Stacey Joy Netzel Boxed Set (5 page)

“The only thing I can’t figure is why would
the bank’s owner rob himself?”

“It happened at the height of the gold rush.
Maybe the lure of all that gold was too much for Van Buren to
resist,” she speculated as she toweled her still dripping hair. “I
mean, why wait for the interest to compound when a fortune is
sitting right there in front of you.”

John pursed his lips. “So you think they
were all in on it?”

“Historically, it wasn’t uncommon for former
outlaws to become small town sheriffs, so that’s not such a
stretch.”

“He never did return,” John agreed.

“Now Lorena, I’m not too sure about her.
Maybe she was a pawn for her father and the sheriff.” Or maybe
she’d betrayed Andrew like everyone else. He hadn’t excluded her
from his bitterness.

“And Andrew, being newer to the town, was
the perfect fall guy,” John finished.

“Exactly.” Melanie wrapped her hands round
the warm mug of cappuccino and peered through the storm toward the
river. “Dark and dangerous looking, and successful enough that I
bet a lot of people envied him. They would’ve had no problem
believing the worst without even questioning what really happened.
Especially when Jacob Van Bueren told his story.”

“Valid points, all of them.” John grinned.
“Seeing as how I enjoy research almost as much as I love history, I
do believe I’ll have to look into this further. See if I can
discover what Van Buren did when he left back in 1860. I’d love to
figure out the truth once and for all.”

As would she. Only she’d go directly to the
source.

****

Everything was changing. Had been for the
past couple months, he finally acknowledged as he stood where it
had all began. On the bridge, in the rain,
soaking wet
.

As it had been on that fateful day when he’d
been shot, the water was cold, saturating his shirt, running down
his neck, chasing a chill down his spine before drenching his
trousers. Not that he cared, because
damn
, amazing didn’t
even begin to describe the feeling as he had stood there with the
most beautiful woman he’d ever known.

He couldn’t believe he’d felt Melanie’s
touch. Actually
felt
the jolt as her hand passed through his
arm. It hurt like hell and was the most wonderful thing he had
experienced over the past one hundred and whatever years.

See? Even that had changed. He couldn’t
remember exactly how long he’d been dead anymore. Things were
muddled in his mind, mixed with increasing memories of a more
modern time. Familiar, non-threatening memories. He wasn’t sure
what events he’d observed over the years as a ghost and what
experiences were snippets of a life he couldn’t have lived yet
still felt as much a part of him as his soul.

About the only thing crystal clear was
Melanie.

****

The white legal pad landed next to the
keyboard with a plop. The number two pencil bounced twice before
rolling to the edge, diagonal to the paper’s straight edge. Drew
Nelson reclined in his chair and ran his hands through his short
hair before resting his head back against his interlaced
fingers.

Writing longhand was old school, but
something about the soft rasp of lead across paper spoke to him on
a visceral level. Made him feel like he’d been destined to be a
part of this business. With his most recent editorial now ready to
be typed into the computer for the Friday edition, satisfaction
offered a brief respite to the tension knotting his shoulders.

Returning to Lindeman’s Crossing had
definitely felt like coming home, but not long after arriving in
town, he’d started to feel a bit unsettled. As if he had something
to prove but no idea exactly
what
.

More recently, he’d experienced flash-photo
visions of weird things. Gold in the river. Ink stained hands.
Deceitful smile of a dark-haired beauty. His dreams had become
stranger than usual, not to mention the times he suspected someone
was watching him. Not in a malevolent way, but just a sense that
there was a nearby presence interested in
him
. He never saw
anyone, yet when walking along the street to get a cup of coffee,
he’d feel the hair on the back of his neck prickle.

And then there was that episode outside the
office. He’d swear on his mother’s grave he saw a shadow of a man
on the sidewalk even when no one was around and the position of the
sun made the notion impossible.

One blink and it’d been gone. Despite trying
to convince himself his imagination had been working overtime, he
couldn’t forget that image. Even now, he found himself glancing
toward the window.

