by Cindy Miles
They disconnected, and Allie sat for a moment and stared at her laptop screen. Wow! What an opportunity! She’d always wanted to encounter souls from the medieval era, not to mention a crumbly castle or two.
“You’re going, then?”
Allie gave a nod. “I’d love to, but we’ll have to see. I’m not so sure I sold my services to him. First, I’ll check out his Web site, just to make sure the inn and pub is what he says—and that he’s indeed the proprietor and not some sort of serial killer.” She rubbed her chin. “I get the feeling he’s pretty desperate. And legit.”
Dauber mimicked Allie’s movement and rubbed his pointed chin. “I daresay those unsettled souls must be stirring up quite the mishmash. I wonder why.”
Allie met the questioning gaze of her ghostly friend. What would she do without Dauber? She’d met him on her very first unofficial case in Raleigh. God, what was she? Nineteen? A sophomore in college, she’d stumbled across the willowy ghost sitting on the corner pew in the small campus chapel. A handful of other students was present. No one saw Dauber but Allie, and it was the first time she recognized the fact that she had a gift. After her accident. Their gazes had met, and Dauber had blinked several times in what Allie could only believe was dismay over having a mortal actually see him.
And they’d been fast friends ever since.
Allie pulled her thoughts back to the present. “I don’t know, Dauber, but I bet it’s going to be a lot of fun finding out just what’s up in the Highlands of Scotland.”
Odin’s Thumb Inn and Pub
Sealladh na Mara
Northwest coast, Scotland
October, a week later
“Right. Fifty quid, then, lass.”
Allie Morgan blinked. “Pardon me?” Quid? What the heck was that?
The cabdriver, a tall, lanky guy, around thirty, with a pair of soft brown eyes, grinned. “Your fare. Fifty sterling pounds.” He winked. “Quid.”
With a smile, Allie nodded. “Gotcha.” Digging in her backpack, she pulled out the bills and paid the man. “Thanks for a spectacularly wonderful drive.”
The driver’s grin widened. “Aye, and thank you for the spectacularly wonderful tip.” He stuffed the bills in the console and inclined his head. “Stayin’ at Odin’s, then, are you?” he asked.
Allie gave a nod. “I sure am.”
The cabbie studied her for a few seconds, then shook his head and grinned even wider.
“What?” Allie asked, gathering her bags. “What’s so funny?”
The driver chuckled. “Oy, lass, I’m sorry.” He lifted a brow. “Do you know much about Sealladh na Mara, then?”
Allie met his stare. “Nothing at all, actually. Why?”
The cabbie smiled and rubbed his hand over his jaw. “It has a reputation, you see. ’Tis cursed.”
“Cursed? What do you mean?”
A mischievous grin tipped the corners of his mouth. “ ’Tis a place for the ghosties, lass. They’re drawn to it.”
Allie smiled. “Is that so?”
The cabbie inclined his head to Odin’s Thumb. “Have you met the owner yet?”
“Gabe MacGowan?” Allie shook her head. “Not in person. Why?”
He studied her a bit more. “Damn me, but he’ll no’ be expecting the likes of you.”
Allie opened the door. “He’s not expecting me at all. I’m a week early. That’s why I just paid you a hundred American bucks to drive me here from Inverness.”
The driver laughed. “Right. Let’s get your bags, then.”
Allie shook her head, pulled her knit cap over her ears, and stepped out of the cab. A fierce gust of coastal October wind hit her square in the face and she shivered. So Sealladh na Mara was cursed. Perfect. Slinging her pack over her shoulder, Allie grabbed her overnight bag, the camera bag, and shut the door. At the back of the cab, the driver pulled out her one suitcase.
“I’ll take this in for you,” he said.
“No, that’s okay. It’s not heavy.” Allie grasped the handle. “Thanks, though.”
With a shake of his head, the cabbie slid back into the front seat. He glanced at Allie and cocked a brow. “You understand that it’s full of spooks, aye?”
Allie gave him a big smile. “I sure do.”
“If you need a ride back to Inverness, you just give me a shout.” With a laugh, the cabbie waved and drove off.
