MacGowan's Ghost (7 page)

“Aye, Justin's told me all about you. Smitten, that one is.”

Allie nearly dropped her pie. “Justin?”

Leona nodded, her ponytail swishing back and forth. “Aye. You've met him, no doubt. That swarthy sea captain?” She snorted. “More like a rogue pirate if ye ask me. Quite the flirt. He told me all about you.”

Allie set her breakfast on the condiments counter, dug in her jeans pocket for a few pounds, and handed them to Leona. “Yes, I've met him. Mr. MacGowan told me the village was sort of a . . . haven for spirits. I guess I'm still just surprised. I'm used to dealing with people who are frightened by ghosts, not friends with them.”

“Aye, the whole Odin's lot is well known in Sealladh na Mara. Have been for as long as I can remember. They go back centuries—our parents' parents' grandparents' played with the lot when they were lads and lassies.” She shrugged. “I suppose having Justin and the others around at every birth, every celebration, from the time we enter the world—it doesn't seem overly strange to us. Like family, they are, more than anything.” She leaned on the counter and met Allie's gaze. “I suppose, for whatever reason, they felt drawn here all those years ago, and didna want to ever leave.”

Allie resisted the urge to shake her head in wonderment. She was used to people
thinking
they were seeing ghosts—and wanting her to get rid of them. But this small village thought of the Odin's spirits as family? New one on her. She rather liked it.

Leona turned to the register, punched in the numbers, the drawer popped out, and she handed Allie the change. “You know, one legend goes the way of a spell. Centuries ago, before the spirits ever showed up, a band of pirates cursed Sealladh na Mara to keep their hidden treasures safe. They figured if the outlying villages feared the ghosties, they'd stay away.” She smiled. “Funny, how no' everyone can see those from the other side. So maybe there's a bit o' truth to that ole legend, aye?” She winked. “You must have a wee bit of Scot's blood runnin' through you, lass, for you to see ghosties the way you do. 'Tis a fine ability, indeed.”

Allie grinned. “Maybe I do.” She held up the meat pie. “Thanks. I'll see you around, Leona.”

“Aye. Why not come round next Saturday? We're having a ceilidh. They're always loads of fun. My husband plays the fiddle.”

The questioning look must have been evident on Allie's face, because Leona grinned. “ 'Tis a dance, love. A party. Quite informal here, I promise you.” She inclined her head toward the wharf. “We'll gather just there at about sixish. Bonfire, music, food, and plenty of dancing.”

Allie smiled. “Thanks. I hope I'm still here.”

Something sparkled in Leona's brown eyes. “I've a feeling you will be, gel. Now shoo. Enjoy your breakfast, and I'll be seeing you.”

With a wave, Allie left Leona to her baking. With her meat pie wrapped tightly in the waxed paper, she sipped her coffee and continued her walk down to the wharf. As she passed the other establishments, one red building stood out amongst the other whitewashed traditionals. It had a single sign that read ROYAL POST. She'd have to remember to stop by and send her mom and sisters a postcard.

At the wharf, several benches lined the walkway to the water. Allie chose one, set her coffee beside her, and opened the meat pie. Flavors of chipped beef, onion, spices, and cheese popped through the flaky pastry shell as she took that first bite. Her eyes closed as she chewed.
Heaven.

The sounds of the sea, the wind against her cheeks, drowned out any approaching noises. Which is why she nearly jumped out of her skin when Gabe's deep brogue interrupted her breakfast.

“I've yet to meet a lass who can eat quite as much as you,” he said, suddenly behind her.

Allie jumped, her mouth full of pie. She finished chewing, swallowed, and nearly choked. “Don't sneak up on me like that!” she said, wheezing. “Is something wrong?”

Gabe walked around and faced her. Leather jacket, jeans, boots, and a black skully made up his attire. He hadn't shaved yet, and from the looks of it, he hadn't slept much, either. Still.
Dead sexy
. “Aye.” His green eyes bored into hers, lingered a moment as he studied her with an intent and profound stare, before answering—almost as if he wanted to say one thing, but
couldn't
. “I've a potential buyer coming to look at the place in two hours and I need you to keep the others busy.” His gaze didn't waver. “That's what you were hired for, aye?”