No sun today. Instead, thunder rumbled
overhead, heralding the arrival of the weather man’s predicted
storms. With a sigh, he sat forward in his chair and brought his
arms down from behind his head.

A reach for the pencil was arrested by a
shot of pain through the muscles in his left forearm. The sting
subsided, leaving a tingle radiating through his entire arm.

“
Damn
,” he muttered, wondering if
he’d pinched a nerve somehow.

A boom of thunder rattled the window panes
behind him and he spun in his seat as see his assistant editor
burst in from the sidewalk.

“Oh my God, I just made it,” Lisa exclaimed
in a breathless rush. A few droplets of water scattered into the
air as she shook her long blond hair away from her face.

Rain pelted the pavement outside and drummed
on the hoods of the parked cars until the closing door muted the
sounds. Rubbing at the remaining discomfort in his arm with a
grimace, Drew transferred his gaze from the torrent of rain outside
to the two cups of coffee in Lisa’s hands. Already the
mouth-watering aroma had reached his nose.

“What are you doing here?”

“Jake took the kids to a baseball game in
Denver, so I’ve got most of the day to myself.”

“And you came to work? You feeling
okay?”

“I’m only staying for a minute.” She set one
of the to-go cups on his desk. Her gaze dropped to his hand.
“What’s the matter with your arm?”

Out of nowhere, the image of a beautiful
smile and wide green eyes blindsided him. He blinked, clenched his
jaw, and gave his head a tight shake.

“Drew?”

“Huh? Oh, nothing.” He reached for the
coffee and toasted her with a forced smile, doing his best not to
crumple the cup between his fingers. “Thanks. I’ll get the java
tomorrow.”

“Tall white chocolate mocha, please.”

He laughed and took a drink of his black
brew in hopes of regaining his equilibrium.

“Listen, I stopped by to get your opinion on
something. Olivia gave me these pictures at church this morning and
asked if we’d do a piece about the cemetery walking tour the
historical society does each month.”

She tossed a few eight by ten black and
white photos on his desk and Drew pulled them closer. He spotted
his dad right away, and Mr. Edwards next to Olivia’s husband George
as they stood beneath the massive red oak tree that shaded the
grounds. Experience told him they were at the end of the tour, near
Andrew Lindeman’s gravesite.

An unexpected shiver shimmied along his
spine. He experienced a flash of a woman’s face frozen in a scream.
He was under water. At a funeral. Then Lisa’s voice.

“Everyone on the tour enjoyed the history.
Apparently it sparked a lively discussion on the bus ride back to
the senior center and she thinks an in-depth town history article
would be great for the paper. I think it’d be fun to do some
research, so are you okay if I run with this?”

This had to stop. It was freaking the hell
out of him. He flipped the top picture over and immediately his
heart slammed into his ribs. Pulling the second photo closer, he
stared at the image of a young woman kneeling in front of the black
granite tombstone. Her fingers seemed to caress the stone, the old
one sunk into the earth, almost as if tracing the letters of the
dead man’s name.

Melanie
.

Chest tight, barely able to breathe, he felt
his pulse thrum through his veins.

“Drew?”

Lisa’s finger snap in front of his face
jerked his attention from the picture before him. He sat up
straighter. “Sorry, what?”

“Do you care if I write the piece?”

Swallowing hard, he tried for a nonchalant
shrug. “Sure, go ahead.”

“Awesome. I’m going to stop by the museum on
my way home so I can get started.”

When she reached for the photos, he clutched
his coffee in one hand and fisted his other on his thigh to keep
from snatching them back.

After she snagged an umbrella from the door
and left as quickly as she’d arrived, Drew stared out the window in
dumbfounded silence. He had no clue where the name came from, it
had simply appeared in his mind.

But he’d never met the woman. Never even
seen her before. How could he know her name?

Melanie drove to work on Monday wishing she
had some of that gold from back in 1859. After the dream she had
last night, she wanted nothing more than to drive straight to the
cemetery to see Andrew. If she weren’t only one month into her new
job, she’d call in sick and do just that.

But life went on and Andrew was a ghost.
Unless he’d buried his gold instead of banking it, he couldn’t help
her pay the mortgage on the little cottage.