After a deep breath of crisp, briny air, Allie quickly took in her seaside surroundings. A slender green sign with the name SEALLADH NA MARA stood just at the top of the lane. Gaelic, she supposed, and she’d have to remember to ask Gabe MacGowan what it meant. White, traditional croft-style buildings, and others of weathered stone, lined the single-lane Main Street that rambled down to the wharf. Each establishment had a weather-beaten sign outside noting its business: a baker, a fishmonger, a small grocer, a post office, a few B and Bs. Halfway down the walkway stood one of Britain’s landmarks: a red telephone booth. With the notion to explore later, and to call her mom and sisters to let them know she made it safely now, Allie turned and stared up at the sign hanging high above the single red-painted door of the three-storied, whitewashed inn and pub. ODIN’S THUMB was written in Old English script at the top of the sign, with a colorful picture of an imposing Viking longboat, the sail a deep red with black stripes, the long wooden mast a big ole thumb. The words INN AND PUB, EST. 1741 were at the bottom. She smiled. Perfect.
After balancing all of her gear onto both shoulders, Allie opened the door to the pub and was all but blown into the dim interior of Odin’s Thumb. She set her suitcase off to the side and plopped her bags down beside it—
“I’m not staying here another moment!” a woman’s voice shrieked.
Allie jumped, then stood there, against the wall, and took in the scene. Had she been any other woman, she’d probably have run screaming, too.
It was, after all, quite an interesting scene to behold. She almost had to pinch her lips together to keep from laughing. Instead, Allie simply watched.
Amidst the muted lamplight of the pub, flickering candles floated overhead in midair. A lady’s old-fashioned parasol opened and closed rapidly, also in midair. Beer mugs and wineglasses zipped—yep, in midair—from one side of the room to the other, coming precariously close to the head of the shrieking woman. A suspicious-looking mist slipped around the bar stools, over the head of the woman whose face had turned dough-pasty, and at the same time the chairs began lifting and slamming back down on the floor.
“Arrrgh!” screamed the woman, who batted at the mist swirling about her and ran for the door.
“Wait, Mrs. Duigan, dunno go,” a deep, graveled, and heavily accented voice said, the tall figure hurrying after her. “I can explain.”
Mrs. Duigan paused briefly.
Then the dozens of fish appeared in midair, their tails flapping back and forth.
She let out one final scream and pushed her way out of the door.
The tall man—pretty darn good-looking, too, Allie thought—followed the frightened woman.
Allie peered out the door and watched Mrs. Duigan slam her car door and peel out. The man stared after her. With his back to Allie, he tilted his head, as if looking up to the sky, shoved his hands into the pockets of his dark brown corduroy pants, then looked down, staring at the sidewalk.
“Oy, we’re in for it this time, aye?” said a male voice behind her.
“ ’Twill be worth it, no doubt,” said another.
“I dunno,” said yet another, “he looks powerfully angry, he does.”
Allie turned, and noticed the fish had disappeared, as had the floating candles and eerie mist. A handful of mischievous-looking spirits stood in a half circle, staring at her. A very much alive young boy stood in their midst. His little auburn brows furrowed together over a creamy complexion.
“Who are you?” the boy asked.
Allie looked each ghost in the eye. A friar. A pair of rather cute English lords. A dashing sea captain. A no
blewoman wearing a large powdered wig . . . attached with a chin strap?
The sea captain’s mouth quirked into a grin. “We’ve been waiting for you, lassie.”
The heated look he gave her, from the top of her head to her feet, then slowly back to meet her eyes, left little wonder just what he was thinking. Allie could already tell he was going to be a handful.
“Allison Morgan?”
Allie turned and came face-to-face with the man who’d just chased after the fleeing woman. “Allie,” she said, preferring her nickname. Now, up close, she blinked in surprise. Good-looking? No way. Not even close. Ruggedly beautiful fit more closely. Tall, at least six foot two, with close-clipped dark hair, a dusting of scruff on his jaw, green eyes, and generous lips, he was broad-shouldered and . . . utterly breathtaking.
His eyes held hers, intense, studying, evaluating. A muscle flinched in his jaw, and Allie thought she’d never been more intimately weighed in her entire life. Her mouth went dry, and she finally cleared her throat. “Mr. MacGowan?” She smiled and held out her hand.