She took a sip of coffee. “You should know by now that no mortal can force spirited souls into doing something they don't want to do. But I'll see what I can do.”

Gabe looked a second or two longer, then out across the loch; then he kicked a pile of pebbles with the toe of his boot. Then, without even a glance back, he shook his head and walked up the lane.

Allie took another bite of pie and stared after him. She couldn't figure the man out. She just needed more time. It'd only been a day. Not even a day, actually.

There was something bothering Gabe MacGowan, and it was a lot more than misbehaving spirits and wanting to sell Odin's. As a matter of fact, she would bet her life that he didn't truly want to sell Odin's at all. She still needed to have a speakeasy with the others, find out just what brought them to Sealladh na Mara.

She sighed. Gabe was attracted to her. She could tell that for sure. She could also tell he would fight that attraction tooth and nail.

Her job to keep the others busy?

Chapter 6

G
abe shoved his hands deep into his coat pockets and made his way back to Odin's.

He couldna quite figure out why Allie Morgan burrowed under his skin so much. He hardly knew her.

Yet somehow, for some odd bloody reason, he found it completely endearing when she'd turned toward him, cheeks stuffed with pie.

He'd never admit it to anyone.

The reason he felt to continuously snap at her failed him, as well. He'd snap, she'd smile. Snap, smile.

'Twas madness.

The cold sea wind beat against his face, and for a second, he stopped and faced the loch. Inhaling a lungful of salty air, tasting it on his tongue, Gabe allowed it to revive him after another sleepless night.

After a moment, he continued on, stomping into Odin's just as Wee Mary and his mother were setting up the kitchen to begin lunch. Both women, sisters who looked nothing alike, looked up. He slipped his coat off and hung it on the rack.

“Well, good mornin' to you, son,” his mother said. “What's gotten inside your knickers this time, lad? That horrible mug seems to be your usual of late.”

Wee Mary laughed. “Oy, Laina. You'd only have to lay eyes on her once to understand.” She winked. “Your boy there has been ogling the American.”

Gabe pulled off his cap and set it atop the coatrack. “I've no' been ogling, woman.”

“Och,” his mother said, ignoring his innocent plea. “You mean that lovely girl he hired to oust the ghosties?” She tsked. “Gorgeous blond locks the girl has, wouldna you say, Sister?”

“Aye, indeed.”

Gabe shook his head, unable to completely smother the grin pulling at his mouth. “You both are crazy.”

The sisters giggled.

His mother cocked her head and studied him. “You look like death, boy. Have you no' been sleeping again?”

Tying an apron about him, Gabe moved to the cutting table and began preparing the pot roast. “I'm getting enough.” 'Twas a lie, but he didna want to worry his mother over something so insignificant. Besides, he'd brought it on himself. “I've someone coming to look at the pub today, so be on your best behavior and stay in the kitchen.” He glanced at them. Their faces revealed nothing as they busied themselves with the peas and potatoes.

“I need a bit of help mending one of the fences, lad,” his mother said. “I dunna want to leave it for your da when he comes ashore. Do you think you could go over this afternoon sometime?”

Gabe stared at his mother hard. So hard she finally blushed and looked up.

“What?” she asked.

“I'll go over once I've shown Odin's.” He wouldn't put it past his mum or auntie to consort with the Odin's lot in keeping it from being sold.

His mother shrugged. “That'll do, then. Mary, pass me that paring knife, eh, love?”

Together the sisters continued their work. While he paid them both well, he more than appreciated the help. Wee Mary and his mum were the best of cooks, and people came from neighboring villages just to have their Sunday pot roast dinner. Which was exactly why he had one stipulation with the selling of Odin's: Wee Mary and his mum remained on as cooks.

Setting aside his carving knives, he scrubbed his hands on a dish towel, walked over to the sisters, and put an arm around each. He bent down and planted a kiss on each cheek. “I dunna know what I'd do without either of you meddlesome hens.”

His mother kissed him back, then popped him on the backside with a towel. “Full of compliments, I see. Oh, go on with you. We've work to do, and 'tis work we can do without your bothersome self.”

