MacGowan's Ghost (6 page)

“Please help us,” the friar said. “We could not stand it without the lads.”

“Aye, Himself knows not what he's doing,” said Lord Killigrew. “He's grief-ridden, and ever since—”

“Shush now, Baden,” Mademoiselle Bedeau warned. “ 'Tisn't our place.”

Allie glanced at the captain. By the look on his face, he knew something. Something
she
needed to know.

And yet somehow she could tell that the conversation needed to be dropped.
For now
.

The subtle nod the captain gave her confirmed it. She'd have to find out in private just exactly what it was that the mademoiselle thought wasn't
their place
to speak about. In front of Jake wasn't the right time.

“Can't you do
something
?” Jake said once more. “Please?”

Five ghostly faces pleaded with her. Even Dauber carried the same expression.

How could she refuse?

Besides, they knew the MacGowans much better than she did. They'd been here for centuries. They'd watched him grow from a baby to the man he was now.

Something was definitely up, and Allie was determined to find out what that thing was.
Eventually
.

She stood, scooted out of her chair, and paced around the expecting souls. All from different centuries. All with one obvious common denominator.

They loved Gabe and Jake MacGowan and didn't want them to leave.

Before she said anything at all, she glanced at Justin Catesby. A slow smile spread across his handsome face. Damn him, he
knew
her answer.

“Stop looking so smug, Catesby.”

The rogue threw back his head and laughed.

“So you'll help us, then?” Friar Digby asked, rubbing his hands together and smiling. “Truly?”

Allie massaged the back of her neck and blew out a gusty sigh. “I hope I don't regret this. Part of me feels like I'm crossing the line into business that's not my own. But . . . yeah.” She smiled at little Jake. “I'll help.”

Before she knew it, the kid launched out of his chair, ran straight to her, and threw his arms around her waist. With his head to her belly, he muttered, “I'll never forget this, lady!”

She smoothed the cowlick at his forehead down with her fingers, but it sprang right back up. Allie smiled. “I'm sure I won't, either. Now come on. Let's get you back to bed before your dad wakes up and finds you gone. Then we'll both be dead meat.” She glanced at the Odin's lot. “This little get-together isn't over yet. If you want my help I'll need a complete history of your life—and unlife—from each and every one of you. Fair enough?”

Five “ayes” met her ears.

As Allie and Jake, with Dauber right behind them, started up the stairs, she looked over her shoulder. All five Odin's Thumb souls stared after her. Grinning.

One more than the others.

Captain Catesby gave her a knowing nod and a wide smile.

Allie prayed she'd just made the right decision.

After all, what did she have to lose but airfare and a few bucks?

Chapter 5

J
ust as Allie and Jake reached the room, the door flung open and Gabe stood there, wearing nothing more than a pair of faded jeans and a frown.
Scowling
.

Allie noticed Dauber had disappeared.

Gabe glanced down at his son and inclined his head. “Go to bed, lad.”

Jake scurried into the room.

In the dimmed corridor lamplight, Allie met Gabe's hard gaze—a difficult task, truth be told, when the man had a six-pack of chiseled abs bared to the world. She cleared her throat. “Sorry. We must have woken him up. I was just on my way to bed—”

In the shadows, his rugged face took on a sharp angle. “That ghostly lot of busybodies has him taking on crazy notions of staying here. Dunna undo everything I've worked for to have Jake see my reasons for leaving Sealladh na Mara, Ms. Morgan. I beg that of you.”

He didn't give Allie a chance to answer. He glanced away and gently closed the door.

She stared at that wooden door for a few scant seconds, then turned and headed to her room. Only in the Highlands for less than twenty-four hours and her host/employer was already ticked off at her.

Probably because she knew she was conspiring to sneak around behind his back and aid little Jake and the gang to prevent Odin's Thumb from being sold.

Somehow, as wrong as it seemed in logic, in her
heart
, Allie felt helping them was the right thing to do.

Just as she reached the landing to climb one floor up to her own lodgings, a hand encircled her arm. When she turned, Gabe stood one step below.

