Forgotten Memories
Page 9
“Why not?”
“She never believed me.”
Her shoulders slumped, and he squeezed his arms harder around her. If her own mother didn’t believe her, how could she expect him to?
She did seem to be able to read him, and, yes, she did catch on to the secondary reason his cowboys kept this small area free of weeds and prickly bushes, but any intuitive woman could pick up his thoughts when it came to sex.
Didn’t men think about it every five seconds or something like that?
Lately it’d been on his mind a lot.
“The female ghost haunting my saloon is named Grace.”
Dear Lord, now it’s back to ghosts.
“My grandmother’s name was Grace.”
He didn’t comment as he tightened his hold on her.
“I wonder if it means anything.” Jerking from his arms, she twisted around so quickly he took a few steps backward, pulling her up to him to keep her from toppling over the cliff’s edge. “I just remembered something. The day I met you she’d said, ‘He’s coming.’ She must have been referring to you.”
“You expect me to believe a ghost talked to you?”
Her lips formed into a tight frown. “I heard what I heard.”
“But it’s not possible.”
She pulled from his loosening hands and moved past him to the entrance of the well-defined path. “I don’t know why I thought you’d believe me when my own family never did.”
“Jen, I just…don’t think a spirit can talk.”
“Not in the same way as you and I do,” she said, pleading now. “But she did communicate with me, and more than once. How do you think I found out her name?”
“She told you,” he said with doubt. “Are you telling me she told you her name?”
Eyes blazing, head shaking back and forth so hard her long hair covered her gorgeous face, she sighed loudly before stepping onto the path.
“Jen, wait.”
“Leave me alone.”
“Jen.” Loud laughter erupted from his mouth. Wrong, he thought as he watched her back stiffen in front of him. “I’m sorry.”
“I don’t appreciate being made fun of, Adam Craine.”
He followed her down the path back to the now deserted rustic cabin. He swallowed the renewal of his glee when she tripped over an exposed tree root and stumbled awkwardly to keep from falling, knees first, to the ground.
“Jen?”
“Would you just stop laughing at me?” She turned toward him and planted her hands on her curvy hips. “I told you I don’t appreciate being laughed at.”
“No,” he said lightly. “You said you didn’t appreciate being made fun of.”
“Oh, for crying out loud.” She twisted toward the cabin. “You know what I meant.”
The cabin, he thought. Did she sense the cabin was also used for devious purposes when one of the cowboys was alone? The two of them were alone now; maybe he should show her the small little room behind the kitchen area.
“Are you done laughing at me?”
For once, she didn’t seem to be able to read his mind. He’d have to figure out why at a later time. “I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, right,” she said, jerking from him to walk into the dim cabin. “Is there a bathroom in this place?”
Maybe she had read his mind after all, he thought as he led her to the back doorway. “It’s an outhouse.”
“You have an outhouse?”
“Yes.” He forced his gaze off the door leading to the spare bedroom. “But the guys do a good job of keeping it clean.”
“An outhouse,” she said as a grin slowly moved over her mouth. Her temper had faded as quickly as it had flared up. “I didn’t think anyone used outhouses anymore.”
A soft laugh escaped from deep in her chest as she walked out the door, grin still gleaming warm on her face when she returned a few minutes later.
“Feel better?” he asked.
She didn’t look at him.
“So,” he said in earnest. “Tell me about your ghost?”
She looked up then, studying his face with the intense look she got at times. She must’ve seen what she’d been searching for because she starting talking about Winter Creek’s resident ghosts.
“Every business has one?” he asked incredulously. “Shouldn’t you all be afraid to stay there?”
Like sun shining on a cold, snowy morning, her smile lit up the grungy room.
Damn, he liked it when she smiled.
“They’re harmless.”
He watched her glance around the room, taking in the simple rough furniture and dark black wood stove. Along the wall sat four sets of bunk beds, two on each side of the back door, haphazardly made with dark green woolen Army surplus blankets crumpled to the floor and mussed up pillows.
She didn’t seem to see the door leading to the tiny room.
“This place looks like it should have a few ghosts of its own.”
“I’ve never noticed one.”
“Doesn’t mean there aren’t any haunting the place,” she said, staring at him for a long moment before moving to one of the lower bunks and sinking down into its rumpled bed. “For some people ghosts are everywhere.”
Quietness slowly moved through the cabin, a comfortable friendly silence filled with unspoken words and sharp feelings. He shook his head at those fleeting thoughts and crouched down in front of the contemplative woman.
Deep in thought, Jen seemed to be seeing things only she could see.
Suddenly the slight frown lifted into a brilliant grin, and she leaned toward him. “I think my lady saloon girl is related to me.”
He sat back on his heels but didn’t comment.
“She told me her name is Grace.”
“Yes,” he said noncommittally. “And you told me your grandmother’s name was Grace too.”
Her grin deepened. “But I didn’t tell you about the great-great-aunt on my mother’s side of the family, an aunt my mother denied being related to.”
