Odd that now he was dead, he could discover the real joy of working with tools to build something. Something that would stand long after he was gone. He snorted a silent laugh at his own thoughts. Hell, he was already gone!
He shot a quick look up the street and down, then trotted across the still muddy expanse to the other side. A boy about nine raced past him, followed by a mangy looking dog. Jackson turned to watch the kid dart in and out of the traffic, calling to his hound. The boy's laughter floated back to him, and he frowned thoughtfully.
He was beginning to get way too attached to living again.
These last few days had been the best he could remember. He didn't want his time here to end, despite the fact that he knew it had to. He didn't belong with the living.
He didn’t even belong with the dead.
The only place he really belonged anymore was that rat tail saloon at the edge of nowhere. The place where he'd spent the last fifteen years. The place where he would, very probably, spend eternity.
Something turned over inside him as he walked toward Stillwater's one and only saloon. His own footsteps sounded loud to him as he paced off the short distance. People passed him, but he didn't notice, for his gaze was locked on the bar as he approached.
Thirty feet away from the place, he stopped dead and a man behind him was forced to do a quick sidestep around him. Jackson looked at the bright red building. Inside, sat the man who had killed him. The man who had sentenced him to an eternity of nothingness. And he was expected to simply ignore the man's presence.
Jackson scowled and leaned one shoulder against the support beam of the boardwalk's overhang. Crossing his feet at the ankles, he stared at the garishly painted Golden Garter as if he could see through the plank walls to the, no doubt, smoky interior.
What kind of afterlife was this where a man was forced to meet his own killer? Had he done such a miserable job of living that he had to be punished in such a way?
Tinny, out-of-tune piano music spilled from the saloon, calling to him in a language he had always responded to. The songs were always different, but the message remained the same. Step inside, it said. Try your luck. Have a drink and forget about your troubles.
How many hours had he spent in the shadows of some saloon? How many days had he passed away, shut off from the sunlight? How many chances at life had he ignored in favor of raucous music, ready whiskey, and the warm, willing hands of whatever female was available?
These thoughts and more filled his mind until he was forced to admit that, yes, he had made a mess of his life. But dammit, he was being punished. What about Lynch? Why was he still alive and capable of experiencing everything Jackson had lost?
Abruptly, he straightened up. It wasn't right. It was too much to ask of any man, ghost or not. He couldn’t ignore Noble Lynch. And he wouldn't pretend he didn’t care that the man was still enjoying a life he’d stolen from Jackson.
His right hand curled into a fist, he took a single step toward the saloon and retribution.
“Hey, boss !"
Jackson stopped and glanced over his shoulder in time to watch Sam Hale approaching.
"I’ve been looking for you," the other man said as he leaped up onto the boardwalk.
His mind still filled with thoughts of pummeling Noble Lynch into a puddle, Jackson stared at the man blankly.
"Thought we should get back to work," Sam said, his smile fading.
"Yeah. Work."
"You all right, Jackson?" Sam frowned. "You don’t look so good."
He uncurled his fist and reached up to rub the back of his neck. Forcing his mind away from thoughts of the gambler, Jackson finally said, "Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine." For a dead man.
"So, you ready to work on Rachel's house?"
"Sure," he said and looked at the other man carefully. For the first time, he noticed the look of suppressed excitement glittering in his brown eyes. "What’s the hurry, though?"
Sam reached out and slapped Jackson’s shoulder in a hearty blow. "I’m gonna be needing the money, boss. I'm about to be a married man."
Jackson smiled in spite of the turmoil still bubbling inside him. The coin had worked. Of course, he wasn't really surprised. He'd expected this. He'd even told Rachel that no woman would be able to say no to the force of a man's love for her.
It looked like Mavis had proved him right.
“Can't hardly believe it," Sam was saying. "Imagine, me getting married."
“Happens to all of us one time or another," Jackson said and tried to ignore the pinprick of jealousy poking at his insides. Marriage would never happen to him. Not now.
Another thing Noble Lynch had taken from him.
