MacGowan's Ghost (3 page)

“I dunno,” said yet another, “he looks powerfully angry, he does.”

Allie turned, and noticed the fish had disappeared, as had the floating candles and eerie mist. A handful of mischievous-looking spirits stood in a half circle, staring at her. A very much alive young boy stood in their midst. His little auburn brows furrowed together over a creamy complexion.

“Who are you?” the boy asked.

Allie looked each ghost in the eye. A friar. A pair of rather cute English lords. A dashing sea captain. A noblewoman wearing a large powdered wig . . . attached with a chin strap?

The sea captain's mouth quirked into a grin. “We've been waiting for you, lassie.”

The heated look he gave her, from the top of her head to her feet, then slowly back to meet her eyes, left little wonder just what he was thinking. Allie could already tell he was going to be a handful.

“Allison Morgan?”

Allie turned and came face-to-face with the man who'd just chased after the fleeing woman. “Allie,” she said, preferring her nickname. Now, up close, she blinked in surprise. Good-looking? No way. Not even close.
Ruggedly beautiful
fit more closely. Tall, at least six foot two, with close-clipped dark hair, a dusting of scruff on his jaw, green eyes, and generous lips, he was broad-shouldered and . . . utterly breathtaking.

His eyes held hers, intense, studying, evaluating. A muscle flinched in his jaw, and Allie thought she'd never been more intimately weighed in her entire life. Her mouth went dry, and she finally cleared her throat. “Mr. MacGowan?” She smiled and held out her hand.

He glanced behind her briefly, and when she looked, she noticed the ghosts and boy had gone.

Ignoring her hand, the man gave a short nod and grabbed one of her bags. “Aye. And you're early,” he said. Without asking permission, he reached down and grabbed her suitcase. He inclined his head. “This way, Ms. Morgan.” He headed toward the back of the pub. Not once did he turn around to see if she'd followed.

“I could have gotten those,” she said, but he paid no attention and kept walking. Hurrying past a long, polished mahogany bar, complete with the high-backed stools that had moments before lifted and slammed against the wide-planked wooden floors, Allie glimpsed the barely there figure of a bartender wearing suspenders and dark trousers, wiping down the tables with a white cloth. He tipped his soft hat by the bill and grinned, and she returned the smile and shrugged.

When Allie turned, she plowed into the very broad back of Gabe MacGowan. “Oops. Sorry.”

Gabe stared down at her, those green eyes hard and set. He didn't frown, nor did he smile. He remained completely aloof. “Dunna make friends with them. I'm paying you to make them leave.”

Allie met his stare, unhindered by its intensity. Instead of frowning, or telling him to stick it where the sun don't shine, she gave him a wide, friendly smile. “I'll keep that in mind.”

He stared a moment longer, scowled, then turned and headed up the narrow staircase, the old wood creaking with each of his heavy steps.

Allie followed, thinking things could be a lot worse than walking behind Gabe MacGowan's grumpy ole self as he climbed a set of stairs. She wondered why such a gorgeous guy had such a somber, unfriendly personality.

She'd tell him later that the one thing to remember when dealing with the unliving is you can't make them do anything they don't want to. Especially leave.

Allie turned and glanced over her shoulder. The ghosts from before stood at the bottom of the steps. Grinning.

The sea captain, a tall, swarthy guy with sun-streaked brown hair pulled into a queue, and a swashbuckling goatee, gave her a roguish smile and tipped his tricorn hat.

Throwing him a grin, she turned and hurried after Gabe. Allie decided right then and there that the decision to cross the Atlantic to oust a handful of mischievous spirits from their old haunt had been the smartest one she'd ever made.

Getting to know the ghosts of Odin's Thumb would be exciting. But deciphering just what made stuffy ole Gabe MacGowan tick would be something else altogether . . .

Chapter 2

“
T
his place is fantastic. Did you grow up here?” Gabe didn't turn around. “Aye.”

“Great. Then you should have plenty of experiences with the souls residing here. Have they been here long, as well? Oh—better yet, did you grow up with them? I can't wait to hear all about it.”

