The Good, The Bad and The Ghostly ((Paranromal Western Romance))

by Keta Diablo

  His feet dragging, he stepped outside. The sky dark with an approaching storm, a cold breeze hit him in the chest. Not excited about another bout of rain, he glanced down the path leading to the house. His gaze immediately fell on the man driving the wagon. The familiar face of his brother instantly alerted him, and his eyes darted to the woman next to him.

  Not bothering to wait for the wagon to come to him, he raced for it. His heart filled with joy at the sight of Ruth’s smiling face.

  The moment she saw him, she stood up waving and yelling at him. "Honey, I’m home."

  His feet moving through the slug of the muddy path, he made slow progress to the approaching wagon.

  Once he came within a few hundred feet, Barton tugged on the reins and drew to a stop. "Konnor, if you would have just waited a few more minutes I would have brought her to you."

  Out of breath, Konnor raced to the passenger side of the wagon and held out his arms to his bride. His heart racing, he smiled up at her. "God, woman, I feel as if you’ve been gone for an eternity."

  She dove off the side. Her arms slipped around his neck an instant before her body slammed into his.

  Thrilled to have her home, he held her tight against his chest and breathed in her unique fragrance. "Please tell me, sweetheart, you are here to stay."

  Her answer got lost in the kisses she plastered across his face. Then her mouth touched his. The hunger inside him exploded. He fed on her, reacquainting himself to her sweet arousing flavor.

  For a long moment, the rest of the world didn’t exist and only the two of them mattered. With his lungs screaming for air, he shifted his mouth from hers and drew in a breath. "God, I’ve missed you."

  She laughed. "No more than I missed you."

  "If you two are finished, I’d like to get inside and out of this weather before the storm hits," Barton grumbled.

  Konnor glanced at his brother and frowned. What was he doing here? "Then head to the barn. Henry will help you unhitch the wagon, and we’ll meet you in the house."

  "Fine, I’ll see you inside." Barton slapped the reins against the horse’s rump. The wheels continued down the lane.

  Gathering Ruth up in his arms, Konnor walked to the house.

  "You know I can walk, right?" Ruth commented and snuggled deeper into his chest.

  "Yes, but this is to remind me that you’re here to stay." He trudged toward the front porch, working to stay out of the worst of the mud on the path. "I’ve had almost two weeks living without you and I’m not planning to go through that misery again for a very long time."

  She nuzzled the side of his neck and whispered, "Too bad we can’t head right up to our bedroom when we go inside, but Barton and I have some news for you."

  He growled, not at all happy about the change in his immediate plans. "I believe anything you might have to say can wait."

  "Maybe, but I’m hoping this is something you’ll want to hear." Ruth continued to torture him with wet kisses on the hollow behind his ear.

  "Nothing can compare at the moment to the thought of having you naked and moaning beneath me." He lengthened his stride working to control the hunger for his wife building inside him. His heel hit the first step, and he set Ruth down on the porch. "Go on inside while I take off these muddy boots."

  She nodded and disappeared through the front door.

  Fighting the gut-wrenching urge to follow her, Konnor turned for the barn and hurried to catch up with his brother. The buckboard sat in the center of the main aisle while Barton unloaded the luggage from the back. Henry led the wagon’s draft horse into a stall. "Barton, you best tell me your news while I still have the ability to hear it."

  His brother glanced up and smiled. "Meaning all the blood in your head has migrated south."

  "My bride has just come home after being gone for almost a week. What do you think?" Konnor grumbled and set his hands on his hips.

  Barton tugged a large trunk off the wagon and let it drop to the ground. "Fine, but Ruth was the one who convinced me to quit my job and move out here permanently. She says if we want the ranch to grow it’ll take all of us working together."

  Shocked by his news, Konnor blinked and stared at his brother. For the past couple of years, they’d argued about him moving to the ranch. Every time Konnor had tried to persuade him that the time was right. Until today, Barton had hung onto the fact that he was making too much to quit. "What did Ruth say to convince you to give up your job?"

