Included were a reminder never to slam doors (lest you injure a ghost crossing the threshold and antagonize it into haunting you); the reassurance that most ghosts are benign but should you run across one you’d like to shake, try imitating a rooster’s crow (the specter may fade away if it believes dawn is breaking); and the advice to turn your pockets inside out whenever passing a graveyard (to keep the spirits from sneaking into your pockets and hitching a ride).
At festivals past, Wanda had playfully attempted “readings,” either through cards or tea leaves. Lorelei refused to go that far to entertain booth visitors, but she had purchased a large bag of fortune cookies at a party supply store in a neighboring county. She’d filled a green plastic bowl with the cookies and set it among the goodie bags.
She’d just finished reassuring a little girl in a flashing shamrock necklace that the cookies were free when she looked up and saw a familiar bearded face. Dwayne, the would-be ghost hunter, angled two fingers at her in wry salute. Today, sitting out in the cheery sunshine at a display table that reminded her how enthusiastic Wanda had been about the supernatural, Lorelei wished she’d handled Dwayne and his friend with more benevolence.
“Hi,” she called.
His auburn brows rose but after a moment, he ambled toward her. “Hello. Mind if I take one of these pamphlets?” He gestured to her stack of Hill Country spirits brochures.
“Please do.” She handed him two, including one for his friend. “I don’t want to have to take all these back with me at the end of the day. Is your buddy here, too?” she asked, scanning the crowd.
“Jerry.” Dwayne nodded. “He’s over by the water wheel, interviewing a man who’s lived here all his life. Man claims that his twin brother died in 2002 but always visits on their birthday.”
Lorelei thought she kept her expression neutral, but Dwayne cocked his head, studying her as if he’d seen a flash of something.
“You really hate this paranormal stuff, huh?”
She leaned back in her folding chair. “Hate is a strong word.”
“But accurate?” he persisted.
“My mom was really into it. I guess I just…”
He held up his hands. “Say no more. Both of my parents are into surgery. Performing it, not getting it done. They wanted me to go to medical school. Not my thing, though.”
She tried to picture him in a white coat and consulting a patient file but failed spectacularly. “Well, even though ghosts aren’t my thing—largely because I think it’s all bunk—I didn’t mean to go ballistic on you guys the other day.”
He grinned at her. “Right before we left, you did look like you were going to shoot lasers out of your eyes. Kinda terrifying. It was our bad, though. I was all hyped up on energy drinks and should have been more compassionate. Forgive me?”
“If you’ll forgive my wigging out.”
“Done.” He winked. “Besides, me and Jerry like scary entities.”
That made her chuckle and she was still smiling when Sam approached her table. His green button-down shirt made his eyes sparkle like emeralds beneath the brim of his cowboy hat.
“You look like you’re enjoying yourself,” he said. “Didn’t I just see that guy we ran off from the inn the other day?”
“Dwayne. He stopped by to grab some pamphlets and tell me I was scary.”
“He’s got that right,” Sam drawled.
“Hey!” She reached out to swat him on the arm, and he grabbed her hand.
“You’re supposed to be wearing green today,” he said, his voice stern with mock-reprimand.
She tried not to be distracted by his continuing to hold her hand. “This is green.” Ish. She’d paired a lace-trimmed sweater with a short black skirt.
“No, it’s one of those weird not-quite-blue colors only women know the names of. Turquoise or something.”
Teal. When she’d packed a suitcase for Texas, she’d been in shock over her mother’s death. The last thing she’d considered was the upcoming St. Patrick’s Day and whether she’d be in town that long.
“Tradition says you could get pinched,” he continued.
She arched an eyebrow. “Try it and die, cowboy.”
His only response was a wolfish smile.
She snatched her hand back. “Aren’t you supposed to be busy roping dogies?” As in, get along little? He was working over at the fairgrounds today, participating in interactive demonstrations of roping and saddling.