“You think your aunt might be your ghost?”
“Yes.”
“That’s a big leap.”
She ignored him. “And I think maybe the male ghost I’m sensing now is somehow related to your family. I think he might be a Craine.”
Adam dropped his hands on the cot on either side of her bottom, leaning toward her. “Don’t get my family involved with this spirit stuff.”
“It makes sense.”
“How?”
“She told me he’s coming.” She cupped her hands gently on his cheeks. “And there you were.”
“Oh, come on, Jen.” He relaxed against her caressing touch, enjoying the feel of the smooth padding of her thumb warming over his unshaven face. “My arrival that day meant nothing.”
“You think that’s true?” Her voice softened as she spread her fingers wide and slid them behind his head, easily pulling him a breath length away from her tempting mouth.
Damn, he thought.
“Tell me something, cowboy.” Warm air breezed in his slightly opened lips. “When you first saw my saloon, what happened?”
He froze then.
“Did you feel coldness?”
She stared hard at him, reading him with that damned intense way of hers.
He didn’t want her knowing him that well.
“Did you feel the strangeness in the air?”
Yet he loved her gentle touch.
“I think you felt it that day.” Her hands dropped to his shoulders. “I think you sensed something…wrong.”
He wouldn’t admit to it. “So what does feeling cold have to do with an ancestor of mine haunting your saloon?”
“Is there anyone who might fit?”
His great-great-grandfather, he thought suddenly. Granddad Adam was rumored to be a scallywag and womanizer. When he was young his father had told him that one day the man just up and disappeared.
Could great-great-grandpa Adam be haunting the saloon?
A
chill flowed through as he remembered something else that happened that day. “You called me Adam.”
“That’s your name.” Jen grinned. “What else would I call you?”
“I came back to your saloon after going with Barb to check out the livery stable and corral, and I heard…” He glanced up at her wide-opened eyes. “You said Adam.”
Uneasiness filled those warm eyes now. “I don’t remember saying your name.”
“I think my great-great-grandfather may be the male ghost roaming around the place.”
“Why?”
“Rumors in my family say he was having an affair with a saloon girl.” He placed his hands over her arms and pulled her hands down to fold into his. “His name was Adam.”
“And when I was in my trance I called out for Adam?” She entwined his fingers with hers, squeezing them tight in her excitement. “Do you think your parents will talk to me about him?”
“Sure.”
“Maybe we can make a date some time.”
A date, he thought with a smile.
“I’d like to find out about your Grandpa Adam.” She grinned, reading his smiling features with ease. “And maybe I’ll find out more about you.”
“I’m an open book, honey.”
“Yes.” Her grin told more than she probably was willing for him to see. “You are to me.”
* * * *
“So are you impressed by my cowboys’ abilities to move a herd of cows?”
Jen glanced at the man beside her, surprised by the less than cocky attitude sounding in his voice now, before looking back toward the slowly approaching herd. Neither said a word as they moved as one out of the cabin, to stand near the edge of the trail. A cool breeze flittered across her coat, opening it to wintry air.
“You must really need to move those cows of yours.”
“Of course I need to,” he said, turning his head to stare at her. “We usually have them secured in the winter pasture by at least the middle of November. My parents’ wedding anniversary is November seventeenth. We try to have everything finished around the ranch before then.”
“How long have they been married?” She glanced away from the slowly moving cows toward the quiet man beside her. “It must be a long time.”
“This year,” he said with a hint of pride in his voice, “it’ll be thirty-seven years.”
“Wow.” She laughed. “I didn’t think anyone stayed married that long anymore.”
“It’s not impossible, Jen.” She sensed her deliberation upset him now. “Well, are you going to let us herd the cows past your town or what?”
“I’ve always intended to let you move them past Winter Creek.”
He looked stunned at her confession.
“Jack and William needed to be convinced.” She smiled. “Not me.”
He looked toward the slowly approaching herd for a moment before shaking his head and pulling his cowboy hat off. “I think there may be another problem.”
Now what, she thought. “You mean with the cows?”
“We may need to move them through the town,” he said, still looking away from her. “Not around it.”
“Why would you need to do that?” Jen studied his expression for so long he angled his hat back on his head. Coward, she thought with a soft smile. “Cows can walk on concrete, right? They walk on the road all the time.”
“Yes,” he said, twisting around to look at her. Dust caused by the slow-moving herd rose over them both. “But it might be a problem getting past all those cars in the parking lot. During the week every one of the spaces in that lot is filled with a vehicle of some sort. That will only leave a small hundred yards or so between the lot and the back walls of the buildings to herd the cows through, or an even smaller space between the parking lot and the creek where all those tents are set up.”
“I thought you told me the cows go where your cowboys tell them to go.”
“The main street of town is wider.”
She stared hard at him, not truly understanding the problem. “We could always move the cars.”
“And park them where?” he said simply. “If Winter Creek’s website is any indication of the future, we may be moving our herds through the town twice a year from now on.”
