Ghost of a Chance (Banshee Creek Book 2)

by Gonzalez, Ani

  He felt like an idiot. Why had he let Zach talk him into this?

  He avoided the family Sunday lunches like the zombie plague. And he wasn't the only one. His dad took advantage of the stinky cheese debacle and guilt-tripped his wife into letting him attend the L.A. Chess Open. He'd packed his chess set and was now happily hanging out with his buddies discussing endgames and openings.

  That meant he only had his mom to worry about. The prospect of a family fight usually put him in a bad mood, but today was different. Even a fight with his mother wouldn't dim his spirits today.

  Today there was an orange Civic del Sol in the driveway.

  Sunday lunch with his family was pretty bad, but Sunday lunch with his family and Elizabeth was something else altogether. He didn't bother analyzing why the sight of her battered vehicle improved his spirits so much. The important thing was that it did.

  He couldn't erase her from his mind. The image of her sitting on a leather sofa, her lovely legs peeking through her robe, licking frosting off her fingers was etched in his mind.

  But Elizabeth was now preparing to flee.

  He had no illusions about that. His pusillanimous paramour was chickening out. She'd had a whole night to think and had come to the conclusion that this relationship threatened the well-tended moat that kept her independent from her family. She'd realized that she'd bitten more than she could chew and was now in full strategic retreat.

  A retreat he meant to foil.

  He looked around the room. Other than the framed Argentinean flag hanging over the piano—the one that used to grace the pizzeria window, if he wasn't mistaken—the place remained untouched. It was a library more than a den. Every room in the Franco house looked like a library. His mother made sure of that. The dining room was lined with bookshelves and every flat surface in the living room was covered with books. Well, every flat surface that wasn't covered by a chessboard.

  The only things that marked this room as a den were the comfortable leather couch and the small television next to the fireplace. Cole had complained about the size of the television every single Thursday during high school. They would finish homework, sit down, tune in to watch The X-Files reruns, and he would complain about the TV. David Duchovny would drive off to chase aliens, and he would complain about the TV. Gillian Anderson would roll her eyes at her partner, and he would complain about the TV. At the end of the day the FBI team would be foiled by the conspiracy, and Cole would finish his Fanta, lean back, and praise the smallness of the TV. At least he didn't have to watch his heroes' weekly humiliation magnified on a large screen.

  Gabe missed Cole. He could finally admit it. He'd avoided the pain by burying himself in his work and minimizing his contacts with Banshee Creek, but this trip had nullified that strategy.

  His friend was gone. There would be no more crazy trips to photograph Icelandic sea monsters, no more postmodern dissections of the Chris Carter ouvre, no more Bigfoot sightings cluttering his e-mail inbox.

  He smiled. Instead, he had a bunch of e-mails from Elizabeth, every single one informing him of yet another attractive, albeit paranormally enhanced, potential abode.

  Like her brother, she never gave up.

  Although today's event would likely give her pause. His mom was ecstatic about having her over for lunch. Zach had called him this morning and told him that she'd been up cooking since before dawn. She was making sure this particular lunch was special. Special enough to make Elizabeth freak out. Oh well, he could handle that. In fact, he was looking forward to handling her torment. He couldn't help but smile at the thought.

  His mom's special lunch, however, would also make his stomach freak out. Her cooking was eccentric enough on an everyday basis. Special occasions tended to be epic culinary disasters. Hence the last-minute detour that had made him late and the two brown paper bags he now had to sneak into the kitchen. He glanced out the living room window and saw his mother walking through the patio.

  The coast was clear. He walked quickly toward the back of the house, carrying the two bags.

  Elizabeth was in the kitchen with Zach, and Sato the dog lay on his tattered dog bed watching them. Zach was leaning a bit too close to her, smiling with amusement. Gabe frowned at his brother then realized this wasn't an intimate vignette of shared merriment. Elizabeth looked like she was trying to kill his brother.

  Ah. He could add Desire to Dismember Zach Franco to the list of things he and Elizabeth had in common. The thought made him chuckle.

  She turned toward the sound, frowning. She didn't seem happy.

