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

by Keta Diablo

  "You sonuvabitch," the man snarled, his breath stinking, "you want her for yourself. Well, you can't have her. She's mine."

  He followed the words with a right punch that missed Burke's jaw and scratched his ear.

  So the slippery bastard had seen them walk together. Clori hadn’t imagined that.

  Twisting, Burke grabbed the arm and gave it a nasty jerk.

  His opponent—Horace, he suspected—cried out in pain, cursed, and broke free.

  Before the bastard could attempt another blow, Burke seized him from behind with one arm around his neck, the other securing him in place.

  "You gosh-danged bastard," his antagonist spat, trying to wrench Burke's arm away. He kicked, heels connecting with Burke's shins.

  Burke squeezed until the writhing, kicking man quieted and went still.

  Had he killed him? Hell, as a lawman he couldn’t seek revenge with his own hands.

  Cautiously, he dropped his arm.

  Horace jumped up and scrambled off a few yards. Rubbing his neck, he growled, "I'll kill her 'fore I let you have her. You hear me? And then I'll kill you."

  With that, he raced downstream, ducked behind a building and vanished.

  Horace—definitely alive.

  Burke cursed himself for letting down his guard for that ill-advised moment. He wanted to follow and catch him but had to make sure of Clori’s wellbeing first.

  He knelt at her side. "Clori? Can you hear me?"

  She moaned. Her eyes blinked open, those incredible, expressive brown eyes he adored.

  "Burke?"

  "It's me. Are you all right? Did he hurt you?"

  Her eyes widened, and she sat up. "Where is he? Has he gone?" Her gaze darted every direction.

  "Who, Clori? Horace?" Even though he had no doubt as to the answer, he wanted to hear her name the man. Wanted desperately for her to confide in him, let him help her.

  "Yes." She focused on him then. "He grabbed me, Burke. He... He threatened to kill me. Can a ghost do that?"

  Could she deal with the truth? Of course. She’d already dealt with a lifetime’s worth of pain. "I’ve known of ghosts capable of moving objects, even striking people. But, Clori, that was no spirit who grabbed you. Your husband is alive."

  * * *

  Clori watched Burke head for the stable and prayed he could find Horace. Nellie stood beside her, an arm around Clori's trembling shoulders. "Oh, Nellie, I don't want Horace to be alive. Does that make me an evil person?" A fresh spurt of tears filled her eyes.

  Nellie gave her a squeeze. "Of course not. I made the same wish that the bastard is truly dead, and you are mistaken about who attacked you."

  Clori gasped. "Nellie, I've never heard you use that word before, not in that context anyway."

  "I know. Come, sit down." The older woman urged her charge toward the table. "I'll make us some calming herbal tea."

  Nellie's infamous herbal tea usually contained a measure of brandy. Right now, Clori didn't care.

  Burke James had saved her life. She'd seen genuine concern in his expression. He'd touched her with such gentleness. He truly was a good man. He’d even promised to send a man back from town to watch the place while he had to be absent.

  Oh, Heavens! She put a hand to her mouth as she remembered sending the wire to the Denver office of Tremayne Psychic Specters Investigations asking about Burke. She hadn't received an answer, so maybe they were too busy to follow up. She hoped he never learned she'd tried to check up on him.

  "You could do worse, you know." Nellie set a cup of tea on the table in front of Clori. Steam rose from the pale brown liquid.

  "Perhaps." No point reminding the woman of Clori’s lack of interest in marriage. She added a bit of sugar and stirred her tea. "I'm thinking of going ahead with my plan to open a dressmaking shop."

  Nellie sat down with her own cup. "You'd do well at it, I'm sure. I love the dress you made me for Christmas. So lovely. And it fits perfectly. But I hate to see you have to commit yourself to something as time-consuming as a shop."

  "I cannot continue living off of you and Ted forever."

  "Even if we were to pay you a small salary?"

  Clori frowned. "After all you've done for me—protected me, given me free room and board, clothed me—no. I do so little to earn my keep as it is."

  Nellie's graying brows rose. "So little! You've all but taken over the cooking. I rarely wash dishes anymore, and you did all the laundry last Monday."

