“Wyatt?” she whispered.
Silence again. She looked up and down the street, looking for some evidence that she hadn’t just imagined the whole thing. That was stupid, though. If he hadn’t just rescued her, how had she ended up out here on the sidewalk instead of the cellar floor? Who else would’ve left those boot prints in the dust?
She took a tentative step forward and thrust her hand into the spot where he’d been standing. Nothing of substance although the air felt several degrees cooler. Did that mean he was still there? Just in case, she jerked her hand back.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to...” To what? Touch him?
Suddenly, it was all too much—the near disaster and the even more shocking rescue. She grabbed up her pack and started for the far end of town and the trail back to her cabin. Maybe there would be something in either Aunt Hattie’s journal or Uncle Ray’s that would help her make some sense of things.
Walking as fast as her sore ankle would allow, she made her way back toward the woods. It was a constant battle to keep from glancing back over her shoulder, but she needed to watch where she was going. She allowed herself one look when she reached the trail through the trees. Staring back to where Blessing sat baking in the summer sun, she shivered.
“Well, that gives a whole new meaning to the term ghost town.”
It was a poor joke, but she laughed, anyway. She’d come to the mountain to find answers to the questions she’d been living with all too long, and today she’d definitely made progress. But staring down at the twin sets of bruises forming on her upper arms where Wyatt had grabbed her, she had to wonder if the truth might not be even scarier than her worst nightmares.
With that worrisome thought, she stepped into the shade of the trees and followed the narrow trail back to the cabin. Before she went inside, she hesitated in the doorway. Had he followed her? Had his efforts to rescue her hurt him in some way? Was that why he’d disappeared right there in front of her? God, she hoped not.
But just in case he could in fact hear her, she called out, “Thank you again, Mr. McCain. I hope to see you soon.”
She meant that, but not right now. Not until she could get her mind around what had just happened. Looking back to that first morning at the cabin, it was obvious now that a locked door wouldn’t keep Wyatt McCain out if he was of a mind to come inside. Even so, she set the deadbolt and fastened the chain.
And if she laced her tea with a medicinal shot of Uncle Ray’s favorite brandy, who was to know?
* * *
Wyatt hurt. It didn’t make sense, but it felt as if he was coming down off a three-day drunk that had involved a fistfight or two. He wasn’t sure how he’d managed to haul Rayanne to safety, but he had. A good deed. Who would’ve thought it possible?
All he could remember was hearing her scream and reaching out for every drop of power he could grab. For a few minutes, he’d been rock solid, almost human again. For the first time in a hundred-plus years, he’d felt the heat of the sun, the pull of air into his lungs and the sour taste of fear.
Not for himself. For Rayanne.
Hellfire, that woman needed someone to shake some sense into her. What did she think she was doing, risking her life like that? If he hadn’t been there, hadn’t been able to pull off that miracle... No, it didn’t bear thinking about. The mountain had already claimed enough lives.
An even bigger surprise was the connection he’d felt when she’d looked him straight in the eye, recognizing both who and what he was. Rather than run screaming down the road or fainting as she had when she’d seen him in her kitchen, she’d stood her ground.
He hadn’t expected that. It had been almost a relief when his last bit of energy had burned up, leaving him fading back into oblivion. He couldn’t believe that she actually stuck her hand out again to see if she could find him that way. He grinned or would have if he’d been solid again. From the way she’d jerked her hand back, she must have felt the chill that he’d heard Ray and Hattie complain about once in a while.
What was there about Rayanne that affected him so strongly? This was the second—no, make that the third time she’d seen him clearly. Even when she couldn’t, she obviously sensed his presence. She’d looked straight at him in the woods that time and again in the saloon when she’d been caught in the rain. That had him wanting to grin a second time. Would she eventually figure out that he’d been watching when she’d stripped off her wet clothes?
He bet she’d pitch a fit if she did. He’d sure enough gotten an eyeful, but that wasn’t his fault. After all, he’d been there first. If he floated on this mountain for another hundred years, he wouldn’t forget how she’d looked. He should be ashamed of himself for thinking about it so much, but too bad. What else did he have to do?
At least she’d had the good sense to pack up her stuff and hightail it back to the cabin. He had little doubt that she’d had a big enough scare to keep her barricaded inside for the rest of the day. He hoped so, because he was in no shape to ride to her rescue a second time.
He was so scattered right now that a good breeze might tear him apart for good. Probably not, but he sure enough felt like hell. Slowly, he gathered himself back together piece by piece, although it did little to ease the pain. When he’d patched himself together enough to move, he drifted out into the sun, hoping the combination of heat and light would seal the rifts that had been ripped in his ghostly hide.
Ah, yes, the warmth gradually soothed the aching until once again he felt...nothing. Back to normal.
Rather than drift aimlessly around town, he headed straight for the cabin. Once he knew the woman had made it back safely, he’d prowl the woods. Come sunrise, though, he might just show up at her door and see what happened.