"It’s the strangest thing, Jackson…"
“Hmm?" He looked up. "What is?"
“These feelings I have for Mavis?"
"Yeah?"
"They came on me so sudden." He shook his head slowly. "I mean, I've known her for at least five years. Never really thought about her one way or another."
Jackson frowned briefly. Was it possible that the coin's magic wasn't a permanent kind?
"Now though," Sam said and glanced over his shoulder at the dress shop across the street. "I don’t know why I didn't see it sooner."
Coiled tension unwound, and the relief was almost painful. He didn't have to worry about Mavis and Sam. The coin's magic was obviously strong enough to last a lifetime.
"The worst part about this is," Sam went on, "I waited so damned long to open my eyes. Years that I might have spent with her are gone now. Wasted."
Jackson stiffened slightly. That last statement cut too close to the bone. He'd waited too long to notice a lot of things. At least Sam still had time to correct past mistakes.
Jealousy reared its ugly head again, and he had to fight it back down. Desperate for a change in subject, he said, "Well, you’re wasting time, now. Let's get to work, huh?"
“Right." Sam nodded and stepped off into the street, with Jackson just behind him.
Noble Lynch stood at the window and peered through the rain-spotted glass at the two men walking toward the other end of town. For a moment, he'd thought Rachel's cousin was headed his way. Not that he was worried. Noble had survived countless boomtowns and any number of gun battles. One hot headed cousin wasn’t enough to make him anxious.
Still, the man had looked at him as though he knew him, and that bothered Noble. Where did he know him from? There were too many faces littering his memories. Too many towns, too many poor losers. No doubt, this Jackson Tate had lost a pile of money to him in a poker game and was still holding a grudge. Well, he was willing to overlook the man’s insults this time. For Rachel’s sake.
Soon after arriving in Stillwater, Noble had decided to court Rachel Morgan. After all, he wasn’t getting any younger. Besides, he could do worse than a fine looking spinster with a profitable business. She was still a bit skittish, but he had no doubts that he could win her affection, in time.
Her cousin, though, would do well to watch his tongue and keep his back protected. Noble wasn’t about to lose his rich spinster because of one annoying relation.
Lifting his glass to his lips, he took a small drink of whiskey and let it slide slowly down his throat, appreciating its fiery wake. From behind him, familiar sounds rose up and settled around him like old friends. Beneath the outof-tune piano's discordant noise, he heard the slap of cards onto tables, the scrape of chair legs on wood, and an occasional burst of throaty laughter from one of the whores.
He drew strength from the familiarity of it all and told himself that Jackson Tate was nothing more than a bothersome insect. And the best way to deal with insects was to squash them.
#
"I am sorry, Rachel," Mavis insisted and looked up from where she was kneeling, pinning up the hem of the new dress. "You understand, don't you?"
Rachel bit back her disappointment and smiled. “Of course I understand, Mavis. A woman about to be married wouldn't be interested in a meetin
g of spinsters."
"Oh," the other woman countered around a mouthful of pins. "I'm not leaving town. We'll see each other all the time."
“I know." Rachel nodded and lifted her head to stare straight at the wall opposite her. Terrible to feel so abandoned. She should be happy for Mavis. Instead, she was feeling sorry for herself again — and just the tiniest bit jealous.
That was a hard thing to admit, even to herself. She’d thought she’d come to terms with her spinsterhood years ago. But then, she’d made up her mind to remain a spinster because the man she had wanted was out of her reach.
Now he was back and just as far from her as ever.
A ghost.
How in heaven could loving a ghost ever come to a good end?
"I still can hardly believe it," Mavis was saying, and Rachel forced herself to pay attention. "You know, I’ve had… feelings for Sam for the longest time."
“You have?" She looked down into wide, amber eyes.
Why had Mavis never said anything? In the next instant, the answer came to her. Because she herself was always preaching the joys of single life, that’s why. No wonder her dear friend had hidden the fact that she was in love.