“The website,” she said. “Rose told me something about one of the poll questions William placed on the site, involving cows or something like that, but I haven’t checked out the site in a few months.”
He lifted a brow at her statement. “I thought you knew. Seems people really like the idea of watching a real-life cattle drive, so WCHA asked my father about herding our cattle through the town. I was surprised by their change of heart. Your two partners were totally against it when I first brought up the subject.”
“This is the first I’ve heard of it.” Anger rolled slowly into her mind, lifting higher and higher the more she thought of the two men’s underhanded behavior. “I don’t believe this. It was their idea to give me the deciding vote on whether or not to allow you to herd your cattle past Winter Creek. How dare they go behind my back like that? They had no right to do that.”
“Don’t get your g-string in a bunch, lady,” he said, a slight grin lifting his mouth. “They were probably planning on telling you before the special meeting tomorrow.”
“What special meeting?” This was getting better and better. She wondered what else the two men had kept from her. “I need to get back to town.”
“I can take you back but not until the cows are all penned up for the night.”
“Wyatt can make sure of that, can’t he?” When the grin didn’t leave his face, she added hotly, “And you can just wipe that damn look off your face.”
“I love it when—”
A loud male voice shouted a sharp warning only a second before Jen felt her body lifting off the ground. She landed with her left leg cocked under her bottom and her right arm flung out above her head. Snorting sounds and yelling voices mixed with her own low screams, as a burning ache started to flow into her bent leg. Furry limbs, spotted white over a brown background, pounded the ground around her twisted body. Jen could almost feel the heat of the cow’s breath moving across her exposed skin.
“Don’t move, Jen,” Adam yelled. “You need to stay as still as possible.”
The cow snorted over her tightening body. She pulled her cramping arm, inch by slow inch, down to her head and tilted her chest into the safety of its folds before pulling her legs higher. She moaned at the sharp pain slicing through her sprained muscles before biting her tongue to stay quiet.
“I got her, boss.” Jen recognized Wyatt’s deeper voice. “Good thing the heifer only nicked the professor’s side.”
The hooves moved away, yet she still didn’t unfold from her fetal position. Frozen to the ground, she couldn’t move until a gentle hand lifted her arms away from her face. His hand, she knew.
“Are you all right, Jen?” The care in his voice warmed her more than any blanket ever could. “Honey, you need to look at me. I need to know you’re all right.”
Opening her eyes, she spied a look of deep pain piercing from the cowboy’s face mixed with something sweet and hot, something she didn’t want to see radiating out of any man’s eyes ever again. His care sounded an alarm high in her head, causing a tight ache to burn fire down her spine.
“I’m fine.” She didn’t want this man caring for her. Lust she could handle, ridicule and disbelief, but not the hint of love burning from his eyes. She couldn’t handle losing another man, especially this man. “I’m fine.”
Shaking his trembling hand away from her, she raised easily up to her feet. A slight twinge moved through her right leg when she placed her weight on it, and she moaned out loud. He reached toward her, wrapping his hand around her back and pulling her to him. She tried to step away, but he held on tight.
A loud roar penetrated her throbbing. She turned and glared at the four-wheeler racing up the slight slope, anger rushing through her system. “You lied to m
e.”
He didn’t even look at her.
“You told me the only way up to the pasture was by horse.”
“Yeah, I did.”
She allowed him to direct her to the humming machine, jerking away from him when he tried to help her up into its seat. “This thing doesn’t look like a horse to me.”
“I wanted you to know what it was like.”
“You lied to me.”
“Yeah.” He wrapped his hands firmly around her waist and lifted her into the seat of the small vehicle. “It’ll take us longer to get down the hill than it did for us to get up it.”
“So?” She didn’t plan on giving him an out on this. “If you told me the truth I still might have gone up with you on the back of your horse.”
“Somehow I doubt that, Jen.” He stared hard at her. “You wouldn’t have come close to Dark Day if I’d given you the choice. And I wanted you to experience the ride up here, with me.”
His tone lowered on the last two words, leaving her with no doubt why he truly wanted to ride up with her to the summer pasture. And, if she was being truthful with herself, it had been an experience. She still remembered the feel of his body behind hers, the smell of his cinnamon scented breath breezing warm over the side of her face, the bite of his teeth nibbling gently on her sensitive earlobes.
Yet she barely remembered the ride on the back of the stallion at all.
Chapter 9
The empty wine glass fell from Jen’s weakened fingers as she followed her two friends down the main street of the quiet ghost town. She tried to catch it as another round of laughter erupted from her. She was so glad she’d decided to stay in Winter Creek and get drunk with her friends. It’d been too long since she’d had any fun.
“You dropped your glass.” Barb giggled like a schoolgirl. “You better pick it up or Rose will make you stand in the corner.”
Rose stopped at the entrance of the saloon before turning to face Barb. “That’s right.”
“I think our sweet, virginal school mistress is drunk,” Barb slurred. She raised her glass to her mouth, then frowned when she realized it was empty. “But then so is the kid-hating seamstress.”