He glanced behind her briefly, and when she looked, she noticed the ghosts and boy had gone.
Ignoring her hand, the man gave a short nod and grabbed one of her bags. “Aye. And you’re early,” he said. Without asking permission, he reached down and grabbed her suitcase. He inclined his head. “This way, Ms. Morgan.” He headed toward the back of the pub. Not once did he turn around to see if she’d followed.
“I could have gotten those,” she said, but he paid no attention and kept walking. Hurrying past a long, polished mahogany bar, complete with the high-backed stools that had moments before lifted and slammed against the wide-planked wooden floors, Allie glimpsed the barely there figure of a bartender wearing suspenders and dark trousers, wiping down the tables with a white cloth. He tipped his soft hat by the bill and grinned, and she returned the smile and shrugged.
When Allie turned, she plowed into the very broad back of Gabe MacGowan. “Oops. Sorry.”
Gabe stared down at her, those green eyes hard and set. He didn’t frown, nor did he smile. He remained completely aloof. “Dunna make friends with them. I’m paying you to make them leave.”
Allie met his stare, unhindered by its intensity. Instead of frowning, or telling him to stick it where the sun don’t shine, she gave him a wide, friendly smile. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
He stared a moment longer, scowled, then turned and headed up the narrow staircase, the old wood creaking with each of his heavy steps.
Allie followed, thinking things could be a lot worse than walking behind Gabe MacGowan’s grumpy ole self as he climbed a set of stairs. She wondered why such a gorgeous guy had such a somber, unfriendly personality.
She’d tell him later that the one thing to remember when dealing with the unliving is you can’t make them do anything they don’t want to. Especially leave.
Allie turned and glanced over her shoulder. The ghosts from before stood at the bottom of the steps. Grinning.
The sea captain, a tall, swarthy guy with sun-streaked brown hair pulled into a queue, and a swashbuckling goatee, gave her a roguish smile and tipped his tricorn hat.
Throwing him a grin, she turned and hurried after Gabe. Allie decided right then and there that the decision to cross the Atlantic to oust a handful of mischievous spirits from their old haunt had been the smartest one she’d ever made.
Getting to know the ghosts of Odin’s Thumb would be exciting. But deciphering just what made stuffy ole Gabe MacGowan tick would be something else altogether . . .
Chapter 2
“This place is fantastic. Did you grow up here?” Gabe didn’t turn around. “Aye.”
“Great. Then you should have plenty of experiences with the souls residing here. Have they been here long, as well? Oh—better yet, did you grow up with them? I can’t wait to hear all about it.”
No doubt. Giving little more than a grunt of acknowledgment, Gabe continued to the end of the hallway and stopped at the last door. He fished the key from his pocket, stuck it in the lock, turned the knob, and pushed open the door. “Your room, Ms. Morgan.”
“Thank you,” she said. “You can call me Allie.”
Gabe simply inclined his head toward the open door.
As she started to pass, she paused and stared up at him a moment, head cocked and with the sort of mischievous light in her eyes that suggested a thorough feminine once-over, and then turned and stepped into the room.
Gabe followed and set her belongings in the corner. “The toilet’s across the hall.”
“Okay.” Walking over to the window facing the loch, Allie Morgan parted the curtain and peered out. She stared a moment, and just as Gabe was about to speak, she said, “This place is truly breathtaking. Why on earth do you want to leave, Mr. MacGowan?” Turning, she leaned against the windowpane and crossed her arms over her chest.
Gabe stuffed his hands into his pockets and studied her. A ridiculous amount of untamed blond hair spilled over her shoulders, and her wide blue eyes didn’t show the least bit of intimidation. Elegantly slender, she certainly didn’t look like a paranormal investigator.
The photo on her Web site had caught his eye. Pleasant enough, aye. But there was something else, something in her eyes, maybe.
She looked far more fetching in person.
That made him scowl.
He cleared his throat. “No offense, Ms. Morgan, but that’s none of your business.” He gave a nod. “Supper’s at seven. We’ll talk then.”