“Oh yes." Mavis sat back on her heels and looked up at Rachel. Her full cheeks were flushed a becoming pink, and even her eyeglasses seemed to sparkle. "But I never once thought that Sam might notice me one day."
"Why not?" Rachel demanded. "You’re a beautiful, kind, loving person. He's lucky to have you."
Mavis smiled gently. "That’s my friend talking," she said. “But what you’re not saying is that I'm blind as a bat without my spectacles, I'm too short, and…" She patted her thick waist. "Plump."
“Mavis," Rachel started.
"It doesn't matter," her friend cut her off. "Don’t you see? Sam loves me exactly as I am."
Because of a golden coin? Rachel wondered about that. Or was there some truth in his feelings, too? For Mavis's sake, she hoped for the latter.
Looking at her friend, though, Rachel felt another small stab of jealousy, even knowing that Sam's love had been wished for by a desperate ghost. Did it matter how love was born? Or was it more important that two people — the right two people — found each other?
Briefly, she let herself remember the look on Jackson’s face as he'd held her that morning. For one brief instant, she'd been sure he was about to kiss her. She'd read the intention in his eyes. Breath held, she'd waited, only to be disappointed when he set her back from him and acted as though nothing had happened.
She reached up and rubbed her forehead tiredly. Maybe, though, she had been wrong. Perhaps he hadn’t been thinking about kissing her at all. After all, she was a spinster. What did she know about reading desire in a man's features?
"Are you feeling well?"
“Hmm?" Rachel shook off her disturbing thoughts and told herself to stop thinking entirely. It did no good at all when you had more questions than answers anyway. "Yes, Mavis. I'm just tired."
The shorter woman pushed herself to her knees, then stood up. “I’ve finished marking the hem. Why don’t you get dressed and go home? Close the store for a while and have a rest."
"That sounds exactly like the advice I gave to Sally this morning."
“Good advice it is, too."
Nodding, Rachel stepped behind the dressing screen, carefully peeled off the unfinished dress, and stepped into her own clothes again. When she was ready, she walked into the main room and handed the gown to Mavis.
“I’ll have it finished in time for the social," she promised. "Don't you worry."
The social. A silent groan echoed inside her. She had never felt less sociable in her life.
"Thanks, Mavis," Rachel said. "But shouldn't you be working on your wedding dress, instead?" Hopefully, she added, "You know, I don't need a new dress. I wouldn’t mind at all if you didn't have the time to complete it."
“I wouldn't dream of not finishing that dress for you," Mavis said softly. "But…"
If possible, Mavis's cheeks pinkened even further as she dipped her head before looking into Rachel's eyes again. "If I tell you something, will you promise not to say a word to anyone?"
"Of course."
“Not even Sally? Or Hester?"
Rachel frowned worriedly. What on earth could Mavis have to hide? "I won’t if you ask me not to."
Mavis nodded and leaned in closer. "The truth is, I made my wedding dress four years ago."
“What?"
She laughed delightedly. "It's true. You know the hope chest that Sally's always teasing me about? Well, my dress is safely tucked away inside, just waiting for the right moment."
Impulsively, Rachel reached for her friend and gave her a tight hug. Tears stung the backs of her eyes, but she blinked them back determinedly. How little any of them knew each other, she thought. Mavis had been in love for years, dreaming of the one man she thought she couldn't have.
Now that dream was coming true.
Jackson had given her this, whether he had meant to or not.
Yet, perhaps this was how it was supposed to have worked out all along. Maybe it hadn't been an accident that Sam had seen Mavis instead of Rachel. Maybe Destiny had taken a hand while Jackson’s back was turned.
“I'm so happy," Mavis whispered as if afraid to say the words too loudly.
Rachel patted her shoulder, then pulled back a bit to look at her friend. Fixing a mock stern look on her face, she said, "Well, Sam had better see to it that you stay happy. Or he’ll have to deal with me."
Mavis grinned at her, and Rachel left the store quickly, before those tears that refused to go away could fall.