No doubt
. Giving little more than a grunt of acknowledgment, Gabe continued to the end of the hallway and stopped at the last door. He fished the key from his pocket, stuck it in the lock, turned the knob, and pushed open the door. “Your room, Ms. Morgan.”

“Thank you,” she said. “You can call me Allie.”

Gabe simply inclined his head toward the open door.

As she started to pass, she paused and stared up at him a moment, head cocked and with the sort of mischievous light in her eyes that suggested a thorough feminine once-over, and then turned and stepped into the room.

Gabe followed and set her belongings in the corner. “The toilet's across the hall.”

“Okay.” Walking over to the window facing the loch, Allie Morgan parted the curtain and peered out. She stared a moment, and just as Gabe was about to speak, she said, “This place is truly breathtaking. Why on earth do you want to leave, Mr. MacGowan?” Turning, she leaned against the windowpane and crossed her arms over her chest.

Gabe stuffed his hands into his pockets and studied her. A ridiculous amount of untamed blond hair spilled over her shoulders, and her wide blue eyes didn't show the least bit of intimidation. Elegantly slender, she certainly didn't look like a paranormal investigator.

The photo on her Web site had caught his eye. Pleasant enough, aye. But there was something else, something in her eyes, maybe.

She looked far more fetching in person.

That made him scowl.

He cleared his throat. “No offense, Ms. Morgan, but that's none of your business.” He gave a nod. “Supper's at seven. We'll talk then.”

Just as he turned to go, he noticed one corner of her mouth tip upward in an amused grin. Or a smirk.

Closing the door behind him, Gabe stormed down the corridor, stopped, and turned back. He'd forgotten to give her the bloody key. He reached the door and without much thought, opened it.

Just as Allison Morgan had her sweater pulled over the top of her head.

She froze, arms up, sweater covering her face, a black bra with pink dots her only covering. With each breath, her chest rose and fell.

Gabe's scowl deepened.

“Your key,” he said, and set it down on the mantel.

“Thanks,” Allison Morgan replied, her voice muffled by the heavy wool.

Gabe's gaze lingered for a moment; then he left and shut the door.

He didn't make it to the end of the corridor before abruptly pulling up short. 'Twas either that or walk through the bloody spirit blocking his path.

Gabe met the sea captain's stare but didn't say a word.

Captain Justin Catesby lifted one brow. “Fetching lass, that Ms. Morgan.” He leaned in, his brows pulled close and making a fierce crinkle in the space between his eyes. “Aye?”

Gabe said nothing.

The captain stroked his chin. “I'd watch me steps, were I you, boy. 'Tisn't becoming to take advantage of an unsuspecting maid.”

Gabe stared and almost didn't give the cocky ghost the satisfaction of a reply. 'Twas a sight to behold, for certain, but he hadn't meant to. Quite the opposite, actually. The girl should have locked the bloody door.

The very last thing he wanted or needed to do was engage in anything other than what he'd hired Allison Morgan for. A business transaction. Nothing more.

“So she's who ye hired to oust us, aye?”

Gabe looked Justin in the eye. “Unless you've decided since an hour ago to stop chasin' away the buyers?”

The captain gave a crooked smile.

With a glare and a nod, Gabe stepped round the captain and started down the stairs. He'd screwed up enough of his life—and Jake's. No more. His decision was made.

He really had no other choice.

“Ye canna run away from yer problems, lad,” Catesby called behind him. “They'll just catch up with you.”

Gabe ignored him.

Reaching the bottom of the stairs, Gabe made his way to the kitchen. The usual patrons would be in soon for supper—including the not-so-new one unpacking upstairs. Not only did he have to help prepare the cod and chips, but he had to prepare himself. For
her
.

No doubt the American would talk his bloody ears off.

 

Allie dropped to her knees and pushed the empty suitcase under the bed.

“I take it you had a satisfactory flight?”

“Whoa!” Allie said, jumping hard enough to bonk her head on the wooden bed rail. She sat back on her heels and rubbed the back of her head, glaring at her unexpected friend. “Dauber, how on earth did you get here?”