  "She showed me the money. Between her bankroll and mine, we should have enough to support us if anything should happen." Barton continued unloading the wagon. "I figure I’d convert the tack room out here in the barn to my bedroom and leave you two alone in the house. Guess it’s a good thing we put that old potbelly stove in there a few years back."

  Konnor grabbed his brother’s shoulder and turned him around. "Thank you, Barton. You’ve made me the happiest man alive. Not only did you bring home my bride but you just secured both our futures." After giving his brother a big hug, he stepped back.

  "Good, now go show your bride how happy you are to see her." Barton turned to Henry. "We have everything covered, right?"

  Henry grinned. "Oh, yes, now that Mrs. McKee is back. Life will be so much better."

  His brother’s laughter followed Konnor out the barn door.

  He rushed through the rain that had started and ran for the house. One step into the house, he called out, "Ruth, where are you?"

  "In our room, come on up." Her voice filtered down from upstairs.

  His socked feet barely landed on each step before he raced down the hall to his bedroom. He slid to a stop after clearing the threshold and gaped at his beautiful bride spread out on their bed. Her hair fanning out over his pillow, she lay in the center with only a thin gossamer gown covering her exquisite body.

  "I take it Barton told you our news." She rose onto her elbows and her gaze traveled over him, heating his blood to a boiling point. He lifted his hand and unhooked the buttons of his shirt.

  "Yes, he said you wanted to use your money to support us until the ranch is profitable." He shrugged off his suspenders and shucked off his shirt. "Luckily, there’s no need for you to spend a dime. We’re already in the black, but having that cushion is what helped convince Barton he could leave his job."

  "So you’re happy he’s come home to stay?" She rose onto her knees and ran a hand over the cotton fabric of his long johns.

  "Yes, but I’m even happier to have you here." He stepped out of his pants and tossed them over the corner bedpost. "Please tell me that mess with Wilhelmina is done, and you won’t have to leave again."

  With a small grin, she nodded. "I secured the pieces that were stolen and have them in a trunk in the back of the wagon. Her trial is set for a few weeks from now. The agency is handling the proceedings and I won’t need to be there. So yes, I guess I’m here to stay."

  "Great," he sighed and gathered into his arms. "Because Mrs. McKee, I have plans to keep you busy for a lifetime."

  He covered her mouth with his, not giving her a chance to respond. Then he proceeded to show her how glad he was to have her in his bed again.

  * * *

  Nettie floated by the table in the dining room and examined the items that had been recovered from Wilhelmina. A wistful smile played over the ghost’s lips. Silently, she acknowledged the special magic she’d used to show the black heart of one woman, and how fate had brought a unique gem of substance in another. Konnor’s future was secure.

  Now, she just had to see to Barton’s.

  * * *

  Thank you for reading McKee's Ghost. If you'd like to know more about Anita's books, please visit her Author Home: http://anitaphilmar.com/bio.html

  And her Amazon Author page: https://www.amazon.com/Anita-Philmar/e/B002BMBE8C/

  A RIDE THROUGH TIME

  by Charlene Raddon

  Copyright©2016 by Charlene Raddon

  Cover art by © Charlene Raddon

  This b
ook is a work of fiction. References to real people, events, establishments, organization, or locales are intended only to provide a sense of authenticity, and are used fictitiously. All other characters, and all incidents and dialogue, are drawn from the author's imagination and are not to be construed as real.

  About A Ride Through Time

  Ghosts. Murder. Love. P.S.I. Agent Burke Jameson travels to Eagle Gulch, Colorado to investigate a report of ghost activity at a house where a murder took place in 1881. When his vehicle carrying his P.S.I. equipment dies, and a riderless mare appears, he mounts up, hoping the horse will lead him to her fallen rider. What he finds is a whole new life beyond his imagination.

  Clorinda Halstead believes she’s a widow. After all, she was the one who shot her husband, Horace, on a violent night in 1881. He deserved it, the jury concluded. Living with the town marshal and his wife, all Clori wants is to be left alone. Then a stranger, Burke James, joins the household and nothing is ever the same again.

