by Sandra Cox
Liam stared at the television as if he were witnessing the second coming and was afraid of his destination. The volume continued to escalate. “Stop pressing the button,” I screamed.
“What’s wrong? Why are sirens going off?” Marcy staggered out wearing a “Shop Till you Drop” neon-pink sleep-shirt with a shoe motif ringed around the hem. She squinted at the remote that floated in the air. I grabbed it from Liam and pressed down the sound.
When the reverberation had reached manageable proportions, I turned to Marcy who stood in the doorway blinking like an owl in bright sunlight. “Go back to bed.”
“But the remote…” Befuddled, she continued to stare at my hand.
“Go to bed, Marcy. You were having a bad dream.”
“Bad dream,” she repeated, swaying in place. I started to throw the remote on the couch, thought better of it, and with a hand on her arm, led my cousin back to her room where she promptly burrowed under the covers. The sounds of her genteel snores faded as I left the room.
I walked to the great room. My ghost—I refused to consider him Marcy’s if she couldn’t even see him—stared in awed fascination at the television. “What in thunderation is that?”
“Television.” I plopped on the couch and leaned my head back against the large soft cushions. “They had one at Jimmy’s.”
“I saw a box at the bar that resembled this, only smaller, and no magic came out of it.”
“Oh, right. Band was playing. It was shut off.”
“What is a television?” He reached out and touched it.
“A television is an electronic system that transmits pictures and sound. That particular model is high-definition.”
“Television,” he breathed. “Can I see the thick stick?”
“Thick stick?” I asked, my eyes drifting shut. “Oh, the remote. No, I’ll just hold on to that for now. If you wake Marcy back up, I don’t think she’ll buy the bad dream twice.”
“Remote,” he repeated. “Show me. I promise not to hit the sound.” He held out a hand I could see through.
I motioned him toward me, gave him a brief rundown, and dropped it in his palm. With a look of pure male satisfaction, Liam channel surfed.
“It’s got to be imbedded somewhere in the DNA.” I stretched out on the couch, pulled up my knees, and pressed my feet into the couch cushion. The first rays of sunlight filtered through the blinds. Might as well make some coffee. But I made no move to get up.
“Hmm?” He never glanced away from the screen, his eyes shining.
“Guys and remotes. Never mind.” He sat at my feet. A low-level buzz of electricity from his nearness, as well as his signature scent of limes and cinnamon, gave me a strange sense of peace. I yawned and let myself drift back to sleep while Liam played with the wireless control.
The next thing I knew it wasn’t cinnamon and lime but the strong aroma of coffee that tickled my senses. Marcy bent over me and waved a cup back and forth as she fanned the swirl of steam under my nose. “Wake up, sleepyhead.”
“What time is it? Am I late for class?” I asked, groggy.
“You graduated over a week ago.” She giggled, then looked at the television. “I wonder what’s wrong with the TV.” Channels flashed in rapid succession.
“Oh, my foot must be on the remote.” My jaw tight, extremities twitchy, I sat up and swiped it out of Liam’s hand. He grinned at me, stood up, and stretched, then slouched back down in typical male fashion. My irritation disappeared, replaced by warmth in the pit of my stomach as the fabric of his shirt hugged his chest.
At some point, he’d taken off his jacket. It lay carelessly across the back of the couch. The black, stark against the wheat and white tweed, shimmered like a glow stick. But Marcy didn’t seem to notice.
“Here ya go.” She shoved the coffee at me.
I sipped it gratefully. “Thanks. What time is it?” Liam stared at the screen with the sound down, entranced.
“Ten-thirty.”
“Ten-thirty? What are you doing up? You hate mornings almost as much as mythical vampires do.” Mythical till last night. Now…?
“It’s Sunday.”
“Oh, yeah, brunch with the parents at the manse.”
“You’re so silly. It’s hardly a mansion,” she said with the disdain of someone who grew up there. “I’m going to shower.” She turned, then paused. “I had the strangest dream. I dreamt of sirens going off and someone screaming, and then I walked in here and you had the TV blasting.”