  She eyed him warily as he entered the kitchen and put the bags on the floor. He put his finger to his lips, gesturing her into silence. The day was chilly and he couldn't help but notice that she was wearing another flimsy dress, this time with a cardigan and bare legs, which looked spectacular. He ignored her confused frown and turned to Zach, who smiled.

  "You brought it," he exclaimed, but Gabe shushed him.

  "Yes," he hissed. "You owe me big time, infant."

  "Do we have to heat it?" Zach replied, also in a whisper.

  He nodded. "Can you get one of the pans?" he asked Elizabeth, who looked ready to bolt out of the room. "They're right behind you."

  She rolled her eyes. He motioned toward the cupboard. She gave him an offended glare, then kneeled and opened a cupboard.

  Gabe instantly regretted asking for the pan. She wasn't wearing the black hose that he liked, but the tight skirt riding up her butt was an attractive substitute. Apparently, his brother thought so too. He punched him in the arm, and Zach flinched.

  But he didn't look away.

  Gabe considered a variety of unpleasant and creative deaths for his annoying sibling, but this agreeable train of thought was hopelessly derailed by Elizabeth's wriggling body. She dug around the cupboard and extracted a rectangular glass container. She finally straightened and Gabe let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. Zach noticed and rolled his eyes before taking the plastic tubs out of the bags.

  "Well, it's been fun, guys, but I'm leaving now," Elizabeth muttered. "I need to help my mom with, um..." She seemed to be trying to come up with an excuse. "Something. She needs help with something."

  "No, she doesn't," he replied. "And this is all your fault, so you're not leaving me to face the hostile hordes alone. Stay there and don't move. Keep an eye out for Mom."

  "Well, you can move a little bit. Check if the oven is hot."

  She crossed her arms and leaned against the kitchen counter. Of course she wasn't checking the oven. God forbid that Elizabeth should do as she was told.

  "You should worry less about the oven," she started in a tone of voice that suggested impending disaster, "and more about your mom. She seems a bit upset."

  Gabe snorted. "You mean about the house? I'm not surprised. She's not a big fan of Early Priapic Architecture. Don't worry. I'll deal with her."

  "Please do," Zach interjected with undisguised relish. "I'm looking forward to seeing that."

  "Oh, shut up. And do it far away from here. Go keep Mom occupied so I can heat up the food."

  His brother made a face, but he headed toward the patio doors. "I can give you a couple of minutes, but you're going to have to face your doom eventually."

  "Doom?" Gabe replied. "Not for those of us who aren't living in our parents' basement."

  Elizabeth's eyes widened, and he instantly regretted the comment. He didn't have to antagonize his brother. Zach's plan was to live in the basement until the restaurant started making a profit. He wasn't mooching. He was being smart.

  But before he could apologize, Zach made a rude gesture and walked out. Gabe sighed. So much for his attempt to reconnect with his family.

  "Well, that was smooth." Elizabeth pursed her lips in disapproval.

  He sighed. "I'm not smooth, at least not with my family. You should know that by now."

  "Well, I hope your strategy for handling your mother is a bit more...sophisticated."

 
Yeah, he hoped so too.

  "But, in case it isn't," she continued brightly. "The Dudley farm is still on the market."

  "You don't give up, do you? I'm not buying the farmhouse. I'm buying the Middleburg house. My mom will just have to get used to it."

  "Apparently, your mom isn't really interested in your new house," she cautioned, as if concerned about his reaction to this news.

  "Smart girl. You figured it out."

  "No, Zach told me." She gave an exasperated sigh. "What are you going to do about it? You can't be happy about the matchmaking."

  "I'm happy about it," he said, smiling at her shocked expression. "But I'm not happy about the subterfuge." His smile grew broader. "That's why I'm buying a house with anatomically correct statues and pornographic aquatic facilities."

  He stifled a chuckle. He seldom managed to checkmate his mom, and he was going to enjoy every single, Corinthian-topped, orange-marbled second.

  Elizabeth looked appalled. "You're crazy," she said emphatically. "Your brother's crazy. Even your parents are crazy."

  "We bought a pizzeria with a resident poltergeist. What did you expect?"

