by Meg Benjamin
“Good morning,” she said, pushing her lips into an overly bright smile and extending one of the cups.
When he looked up at her, she almost dropped the coffee. Whatever had happened to him since she’d seen him last hadn’t been good. His face was pale and he hadn’t shaved—his beard was dark gold against his skin. His eyes looked hollow, the flesh around them pulled tight. And his face seemed thinner somehow, as if the skin had been drawn in.
Overall he looked like he was either exhausted or he’d been on an epic bender.
“Whatever you’re doing you should stop,” she blurted.
He snorted, taking the coffee from her hand. “I’ll take that under advisement.”
“What happened?”
He stared at her for a long moment, as if he were considering what and how much to tell her. “Dreams,” he muttered finally. He took a deep swallow of the coffee.
She watched the smooth column of his throat move as he swallowed. “Dreams of what?”
He looked away. “Just . . . dreams.”
She sank onto the steps beside him. “Is it the house?”
He paused again, then nodded. “Got to be. I never had nightmares like this before.” He stared across the yard for a moment, sipping the coffee again absently. “But I need to get to work.”
In her opinion, that was absolutely the last thing he needed to do. “Come to breakfast with me first.”
“I’ve already had breakfast.” He gazed down at her again. “Thanks for the offer, but I can’t let this thing beat me. I’ve got work to do here. A lot of work.”
She licked her lips, trying to figure out what to say next, then shrugged. “I’ll help.”
He narrowed his eyes, studying her. “Like that?”
She glanced down at her navy skirt and cream silk blouse. She’d left her suit jacket in the car because she planned on going to the historical society after she’d finished talking to him. Oh well. “I’ll be fine. You can show me what to do.”
He took another long swallow of his coffee, then shrugged. “Okay by me. Come on.” He pushed himself to his feet, heading back across the gallery.
She followed him, telling herself she knew exactly what she was getting into and it wasn’t a problem. And how’s the weather in the Land of Denial these days?
As it turned out, of course, she had no idea what she was getting into, but it wasn’t as much of a problem as she’d feared. He gave her an apron that must have come with the house, judging from its threadbare condition, along with a paint scraper. Then he put her to work scraping off the remains of the carpet pads in the upstairs bedrooms. She wasn’t sure what exactly he was doing downstairs, but it involved a lot of banging and sawing. When she finally ventured down at one o’clock, there was a line of white dust in the plastic-draped doorway of the back room.
She peeked in to see Ray Ramos, stripped to the waist and streaked with white, using an iron bar to pry loose a piece of wallboard from the studs. The floor was covered with a thin layer of plaster bits.
She stared around the room, open-mouthed. She’d never seen the innards of a wall before.
He paused, his bar shoved behind another piece of wallboard. “Finished?”
“I got everything scraped up in the one room, yeah. I can start on the others next.”
He lowered his bar, then turned toward her, wiping his hands on his jeans.
She swallowed hard, trying not to stare at the hard slabs of muscle with a slight dusting of golden hair on his chest. His jeans rode low on his hips, showing his navel and the arrow of darker hair aiming down toward his zipper. His whole body was covered in a thin layer of white dust.
He raised an eyebrow. “You want some lunch?”
She nodded, trying to think of something to say that didn’t involve the words chest or muscles. Brain freeze.
“Let me get cleaned up. There’s a place in the Blue Star Complex—it’s not far from here.”
“Okay,” she croaked. At least he didn’t have that pole-axed look anymore. Of course, she probably looked a little pole-axed herself right then.
They sat outside next to the San Antonio River. He’d washed up and put on a shirt, unfortunately. If she was any judge, tearing off wallboard all morning had made some difference in his mental outlook. But he was still a couple of miles from the confident, faintly sarcastic guy she’d first met when she’d decided to pretend his house was haunted. A decision she was rapidly deciding was one of the worst she’d ever made.
Whatever he’d dreamt was bad. Very bad.
“I wanted to touch base with you,” she said after his burger had arrived, along with her tossed salad.
He gave her a guarded look as he took a bite. “About what?”
“I started researching the house at the King William Historical Society.” She forked up a leaf of arugula, dipping it in the woefully thin diet dressing.
“Ah,” he nodded. “Gracie DeZavala.”
Emma stopped chewing. “You know her?”
He shrugged. “Everybody knows her, around the district anyhow. And she knows most of what there is to know about King William. Whatever you find, you should run it by Gracie.”
“I found some names, but I’m guessing they won’t mean much to you.” She pushed her list of owners’ names across the table toward him as she speared a grape tomato.
He glanced down at it, then shook his head. “I don’t know much about the history of the district because I grew up in the northwest part of town. The only name I recognize here is Allard Hampton, the guy who owned the house before we bought it from his estate.”
She nodded. “Yeah, and from what Gracie said, he doesn’t strike me as somebody who’d be likely to haunt the house.”
For a moment his jaw hardened, then he shook his head again. “No. It’s not Hampton. It’s a woman.”
