The Ghost and The Graveyard (The Monk's Hill Witch) (5 page)

“No.” With his transparency, his green eyes hovered like two drops of rain under his lashes. “One day, I was just here. Before that, I don’t know.”

“But Prudence has a name.”

“Yes, well, she lived here, so I think she’s more attached somehow to this reality.”

The story my father told me about the house came back to me all at once. “Holy crow! That’s right. She’s Prudence Clearwater. She’s why I’m here. She left this house to my dad, Robert Knight, when she died. He hasn’t been able to sell it since her death.”

“Well, that would explain why she’s so upset. When you weren’t Robert, she thought you were stealing her house.”

“Is she going to hurt me if I don’t leave? Are you?”

“I’m not going to hurt you.” The crooked smile was back. “And I’ll talk to Prudence. I think, once she knows you’re Robert’s daughter, she may think differently about you. Your name is Grateful?”

“Yes.” Wait, how did he know my name? “You’ve been watching me?” I accused.

“I have to admit I have. Well, any time that bouquet isn’t next to your head. That thing stinks. I don’t suppose I could ask you to get rid of it.”

“Done. I’m not a big fan. It was a gift.”

“From the caretaker?”

“Yeah. Wait, you don’t know your own name but you know who the caretaker is?”

“I was watching, remember?”

“Oh.
Oh
!” My face burned. He’d seen how I’d acted with Rick my first night here. “That was private,” I chided in a hushed tone.

The ghost didn’t apologize, but he flickered in the middle. His shoulders hunched forward. “I’m tired, Grateful. Can we continue this another time?”

“Sure,” I said. How did ghosts rest?

“I’ll come to you again tonight, after dark.”

“But what do I call you if you don’t have a name?”

“Why don’t you come up with one for me? Just for practicality, until I remember my own.” He faded to the viscosity of a watermark, nothing more than an outline.

“Okay,” I said. “I guess I’ll see you tonight.”

For a moment his green eyes glowed brighter. “It’s a date.” He winked and then he was gone. Nothing remained but a wisp of mist that smelled faintly of cinnamon.

I placed both hands firmly on the counter. Did I just make a date with a ghost?

Dates

M
y day off was getting interesting. Here’s what I’d learned. I was not crazy. My house was haunted, but one of the ghosts was attractive and pleasant. He could make coffee. And the last owner of this house was still here, despite being dead.

I had some things to do. First, I needed to drink a cup of ghost-made coffee. After the night I had, I needed the pick me up. Then a long hot shower was in order. If I stayed in these scrubs much longer, I’d have to consider them a biohazard. And before sundown, I needed to find my ghost a name.

“This day brought to you be the letter “C” for caffeine,” I said, filling my cup. To my surprise, the coffee was perfect. Somehow my ghost had done what no one in my life had ever accomplished. It wasn’t the weak swill of a man who was trying to please me because he assumed that I, as a simple female, enjoyed dark water. It wasn’t the bitter sludge of a man who’d never made himself coffee before and added extra scoops because he wanted to keep me up all night. This was the brew of a man who knew how to make coffee: smooth, rich, and satisfying.

Mmmmmmm
. I closed my eyes and swallowed. There was nothing better than a good cup of Joe in the morning. Maybe, if I asked nicely, he would make it again tomorrow.

By the time I reached the shower, my mood had lifted. For some reason, my meeting with the ghost had given me peace of mind. I wasn’t afraid of the cemetery anymore, since I had a ghost on my side. Who knew a brush with the supernatural could actually calm my nerves?

The bright buoyancy of hope had me whistling to myself. Warm water flowed over my body, rinsing away the tension and worry of the morning. I caught myself thinking about him: those sad green eyes, that sandy brown hair, the stubble that gave him an Indiana Jones sort of sexiness. I guess he didn’t actually have a body, but his image was thin and muscular. If my house had to be haunted, I was glad my ghost looked like he belonged on the cover of
GQ
.

I towel dried my hair and was about to slip my white T-shirt over my bra when I could swear I saw the tiniest light out of the corner of my eye. I turned toward it but it was gone. My cheeks blazed. I sure hoped my ghost was sleeping. It would be embarrassing to think he was watching me shower.

The jeans I pulled on were the kind you wear when you want to be comfortable, broken in with little holes in the knees and the seat. I planned to spend the day unpacking and removing the layer of dust that coated everything in my new home. Just when I’d started working on my hair, the doorbell rang. I jogged down the stairs and checked the window.

It was Rick—hoodoo Rick—in a black cotton button-down shirt, blue jeans, and black boots. Sexy. I wished I had already done my makeup …and owned a Taser. I opened the door.

“I came by to check on you. How are you feeling today?” he said.

I stepped out on the porch, closing the door behind me. “Better.”

“What exactly happened last night? You came to my door screaming and then passed out. I carried you home.”

“Bad dream,” I said. I wasn’t sure how much I should share with Rick after what I saw the night before. He was into some weird stuff. I’m not the judgmental type, but the human skulls were a definite red flag. I mean, where did he get them? They weren’t exactly handing them out at Red Grove Grocery.

“Are you sure it wasn’t something more? Has anything unusual happened since you’ve been here?” He tilted his head toward the house.

I narrowed my eyes. It almost sounded like he was digging for information about my ghost. He’d brought up the possibility of a haunting his first time here. I was suspicious.

“Not at all,” I answered. He looked at me skeptically, so I threw him a curveball. “Well, maybe seeing all that weird stuff in your house.”

“What weird stuff?”

“You know, the candles, the skulls…”

“Grateful, had you been drinking last night?”