In the middle of arguing her current case in
front of the Colorado District Court, an idea struck her. She would
tell Andrew’s side of the story. They’d write a book and she’d
publish it. Between herself, Andrew and John, they’d document the
complete, accurate facts and then the whole world would know the
truth of what really happened in Lindeman’s Crossing.

“Ms. Sparks? Do you wish to redirect?”

Melanie cast a discreet glance at her
associate and caught the quick shake of his head. She cleared her
throat and looked at the judge. “No, thank you, Your Honor.”

“Then you may call your next witness.”

She straightened in her seat and focused on
her job, not allowing her mind to return to Andrew until the drive
home. Court ran long and traffic was awful. By the time she reached
Lindeman’s Crossing she was so anxious to speak with him she didn’t
even bother to stop at home and change out of her espresso-colored
suit and black heels.

Upon entering the cemetery, Melanie saw she
wasn’t alone. Near a gravesite not far from Andrew’s, a man and
three children sat on a bench. Melanie heard the youngest child
talking, but couldn’t make out the little boy’s words. His tone,
however, told her they shared happy memories, not sad. She lifted
her hand and smiled as she passed.

Today she didn’t hesitate to reach out to
the tombstone resting in the shade of the oak tree. Warmth greeted
her touch. Melanie straightened. He was here; she knew it. Not only
from the stone; his presence tingled in every cell of her being.
She turned around to find him leaning against a neighboring stone,
arms folded casually over his chest. A hint of a smile played about
his lips.

“Summoning me, Melanie?”

Heat flooded her cheeks, but she smiled in
return. “It’s warm.”

He straightened, staring at the stone with a
perplexed frown. “It shouldn’t be. It’s always shaded.”

“It’s you.” She watched him stride to the
tombstone. When his hand rested on it, she asked, “Do you feel
it?”

“I haven’t felt anything until yesterday in
the rain.”

“And now?”

“It’s warm,” he confirmed. His piercing gaze
rose to hers and held. He moved closer. “It’s you. Nothing’s been
the same since the day you came.”

“Is this a good thing?” She meant to tease,
but her voice betrayed her with its seriousness.

“A very good thing,” he replied, just as
serious. “I wouldn’t dare to complain, however, I am curious as to
why.”

She looked at the bench to see one of the
children watching her and lowered her voice. “I don’t know about
the tombstone being warm, but as for the rest, I think there may be
a reason.”

“One you will share, I trust?”

“Of course, but first, follow me.” She
started toward the opposite side of the large oak. “I don’t want
that family over there thinking I’m a lunatic talking to
myself.”

“You make a beautiful lunatic.”

She laughed softly even as her heart
thudded. Looking back over her shoulder, she teased, “Flattery
won’t get you anywhere, Mr. Lindeman. Especially you.”

His smile lit up those amazing gray eyes of
his. “You wound me. I never say anything I don’t mean,
Melanie.”

She exaggerated her wounded gasp. “You think
I’m a lunatic?”

“You are the one talking to a ghost.”

“You’re impossible.”

“You’re beautiful.”

“Thank you.” She acquiesced with a slight
nod, smiling as she kicked off her heels and sat in the grass with
her legs curled beneath her.

He lowered himself beside her. “What
happened yesterday?

When their eyes met, it took a second for
her to register the switch from what had felt like flirting to his
intense question.

“How did you know how cold the water
was—what it took to push the girl to safety?”

Vanessa
. She took a deep breath and
held his gaze. “I dreamt the entire thing. I’d even go so far as to
say I lived it, it was that real. And it was awful. I’m so sorry,
Andrew. You didn’t deserve what they did to you.”

His jaw clenched. He looked…scared. “How do
you know that?”

With one palm flattened over her heart, she
said, “I feel it right here.”

She started to reach out to him, but he
jerked away, his expression wary.

“And what about Van Buren’s ‘unarguable
testimony’?”

Melanie swallowed her hurt, knowing he’d
been too wounded by condemnation to trust that someone could
believe in him on faith alone. “I heard what you said the other day
when John told the story.”