Just as he turned to go, he noticed one corner of her mouth tip upward in an amused grin. Or a smirk.
Closing the door behind him, Gabe stormed down the corridor, stopped, and turned back. He’d forgotten to give her the bloody key. He reached the door and without much thought, opened it.
Just as Allison Morgan had her sweater pulled over the top of her head.
She froze, arms up, sweater covering her face, a black bra with pink dots her only covering. With each breath, her chest rose and fell.
Gabe’s scowl deepened.
“Your key,” he said, and set it down on the mantel.
“Thanks,” Allison Morgan replied, her voice muffled by the heavy wool.
Gabe’s gaze lingered for a moment; then he left and shut the door.
He didn’t make it to the end of the corridor before abruptly pulling up short. ’Twas either that or walk through the bloody spirit blocking his path.
Gabe met the sea captain’s stare but didn’t say a word.
Captain Justin Catesby lifted one brow. “Fetching lass, that Ms. Morgan.” He leaned in, his brows pulled close and making a fierce crinkle in the space between his eyes. “Aye?”
Gabe said nothing.
The captain stroked his chin. “I’d watch me steps, were I you, boy. ’Tisn’t becoming to take advantage of an unsuspecting maid.”
Gabe stared and almost didn’t give the cocky ghost the satisfaction of a reply. ’Twas a sight to behold, for certain, but he hadn’t meant to. Quite the opposite, actually. The girl should have locked the bloody door.
The very last thing he wanted or needed to do was engage in anything other than what he’d hired Allison Morgan for. A business transaction. Nothing more.
“So she’s who ye hired to oust us, aye?”
Gabe looked Justin in the eye. “Unless you’ve decided since an hour ago to stop chasin’ away the buyers?”
The captain gave a crooked smile.
With a glare and a nod, Gabe stepped round the captain and started down the stairs. He’d screwed up enough of his life—and Jake’s. No more. His decision was made.
He really had no other choice.
“Ye canna run away from yer problems, lad,” Catesby called behind him. “They’ll just catch up with you.”
Gabe ignored him.
Reaching the bottom of the stairs, Gabe made his way to the kitchen. The usual patrons would be in soon for supper—including the not-so-new one unpacking upstai
rs. Not only did he have to help prepare the cod and chips, but he had to prepare himself. For her.
No doubt the American would talk his bloody ears off.
As long as she does her job . . .
Allie dropped to her knees and pushed the empty suitcase under the bed.
“I take it you had a satisfactory flight?”
“Whoa!” Allie said, jumping hard enough to bonk her head on the wooden bed rail. She sat back on her heels and rubbed the back of her head, glaring at her unexpected friend. “Dauber, how on earth did you get here?”
Dauber scratched a place under his cap and shrugged. “Difficult to say, actually.” He gave her a crooked grin. “Ghosts do what they do for no good reason. I suppose I must have desired it powerfully bad, aye?”
Allie stood. “Yeah, you must have just wished yourself here.” She sat on the bed. “I’m not so sure you’ll be well received, though. The owner is quite determined to get rid of his own mischievous spirits, although I haven’t gotten to the bottom of why, exactly. I doubt he’ll want another addition.”
Dauber perched upon the chest of drawers. “So you’ve met them, then? The others?”
“Briefly. And in that short amount of time I can tell at least one of them is some kind of naughty.”
Crossing one bony leg over his knee, Dauber met her gaze. “Mischievous spirits you can handle. But what of him?”
Allie rose and walked to the tallboy chest she’d placed her clothes in and pulled out a black turtleneck and a clean pair of jeans. “Him who?”
“The mortal, love. How difficult will he be to manage?”
With a sigh, Allie laid her clean clothes on the bed. “I’m not sure, Daubs. He isn’t the friendliest of guys. Grumpy, really, and about the only expression I’ve seen on his face is a frown.”
Frown or no frown, she purposely left out how dead sexy the proprietor of Odin’s Thumb was. Good grief. The intensity of that green stare unnerved her—although she thought she hid it quite well. Nice, strong jaw, though, and that heavy Scottish brogue, which at times completely puzzled her, was made even more appealing by the deep, smoky pitch—