  How did Burke find his way through time to the year 1881, and who is haunting the lovely but distant Widow Halstead? Can Burke find the ghost of Eagle Gulch without his P.S.I. equipment? And how will he ever choose between going home to his own time and a life of love and happiness with Clorinda?

  * * *

  Chapter One

  Almost there.

  Burke Jameson opened the van’s window and sucked in the invigorating scent of fir and spruce trees. Home. He’d grown up on a ranch near Eagle Gulch, Colorado, a mere five miles from where he now drove up a rutted dirt road.

  But it wasn’t the closeness of home that had his heart beating faster. His true destination lay a few more miles up this very lane, and the means of attaining his life-long goal.

  To banish a ghost.

  Not just any ghost—Horace Halstead’s restless spirit.

  "Dark in these woods, isn’t it?" Gabe commented from the passenger's seat. "It’s only three o’clock."

  "Yeah. Tree shadows." Burke had hoped to arrive by noon and get their equipment set up and ready long before sunset. Being September, that hour would arrive sooner.

  Gabe braced a stockinged foot against the dash and looked at Burke. "I know you’re disappointed we didn’t get here earlier, Burke. And it’s my fault for having to stop to eat. But you know my stomach. If I don’t eat when it tells me to, I get sick."

  "I know," Burke answered absently, his mind on the purpose of this trip and how odd it felt to be back again.

  Driving through Eagle Gulch had been a trip through his childhood. A trip of nostalgia, love, regret, and hope for the future.

  Memories flooded him, including those from his previous visit to Halstead House at the age of fifteen. He’d loved hearing the tale of Horace Halstead’s murder in 1881 and how the man’s ghost haunted the place ever after.

  "If you’re so dang certain there’s a ghost there, why don’t you just go over and talk to him," a gangly, pimple-faced Jimmy Zook had told him. "You chicken?"

  No. Burke was delighted, not chicken. The dare had given him an excuse to do what he wanted to do anyway.

  Unfortunately, his first meeting with the Halstead spirit hadn’t gone the way he hoped. Instead of the exciting, enlightening experience he’d yearned for, he had been terrorized, chased through the woods by a grisly, gruesome face with no body.

  A favorite tactic of ghosts he learned later.

  Oddly, rather than kill his interest in the paranormal world of specters, that night had cemented his resolve to become an expert on ghosts.

  Now, seventeen years later, he finally had his chance to return. Not as a naïve teenager, but a trained, experienced ghost hunter for Tremayne Psychic Specters Investigations. And he couldn’t wait to get to work.

  "You hear something?" Gabe asked.

  Burke listened. "Yeah. Check the back, will you? Spook may have accidentally turned on one of the monitors." The Vizsla was a good passenger for a dog, but did get restless, especially when he couldn't see out, and the van only had windows in front.

  While his partner hauled himself into the rear, Burke avoided a puddle, then veered the opposite direction to cut around a large rock.

  "Take it easy, Burke," Gabe yelled. "I’m trying to stand up back here."

  "Sorry."

  A gust of wind whipped the tree boughs, a precursor to an upcoming storm that could ruin Burke’s long awaited return. A warning? Were the elements trying to tell him this was not to be his moment?

  Tough. He refused to wait. If it rained, it rained.

  Spook thrust his head over Burke's shoulder and breathed shivery doggy breath in his ear. Burke reached back to pat the dog's nearly hairless head.

  "The ambient thermometer was on." Gabe reclaimed his seat. "Indicates a weather change. Think that means ghosts?"

  "Possible." Burke scanned the sky from the window. "Getting colder. I’d say we’ll be lucky to get half the equipment set up before it storms." He wished the temperature drop meant active spirits, but, as his Grandma Dorothy liked to say, Don’t count your chicks too soon. "Besides, my nose isn’t itchy, and you know it always is when there's a ghost around."

  Gabe laughed. "Or so you say."

  Burke rubbed the dog's head again. "Spook doesn't look like he senses specters. You going to ignore that, too?"

  Before Gabe could reply, the van's engine sputtered and coughed.

  "Do not die on me." Burke kept a steady pressure on the gas pedal to keep the vehicle going. He couldn’t believe the van acting up like this. It had been fine when they left Denver.