  "I expected to be kept out of the family squabbles."

  Gabe assessed the situation. Elizabeth looked like she wanted to run away as quickly as possible. More accurately, she looked like she wanted to hit him over the head with the pan and then break for freedom.

  Lovely, he was antagonizing everyone. Well, the first order of business was the important issue of how to keep Elizabeth in the house. "Is the oven hot?"

  Not a brilliant gambit, but it would have to do.

  "It's hot," she replied, not even looking at the oven. "Your mother just took out the mashed potatoes." She glanced toward the foyer. "I really should be going."

  But she didn't look very certain, and Gabe saw an opportunity. He handed her a large spoon. "Hold this."

  She couldn't very well flee with his spoon, right? That would be theft or something.

  Caught off guard, Elizabeth accepted the spoon. She looked at it in confusion and turned to frown at him. Finally, her shoulders slumped in resignation. She glanced at the plastic tubs. "What did you bring?"

  "Something edible. Did Mom really make green mashed potatoes?" He couldn't quite keep the horror out of his voice. He opened the plastic tub, reached for a spoon, and started scooping out the creamy, cheesy contents in the pan. Heaven.

  "Yes." She pointed to a large dish on the counter. "I think they're spinach."

  "Ha! I wish it were spinach. Spinach is edible." He frowned at the covered dish as he scooped more golden deliciousness into the pan. His mom had made enough potatoes to feed the Third Army. "Those are cilantro mashed potatoes. It's an Argentinean recipe. Well, Mom claims it's Argentinean. I'm skeptical. I suspect she just made it up to torture us."

  Elizabeth pressed her lips together. Was she smiling? Well, at least she wasn't running away. "I think they also have cheese." Yep, she was laughing at him. "And a pine nut topping." She giggled.

  "Two things that try, but fail, to overcome the vileness of the cilantro," he said.

  Elizabeth was laughing openly now. Good. She looked into the pan. "Is that mac and cheese? You stopped by the diner to pick up comfort food?"

  "Yes," he said. "It was Zach's idea. He hates the green mashed potatoes as much as I do." He frowned at her. "Will you stop cackling? Mom will hear."

  "Gabe, this stuff glows in the dark. I can't believe you're going to eat this. Can't you just tell your mom that you don't like her dish?"

  "I can't do that," he said as he mixed the gooey, creamy macaroni. How dare she call it glow-in-the-dark? "She thinks they're my favorite."

  "How is that possible?"

  "It was one of the first fancy recipes she tried. No one liked them, and I felt sorry for her and told them they were delicious." He shook his head. "Now I'm stuck. I can't tell her I hate them now. She even makes Zach eat them. That's why he asked me to get an alternative."

  "You should have faked an allergic reaction." She smiled, which seemed promising. Maybe he was making some progress. "That's what I did with garbanzos."

  "It didn't occur to me." He had to admit though that a fake allergic reaction sounded like a good idea. Was there such a thing as a cilantro allergy? He'd have to look it up online. His mom surely would.

  "What do you do with the mashed potatoes?" she asked, still smiling. He decided that he liked her smile. Liked it very much.

  "Sato sneaks under the table, and I feed them to him."

  She stared at him for a second and then started laughing. It was a lovely sound. "That's not good for him." She paused to catch her breath. "Dogs shouldn't eat human food."

  "I'm not sure those mashed potatoes qualify as human food," he answered as he scooped out the mac'n'cheese. "And Sato loves cilantro, which is quite useful." There. All the cheesy, gooey goodness was inside the pan. He reached into the bag to take out the bag of breadcrumb topping.

  "So, you've only tasted the mashed potatoes once."

  "Once was enough." He poured the crumb topping on the mac'n'cheese and stepped back to admire his handiwork.

  Perfection.

  Or, at least, not green mashed potatoes.

  He picked up the pan and put it in the hot oven. There. At least he wouldn't starve today.

  "You haven't eaten them since you were a kid?" Elizabeth mused, twirling the spoon in her hand.

  "I've managed to avoid them for a long time, yes. I'm a brilliant strategist. That's why they pay me the big bucks."