“Really? Dreams are so weird.” Though not half as weird as what was going on here. I clasped my hands around the warm ceramic cup and took another gulp of coffee. The caffeine rolled down my throat and kick started my system.
She shrugged and left.
Whew. I pointed a finger at Liam. “Stay.” I tossed him the remote. “Here, play with the TV. Just stop if Marcy walks in, and for God’s sake put the remote down if she does. I’m not sure what her reaction would be to seeing it float in the air.”
“So where are you going?”
“Next door, to my aunt’s house.”
“Can I go?” He started to rise.
“Why don’t you just stay put? Lunch with my parents can be challenging enough without throwing a ghost into the mix.” The mere thought made my stomach knot.
“Whatever you wish.” He sank back down, his gaze locked on the TV. He’d started to surf again. I pushed myself off the couch and went to get ready.
Fifty minutes later, I walked back in.
Liam glanced at me. His head shot up, his eyes widened, and he came to his feet. His gaze slid down my bare arms, shifted to my dress’s fitted waist, then dropped to the flared skirt. The wonderful scent of him intensified. “Lord, you’re beautiful.”
I’d been told that before. But it never had the impact on me it did now. The intensity in his sea-gray eyes and the way he studied me, as if he could strip away the outer layers and see my soul, stunned me. “Thank you,” I managed.
“Your skin glows like fresh honey.” He reached out as if to touch me. His hand hovered inches from my arm, before it dropped to his side.
A pleasurable surge of energy danced under my skin where his hand had hovered. My breath lodged in my throat and refused to move up or down. I opened my mouth and pushed it out in a whoosh. “It’s a good thing you’re a ghost. If you weren’t, I’m afraid I’d have to break my long streak of celibacy.” Eighteen years, but who’s counting.
His eyes narrowed in a male look as old as time. “I’d prefer doing the proposing, but I’d marry you.”
My belly fluttered. “No one said anything about marriage.”
“But you just said…” He shifted and turned his head a bit, a puzzled frown on his face.
“Times have changed. You don’t have to marry someone to have sex with them.”
“Well, that hasn’t changed.” He rocked back on his wheels. “You’d prefer to whore than to wed?”
“How rude.” Heat seeped through my skin. “I didn’t say that. Today, women are men’s equals sexually. We can have sex with whomever we please with no strings attached.”
“And is ‘strings’ a euphemism for marriage?”
Grin. “Yeah, I guess.”
“And I suppose the short dress is acceptable in your time. Yes, it must be,” he answered himself and gracefully left the marriage issue behind. Although the ‘I’d marry you’ certainly continued to whirl in my mind.
“Liam, the dress hits the middle of my knees. I hate to tell you but it isn’t that short. Wait till you see Marcy. My cousin’s dresses never reach past the middle of her thighs.”
“I’m not sure my heart can take it.”
I laughed and plucked a long strand of black hair off my arm.
“Talking to yourself again?” Marcy asked, as she came tripping in on three inch heels, wearing a pretty little square-necked, fitted pink dress that hugged her form and ended, as I’d predic
ted, at mid-thigh.
“Well knock me into a cocked hat. If that skirt were any shorter, her drawers would be showing.” Liam stared in stunned surprise—albeit with a tinge of male appreciation—at my cousin’s legs.
I giggled.
“What’s the matter? Don’t my shoes match?” She looked down at her polka dot stiletto strappies.
I shook my head but couldn’t stop the laughter that erupted between my teeth. I bent over, holding my waist.
“Caitlin, are you all right?”
“Fine,” I managed to get out and waved her off.
“You’re acting strange. But then you often do.” With her hands on her hips, her flawless brow wrinkled, she studied me.
“Pot calling the kettle black?” I straightened, still grinning but under control. I made a point not to look at Liam.
“Yeah, something like that.” She grinned back, her humor as warped as mine. She took a quick look at me. “Didn’t I tell you those strappy blue heels and that lapis and silver jewelry were perfect accessories for that white dress?”