“No!”

He stood up and offered me his hand, his long, graceful fingers beckoning me. “Come, come with me.” His gray eyes twinkled beneath thick lashes, the sun glowing behind his head like a halo. Inexplicably, an avalanche of attraction rumbled down my spinal cord. Deep inside my muscles clenched, compelling me to accept his grasp. I allowed him to lead me down the porch steps, my stomach fluttering the whole way. My senses were on overload. A slight breeze was a taunting caress.

Surprised at the sensation the touch produced, I didn’t immediately withdraw when we reached the bottom of the steps. My fingers were at home in his, as if we’d been holding hands for decades instead of days. We walked hand in hand all the way to his little stone cottage across the bridge.

The delicate tinkling of wind chimes welcomed us. Dozens of them dangled from the ceiling of the little cedar porch. Their sound reached me about the same time as the smell of the wild herbs growing around his home. Strange, I hadn’t noticed either last night. I must have been hysterical.

Rick opened the door to his place and I followed him inside. The cottage was sparsely decorated. But what did I expect? I didn’t figure that the job of cemetery caretaker was as lucrative as some others. There was a couch with a crocheted blanket, the kind grandmas everywhere made for their grandkids and a dusty television that looked like it belonged in a museum. A wood stump held up a lamp in the shape of a lantern. On the wall, across from the door there was a crucifix—one small gold crucifix. No skulls, no candles, no devilish pictures. Had I created it all in my mind?

My head hurt again. I rubbed circles over my temples. In a heartbeat, Rick’s hands were rubbing my shoulders.

“Can I get you some water?” he whispered into my ear.

“Yes, please. No. Coffee. Do you have coffee?”

“Just made a pot.” He walked toward the tiny kitchen that was separated from the main room by a counter. It seemed only big enough for one, so I stayed where I was.

“I’m sorry, Rick. I don’t know what happened last night.”

“You were frightened. Maybe you were still half asleep. “

“I was completely terrified.”

“Well, that explains it. You passed out at my door. Your nightmare must’ve continued when you lost consciousness.”

That made sense, but something inside of me wouldn’t let it go. The ghost was real and this was too. I walked toward the only door to the rear of the house and pushed it open, sure there would be skulls and candles piled behind the wood. What I found was a king-sized bed, black silk sheets, and gauzy white window coverings that filtered the light into a soft glow. Was there anything about this guy that didn’t scream sexy?

As if he could hear my thoughts, a mug of coffee appeared in front of me. Boy, was he smooth; I never even heard him leave the kitchen. He was close, so close his chest brushed my back. Wrapped around me with the coffee, his inner arm created a warm tingle where it touched my outer shoulder.

He inhaled deeply and whispered into my ear, “Is there something you want to see in my bedroom?”

The caress of his breath on my neck made me shiver. I closed my eyes, and everything went quiet but the rhythm of my breath and the
lub-dub
of my heart. Everything in me wanted to turn, to move those last two inches and press my lips against this stranger’s. With a shake of my head, I swallowed hard and took a step away.

“No.”
Yes, you liar
! I turned my back to the bed and faced him.

The corners of his mouth sagged and his head jerked backward.

I lifted the mug from his hand. The sweep of his fingers against mine in the process made my mouth go dry. “I mean, I hardly know you,” I blurted.

“It didn’t bother you the night before last,
mi cielo
.”

I couldn’t argue with the facts. I’d practically jumped him on my couch less than forty-eight hours ago, and now I was playing coy. “I don’t usually…” I sighed. “I just think we shouldn’t rush into anything. It wouldn’t be right.”

“So get to know me. Have lunch with me today. I’ll give you that tour of the cemetery I promised you, and then we can have a picnic lunch on Monk’s Hill.”

“Where’s Monk’s Hill?”

“Come with me this afternoon and I’ll show you.”

Our eyes locked. His were gray, not black. What had happened last night? What had I seen? “Deal,” I said, my insides quivering at the thought.

“Meet back here at noon?”

“Sure. Sounds fun,” I said.

The corner of his mouth lifted into a lopsided grin, and something inside of me melted. I wanted to run my fingers over the cotton of his shirt and feel the contrast between the soft material and the hard muscles underneath. “It’s a date.”

I nodded, hyperaware that it was the second time I’d heard those words today.

“You haven’t tried your coffee,” he said, stepping closer.

I took a deep swig. The coffee itself was slightly bitter, but he’d added my favorite accouterments. “How did you know?” I asked.

“Know what?”

“This is exactly how I take my coffee—cream and sugar with a dash of cinnamon.”

“Lucky, I guess. That’s how I take mine too.”

He was so close to me now, the only thing that kept us from touching was the coffee mug. It radiated a circle of heat that warmed my chest but had nothing to do with the burn working its way down my body under his intense stare. I swallowed another gulp and forced myself to blink to break the connection.

“Can I borrow this mug?” I asked. “I should probably get home. I haven’t even unpacked yet.”

“Of course. I’ll get it back from you later.”

“Great. I’ll see you then.” I backed toward the door.

“Oh, and Grateful,” he said with a smile that made my heart skip a beat. “Wear your walking shoes.”

Now, I am not the type of girl who usually dates two men at once, but since the ghost was dead, I didn’t think he counted as a real date. I mean, he didn’t have a body. I was sure this situation wasn’t covered in
Cosmo’s
dating guide. So I felt no guilt whatsoever as I walked out of Rick’s door.

I decided I’d keep an open mind about both dates—one with the ghost and one with the graveyard.

I Take The Tour