“I didna mean to snap at you.” He dropped his hand and rubbed the back of his neck in that sexy way guys do. “Jake—he makes me dim-witted, that boy.” He looked at her, and in the shadows of the corridor the light from a wall lamp turned his eyes glassy. He pushed his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “I'm, er, sorry, then. I suppose.”

Allie's gaze dropped. Barefooted, bare-chested, and dead sexy? What?
What
on earth was she to say to that?

With a wide smile, she shrugged. “No problem at all. He's a great kid.”

Just then she glimpsed a small figure slink back into the shadows, behind Gabe.

A sneaky, covert little great kid, rather.

“Right, then. Well, good night, Ms. Morgan.”

Allie looked down at him. His gaze had lowered a fraction, to her mouth, and the sensation of it caused butterflies in her stomach. As soon as Gabe caught himself, he flinched.

The fact that he continued to refer to her as Ms. Morgan amused her. She pretended she hadn't noticed. “See ya in the morning, Mr. MacGowan.”

With that, she turned and headed up the stairs.

She felt Gabe's gaze on her the entire way, but when she reached the landing and turned, he'd gone.

Allie sighed and headed to her room.

She could barely wait to see what tomorrow would bring.

 

Gabe jerked awake and sat up. Sweat covered his brow and his heart pounded hard in his chest. He glanced at the small digital clock on the bedside table. One a.m. It had been less than an hour since he'd fallen asleep.

Another bloody dream. Of
her
.

Rolling out of bed, Gabe crossed the floor to the bathroom. He flipped on the light, turned on the faucet, and splashed cold water on his face. As he rubbed his eyes, his jaw, he looked at himself. A month ago, the dreams had started again. At least, he thought they were dreams. They were so damn real. Christ, what was happening to him?

With a hand towel, he dried his face, laid the cloth across the sink, and turned out the light.

In the living room, he stopped. A streak of moonlight shot through the picture window facing the loch, coating everything in silver. The steady
tick-tick
of the wall clock above the hearth seemed to be only in his head.

Without thought, Gabe moved toward Jake's room. The door was cracked, so with a slight push, he eased it open. The lad lay completely relaxed, flat on his back and out of the covers. Gabe crossed the floor, pulled the duvet from beneath Jake's narrow body, and tucked him in.

“I dunna want to leave, Da,” Jake muttered.

A lump formed in Gabe's throat. He smoothed his son's cowlick down, watched the hair pop right back up, and leaned over to drop a kiss onto the top of his head. “I know, lad. Now go to sleep.”

Gabe turned and eased out of the room.

Instead of going back to bed, he found himself perched on the window seat in the alcove, staring out at the loch. The same silvery beam that bathed his face streaked across the black seawater, catching every ripple, every turn of a wave against the pebbled shore.

The very same sea that took Kait's life.

Now she came to him, whether in sleep or in that gloaming of wakefulness that doesn't quite seem real, she came. She reached for him, but she was not as he remembered. Chunks of hair were missing, as well as an eye, and her skin was pale white, waterlogged, and fish-nibbled . . .

As he scrubbed his eyes to rid himself of the vision, another one replaced it straightaway.

Untamed blond curls, blue eyes, a wide smile with the smallest of dimples to her right cheek. And as he recently noticed at the stairwell, inviting lips that curved just right and would fit against his perfectly . . .

Swearing in Gaelic, Gabe pushed from the window seat and paced. He stared at the ceiling and rubbed the back of his neck with both hands. What the bloody hell was he doing? Having nightmares about one woman, fantasies about another?

Christ, he'd known the lass but for half of a day. Why could he not get her off his mind? 'Twasn't simply because he'd seen her with her jumper over her head. He'd seen breasts before. Loads of them. He hadn't even really seen hers, yet he couldn't bloody get the alluring sight out of his brain. 'Twas something else, as well—something about
her
—and he couldna put a finger on it.

He didna want to, either. He had no room for such in his life. He owed everything he did to his son. He'd taken Jake's mother from him. And he'd spend the rest of his days trying to make up for it—even if it killed him.

