Wild West Hauntings, page 4
Rachel wondered if she would ever have the chance to experience the love of a real man and the creation of a family.
Bristol seemed puzzled for a moment. “Well, you let one of us know if you need to get back to the lodge sooner than later.”
“Sure. Thanks.” Rachel tried to smile but wasn’t sure if the gesture reached her eyes. She was just glad Bristol didn’t pursue her line of questioning in regard to how she felt.
Bristol returned to a man’s side, whom Rachel assumed was Damon. The handsome man, who looked like the country singer who was married to an Australian actress—for the life of her she couldn’t remember his name—placed his hands on her belly, bent forward and said something. She couldn’t catch the words, but the endearing gesture touched her heart and obviously made Bristol happy if the huge, sappy grin on her face was any indication.
As Damon straightened, the wrangler, who saved the boiling pot moments earlier with a guitar slung across his back, strutted up to him and clamped a hand on his shoulder. “Up for some entertainment?”
“Sure Kent. How ‘bout you, my darlin’ Bristol? Want to show the folks what we’re made of?”
Bristol nodded and took her place beside Damon. Kent sat on a chair behind them, his guitar balanced on his knee. After a few twangs of the strings and twists of the knobs, he strummed out several notes.
Even after the couple started to sing the love song, Rachel couldn’t place the tune. The travels, the lack of sleep had finally caught up to her and made her mind go blank. Thankful for the respite from the merry-go-round of thoughts she’d been experiencing, she leaned over her sister and asked for Miguel for a ride back to the lodge.
“Are you okay, Rachel?” Marianne stroked her sister’s hair.
She bobbed her head. “Yeah, just got real tired all of the sudden. Figured I should take advantage of the opportunity and go to bed.”
“Okay. As long as you’re all right.”
Rachel nodded once more, stood and followed Miguel to the truck.
****
After the song ended, Bristol sat beside Marianne. She stroked her stomach, calming the little soccer player inside. “Is your sister okay? She looked like she wanted to lose her lunch or something.”
“She says she is. Though I wonder if she’s telling me the whole truth or not. I know she’s been dealing with a lot of stuff, including being haunted by some ghost, but…” Marianne shook her head. “Oh, I don’t know.”
Bristol’s cheeks and fingertips grew cold. The baby kicked again as if agitated by the change in temperature and conversation. “Ghost? Is it one of ours?”
“I don’t see how. She’s only arrived here today.” Marianne glanced up at the sky then down at her arm. “Do you feel rain drops?”
“Now that you mention it, yes, I do.” She watched a large dark spot grow on the blanket in the fiery glow.
“Ladies,” Damon called out to them. “I think it’s time to wrap it up here. Let’s get you gals into my truck and back to the lodge. Kent and the guys are gonna clean up here.”
“Sounds good to me. Marianne, could you help me up?” As Marianne helped her to her feet so she wouldn’t lose her balance due to her center of gravity being off, she whispered, “Speaking of ghosts, Mr. P is still within the protective circle, right?”
She’d read recently ghosts could interact with babies who were about ready to be born and newborns and how the spirits could walk into their little bodies and take over their souls so they could live again. Damon hated the fact she read such “outrageous stuff,” as he called it, but after she and Marianne had a few close calls with Mr. P, she was determined to be armed with knowledge. If Mr. P were to escape the trap, she wanted to be prepared and fight him off to protect her little one.
“Yes, he is. Thank God.” Marianne crossed herself then kissed the tips of her fingers. “And let’s hope he stays that way.”
Chapter Four
A light patter of hail and sleet pinged on the roof. The comforting sound kept Rachel’s mind off the fact she was alone in the lodge. Though she’d enjoyed being outdoors, watching the fire leap and dance in the pit and drinking Kent’s excellent chocolate brew, all she really wanted to do was go to bed, but she couldn’t. Being by herself in a strange place was one of the reasons she hadn’t turned in for the night despite her fatigue. The other was that something seemed off. An eerie vibe charged the air. Paranoid feelings caused from sensations of being watched when no one was around sparked her anxiety.