“Yes, you did. Between you claiming responsibility for my fashion sense and Mom telling me I’ve got her legs, I’ve got nothing to call my own.”
“Lucky for you, you’ve got me and Auntie. Now let’s go. And Cat? No need to mention the ghost deal, especially since it turned out to be a hoax.”
“You can count on me.” I should tell her. Really, I should. But Liam was my ghost now. Plus, there was that little niggle of doubt that I may have lost it and was living happily in la-la land.
I gave a small wave. He lifted the remote in response. I hustled Marcy out before she saw it floating in the air. Shoot! I’d forgotten to ask him about his twin. I’d have to rectify that when I got back home.
Neatly trimmed shrubbery divided the manse and our cottage. A small break, cleverly cut out and maintained by the gardener, allowed passage between the two properties. A light, warm breeze carried the lemony scent of purple rhododendrons and pink azaleas that dotted the landscape. An orange butterfly landed on a pink flower, fluttered its wings for a moment before it flew away.
The sun mellowed the red brick of the two-story manse. Large white pillars gave timelessness to the home my cousin’s family had lived in for five generations.
Our heels clicked as we walked across the wooden veranda. Before Marcy could open the door, it swung wide. Lulu stood in the entryway wearing a short black dress with a starched white apron and little white cap on her head. “Come on in, girls.”
“Lulu, why do you insist on wearing that maid uniform?” Marcy asked. They’d had this conversation every Sunday for the past five years.
“Because your parents get a kick out of it.” Lulu said the words as I mouthed them.
“Whatever.” Marcy made a dismissive wave of her hand.
“Go on. Everyone’s in the dining room,” Lulu said as she shut the door behind us.
“Are we late?” I glanced at my wrist before I realized I wasn’t wearing a watch.
“No. Vel got the meal together a little earlier than she planned and didn’t want it to get cold, so she had me herd everyone into the dining room.” Lulu shrugged.
Floor length white voile curtains danced at the open windows as we walked in. A soft breeze blew in the heady scent of hyacinths. The family was already seated.
“Darlings.” My mother, nearly as tall as I, jumped up to hug first me, then Marcy. She wore a lightweight, cream-colored suit that showed off her still-perfect figure to perfection.
“Don’t you two look a vision,” Dad said from where he sat. Uncle Leon nodded from the head of the long gleaming table. Aunt Janet motioned us in, a smile on her pretty, unlined face.
We sat across from my dad and mom. The kitchen door opened, and Vel came in carrying a huge silver platter filled with fried chicken, mashed potatoes, corn, and rolls. The smells made my stomach growl. I could already feel the calories jumping on my hips.
“Pass that food around, baby girl,” Vel commanded as she set the meat platter in front of Marcy.
Marcy forked a crispy, batter-dipped breast onto her plate and handed me the platter. Thinking of Liam and his fascination for short skirts, I took a leg and passed the platter to Uncle Leon.
Silverware clinked against china as the food made its way around. The succulent scents that swirled around the table made my mouth water. If I had a tail, I would have wagged it.
“Drat, I forgot the gravy. I’ll be right back.” Her starched white uniform rustled as Vel hustled back into the kitchen.
Seconds later, a high-pitched scream froze my blood.
Chapter 4
Chairs scraped and plates clattered as we raced to the kitchen. Her back pressed against the wall, Vel stared at a gravy boat that sat in solitary splendor on the glistening granite countertop.
“Vel, what’s wrong?” Aunt Janet, barely five-two in her stocking feet, reached Vel first and put her arm around her.
“The gravy boat floated through the air.” Vel’s finger trembled as she pointed at the delicate china.
“Vel, have you been drinking again?” Uncle Leon ran a hand through graying chestnut hair, still thick and wavy.
Liam leaned up against the refrigerator with his arms crossed. “Reflex. She started to drop the gravy boat. I caught it.” He lifted his hands in an “it wasn’t my fault” gesture.
Sure enough, gravy had sloshed over the side and dripped on the counter. “What are you doing here?”
Dad, who stood closest to me, frowned. “What did you say, Cat?”