Gabe blew out a heavy sigh. Two in the morning and he knew if he tried to sleep, he wouldna. He might as well stay up and occupy his time.

Pulling on the jeans he'd discarded earlier, he slipped on a T-shirt, a long-sleeved shirt over that, and pulled on socks and boots. Quietly, he eased out of the room and made his way to the small workshop off the kitchen. A single bench, a single lamp, and a single wooden chair, along with his chiseling set and several chunks of marble in various sizes and colors, filled the small eight-by-eight chamber. Against the far wall, a long wooden shelf ran the length of the room, a place to set whatever finished thing he'd made. The room had once been a place to cure meat.

It now served as Gabe's escape.

One of his escapes, anyway.

He couldna help but wonder if leaving truly was the answer.

Or if by leaving would he truly be free of his dead wife . . .

Choosing a small chunk of white marble streaked with obsidian, Gabe settled into the chair, pulled the lamp close, picked up a small hammer, chisel, and file, and set to work.

 

As Allie tiptoed down the third-floor steps, all was quiet within Odin's Thumb. No ghosts, no mortals—nothing. Not even a sign of Dauber. Quarter till seven on a Sunday morning, overcast, and she'd bet anything it was colder than a witch's tutu outside.

Once she made it to Odin's front door, Allie buttoned her black wool peacoat, pulled on a striped skully, and stepped outside. The cold, late October wind took her breath away, but the air smelled clean, a bit salty, and with a tinge of something Allie just couldn't seem to put her finger on. She liked it.

Taking a few moments before starting her morning walk, Allie seized her surroundings. Every one of her five senses snapped to life as she became familiar with the small coastal Scottish village.

Above her, the Odin's Thumb sign creaked on iron hinges, swaying softly back and forth with the wind. Quite eerie, actually—the empty street, no noise pollution—only the sound of that creaking sign and the ebb and flow of the sea. The cold coastal air against her skin, the salt of the ocean in her nostrils and on her tongue—all of it felt like a burst of life. How could anyone willingly leave this place?

On somewhat of an incline, Odin's Thumb perched at the top, looking down the single lane of whitewashed buildings that rambled to the sea loch at the bottom. Turning in that direction, Allie began to walk.

The building next to Odin's was the fishmonger, McMillan's. Allie had met him at the pub the night before. Willy. Pretty funny guy. Looking into the storefront window, she found the large slab empty of display fish. She supposed on Sunday, Willy had closed shop. She'd make it a point to come see him when he opened for business on Monday.

As she ambled down past the stores, she discovered all of them closed, save one: the baker. And she'd smelled it long before she reached it. A large picture window with the words BREAD AND PASTRIES painted at the top in red letters displayed loaves of fresh bread and, well, pastries. A smiling woman with brown hair pulled into a ponytail met her gaze through the window and waved her inside. Allie pushed open the door where a bell tinkled her arrival.

“Aye, come on in out of the cold, gel,” the woman, who might have been in her early forties, said in heavy Highland brogue. “Have you had your breakfast yet, then?”

The scent of dough and baked bread made Allie's stomach growl. “Not yet, but I think I'm about to.” She scanned the cases, found a stuffed-to-the-gills meat pie, smiled, and pointed to it. “That looks too good to pass up.”

“Och, you must be MacGowan's American ghost buster. I'm Leona, and I see you've good taste in meaties,” she said. Leona opened the case, and with a sheet of waxy paper, grabbed the meat pie, pushed it into a white paper sack, and handed it to Allie. “Coffee?”

“Definitely.” Allie wondered just how many folks had heard of her arrival. She'd be willing to bet
everyone.
It was a small village. Funny, how Leona didn't seem to think Allie's presence an abnormal thing, not to mention one of her neighbors hiring a
ghost buster.

Leona handed a steaming cup of coffee over the counter. “Condiments are in the corner, just there.”

“Thanks, and I'm Allie,” Allie said. She stepped to the corner and dumped in several spoons of brown sugar and cream.