She snuggled under a thick afghan on the part of the sectional that faced the grand fireplace, hoping the precipitation would bring the others back. Her back dug into arm of the couch as she kept vigil on the doors. Their company would chase away the shadows, fight back the dark where her thoughts continued to wander to and where her dream man waited. Once her nerves calmed down and there were people around, she was sure she’d fall asleep without issue. Then tomorrow she’d visit with her sister. At some point during the day, she’d check out the family plot to assuage her curiosity and stop the gnawing draw to go down there.
In the corner near the fireplace sat a sparsely decorated Christmas tree. The bushy evergreen almost touched the high ceiling. A handful of shiny colored spheres hung on thick-needled branches. Tiny white lights reflected off the glass and plastic balls. She was surprised she hadn’t noticed the tree when she first arrived. Then again, the need for sleep had overpowered all her senses. It amazed her she had made it from the airport to the ranch in one piece.
The huge wood double doors opened. Chilled air gusted in. She wrapped the blanket tighter around her. A tall man with a brown cowboy hat strolled into the lodge and pushed the doors shut behind him. Relaxed fitting jeans fed down to glossy black boots. When he turned and noticed her, he took off his hat. Gorgeous blue eyes stared at her for a quick moment. Tan hands peeked out of the long black sleeves of his duster jacket. He looked like one of the men in the pictures scattered throughout the room. Rachel considered him for a few seconds. A nice looking fellow, but he was too tall and there was something about him, an underlying reserved quality that made him too rigid for her tastes.
The cowboy probably wasn’t as nice as her Dalton with his easy smile, lean and toned body, laid back personality. She blinked, chastising herself for thinking about the dream man. Dalton and that life in another time were products of her imagination, not things she should be mooning over.
A beautiful, equally tall, dark auburn-haired woman came in, walked up to the man, slid off his coat and then pinched his ass. He turned, opening his mouth as if he wanted to speak, but she wagged a finger and shook her head. He grinned, albeit so briefly Rachel barely caught the glimmer of his white teeth.
She’d heard somewhere that ‘cowboys don’t smile.’ Rachel couldn’t fathom how people could go around not ever cracking a grin. Yet it seemed the man who just walked through the door was a prime example of the truth behind the saying. He’d showed no acknowledgement of her presence, no hint of teeth, until he saw the woman.
But then there was her dream man, who smiled at her all the time, and Damon who appeared so happy around Bristol.
Maybe the saying wasn’t completely valid. Perhaps cowboys didn’t smile at just anyone—only for the people they loved. They saved their most charming ones for their soul mates.
The man moved to the fireplace where he tossed a couple of logs in, some fire starter material and lit it all.
The doors swung open again, and to Rachel’s relief, the rest of the gang filed into the room. Their laughter and boisterous conversation broke the awkward silence.
“Rachel.” Marianne gave Miguel her coat and rubbed her arms. “Why are you still up? I thought you were exhausted.”
“I am, but I felt weird being in the building alone.” Weird’s an understatement. Delusional and paranoid is more like it.
“Oh.” Bristol clasped the sides of her belly.
Damon stopped beside her. “Darlin’? You okay? You’ve gone white.”
Bristol nodded while giving Marianne a quick glance. Marianne shook her head.
A shiver raced down Rachel’s spine. She wondered what the silent communication meant, but if they weren’t talking about it yet, she decided there was no reason to ask. With the way the conversations were going today, it was best to let this one go.
“Bristol, let me take you upstairs, darlin’.” Damon’s soft words were probably intended to soothe, but his wife-to-be just looked irritated.
“No. I’m fine. Really. All I need is to sit and have some herbal tea. Maybe we should put some holiday music on?”
“Sure thing, darlin’. Have a seat, and I’ll take care of everything.”
Bristol kissed his cheek then sat herself in the rocker near the tree.
“Geez Bristol, you have that man trained pretty well.” Marianne moved behind the couch Rachel was on.