  He watched warily as she uncovered the mashed potatoes. He really didn't like where this was going.

  "Maybe your taste buds have matured."

  He snorted. "That would be unlikely. Nothing else has."

  That made her smile again. He was rapidly becoming addicted to Elizabeth's smiles. She filled the spoon with green-flecked spuds and waved it enticingly.

  "Don't even think it," he growled.

  Her tranquil smile didn't waver. "Just give it a try."

  "No."

  She stepped forward. "C'mon. Just one bite."

  "No."

  "Your mom will notice that there's mac and cheese."

  "No worries. I plan to tell her that Zach brought them."

  She giggled and pushed the spoon toward him. "C'mon, they're actually good."

  "How would you know?" he asked, avoiding the potato-laden utensil. "You've never tasted them."

  "I just did. They're good."

  Liar. She was a lying liar.

  "They taste like cheese and some garlic."

  Right, and the Hagen House wasn't cursed, not at all.

  But he let her grab his arm and pull him close. Playful Elizabeth was something he could get used to. As she stepped forward to feed him the ghastly green mixture, he grabbed the spoon with one hand and pressed her against his body with his other arm. She tried to grab for the spoon, but he threw it in the sink.

  "You need to broaden your horizons. Your mom's already upset about the house. The least you can do is eat her mashed potatoes."

  She tried to step away from him, but he held on tight, enjoying the feel of her curves.

  "I can handle my mom, and I don't need to eat her mashed potatoes to do so."

  She sighed. "It's your funeral. Too bad I'll be missing it. I'm afraid I should be going now."

  She pulled away, trying free herself, but he tightened his grasp and smiled. Her struggles were doing interesting things to his body.

  "Make me," he breathed into her ear.

  She stilled and her eyes narrowed, glinting in defiance. He smiled. This was angry Elizabeth, the girl who couldn't resist a dare.

  Her hands fell to his waist.

  He chuckled. This was getting interesting.

  Then her fingers started moving around his ribcage. Soft, quick, deadly. He jerked in response. She was tickling him? How did she know he was ticklish?

  He tried to grab her hands but she evaded him, gigg
ling. Finally, in a last act of desperation, he pushed her away.

  She fell onto the counter, hitting the covered dish that held the cilantro-laced mashed potatoes. Gabe stepped forward to catch the dish.

  He missed.

  The dish tumbled to the floor, spilling its slimy green cargo all over his shirt.

  Damn, the potatoes weren't just disgusting, they were also boiling hot.

  Elizabeth watched, mouth open in horror.

  He grimaced, wiping green goo off his shirt. He felt something wet and fleshy touch his hand. Sato had woken up from his nap. He was now slurping the green mashed potatoes greedily.

  Man's best friend to the rescue.

  "Are you burned?" Elizabeth asked.

  "Not that much," he said, somewhat truthfully.

  She looked distraught.

  "I'm fine," he repeated.

  It wasn't a bad burn. He'd gotten worse while testing equipment for potential products.

  "Most of it fell on the floor." He looked at the mess with satisfaction. The cilantro mashed potatoes were no more. Now that was a cilantro-flavored silver lining and well worth a bit of scorched skin.

  He smiled at Elizabeth. "I should've thought of this years ago."

  But she didn't smile back. Face serious, she pulled at his shirt impatiently. "You're an idiot. How bad is it?"

  She got the shirt out of his pants, pushed it up, and bent to look at his skin. The position made impure thoughts spring into his head. Elizabeth seemed oblivious though.

  "We should put ice on this. Or is it butter?"

  "You're not putting butter on my stomach," he said firmly. He could think of several edible substances he wanted Elizabeth to pour on his body. Butter wasn't one of them.

  "Does your mom have burn ointment?"

  Gabe sighed. He wasn't going to be able to avoid first aid, was he? The disrobing was fun, but the bandaging and ointmenting were just tiresome. Unfortunately, given his experiences with Elizabeth so far, they were also inevitable. This girl had a curious obsession with emergency care.

  "There's a first aid kit in the pantry."

  She nodded and turned to open the cabinet. "This isn't a kit, it's a whole pharmacy."