  "You helped."

  "A bit." Nellie added cream to her tea, tasted it, and added sugar. "Why, all I do these days is putter around with a duster in my hand."

  "Well, I'm going into town this afternoon and look for an empty store to rent. I still have the money you and Ted gave me for Christmas...." Her voice trailed away, her mind filled with troubling thoughts. Burke had confirmed her worst fear—Horace lived. Several choice obscenities rattled around in her head, begging to escape.

  Horace being alive meant she remained married to him. He still had control over her. He would never allow her to open a dressmaking shop, and if he knew she had money, he'd take it. He'd always taken, taken, taken. Anything she loved, anything that had been hers alone.

  "Oh, Nellie." She covered her face with her hands, her eyes smarting with tears. "I can't bear the thought of having to live with Horace again. I simply cannot bear it."

  "You don't have to, dear." Nellie patted Clori's arm. "You can stay right here with us. Ted will protect you, and there isn't a person alive in Eagle Gulch who would expect you to go back to Horace after what he did."

  Clori lowered her hands and embraced the aging woman she had come to love almost as much as her own mother.

  Thank God for the Jamesons.

  A cool, errant breeze kissed her cheek, like the tender touch of a loved one. Clori had felt such faint brushes before and wondered what caused them in an unventilated room. A ghost?

  Certainly not Horace.

  But if not him, who?

  Chapter Nine

  Burke slung the saddle over Dusty's back. The rose-gray roan looked at him and snorted. "Almost done, girl."

  An icy breeze wafted across his back as he bent to adjust the cinch. The hair rose on his arms. His nose itched.

  Spook rose up from the corner he'd been lying in and went on point.

  Burke straightened. "What is it, boy? What do you see?"

  Bit by bit, a cloudy form took shape. A woman. Not young. Not elderly. A woman who appeared troubled.

  Burke had found his ghost.

  Not Horace—he wasn't dead, but a definite ghost.

  "Hello." He took a step toward the specter. "You want something from me?"

  A thin, quavering voice answered. "I am Velda Burkhart, Clori's mother. Don't let Horace lay hands on her again. Please."

  Her words went straight to his heart. A strong urge to protect this woman and her daughter surged through him. "I won't. I promise."

  "I've tried to watch over her, to shield her, but I'm not strong enough. I cannot defeat Horace."

  Her image waffled and began to fade. "Don't...let...him hurt her."

  "Wait! Velda? I need your help if I'm to do that."

  A mere wisp now, the woman peered at him and disappeared.

  "Velda?"

  He couldn’t see her, but knew she would be nearby and could hear him. "I'll defend her in every way I can. Watch him. Warn me if he plans to harm your daughter."

  A cold breeze swirled around him.

  Burke shuddered.

  Spook whined, turned in a circle and laid down.

  Taking out his watch, Burke texted Gabe: Ghost spoke to me.

  Despite the temperature returning to normal, he shuddered.

  * * *

  Halstead House gave no sign anyone had been there since Burke's last visit. The doors remained shut and unlocked. The rippled glass panes continued to gaze out over the yard, a disinterested witness to deeds known and unknown.

  Evil deeds.
>
  Spook nosed through fallen leaves.

  Burke went inside and made a methodical search of the premises, a bit more thoroughly than before, hoping to find the gold Clori had mentioned. The main bedroom gave no indication a woman had ever lived there. No rose water on the bureau, no hair brush. Had Ted retrieved her belongings for her?

  The wardrobe held a pair of men’s shirts, dirty and crumpled on the closet floor atop a pair of worn, but polished shoes Horace probably wore to church. A pair of canvas pants lay on the floor beside the mussed bed. Was Horace sleeping here? Burke tried to remember exactly how the blankets had looked last time, but they seemed the same now as they had then.

  Burke wandered out back to see if the grave had been further disturbed, and saw that it had been. Had Horace used the disturbed ground to bury something else? Food, perhaps?

  Or gold?

  Spook barked on the other side of the house.

  "Here, Spook."

  More barking.

  Hell, someone must be here. His hand went to his gun butt.