  With a deep belch, the motor died.

  Gabe sank lower in his seat and muttered an ugly word.

  Burke tried to restart the engine. No luck. A bad feeling invaded his chest. This wasn’t believable. There had to be something else going on. "The van should be fine. The gas tank is three-quarters full, and I checked everything at that last gas station."

  Ghosts had the ability to monkey with car engines. But how, when, and where? Who?

  Damn. He’d promised his father if he didn’t succeed in meeting this challenge, this goal he’d worked toward all his life, he’d give up ghost hunting and go to work running the retirement community in Arizona his dad bought after selling the ranch.

  He groaned at the thought. Arizona? Too hot by far, and too full of old people. Burke had nothing against the elderly, but neither did he desire to spend the rest of his life in what basically amounted to a fancy old-folks home.

  Maybe someone tampered with the engine. Someone alive.

  Don’t be paranoid, Jameson. You’re just afraid something will prevent you from reaching this goal. Yeah, it’s important to you. But it isn’t like your life will end if you fail.

  He drew in a deep breath to calm his nerves and got out. As he walked to the front of the van, he fingered the small P.S.I. Medallion hanging under his T-shirt. His good luck charm.

  Number Twenty-Four of the Ghost Hunters' Code came to mind: It's okay to be afraid.

  He'd been in far worse situations, like when that seventeenth-century Italian swordsman tried to skewer him on a blade. It had taken three priests and a preacher to banish that formidable ghost. Burke no longer accepted assignments in Italy.

  Gabe joined him as Burke raised the hood and studied the engine.

  "Whew! It's cold out here," Gabe said and zipped up his jacket.

  "Yeah." Damn. With this delay, they’d be unloading equipment in the rain.

  "You know anything about cars?"

  "There isn't a farmer alive who doesn't know engines. Necessary with farm equipment. I don’t see anything wrong with this one." Though he doubted they were the problem, Burke checked the oil and battery and uttered a silent curse at the mud collecting on his new Tony Lamas.

  "Great. What do we do now?" Gabe banged a fist on the fender.

  "It could be the ignition."

  He went to the back of the van and opened the rear doors. Spook immediately appeared, whining to get out.
r />   Burke rubbed the dog’s head. "All right, come on."

  Spook jumped down. Burke grabbed his tool box and went back to the engine. "I’m going to check something, Gabe. Get in the van and when I tell you, crank it over."

  "You got it."

  Burke removed a spark plug wire and called for Gabe to turn the key. He watched and listened, but heard no click or spark. "Never mind." He waved at Gabe.

  Moving beside the fender, Burke bent over to check the fuses in the fuse box. He took one out and studied it but saw no sign of meltdown inside. Putting the fuse back, he closed the box and then the hood. Gabe got back out.

  Spook whined. Burke glanced down and saw the dog’s gaze fixed on the road ahead. He turned to see what had captured the dog's attention.

  A saddled, riderless gray mare stood in the road a dozen yards away.

  "Holy hell," Gabe exclaimed. "Where do you suppose she came from?"

  "Beats me." Burke moved closer for a better view. The whole thing—lost horse, empty saddle—boded ill, and added to the bad feeling in his gut. An especially bad sign for the missing rider.

  The beautiful mare, her hide silvery and dappled, backed up, reins dragging.

  "It's all right. You can trust me." Burke spoke in the calm, soothing voice his father taught him to use with nervous animals. "I won't hurt you."

  "What can I do to help, Burke?" Gabe asked. "Did you find anything wrong with the van?"

  "No. I suspect it’s another problem altogether."

  "Like what?"

  "Something paranormal." The mare pricked her ears at the sound of their voices. Burke continued trying to befriend her.

  "Oh. Shit." Gabe leaned back against the van looking hangdog.

  With a whinny and a toss of her head, the mare retreated further.

  Burke followed, holding out an open hand. "Easy, now. Everything's fine. Where's your rider? Did you toss him?"

  At the age of twelve, he'd spent a night alone on the range nursing a broken foot from being thrown. With temperatures dropping fast, an injured rider could pass a miserable night. Particularly if it stormed.