* * *
Rayanne sipped her morning coffee and skimmed a few more pages of Hattie’s journal. Eventually, she’d go back and read it more carefully and take notes. Much of the time Hattie had written about her day-to-day activities: gardening, knitting, mending, cleaning. Interesting to Rayanne as a historian, but right now her focus was on something else. Actually, someone else.
She ran her finger down the page, searching for even the vaguest reference to Wyatt McCain, Blessing and the events of August 23, 1883. More and more, she was convinced she’d witnessed a replay of the gunfight on the anniversary of the original events.
She marked the passage where Hattie talked about believing making it real. Right now it was the only proof Rayanne had that she wasn’t just imagining things. After reading over it one more time, she moved on.
A few pages later, she found another passage that had her pulse racing.
He was watching me today. I sensed his presence even though I couldn’t see anything but shadows under the trees. I suppose I should simply ignore him, but that seems rude. I’d wave at any other neighbor. Why not him?
No response, but then I didn’t really expect one. I went back to hoeing the garden. At the end of the row, I stopped to rest. Enough weeding for the day. Before I could quit, though, I needed to haul water for the potato plants.
When I started toward the well, something knocked me stumbling backward. I didn’t fall, but it was a close call. What had just happened? Then I saw a movement in the grass right where I’d been about to step. A snake. Most were harmless, but that one sure wasn’t.
I froze, unable to move. Despite the heat of the sun, I shivered from the close brush with death. Against all logic, I knew who had just saved my life. Looking around, I finally spotted a bit of shadow that was darker than the others. Maybe I was imagining things, but I swear that shadow had substance. I could just make out the shape of a man’s hat and maybe a hint of broad shoulders.
“Thank you, Wyatt. Much obliged.”
The shadow faded away, but I know he heard me. There were those who never had a good word to say about Wyatt McCain
. But I figure if he was such a coldhearted bastard, he wouldn’t have lifted a finger to help me.
I waved one last time and headed for the cabin. The potatoes would just have to wait until tomorrow for that water.
When Rayanne reached the last page, she closed Hattie’s journal and ran her fingers over the cracked leather cover. What an amazing story! So she wasn’t the only one who’d been rescued by their phantom neighbor. She set the book aside and reached for the next volume in her family’s history of life up here on the mountain.
She found herself reluctant to read Uncle Ray’s story. He’d been such a private man, and she hated intruding. On the other hand, he wouldn’t have entrusted the three journals to her care if he didn’t want her to learn what was in them.
But rather than delving into his, maybe it was time to start her own. She poured herself another cup of coffee before taking the journal and one of her spiral notebooks out onto the front porch. She settled into one of the old Adirondack chairs and set her coffee on the table. Chewing on the top of her favorite pen, she tried to decide where to start.
At the beginning seemed to be the logical choice, which for her was fifteen years ago. Yeah, that felt right. Rather than start writing in the leather-bound journal, she’d take notes first in the spiral notebook. That felt less scary, less serious. If she was going to hand her journal down to another generation, it was important to get it all right.
Closing her eyes, she thought back to that summer and how awful the tension had been at home. Her parents had been too caught up in the downward spiral of their marriage to pay much attention to how it was affecting their daughter.
It had been such a relief to leave all of that tension and anger behind to come visit her uncle. The memories came so fast and furious that it was hard to get it all down on paper.
After about ten minutes of writing, she stopped to stare out into the distance, her thoughts turned inward, lost in the past. Gradually, she realized that she was rubbing the back of her neck again. That same eerie feeling of being watched was back. She sat up straighter and studied her surroundings.
The meadow was empty except for a few butterflies making the rounds of the wildflowers. She cocked her head to the side as she listened. Nothing. No cars coming up the drive, no voices. That left the woods. She scanned the shadows under the closest trees and worked her way outward.
After the first pass, she started back across again, going more slowly this time. There, off to her right, next to the trunk of one of the bigger pines. It was almost, but not quite big enough to disguise the man standing behind it.
She rose to her feet, panic nipping at her nerves. She didn’t want to think Wyatt McCain was any kind of threat. From this distance, she couldn’t even be sure it was him. Did she even want it to be? It was rare than anyone happened to pass through Blessing and the meadow, but it wasn’t unheard of.
She stepped down off the porch, unwilling to go any farther until she knew more about the intruder. Whoever he was, he had to realize he’d been spotted. Should she go inside and get Ray’s old twenty-two? He’d made sure she knew how to use it, but she had no desire to shoot at anyone.
Her mysterious guest stepped out from behind the tree, leaving little doubt it was Wyatt McCain. Even from a distance, she recognized his profile, although he was too far away for her to make out his facial features. Besides, how many men would be wandering around this area wearing that exact style of duster?
Finally, he started toward her. Her pulse kicked it up a notch, and she felt an odd rush of heat watching him walk with such predatory grace. Breathing became difficult as if the air around her were too thick to breathe.
Even as she struggled for control, she wished she had her camera or even her cell phone. Anything to snap a picture of the man now skirting the edge of the woods but definitely heading her way.
Doing her best to act casual, she returned to her chair, grateful for its solid support. Keeping one eye on the approach of her reluctant visitor, she picked up her pen and scrawled a note, this one about her current situation.