Emma frowned, running her fork through the lettuce again. “She showed up in your dreams, this woman?”
He looked away from her, staring out at the river. “Yeah. Definitely a woman.”
“What did she look like?”
He glanced back at her, his expression bleak. “I don’t know. I didn’t see her face. Just . . . blonde hair. And very white skin.” He paused for so long that she thought he was finished, but then he shrugged. “There was another one too. But I don’t know if she’s related to the house.”
“Could you see her?”
He shook his head. “Not really. Tall. Sort of old. She had a stick of some kind.”
“A stick?”
“Like a cane. Or a walking stick.”
“Oh. Well, that’s helpful. Maybe. I mean, it’s more information. Or something.” Actually, she wasn’t sure what she could do with that bit, but she figured she should try to be encouraging.
The corners of his mouth edged up in a dry smile. “Or something.”
Emma sighed, resting her fork beside her plate. “I’m sorry. I wish I understood more about this. I mean, you’d think with all the research into the supernatural I’ve done for Gabrielle I’d be more knowledgeable about this kind of thing, but I’m not. And I feel like what’s happening is something important. Something we really need to understand.”
Ray picked up his burger again. “It’s not your fault. I don’t know what’s going on either.” He gave her another smile that did interesting things to her pulse rate. “Thanks for helping me out this morning.”
“I can do more,” she said quickly. “The other rooms need to be scraped too.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Don’t you have research to do?”
“I’ve got my laptop in the car.” She tried a tentative smile. “I can bring it in and do some Internet searches between working on the rooms. Do you have Wi-Fi?”
He nodded, but his eyes stayed narrow. “Any particular reason you want to stay around the hous
e?”
Because you look like you need company, and I’d love to see you without your shirt again. “Not especially. Any particular reason you don’t want my help?”
He shrugged. “I’ll take any help I can get.”
“Well then, I’d say we’re good to go.” She speared another piece of lettuce. Not that bad. With some blue cheese and crumbled bacon, she’d even call it edible. But blue cheese and crumbled bacon had been banished from her life forever, which meant she was stuck with naked lettuce. She managed not to sigh.
***
By late afternoon, Ray had to admit that Emma Shea had put in a full day’s work. She’d managed to get two rooms upstairs scraped and ready for cleaning, and she claimed she’d be back tomorrow to scrape a couple more. He wasn’t inclined to argue with her, even though he suspected she was there more to keep an eye on him than to learn how to renovate a house.
He didn’t care. He was glad for the company. He hadn’t relished the idea of being in the house by himself, even in broad daylight.
As the day wore on, he’d managed to put some of his morning anxiety to rest. But the late-afternoon sunlight reminded him that darkness was on the way. He wasn’t sure he was ready to face it.
After he’d gone through the hose-down-in-the-backyard ritual, this time with a clean pair of jeans on hand, he came back inside to find Emma seated at the kitchen table with her laptop. “You don’t have much in the way of food,” she said.
“I usually just have a sandwich at night.”
“Yeah, well, I didn’t find any bread.”
He grimaced. Grocery shopping. Something else he’d intended to do that had fallen by the wayside. Stupid ghosts. Always getting in the way.
She closed her computer. “You bought lunch. I’ll buy dinner.”
He thought about objecting, but why? Right now his male ego seemed to be taking a hike. “You’re on.”
They sat outside at the same restaurant where they’d had lunch, although he was a little cleaner now. Somehow the shifting shadows along the river didn’t bother him as much as the ones in his own backyard. But that might change, given recent history.
“Thanks for your help. I wouldn’t have gotten around to those bedrooms for another few days.” He shoveled a piece of catfish into his mouth, amazed to discover he was actually hungry. Of course, the fact that he hadn’t eaten much of anything for two days might have something to do with that.
“I’ll be back tomorrow,” she said calmly, cutting a bite of her grilled chicken.
“You don’t have to do that.”
“Sure I do.” She gave him a faint smile. “We’re in this together. Whatever this is.”
He sighed, rubbing his eyes. He really wished he could tell her not to come, but having her in the house made him feel better. Apparently, the whole joining forces thing had been settled in her favor. “Okay.”
They ate in silence for a while until he reached the point where his stomach no longer felt like a gaping pit. “So you’re from Houston?”
She raised her gaze to his, smiling faintly, and he felt a little like kicking himself. Oh yeah, brilliant conversational opener.
“I live in Houston now. I’m from Kansas City originally.”
“Quite a move.”
She shrugged. “I wanted a job in the entertainment business. There wasn’t much in Kansas City.”
“I wouldn’t have thought there was much in Houston either.”
She shrugged again. “I was in LA when I was hired. Gabrielle decided to move to Houston because the production costs were lower. Plus she has a house there.”
“So are the houses you film in mainly in Texas?”
“They’re all over the country, but mostly in the South and Southwest.” She gave him another faintly dry smile. “Gabrielle loves antebellum stuff.”
“So what’s your job exactly?”