“Headed that way now,” he said. “Just thought I’d say hi first.” He turned to blend into the crowd but only got a few vendors away before he stopped, exchanged greetings with an elderly woman and leaned down to pick up something off the table. Then he pivoted and retraced his steps to Lorelei.
He crooked his finger at her with a grin. “C’mere.” He leaned across the table, and she met him halfway. He dropped two strands of bright green shamrock-bead necklaces over her head, letting his hands slide down over her. His breath was warm against her ear as he murmured, “There. Now you’re safe.”
Interesting word choice. Lorelei had always associated “safe” with security and seat belts and comfy socks—not a spike of adrenaline at the feeling of a man’s touch and the giddy uncertainty of whether he might kiss her again.
As he walked away, she tried not to appear overtly fascinated with his jeans. But her admiration was echoed in a hearty sigh behind her.
“Mmm, that man. You are a lucky lady,” Tess said.
Lorelei turned to smile at the redhead. “Hey, Tess.”
The woman shrugged a large macramé purse off her shoulder and set it under the table. She was wearing a white tennis skirt with a dark green polo and had accessorized the outfit with green polka-dotted suspenders and lime-colored canvas shoes. She looked like the peppy head cheerleader for Leprechaun U.
“Very cute,” Lorelei said.
“Thanks. I had considered just wearing a green leotard and tights under a sandwich board that said, ‘Kiss Me, I’m Irish,’ but thought that might be a touch desperate.” She plopped into the other folding chair. “If I weren’t so eternally grateful to you for helping me understand geometry proofs, I might have to hate you. I’ve been depressingly single for the past six months and, in a single week back, you snagged the interest of Sam Travis.” She grabbed one of the B-and-B brochures off the table and fanned herself dramatically.
Lorelei looked away, nibbling on her bottom lip. It was one thing to act as Sam’s human shield where Barbara was concerned, but Lorelei was usually honest to a fault. Painfully blunt, she’d been called. Letting Tess, who’d been so genuinely kind to her, believe something untrue discomfited her.
“There’s not anything between me and Sam, not really. It’s just a matter of close quarters while we’re both staying at the inn.”
“Y’all may not be picking out china patterns, but he was interested enough to kiss you in front of everyone over at the Star the other night. That’s further than most women around here have gotten with him.” Tess’s brown eyes twinkled. “And trust me, plenty have tried.”
Lorelei laughed. “That I can believe. So he really hasn’t dated much?”
“A woman here or there about a year ago, but nothing that ever lasted past a few dates, far as I know. Since he doesn’t live here full-time, I can’t say he doesn’t have a steady girl somewhere, but if that were the case, he would have said so. He’s turned Barbara Biggins away more than once. Hell, if I were him, I might have lied about having a girlfriend in parts unknown just to throw Barbara off the scent.”
Lorelei sat forward, elbows on her knees, and lowered her voice to a confidential whisper. “That’s why he kissed me—to con Barbara into thinking we were together.”
“Really? Outstanding.” Tess rubbed her hands together. “Wish
I could have seen her face. She was the quintessential mean girl back in school and has not improved with age. Still, I’m kind of bummed about you and Sam. Rather, the fact that there is no you and Sam.”
“Bummed? Two minutes ago you were acting jealous and implied my being with him was reason enough to hate me.”
“True. But the two of you would make a very cute couple.”
“We’d make a very temporary couple,” Lorelei corrected. “As you said, Sam doesn’t make his home here. Neither do I. He’s a good-looking guy—”
“And a good kisser?” Tess prompted. “Tell me he’s as good as he seems like he’d be.”
Better. “People don’t have relationships based on that.” Not successful ones, anyway.
“Maybe not relationships. But people have had flings based on less,” Tess said matter-of-factly.
Lorelei choked back a laugh. “I’m not the flinging type.”
No, she was apparently the solitary type. This friendly bantering with Tess heightened her awareness of how few people she’d spoken to from Philadelphia in the past few days. The office receptionist had emailed condolences, on behalf of the entire staff, and Lorelei had talked to Celia a number of times—until the woman had started dodging Lorelei’s micromanaging phone calls.