#
Lamplight fell through the Mercantile's windows and lay in soft, golden patches on the boardwalk. In the growing dusk, the store looked warm and welcoming.
"Tomorrow, boss?" Sam asked.
Jackson stopped daydreaming and looked at the other man. "Yeah. Be there early so we can have time to work on that dance floor in the afternoon."
The blond gave him a sharp nod, then loped off in the direction of Mavis's dress shop.
Alone in the twilight, Jackson swiveled his head to stare at the Mercantile again. Inside, Rachel waited, and he hoped to hell she wasn't still in a fighting mood.
He was tired clean down to the bone. All day, he'd worked in a frenzy of activity, taking out his anger and frustration on the wood beams and timbers. Between his fury at finding Noble Lynch in town and his sudden, desperate need for Rachel, he had been like a man possessed. Sam had wanted to quit an hour ago, crying exhaustion, but Jackson had needed to keep going. Working kept him from thinking. That kept him sane.
His entire body ached, but the new house was coming along well. Glancing down at his hands, he noted the new blisters atop ancient calluses and smiled. He flexed his hands gingerly and pulled in a deep breath of the cool, evening air.
Funny, he’d forgotten how good it felt to put in a long day's work. To have something to show for the hours of labor.
The store’s front door swung open, and Rachel appeared in the doorway. She wore a deep yellow dress that hugged her figure and made her look as fresh as a summer morning. Her hair, neat as a pin up in that knot she preferred, still tempted him to release it and let it fall across his hands like warm honey. Lamplight shone from the room behind her and made a soft, golden halo around her.
Jackson clenched his jaw and told himself to stop noticing such things. It would be better for both of them if he just did what he’d come to do and disappeared from her life again.
A ghost had no right to be thinking about the living. At least, not the kind of thinking he'd been doing lately.
“Are you coming inside?"
"Not yet," he answered, stalling for time. Taking a step or two closer to the store, he waved one hand at his sweatstained, dirty shirt and shrugged. "I was thinking about going down to the creek. Having a bath."
“You don’t need to do that, Jackson," she said and stepped o
ut onto the porch. "You can use the tub upstairs again."
God, he wished she hadn’t mentioned that tub. The thought of getting naked anywhere near her right now was way too dangerous. For both of them. As it was, he didn’t think he'd ever be able to stand being in the store when she was bathing upstairs again.
Listening to the splash of the water and her soft, off-key humming would just be too much for him now that he’d allowed himself to start noticing her.
Nope, a nice hot bath wouldn't do him a bit of good tonight. What he needed was cold water. Lots of it.
Quick.
"Too much trouble, Rachel." He started walking before she could argue. "I won't be long."
He didn't wait to hear what she would say. He couldn’t afford to. One more minute of just looking at her and a cold bath wouldn’t be nearly enough to keep his wandering thoughts in line.
Muttering to himself as he walked to the nearby creek, he told himself that he shouldn’t have looked into her eyes that morning. He shouldn't have held her, however briefly.
Then he'd spent the day listening to Sam going on about Mavis. And love. And marriage. It was enough to turn anybody's head.
Especially a ghost who'd been fifteen years without a woman… and a lifetime without love.
Chapter Thirteen
"What’s it like?" Rachel asked quietly. "Being a… ghost?"
Jackson’s hand tightened around his coffee cup as he stared at the woman sitting across the table from him. How, he asked himself, could he explain?
His gaze shifted, slipping about the homey room above the Mercantile. In a glance, he took in the blue and white calico curtains over the windows, two overstuffed chairs drawn close together, with a reading lamp between them, and shelves of books lining the wall just behind. A small fire burned in the stone hearth, contributing the soothing hiss and snap of flame-consuming wood.
Beyond Rachel was a tiny kitchen area and on the far wall of the great room sat a roll-top desk, neatly closed now, concealing the books and ledgers for the store. He didn't turn to look down the narrow hall behind him, but he already knew it well. Three small bedrooms opened off the passageway and at the far end was a washroom with indoor plumbing.
Still Close to Heaven Page 15