  Burke cut through the house and emerged onto the front porch to find Silver and Spook sharing nose kisses.

  "Hello, girl." Burke stroked her long face and combed her mane with his fingers. Her coat was badly unkempt. "How about we get that saddle off you?"

  He unfastened the cinch and lifted the saddle off, leaving it on the ground. The blanket he tossed on top. "You been okay? Did you get lonesome for me?"

  Silver bobbed her head up and down and snorted.

  "I've missed you too. How about you come home with me and join Great-Grandfather's other horses where I can take care of you?" He searched for sores from having been saddled so long, but she seemed okay.

  She butted his shoulder with her nose, backed away and before he could stop her, trotted off. Despite the weed- and burr-infested coat, the horse had obviously been finding food, water, and shelter. He told himself not to worry about her.

  Impossible.

  According to Ted, no one bothered the empty house out of fear. Burke didn’t believe that. He suspected Horace stayed there and scared away anyone who came near.

  Great-Grandfather's roan, Dusty, shuddered as Burke approached her. Until then, Burke hadn't noticed the colder air. He scanned the area for a ghost. The skies were clear. What else could account for the drop in temperature? He saw nothing and checked his watch. The temperature was on the rise. Odd. Nothing else, including Spook, indicated possible specter activity.

  Puzzled, Burke mounted up and steered Dusty toward town.

  * * *

  The week dragged by. Every spare minute he got, Burke spent either hunting for Horace, or his gold or looking for chances to talk to Clori. She had warmed to him but not as much as he wanted.

  To watch for the midnight burglar, Burke traded shifts with Amos. More food had gone missing, and a shirt off a drying line in broad daylight. Twice, Burke glimpsed someone sneaking around town but failed to catch him.

  He believed the thief to be Horace. Ted, Burke, and Amos had searched for the man to arrest him but still hadn’t found him. How a man managed to hide so easily with hardly any trees to shield him, Burke had no idea. Every time he went to Halstead House, he found the place vacant. He even checked the outhouse. Maybe Horace was a ghost.

  He considered the idea of a hidden tunnel under the house. That could explain a lot. Next time he went, he would search for a trap door.

  They had given up the search for the missing rider. A team of thirty men from town had scoured the vicinity and found nothing, not even hoof prints, which Burke deemed quite odd. Ted decided the incident happened elsewhere, and the horse had traveled a long way before she encountered Burke.

  If Burke kept a diary, he would have marked Monday as a special day. Clori had laughed at Spook’s antics. As she swept the entrance hall, the dog took hold of the broom with his teeth and snatched it from her. Surprised, she gaped at him. Burke had just come out of the small bathroom under the stairs and watched.

  "Spook! Bad dog," she’d scolded.

  Spook stood in front of her with pleading eyes, whining and making the throaty little half-barks he makes.

  "What on earth?" Clori muttered, attempting to step around the dog and retrieve the broom. Spook moved with her blocking her way. "What are you doing?"

  "He wants you to pet him."

  She spun around, her hand on her heart. "You startled me."

  "Sorry. I was in the washroom. Come here, Spook."

  He came but instead of going to Burke, he simply confronted Clori again. Burke laughed. "It’s not me he wants to be petted by. It’s you, right, boy?"

  Spook barked.

  "Oh." Clori knelt and hugged the dog, who licked her face. That was when she laughed.

  Burke thought it the most beautiful sound he’d ever heard, light and full of pleasure. He grinned as he watched her pet and cuddle Spook.

  "He adores you," Burke commented.

  She glanced up at him. "The feeling is mutual. He’s a lovely dog and so sweet, how could anyone not love him?"

  "That’s how I feel about you."

  Her mouth open in surprise, she stood and faced him. Her chuckle sounded forced. "Are you saying you love me?"

  "How about we settle for adore?" he shoved his hands in his Levi pockets, feeling slightly foolish for being so open with her. Last thing he wanted was to frighten her off.

  She looked down at her hands clenched at her waist and purposely dropped them to her sides. "I think you’re teasing me, Mr. James."

  His hands came out of his pockets, and he shook his head in frustration. "No, I’m not. What happened to calling me Burke?"