She’d been here over a week. Weren’t there people who were worried about her, people she should be missing more? Lorelei sometimes went jogging with one of her neighbors, and the woman had texted her that morning to say she’d just achieved her personal best for a 5K. When they did their cool-down laps, they had no trouble making small talk, but it wasn’t as if Lorelei had thought of calling the woman when she was upset over picking up Wanda’s ashes. Rick left a voice mail that he’d been given tickets to a sold-out show and to let him know ASAP whether she’d be home by the date of the performance—otherwise, he’d find someone else to take.
The closest thing she had to a romantic relationship boiled down to first right of refusal of theater tickets? She couldn’t work up any rancor over it, though. It wasn’t as if she’d been pining for Rick. With an inward sigh, she realized that when she got back to Philly, she should break the habit of doing things with him. Their convenient friendship was never going to develop into anything deeper. What if their constant partnering at events prevented them from meeting potential lovers?
Before now, Lorelei hadn’t been seeking more intimacy in her life. Yet a burgeoning sense of longing was beginning to take shape. As devoted as she was to her job, work wasn’t everything. It might be nice to have a man in her life who listened to her talk about her day, who made her laugh, who had broad shoulders she could lean on, were she ever so inclined. A man whose kisses make me dizzy.
She was grateful for the distraction when several tourists came by the table, expressing their regret that they’d never been able to stay at the B and B, which they thought had a “cool theme.” They asked her about some of the superstitions in the pamphlet and Tess joined in with some of the folklore tidibts she’d heard growing up. The women from the jewelry table came over to snag a couple of the miniature bags of potpourri, followed by a man who introduced himself as an official photographer for the event and asked Lorelei to smile for the camera. As Tess excused herself to organize a line of preschool-age tap dancers, a proprietor from one of the inns across town came over to say how glad she was Lorelei had decided to include the Haunted Hill Country booth one last time.
“It’s like Wanda is here with us, saying goodbye,” the woman said affectionately.
Lorelei had spent what felt like a solid two hours talking to people. It wasn’t until she hit a lull and had a moment to herself that the surrounding scents really penetrated her conscious mind. Lunchtime was approaching, and the food vendors were doing a brisk business. She breathed in the buttery ears of corn, the smoky fragrance of giant roasted turkey legs, the nearly eye-watering sharpness of hot peppers and the nutty malt aroma of beer being poured into souvenir steins. Her stomach gurgled.
That’s it. The booth is officially closed for lunch. She made sure the stacks of paper were weighted down with some of Wanda’s topaz crystals and small chakra stones and left the fortune cookies and incense out where people could help themselves. Then she hoisted her purse and texted Tess to see if the woman wanted to meet up in one of the food pavilions.
Now that she’d realized how hungry she was, Lorelei didn’t know where to start. Booths stretched across the entire length of Main Street. She grinned, suddenly very grateful that the festival spanned a week. As much as she looked forward to tomorrow’s chili cook-off, for now, she decided she was in the mood for German cuisine. After piling a plate with brats, potato salad and dilled cucumbers, she got a message from Tess saying We have a table, saved you a seat.
Sure enough, as soon as Lorelei entered the designated pavilion, she saw Ava standing and waving. Also present were Ava’s husband, Clinton, a young woman with hair so pale it was almost white, Tess, Sam and another man in a cowboy hat. Once she was closer, she took in details of the other man’s outfit, from the feathers in the band of his hat to the longhorn skull pattern on his colorful shirt to his bolo tie and a gold belt buckle that probably weighed more than Oberon. He shouldn’t sit next to Sam, she thought almost pityingly. The man looked like some demented cliché of a “Texas cowboy” while Sam was emphatically, quietly, the real thing.
Sam stood and pulled out the chair between him and Tess.
“Thank you.” It occurred to Lorelei that she was going to get spoiled here and would need to remember how to open her own doors and scoot back her own chairs when she left.