She leaned back in her chair. “Exactly? Whatever she wants me to do. But mostly I find locations and then do research after she approves the places. Technically, I’m a production assistant on the show.”
“Do you like it?”
She took a little longer to reply this time, staring at the lengthening shadows along the river. “I like the idea of it. And it’s a good job to have on my résumé. I mean, Gabrielle’s a piece of work, but I don’t spend that much time with her. She chooses the town, and then I head off to find some houses there.”
“So you’re on the road a lot?”
She nodded. “Mostly. I’ve got a condo in Houston but I don’t use it that much.” She leaned her elbows on the table in front of her. “So what about you? How did you end up in the house restoration business?”
He sighed. “I worked construction to pay for college and found out I liked it. My partner and I set up in Boerne, up in the Hill Country, about five years ago.”
“Flipping houses?”
He nodded. “Some. We make more money doing renovations, though. My partner’s the real estate guy. He finds houses for people, and then I show them how they can fix them up.”
“And now you’re in San Antonio.”
“Trying to be.”
They sat in silence for a moment, listening to the mourning doves call in the trees along the river.
“Are you going to go on working on that house, the Hampton house?” she asked finally.
“No choice. We’ve got a lot invested in it. I can’t let a few ghosts scare me off.” He gave her the best smile he could come up with, but it wasn’t much.
The mourning dove cries seemed louder somehow. Bring out your dead. Oh yeah, nothing morbid about his imagination. No siree!
“I’m really sorry.”
He stared at her. “For what?”
“For starting this whole thing.” She pushed her plate away. “If Gabrielle hadn’t done that freakin’ séance, none of this would have happened.”
“We don’t know that. Whatever’s there in that house might have gotten out no matter what.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Gotten out?”
“That’s what it feels like to me.” He ran his fork through the remains of his tartar sauce. “Like something was pent up in there waiting to get loose.”
Bring out your dead. Yeah, okay, not funny anymore.
“You can’t sleep there again.” She leaned forward, placing her hand over his on the tabletop. Her skin was warm against the back of his hand—maybe he was more chilled than he’d realized.
He licked his lips. “It’s okay.”
She shook her head. “No. It’s not.” The evening shadows seemed to emphasize the blue of her eyes, the red highlights glinting in her hair. “You can’t go through another night of this.”
He didn’t answer. It wasn’t like he hadn’t already thought about it.
“Look, I’ve got a suite at the motel. There’s a couch in the living room that folds out. You could sleep there for now.” Her jaw took on a determined set.
Incredibly enough he felt a stirring in his groin. After last night he’d figured he might never have another erection. But something about the warm September evening and the woman at the table with him seemed to have shoved his body back into the game.
He leaned forward, almost unwillingly, placing his hand over hers. “I’ve got a place to go. Don’t worry.”
“Not at that house? The Hampton house?”
He shook his head. “Nope.”
She leaned back again, sighing. But she didn’t pull her hands away. “Glad to hear it.”
He didn’t pull away either. “You really don’t have to come around tomorrow. I’ll be okay.”
She shrugged. “I’ll be there. The house can serve as my home base just as well as my motel room.”
“Okay.” He managed one more smile. “As long as both of us are out of there before nightfall.”<
br />
She nodded. “Count on it.” She pushed up from the table, sliding her hands free almost reluctantly. “I’ll go back to the motel from here. But I’ll come back to the house tomorrow. With coffee.”
“Good enough.” He stood up beside her, staring down into that deep blue gaze. “Well . . .”
“Well.” She blew out a breath.
He ran his fingers along the edge of her shoulder, feeling the smooth satin of her skin. “Take care.”
She closed her eyes for a moment, then stared up at him again. “You too.”
“Count on it.”
Her lips quirked up into a small grin, and then she leaned up, brushing her lips against his cheek. “Night, Ray.”
“Night.” He watched her walk to her car, her hips swinging slightly in the cooler air of the evening.
At least he knew now he wasn’t entirely dead from the waist down.
Chapter 6
Rosie’s house was mostly dark when he got there, but the lights were on in what looked like the living room. The building rose up on its large lot, three stories, probably seven or eight bedrooms, with numerous Victorian accents around the lower gallery.
He’d only been in the place a couple of times while he was helping his sister move in. He’d never been inside when his grandmother had been alive. But then he could never remember even seeing his grandmother. His mother and Grandma Caroline had stopped speaking before he was born. He didn’t know exactly what the problem was between them, but it was serious enough to keep his grandmother out of his life. Out of all their lives, in fact.
Except that she’d left the house to Rosie.
He knew his father thought the bequest was a last slap at his mom, skipping over her to give her daughter a house worth a wad of money. It might also have been meant to cause dissension in the family between Rosie and her brothers, but if it was, his grandmother had miscalculated. Neither he nor Danny had wanted the place. In fact, he was still a little amazed that Rosie wanted it enough to live in that big, echoing barn. She’d lived there by herself for a couple of years, but after Evan had moved in it still seemed too big for two people.