Liam glanced at Dad, then back at me. “I was snapped like a puppet on a string. One minute, I’m watching the news.” His features relaxed in a sweet smile. “I love your picture box. The next, poof, I’m pulled here. Seems we can’t be too far apart.”
“Cat, what did you say, and why are you staring at the refrigerator?” Dad asked again. His gaze narrowed as he studied me. Dad was an independent reporter, a very good one. He hadn’t won Pulitzers for nothing. When it came to news, he had the nose of a bloodhound. The last thing I needed was my father scenting a story.
My shoulders twitched. Nerves jumped under my skin. “Must be because I’m hungry. What’s the gravy boat doing here instead of at the table?”
“Caitlin Lee, that’s rude.” Mom looked disapproving.
“Sorry, I was just making a joke.” I brushed at a small potato lump on my skirt that had bounced from a spoon when we all made a dash for the kitchen.
“Maybe it was the ghost,” Marcy joked before she clapped a hand over her mouth.
My jaw dropped. Liam and I stared at each other. He recovered first and had the audacity to wink at me. I frowned a warning. Though warning against what was a good question. No one could see him except me, unless he decided to pick up another gravy boat.
Uncle Leon turned to Marcy and sighed. “What are you talking about, darling?”
“Don’t worry, Daddy. I’m getting a full refund,” she rushed to explain.
“Refund?” Uncle Leon’s voice sounded hollow. He tucked his hands in his pants and rocked on his heels.
At least my father had turned his attention from me to Marcy. The twitch between my shoulders eased.
“They had ghosts for sale on eBay, and I was the top bidder,” she explained proudly. Marcy was such a riot.
“And what price did you get them for?” Uncle Leon asked, his eyebrows raised, his lips pursed.
“It doesn’t matter. I sent them back. They were empty test tubes, and one of them was broken.” She looked aggrieved. “The money should be back in my account next week.”
“How much?” Though still calm, he’d developed a tic in his left cheek. Oh, dear.
“Only six.” Marcy smiled brightly and brushed at her skirt.
“Six what, Marcia?” Uncle Leon only called her Marcia when he was on the verge of a meltdown.
Marcy cleared her throat. “Six thousand.”
“You spent six thousand dollars on broken test tubes?” His low voice carried more weight than a bellow.
Marcy and I looked at each other. She swallowed and shifted on her stilettos. Before she could open her mouth, I jumped, figuratively, into the fray. “You can’t put too high a price on a soul.” I plastered a pious expression on my face, or at least tried to.
Uncle Leon gave me a pained look. “I understand this from my daughter. But I expected better from you.”
“Why?” My mother shot me a withering glance. “You know these two have been partners in crime since they could toddle. If one was doing mischief, you could be sure the other was as well.”
Partners in crime.
Guilt assailed me. I really should tell Marcy about Liam. At least I’d diverted some of Uncle Leon’s wrath from her; I consoled myself.
My uncle turned to his only child and pointed his finger. “For sheer stupidity, you’ve outdone yourself. I expect your credit cards on my desk after lunch. I’ll return them at the end of the month.”
Uh-oh.
Marcy’s azure eyes widened till they filled her face. “But that’s over two weeks away, and there’s a sale at…” Her voice trailed off as she took note of the alarming shade of red on her father’s handsome features. “Of course, Daddy.”
Her father swiveled in my direction. “And you, young lady, are not to pick up the slack.”
I nodded. The word slack could be loosely interpreted.
“I’m sorry. I should have let the silly thing fall,” Liam apologized. He had his jacket back on. His paisley cream vest fit his rangy body to perfection. The high-notched collar didn’t look comfortable, but it did add a touch of elegance.
I nodded. At least this time I had the presence of mind to keep my mouth shut. My shoulders prickled again. Stiff as the proverbial board, I turned my head toward my father. Eyes narrow, he studied me as if I were a bug in a science project.
This was so not good.
Dad’s gaze swung to the stainless steel refrigerator where mine had been moments before. Liam met his glance and straightened.