Dauber scratched a place under his cap and shrugged. “Difficult to say, actually.” He gave her a crooked grin. “Ghosts do what they do for no good reason. I suppose I must have desired it powerfully bad, aye?”

Allie stood. “Yeah, you must have just wished yourself here.” She sat on the bed. “I'm not so sure you'll be well received, though. The owner is quite determined to get rid of his own mischievous spirits, although I haven't gotten to the bottom of why, exactly. I doubt he'll want another addition.”

Dauber perched upon the chest of drawers. “So you've met them, then? The others?”

“Briefly. And in that short amount of time I can tell at least one of them is some kind of naughty.”

Crossing one bony leg over his knee, Dauber met her gaze. “Mischievous spirits you can handle. But what of
him
?”

Allie rose and walked to the tallboy chest she'd placed her clothes in and pulled out a black turtleneck and a clean pair of jeans. “
Him
who?”

“The mortal, love. How difficult will
he
be to manage?”

With a sigh, Allie laid her clean clothes on the bed. “I'm not sure, Daubs. He isn't the friendliest of guys. Grumpy, really, and about the only expression I've seen on his face is a frown.”

Frown or no frown, she purposely left out how
dead sexy
the proprietor of Odin's Thumb was.
Good grief
. The intensity of that green stare unnerved her—although she thought she hid it quite well. Nice, strong jaw, though, and that heavy Scottish brogue, which at times completely puzzled her, was made even more appealing by the deep, smoky pitch—

“Allie?”

She blinked, turned, and grabbed clean panties and a bra from another drawer. Tossing them both on the bed, she glanced over at her nearly transparent friend. “Yes?”

“Tsk-tsk, love. Lost in your thoughts, hmm?”

Allie mock frowned. “Mind your beeswax, pal. I was just thinking about what I might learn tonight.”

The crooked grin on Dauber's face stretched deep across his cheeks. “Indeed.”

“Well,” Allie said with a clap. “I am going to shower and then rest before dinner.” She cocked her head. “What are you going to do? Tell me you're not going to sit in here and watch me sleep.”

Dauber flicked an imaginary bit of something from his sleeve. “Whilst a favorite pastime of mine, indeed, the watching over of you, I think instead I shall wander down to the wharf. Quite an interesting town, so it seems.” He gave a nod and another smile. “Until later, love.”

Dauber faded until he disappeared.

“Bye,” Allie said to herself. She smiled at the space of air her friend had just occupied, scooped up her overnight bag containing shampoo, conditioner, razor, lotion, soap, and other girl stuff, and stepped out into the hallway. She scooted across to the bathroom, anxious to wash the ten hours of airport/airplane germs from her hair and body. Then, she thought, a nice cozy nap before dinner . . .

 

Slowly, Allie cracked open first one eye, then the other. At first foggy, her vision adjusted to the dim, hazy late-afternoon light in the room.

As well as to the small figure standing beside her bed. A young boy. Staring.
Scowling.

Allie blinked, and for a split second the outline of another figure—a woman?—stood directly behind the boy. It quickly vanished.

“Are you here to oust me mates from my home?”

Allie turned on her side and propped her head on the heel of her hand. She studied the boy. Auburn hair, with an adorable cowlick just off-center at the forehead, a creamy complexion, and the widest, bluest pair of eyes she'd ever seen. A half dozen tiny freckles trekked over his nose.

At present, those very blue eyes scrunched into an accusing stare.

“Well, are you?” he said in a strong Highland brogue.

Allie looked him directly in the eye. “I wouldn't think of it.” She smiled, sat up, and stuck out her hand. “My name is Allie.”

The young boy, who looked to be about six or seven, gave her another in-depth inspection, and gripped her hand in a surprisingly strong shake. “Aye. And I'm Jake.” He cocked his head to the side. “Are you going to stay here, then?”

“For a while.” Allie rubbed her jaw. “You're the boy I saw downstairs when I first came in. Do you live here?”

“Aye.” He toed a knot in the wooden floor. “Me mates says you are here to oust them.” He narrowed his eyes. “You're no', are you?”