“Yeah, he’s afraid with the hormones flooding my system I’ll go ballistic, and he’ll lose his family jewels, for lack of a better term, if he doesn’t jump to do things.”
“Smart man,” Rachel said. “Happy wife, or fiancée in this case, happy life.”
“Speaking of which… Dakota? Cassie?” Marianne called over to the couple sitting on the raised stone hearth. “I’d like to introduce you to one of my most favorite people in my life, my sister, Rachel. Rachel, this is Dakota, the eldest Dougan brother and his fiancée, Cassie.”
The pair, who’d barely spared Rachel a glance moments before, stood.
“Glad to meet you. How you like our ranch so far?” Dakota and his woman closed the distance between the fireplace and couch. He held out a hand as he kept his other wrapped in Cassie’s.
Rachel shuffled to her feet, the brown and green afghan cloaking her body, and accepted his handshake. “The bit I’ve seen is lovely. Everyone’s been real nice.”
“Sorry we weren’t hospitable. We were…” Cassie glanced at Dakota with a sly smile. “We were having a bit of a game and didn’t realize anyone was here. Are you comfortable? Do you need anything?”
There was an aura of calmness and strength about Dakota’s fiancée that put her at ease. She smiled at the couple. “I’m good. Thanks.” Catching Cassie staring at her, she covered her mouth. “What? Do I have something between my teeth?”
“No. Your teeth are fine,” Cassie offered with a small laugh. “It’s just that you look real familiar, like I’ve seen you before. Have we met somewhere?”
“I don’t believe so.”
“Huh.” Cassie put her hands on her hips and studied her. “You sure? I’ve lived in quite a few places, including the northeast so it’s quite possible we’ve crossed paths.”
“You probably just see our family relationship,” Marianne interjected. “When I haven’t dyed my hair in awhile, we tend to look similar. Perhaps that’s what you’re picking up on?”
Cassie shook her head, tapped a long finger against her cheek. “Nope. It’s not the sibling similarity.” She waved her hand in the air, strolled over and sat on a leather lounge chair near the couch. “I won’t stress myself thinking about it. Where I know you from will come to me if it’s important.”
Dakota walked behind Cassie, swept his hand over her head and hair, squeezed the top of her shoulder. Cassie tilted her head back, blew him a kiss.
Rachel’s heart clenched as a pang of longing swept through her. Had she made a mistake concentrating on completing her degree and foregoing the dating scene for the past few years? It wasn’t like she didn’t want to date. After all, if Andrew hadn’t left like he had, she’d probably still be with him. They could have made a great pair, professionally and personally. They could have started a practice together, could have lived and loved together.
Should haves, could haves, would haves…
Rachel tossed off the blanket and went over to the fire. Holding up her hands to the heat, a hearty sigh escaped her. She wanted to find love, marry, have a family before she grew too old. During some of her summer jobs and internships, she counseled people who were born to parents who’d been in their late thirties, early forties. The generational gaps, not only between parent and child, but between the older and younger adults interacting as they were raising children, created social and emotional problems that had a hard time being reconciled. There was no way she wanted to impose such a life and those kinds of trials upon a child if she could help it. Luckily, her clock wasn’t ticking quite yet, but another year or two it’d…
Come, darlin’, sit a spell beside the fire with me, Dalton’s voice caressed her mind.
Staring at the fire, she sat on the hearth and turned to face the group. In front of her, the scene wavered like a road mirage in the middle of summer. The conversations and music faded to a whisper. She closed her eyes. Leery about opening them and finding her new friends and sister gone, she kept them closed, her focus on the insides of her lids.
A presence joined her. She turned her head, opened her eyes and met Dalton’s deep blue-eyed gaze full of concern.
“My beautiful Rae. Why the forlorn look? Are you missing your family and friends back east?” Dalton rubbed her back, leaned in and kissed her cheek.
Trembling, she registered the change around her. Her sister and the others had disappeared. The room had morphed into the simple living quarters of the past. Even the Christmas tree had shrunk in size. The bright colored decorations and white lights on it were gone.
“Rae?”