  "I...it doesn’t seem right. I’m a married woman."

  "We know each other well enough to use given names, Clori. I think you believe that addressing me as Mr. James creates a distance between us, a wall. Why, Clori? What are you afraid of?"

  She started to turn away, but he laid a hand gently on her arm, stopping her.

  He moved directly in front of her, but she kept her eyes down, refusing to look at him. "Clori, I care about you. I guarantee I will never hurt you, physically or any other way."

  Her gaze met his then. "I believe you. I’m not sure why, but I do."

  "Because you know me better than you want to admit." He put his hand beneath her chin and lifted it to force her to keep looking at him. "I want to be your friend, Clori. To help and protect you. Can you accept that?"

  "Yes. I..." She swallowed visibly. "Thank you. I’ve had few friends in my life. I’m not sure I know how to be a friend back, but I’ll try."

  "Just be yourself. Talk to me. Tell me jokes. Tell me your troubles. Do whatever you would do with a female friend."

  She laughed again. "I’m not sure what that would be. Talk dress patterns and choices of trim and buttons?"

  "Yes, if that’s what matters to you."

  "And what will you talk about to me, Burke? Ghosts and outlaws?"

  He smiled, loving to see her like this, and finally felt hopeful of a future for them.

  At that moment, he knew he didn’t want to go back to his old world. He wanted to stay here with Clori and be for her whatever she would allow him to be.

  Someday, if he had his wish, he’d become her husband.

  * * *

  On Wednesday, while Burke slept after a long night breaking up fights between drunk miners celebrating striking a new vein, three men robbed the Colorado Miners' Bank. Ted saw them departing the building and yelled for them to halt, earning a bullet in his arm. A flesh wound, he claimed. Poke brought word to Burke.

  He’d awakened oddly tired, for having a full night’s sleep, but he saddled Dusty and joined Ted and the posse.

  For three days, they tracked the thieves and finally located them camped in an arroyo in the foothills. Burke had spotted the smoke from their campfire. The posse sneaked up on them while they prepared bacon and biscuits for supper. The question was how to get close enough to get the dr
op on them.

  Figuring the outlaws would be less likely to recognize Burke, he volunteered to pay a visit.

  Beyond the circle of firelight, he paused and yelled, "Hello, the camp."

  "Whaddya want?" came the reply. All three put hands on their guns.

  "Reckon I'm lost. Can I come in?"

  After a moment of silence, a man's voice called, "Come on."

  He entered, smiling, with the reins in one hand and the other held out from his holster. Immediately, he knew he might be in trouble. These were the men who'd tried to rob the stagecoach. His only chance was to attempt a bluff. "Appreciate the hospitality, boys. I'm sorely chagrined at letting that nag of mine get me lost. You got any coffee?"

  One of the men handed him a tin cup. Burke hesitated to drink from another man's cup, but the health rules he'd been raised by were foreign to these men. They wouldn't understand his hesitation. He drank.

  After he came back from putting Dusty with the other horses, a tall fellow wearing a Stetson, two gun belts, and a sling on one arm motioned for him to join them at the fire.

  "Where ya from, stranger?"

  "Pueblo way." Burke sat and accepted a plate of beans. The easy way they accepted him made him nervous. "Much obliged. Heading for Eagle Gulch. Thought I'd see what the diggings look like there. You been over that way?"

  "Reckon you'll find all the good spots taken already. Strike there happened last year."

  He nodded. "Sorry to hear that. A man told me it was still pretty open. Guess he didn't know what he talked about."

  "You can join us if you want." The first man stood and tossed his coffee in the fire. It hissed and spit. "We aim to ride over to Ridgeway, see what's happening there."

  "Might do that." Burke kept a close eye on the fellow to be sure he didn't try to get the drop on him. He didn’t trust the gang any more than he would a rattlesnake. They were up to something.

  The fellow flipped out his bedroll, lay down, and put his hat over his face. "Be leaving at first light."

  "I'll be ready." Burke would be ready all right.

  The others prepared to sleep as well. Burke faked a light snore and waited. As he’d feared would happen, one of the men got up, crept over, and reached toward Burke’s holster.