Tremayne. It shouldn’t be a problem."

  "You said you were a detective."

  Burke laughed. "Being a psychic investigator is a little different from being a lawman, but I'm willing to give it a try. Temporarily, at least."

  They headed for the open gate. "Way I see it, investigating is investigating. You'll do just fine. 'Sides, I heard you shot two bandits from a charging stagecoach and struck both."

  They rode in silence a while before Burke said, "I don't think Mrs. Hall likes me being at your place."

  "She's had a rough go of it the last few years. Left her a bit wary of folks she doesn't know."

  "Was her marriage difficult?"

  "I'd call that an understatement. Halstead was a brute and a bully. Not many around here thought much of the man."

  "Including you?"

  "Especially me."

  They pulled up at the marshal's office and dismounted. Several men milled about, a grumbling and making threats toward the unknown thief.

  "Marshal, sure hope you catch this crook this time." George Thames, the owner of the chunk of beef in question, wrung his hands and danced a bit in his boots. Nervous as a calf during roundup.

  "I'll do my best, George."

  Ted went into the office where Amos waited. The other men followed. Burke hung back, scanning the street in hope of seeing Gabe until Ted called him inside.

  "Arm yourself from the gun case, Burke." Ted turned then to the other men. "George, tell me what happened."

  Dressed in overalls and a dirty, collarless shirt, Thames described finding the smokehouse broken into and the meat gone.

  "You see any tracks around the shed, George?"

  The man scratched his head and looked at his boots. "By cracky, Marshal, didn't think to look."

  "Well, we'll take care of it." Ted headed for the door. "You coming, George? You can ride with me if you don't have your horse with you."

  "Be grateful for the ride, Marshal."

  The Thames place sat just outside town on the north end, a ramshackle house with a barn in even worse shape and a few outbuildings. Animal manure littered the yard so thick a man could hardly put a boot down without stepping in a pile. They checked the smokehouse and searched for boot tracks.

  "Here's something." Burke hunkered down and plucked a cigarette butt out of the mud by a partial boot print and handed it to the marshal.

  "Cheap tobacco and second-grade rolling paper," Ted said. "This yours, George?"

  "No. Don’t smoke. Does it give ya anything to work with?" George Thames asked.

  "Maybe. Couple of stores in town sell such makings, no doubt to plenty of miners." Ted tucked the butt into his vest pocket, mud and all. "But one in particular comes to mind—Horace Halstead."

  "Might want to leave that print as it is," Burke suggested. "See if we can match it later."

  "Good idea." Ted patted him on the back. "George, I'll let you know if I find anything."

  Riding off side by side, Ted commented, "At least we know this robbery wasn't done by any gol-durned ghost."

  "So you have heard reports of hauntings around here?"

  "Oh, sure. People claim to see an ugly face peering through their windows at night, or a ghostly figure flitting about. Tomfoolery, if you ask me. Kids, probably." Ted looked over at Burke as they trotted along. "I suppose you believe they could've really seen spirits, though."

  "I have no doubt whatsoever, Ted. I saw one myself at the Halstead place."

  Ted frowned. "You were in the house? Thought it was locked up."

  "Not locked up, but I was outside when a face peered back at me from the window. I went in and didn't find anyone."

  "I'll be darned. Wonder who that was?"

  "Your guess is as good as mine. Or better."

  "Well, we'll check it out and look for that missing man as soon as I take care of this theft. That all right with you, Burke?"

  "Right as rain."

  Ted glanced up at the cloudy sky and chuckled. "You mean the rain that’s gonna dump on us today, right?"

  "Right."

  * * *

  They found no sign of the missing meat or its thief. After returning home and grabbing a bite, they rode for the Halstead property. Eager to see if anything had changed before the impending rain erased any evidence, Burke urged his horse faster. He hoped Gabe would be there.

  Or Horace Halstead. He searched his memory for details of his murder.