“No.” Cause they were right here a moment ago. What the hell is going on? Why am I here when I’m awake? “Why do you ask?” Thankful the tremor in her voice was barely noticeable, she mentally shook off the thoughts and focused on the moment at hand.
“Well, I reckon since Christmas is nearly here, and you’re not with them, you’re homesick.”
Flames danced along the logs. Sparks jumped. Heated water trapped in pockets in the wood popped and crackled. If she listened really close, the noise of the fire and their breathing were the only sounds in the room. Life seemed peaceful, no annoying hum of technology. She breathed deep, trying to quiet the droning, a remnant of living in a modern world full of technology and noise, in her head and the panic that wanted to take over.
Might as well go with the flow and play along until this wacky daydream, or whatever it is, runs its course. Rachel placed her head on his shoulder. She wrapped an arm around him. “I’m all right. I have you, don’t I?”
“That you do, my star.” Dalton embraced her, cupping her chin then capturing her mouth in a kiss. His luscious lips played with hers. His tongue stroked and teased. He seemed to pour his heart and soul into it.
Her nerves zinged with desire as the kiss intensified. Heated passion and sexual tension bloomed inside her, spread through her body. With no desire to back away, she leaned into him, ran her fingers through his thick locks, urging him on as her toes curled in her boots.
A low growl escaped him as he pulled away. “You know you’re mine. My love. My star.”
She touched her forehead to his chin. “You’d probably brand me if you could,” she said with a light laugh to hide her nervousness over his blatant possessiveness. She wasn’t used to being with men who were overtly domineering, who exuded complete masculine energy.
Dalton kissed the top of her head and pulled her close. “I wouldn’t go that far.” He chuckled. “The ring upon your finger is brand enough.”
Rachel looked at the plain gold band on the ring finger of her left hand. Here, in her dreams, she had what she longed for—love, a husband, a chance for a family, being with a man who adored her, would keep her safe. If only he and our life together were real. She tightened her hold around him.
“You know what I would love right now?” He kissed the top of her head and directed her to her feet.
“What?” Curious she followed him over to the piano. The simple red dress trimmed in white lace that she found herself in swished against her legs. She took another breath, thankful they happened to have been simple people and not stuck on wearing the restrictive fashions of the day. Rachel shuddered to think what a confining corset and bustle would have felt like.
He pulled out the bench. “If you’d play.” Dalton assisted her to a seated position and opened the cover revealing the ivory and black keys.
She hovered her fingers over the instrument, biting back the urge to say she couldn’t play. Both she and Marianne had lessons when they were younger, but she doubted she’d remember anything after so many years.
Maybe it’s like riding a bike.
She touched middle C and suddenly a Christmas carol she used to know popped into her head. Striking the first chord came all too natural and her fingers flew as if they were possessed.
After a few bars, Dalton opened his mouth and a wonderful voice sang into the room. She’d expected to hear the words from What Child is This?, but he crooned the lyrics from Greensleeves instead. Rachel loved his rich voice, how he carried all the notes with ease, even the high ones in the chorus.
He gazed down at her with such love in his eyes that restless desire strummed her nerves and awakened lustful heat in her blood. Concentrating on the notes of the song, she tamped down the impulse to jump up and attack him like some drunken college co-ed. She closed her eyes and breathed deep as her fingers stroked the keys.
Not looking at him didn’t help so she went back to watching the keyboard. Her nose filled with his scent, all leather, sun and earthy goodness. Smells she always imagined a rugged man would have, unlike the guys she’d known at college. Maybe it was where she’d gone to school or the types of classes she took, but she was acquainted with way too many metro-sexuals. Most of the males she’d associated with had been better coifed, manicured and dressed than she’d been at times.
Then there was Dalton, adorned in a long sleeved, white button down shirt that matched the trim on her dress, faded denim pants and worn brown boots. His weathered fingers sported short nails with flecks of dirt in a few. The longer locks of his dark brown hair were unruly and stubble shadowed his chin. Dalton was definitely a man’s man.