“Aye, you cocky lad,” Wee Mary said. “Go.”

They both beamed at his praise as he left.

Somehow it made him feel more like an idiot than he already did.

 

An hour later Gabe felt somewhat refreshed.

A shower, shave, clean clothes—even a tie—had him looking and feeling more like a proprietor ready to do business.

He sincerely hoped he could pull off such a farce.

Tightening the knot, he glimpsed Jake in the mirror, staring at him with a scowl that stretched clean across his scrunched-up little face. Arms folded and head down like a sulking vulture, his son was the epitome of piss 'n' pout.

Gabe would never let on he felt the verra same way.

Trouble was, he felt more selfish than ever—especially since Allie's arrival. So many questions—for most of which he had no solid answer. Was he making the move for Jake's sake, or was he running from the tormenting dreams of his dead wife? He knew the answer, but somehow, not saying it out loud made it not quite as foul. Or as true.

But Christ—he felt as though he were losing his bloody mind . . .

He met his son's accusing gaze in the mirror. “Stop glaring at me so, boy, and get your shoes on. Your granny's waitin' for you downstairs.”

With an exaggerated harrumph, Jake jumped off Gabe's bed and stomped to his room. By the time Gabe had brushed his teeth and put on his own shoes, Jake was ready.

And was giving quite a good show of the silent treatment.

Deciding it best to just ignore it, Gabe inclined his head to the door. “Let's go.”

Wordless, Jake stomped to the door, opened it, and stomped out.

Once downstairs, Jake ducked into the kitchen. Gabe pushed open the door and stuck his head in. The smell of pot roast filled the air, making his stomach growl.

He figured it would have the same effect on Allie.

With a frown at the random thought of her, he met his mother's stare. “Thanks for watching him. I'll be along in a bit to mend the fence and pick Jake up.”

His mother waved him away. “ 'Tis fine, son.” She pulled Jake into a brace—one his son was resisting. “We'll have a grand time, aye?”

“Aye,” Jake muttered, frown still fixed to his brow.

Gabe pointed at him. “Behave, lad. I'll see you in a bit.”

Jake stared but didna say a word.

Wee Mary passed on her way to the fridge. “Dunna worry about him, lad. He'll be fine. We're all but ready to serve—just waitin' on the roast to finish up. Go see to your sale and we'll set up for lunch when you're done, aye?”

“Right.” Gabe glanced once again at Jake, whose expression hadn't changed, and stepped back into the pub. The mahogany bar gleamed, the lamps were dusted, the floor scrubbed.

He couldna see how anyone looking to buy a pub and inn would possibly refuse Odin's.

With a quick glance around, peering into darkened corners and shadowy alcoves, he heaved a sigh of relief. So far, no signs of the others.

He could only hope it stayed that way.

Rather, he could only hope Allie Morgan
made
it stay that way. Surely, she'd talked some sense into the ghostly pain-in-the-arses . . .

An abrupt thought suddenly hit him. He glanced around once more, then let his gaze travel upward, toward the stairs.

Where was the ghost ouster, anyway?

 

Approximately forty-five minutes passed before a white two-door compact pulled up and parked in front of Odin's Thumb. A middle-aged couple climbed out. The man, portly and wearing quite a lot of tweed, hurried round to open the door for his companion—a woman, taller than he and also favoring tweed. As the blustery wind picked up, they both grabbed their tweed hats and huddled close.

With a deep breath and a final glance behind him, Gabe walked out to meet who could possibly be the next Odin's Thumb proprietors.

 

“If he finds out I'm in on this, I'm gone. Fired. Back to the States,” Allie said, meeting each of her cohort's gazes. “I just don't know.”

“Pardon me, miss,” said Friar Digby, pacing in his old woolen cloak and rubbing his fingerless-gloved hands together. Friar Digby actually wasn't old at all—only thirty-five years at the time of his demise, which had occurred in the year 1586 after a band of thieves jumped his wagon in hopes of finding coin. Instead, they'd found a large shipment of mead. They'd taken it, along with Drew Digby's life. He also claimed not to have yet been a full-fledged friar at the time.