  According to the article he had read, it took place in April 1881. Mrs. Clorinda Halstead had been brought to the doctor, badly beaten, and confessed to shooting and killing her husband. Townsfolk knew Horace as a mean man, stingy and crooked. No one blamed his wife for ending his life, and there had been no trial. The couple had no children.

  Not much to go on. He needed to know more. Especially about Clorinda.

  Clori...Clorinda? Good hell. Why hadn't he seen that sooner, back when she interrupted Ted's introduction of her? She'd shortened her name from Halstead to Hall. Why didn't she want him to know who she was? Shame? Guilt?

  Had she loved Halstead? She'd stayed with him four years. Maybe fear kept her from leaving. That's how Burke’s sister, Alicia, had been in her first marriage. She had married a man Burke disliked and distrusted the moment he met him.

  Randy Driggs spent most of his time on the road traveling from rodeo to rodeo and had a woman in each town. A drunken, useless piece of trash. If Alicia asked where he'd been, what he'd been doing, he beat her. If she spilled his coffee, he beat her. If she refused to do what he demanded, he beat her, and he'd asked her to do some pretty depraved things. Terrified he would kill her, she’d put up with it for six years.

  Burke had wanted to kill the bastard. Only his love for Alicia held him at bay. Finally, she left Randy. The divorce had been ugly, giving Burke more than one opportunity to slug the man. It was one thing to tolerate his abuse of his sister while they were married and she begged him to stay out of it. Another entirely once they had separated and she'd come home to stay where Burke could protect her. Just seventeen at the time, the experience left an indelible imprint on Burke’s young mind, and he'd detested women abusers ever since.

  Whatever reason Clori had for not wanting him to know who she was, he'd keep his knowledge to himself.

  "Tell me about the murder, Ted. Why did Mrs. Halstead do it?"

  "Not much to tell. Cl... Uh, Mrs. Halstead nearly died from a beating Horace gave her that night. Couldn't have been easy for her to get his gun and use it on him."

  "She ki
lled him with his own gun?"

  "That's the way it went down. Afterward, she hid out until she realized Horace wasn't coming after her. Clod Bankstrom found her on the road to town. Brought her to the doc. She told me she shot Horace in the chest. Left him where he fell."

  Trotting along beside them, Spook took off like a streak and dove into a pile of leaves.

  Ted laughed as Spook rolled around enjoying himself. "That dog o' yours sure can run."

  The usual spurt of pride such comments brought warmed Burke's heart. "He can outdistance a grizzly."

  "No fooling?" Ted shook his head. "Amazing critter."

  "He is that. So, where is Horace buried?"

  "Right behind the house."

  "Hell, am I slipping. I didn't see a grave there."

  "Kinda got grown over by clematis vines."

  "Who buried him?"

  "He had a friend who found him. Came in and reported it, then left town."

  They reached the field Silver had carried Burke across that first day. He watched for the gate and considered crossing over it again to see what happened but changed his mind. He still had things to do in 1881. Sure would be helpful if Gabe could join him. He needed to discuss the situation. What if his presence in the past changed the future? He had no idea how time travel worked. Could he get back home or was he stuck here forever?

  Did he want to go home? He wasn’t at all sure. It would depend on Clori. If he thought he had a chance with her, he’d stay.

  He’d have to face plenty of inconveniences, modern things he'd miss. Television. Internet. The simplicity of dating a girl without it meaning anything. He'd miss Alicia, too, though he rarely saw her now that she had remarried and lived happily in California. Not being able to visit his brother, Cody, would be tougher. Cody had a spread of his own in Wyoming and raised horses. Burke always looked forward to spending time there.

  What would Alicia and Cody think if Burke simply disappeared without a word? Just the thought made him feel bad. Maybe Gabe could get word to Burke’s family—if Gabe didn't wind up in the past too.

  No smoke rose from the chimney today, but Burke saw that another fire had been built in the fireplace since his last visit. Other than that, the house appeared the same.