“Lorelei, this is my niece, Emily Hirsch,” Ava said, introducing a pretty woman with a too-solemn expression. Her stick-straight platinum hair was held off her face by a wide red band, and her high cheekbones were better defined than words in a dictionary.
“Nice to meet you,” Lorelei said, her imagination preoccupied with the idea of this woman and Sam. Did Emily seem perhaps a bit too frail and ethereal for him, a man who worked with his hands and tromped through mud and rain with no umbrella?
“We’ve been meaning to come by your booth all morning,” Ava said apologetically. “We just haven’t made it that far yet.”
“Aunt Ava must know everyone in town,” Emily said, sounding awed. “She can’t go three feet without someone stopping us to hug her or ask her opinion on something.”
“If you two get a chance, stop by after lunch,” Lorelei invited them. “You can tell me any ghost anecdotes you know. I’m tired of repeating the same three over and over.”
Ava shook her head. “Have you asked Sam for help? He’s the tour guide for the ‘haunted’ trail ride, for pete’s sake. You should see him spellbind the tourists with stories.”
Lorelei shot him a sidelong glance. When he was in one of his reticent moods, it was impossible to picture him as an engaging storyteller. But this morning, when he’d teased her about wearing the wrong color, his face had been so expressive, a pure joy to watch. And when he’d brought her that flashlight during the inn’s power outage, his voice had been husky enough to make her shiver. There would be worse ways to spend an evening than sidled up to a campfire listening to that voice.
Ava had turned to Sam, her cheerful tone bordering on manic energy. “Emily here is a storyteller, too! She volunteers twice a month at a library, working with kids. I just know you’ll make a great mother someday,” Ava told her niece warmly.
Lorelei almost winced at the uncomfortable expression on Emily’s face. The paralegal was squirming in her chair, obviously wishing her aunt would stop her matchmaking attempts—or at least be more subtle about them. For his part, Sam had hunkered down over his plate, attacking his food with a single-minded ruthlessness, as if eating would give him a socially acceptable excuse for ignoring conversation altogether.
In an a
ttempt to dispel the awkwardness, Lorelei interrupted Ava’s rhapsodies by turning to the man with the belt buckle. “I’m sorry, but I don’t think we’ve met.”
“Dickie Gebhart at your service, ma’am. I manage one of the clothing stores here in town.”
“One of the Western wear emporiums?” she asked.
His smile flashed white beneath his dark mustache. “What gave it away?”
“Speaking of clothes—” Ava turned to her niece “—you have to go shopping with me while you’re in town. Emily has such an eye for color and detail. Why, when Clinton and I decided a couple of years ago to redecorate, Emily practically designed the new living room for us. Didn’t she, Clinton?”
“Uh-huh.” Clinton dutifully nodded his gray head without ever looking up from his spaetzle.
Lorelei resisted the urge to smack her forehead with her palm. Ava was a very dear woman—looking back, Lorelei wasn’t sure how she would have survived this week without her—but as a Cupid, she lacked finesse. After Tess gave an humorous recap of one of the morning’s dances, Ava launched into a memory of one of Emily’s recitals, her proud tone suggesting that Emily could have been a prima ballerina if she hadn’t chosen to be a paralegal instead. Ava didn’t seem to notice that her niece was looking at her as if she were off her meds.
“Aunt Ava, I only took dance for six months. Because Mom made me. I was horrible at it, hated every minute. Two left feet,” the woman confided across the table to Tess.
This news inordinately cheered Lorelei. Sam was an excellent dancer. It seemed that Ava might be grasping at straws in thinking Emily and Sam were compatible.
While they were clearing the table at the end of the meal, Sam remarked on Lorelei’s mood. “What’s got you so happy?” he asked as they carried their trays to a nearby trash bin. “You’re whistling.”
“Was I? Guess I’ve just had a lot of fun today.” That was true. She’d enjoyed it more than she could have predicted. Even Ava being a little bit kooky had a certain rightness to it, reminding Lorelei of her eccentric mother. “I miss Mom.”
Claimed by a Cowboy Page 13