He’s coming toward me, his hat pulled low, making it impossible to read the expression on his face. He looks unchanged by yesterday’s events. Where did he go? Will he speak this time? If I touch him, will my hand go through him? If he’s able to talk, will he answer my questions? Should I offer him a cup of coffee?
She waited until he was within a few feet to look up again. As soon as she did, he stopped. Unsure of the etiquette, she stood up, nervously wiping her sweaty palms on the seat of her jeans. There was a stillness about the man that gave her the courage to abandon the high-ground position the porch afforded her.
“Mr. McCain?” she asked with a tight smile as she walked down the steps.
His lips moved, but no sound came out. She thought he had tried to say his first name, but she couldn’t be sure.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch that. Did you say I could call you Wyatt?”
Her smile felt more genuine when he nodded. “I’m Rayanne Allen, Ray’s niece. You know that he died.”
She winced. Dying might be a touchy subject given Wyatt’s current situation. She plunged on. “He left me this place in his will. I’ll be here until after the first of September.”
Okay, the one-sided conversation was definitely awkward. She didn’t know about him, but she needed to sit down again. “Would you like to come up on the porch and sit for a while?”
Without waiting for him to respond, she led the way back to the two chairs. She assumed he wasn’t interested when she only heard her own footsteps crossing the porch. When she turned around to see what the hang-up was, he was right there behind her. She squeaked in surprise and dropped back down in her chair.
“Don’t creep up behind me like that!” she snapped, more embarrassed than angry.
Wyatt stepped past her to settle in the other seat. He wasn’t exactly smiling, but his expression had softened just enough to let her know he’d found her reaction amusing. She was amazed how silently he moved, especially for such a big man. The old wooden chair didn’t protest at all as he sat down.
She picked up her coffee again. It had grown cold, but her mouth was cotton dry.
“I’m going to get more coffee. Would you like a cup?”
There was a definite twinkle in his eyes as he reached out to touch her coffee cup. His hand went straight through it. She stared at him, her mouth moving but with no words coming out.
Finally, she sputtered, “Right. I’ll be back.”
Inside the house with a stout door between them, she grabbed on to the counter with both hands as her world shifted on its axis as she struggled to come to terms with a new reality. Not only had she seen a ghost, he was sitting out on her porch, his boots propped up on the railing as if he’d settled into staying awhile.
Right now another shot of brandy sounded pretty appealing, but she needed her wits about her. She poured a fresh cup of coffee and headed back outside to entertain her very special guest.
Chapter 8
Wyatt couldn’t remember the last time he’d actually laughed. But, by damn, it was pretty entertaining to watch Rayanne Allen act like having a ghost come calling was an everyday occurrence. Especially after the way he’d spooked her when she hadn’t noticed him standing right next to her.
Spooked. Exactly the right word for it. He chuckled again. Maybe he shouldn’t take such pleasure in her discomfort, especially because she was the first person he’d actually spoken with in over a hundred years. At least the first live one. The others who’d taken note of his presence had mostly done their best to ignore him, pretending he wasn’t real or that they didn’t know him.
Rayanne was definitely different, though. Yeah, she’d fainted that first day, but since then she’d dug in her heels and refused to cower. She’d not only sensed him watc
hing her from the woods, she’d stood her ground when he’d come strolling right up to her front porch.
Amazing. For such a little bit of a thing, she had courage.
What was taking her so long with that coffee? Had the reality of what was going on finally hit her? He started to get up to peek in the window when he heard the turn of the doorknob. As she stepped back out on the porch she had her cup in one hand and the telephone in her other hand, its cord stretching back into the kitchen.
When she stepped closer to him, she jerked the receiver away from her ear. Even from where he sat, he could hear the loud crackling that came from it. The noise lessened as soon as she backed away a few steps. Smiling now that the mystery was solved, she kept her distance. Obviously, something about him interfered with the stupid thing.
“Mom, it hasn’t been a week since we last talked. I told you that’s how often I would call, so you’re jumping the gun. I’m doing fine, just busy.”
Wyatt shook his head and tried to look shocked that she would lie to her mother. Rayanne’s mouth quirked up in an unrepentant grin, and she stuck her tongue out at him. He gave up the pretense of disapproval and grinned back at her.
As soon as he did, she backed up another step, an odd look in her eyes as she stared at him. What was going on in that pretty head of hers that put that extra sparkle in those spring-green eyes? He wasn’t sure he wanted to find out.
“Look, Mom, I promised I’d keep in touch. I’m sorry I’ve missed your calls, but I must have been down at the grocery store visiting with Phil. Uncle Ray didn’t have an answering machine, but I’ll try to remember to pick one up next time I go down the mountain.”
After listening for another few seconds, Rayanne was looking a bit ragged around the edges. She turned her back, probably to keep him from seeing how the call was affecting her. Whatever her mother was saying had to be truly awful to upset Rayanne so badly. Judging by how she handled yesterday’s near disaster in the mining office, she didn’t rattle easily.
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