MacGowan's Ghost (9 page)

She had nearly made it to the door when he spoke, that smooth brogue washing over her.

“Why do you do it?”

She rubbed her still-aching forehead. “Do what?”

He gave her that smoky look. “Hang out with specters.”

She mimicked his shrugging. “Why not?”

Gabe glanced down, lifted one shoulder, and then met her gaze again. “Why no' with real people?”

She looked Gabe directly in the eye. “They are real people, Mr. MacGowan. They are the exact same souls they were when they had a live body to live in. Being dead doesn't destroy the soul. Just the live flesh.” She moved past him and out the door. She paused and glanced over her shoulder. She smiled. “They're just as real as we are. Remember that.”

With that, she turned and left.

 

At the back corner alcove, the Odin's Thumb lot sat. Justin sat quiet for a moment, and then met his ghostly mates with a sincere gaze. “That Allie is some gel,” he said. He glanced at Dauber. “Has she always been that way?”

Dauber gave a nod. “Yes, indeed. A good soul, through and through, that one. I've yet to see her unable to help settle those who needed settling.”

“Aye, but has she ever tried doing the like with a mortal?” asked the friar.

Dauber scratched a place under his cap. “I can't say she has, although she seems to have a way with them, as well.” He looked up. “There's something there, between those two. I can sense it.”

Justin frowned. “ 'Tis been naught but two days, man. That canna possibly be so.”

Lord Killigrew grinned. “ 'Tis bothersome to you, the joining of those two, aye?”

“Of course it's not,” said the friar. “We've known Gabe since he was a baby.” He glanced at Justin. “We desire the very best for him, and for young Jake.”

Everyone was silent for a moment.

“At least we've thwarted another buyer,” said Lord Ramsey. He grinned at Mademoiselle. “ 'Twas a fine showing, miss, with your head rolling atop the bar and your body flailing about.”

Everyone chuckled.

“I say we stay close to Ms. Morgan and follow her counsel. She's quite bright,” said the friar.

Everyone muttered an agreement.

“I'm no' convinced our young Gabe would have sold to that overstuffed pair of tweed peacocks anyway,” said Justin.

“And I'm not quite convinced he really wants to sell to anyone,” added the mademoiselle. “The poor lad is torn.”

“I'm sure Ms. Morgan could use the full extent of her capabilities if she knew the entire tale,” said the friar.

“Aye, but 'tisn't our place to tell her,” said Mademoiselle Bedeau. She shook her head. “
Non
, it would not be right.”

“Now, Elise,” said Justin. “It happened more than five years ago, love. We should tell—”

Mademoiselle Bedeau shook her head again. “
Non.
I'll hear no more of it.”

Dauber glanced about. “I'm sure my Allie could help, indeed. You should trust her.”

The Odin's Thumb lot looked at each other; then the friar spoke. “Indeed we trust her, sir, but for now, what happened those many years past shall remain silent. Mayhap in time, we can discuss it. Mademoiselle is right. 'Tis young Gabe's place to tell, and his place only.”

Dauber gave a nod. “Fair enough, then. I'm sure she can help in other ways.”

Mademoiselle Bedeau rose and smoothed her gown. “I must say, though, that the key for our very livelihood, such as it is, here at Odin's Thumb may well lie in the hands of the joining of those two.” She smiled. “
Oui.
I think that would most certainly assure our homestead.”

Dauber rubbed his jaw. “I don't know your Gabe, but my Allie is a strong-willed girl. Much stronger, even, than the women of my time.”

“And of ours,” said Killigrew and Ramsey in unison. They glanced at each other, and Killigrew stroked his chin. “Methinks 'tis passing agreeable, that trait.”

Ramsey nodded. “I have to agree.”

“Enough of this,” said Justin. “We canna force two people together. They're either in harmony, or no'.”

“Well,” Mademoiselle said, a sly smile stretching across her ghostly features. “We shall certainly see, then,
non
?”

“Indeed, we shall,” said Justin, frowning. “Indeed.”

 

Allie stared up at the ceiling, turned once, then flipped back. She was sleepy, but sleep wouldn't come.

Not as long as Gabe MacGowan stayed on her mind.

Two days.
Two days!
How could she possibly be attracted to distraction by someone in so little time? When she was around him, she fought to keep her eyes off him. When she was away, her thoughts strayed to memories of that unique accent, green eyes, and . . .
damn
. That silent power he had, the way he just stared, looked so intently at her, as though peering all the way through to her soul.

He
mystified
her.

Turning her head, Allie watched the peat burn in the hearth. It gave off a deep, clean, earthy scent that she found very appealing. That same scent seemed to cling to Gabe, adding to the already alluring scent of soap . . .

She blew out a gusty sigh. “See?” she said out loud. “I can't even look at peat burning without thinking of him.”

A vision of Gabe came to mind, of him rubbing his chin while she rubbed the back of her head, after they smacked together. He'd had a slight, barely there grin lifting one side of his mouth. She'd also noticed that when he talked, his mouth was just a fraction crooked.

She liked it.

Finally, her eyelids grew heavy, and she began to drift. Before she fell asleep, she briefly wondered if Gabe planned to go to that ceilidh on Saturday.

She supposed she'd find out soon enough . . .

Chapter 8

T
he sound of an engine roused Allie from sleep. The barest sunlight streamed through the window and across the bedcovers. Sitting up, she rubbed her eyes and waited to get her bearings.

Scottish Highlands. Odin's Thumb.

“Good Lord.” Flinging back the heavy duvet, Allie climbed out, padded over to the window, and glanced out. In the distance, a small yellow school bus ambled down the lane.
That must be Jake's bus.
She'd forgotten the little guy was in school.

Turning, she crossed the room to the highboy chest of drawers and pulled out clean undies, bra, socks, her favorite olive green khaki carpenter pants, and a long-sleeved, cream-colored cotton T-shirt with the tattoo design of a Celtic dragon in navy on the front. Her sister had bought her the T while on a trip to Wales and Allie loved it.

After a not-too-long shower, leg shaving, and hair washing, Allie stuffed her heavy wet hair into a towel, wrapped it turban-style atop her head, lotioned her legs, and dressed. She applied a small amount of makeup, deodorant, brushed her teeth, and then walked to the window seat, plopped down, and set to the task of towel-drying her hair. God knows if she blew it dry with a hair dryer, it would stand on end and she'd never get it tamed.

The
curse of curls
, her granny had always said.

“Can I come in, love?”

The voice just
happened
, as if floating about the room. Allie smiled. “Yes, Dauber, the coast is clear.”

Dauber sifted through the wall, walked over to the bed, and perched on the chest at the footboard. His famous ear-to-ear grin spread quickly. “Good morn to you, then. You look lovely, as always.”

Allie narrowed her eyes as she rubbed her hair with the towel. “I saw that.”

Dauber feigned a surprised look, glanced around the room, and then cocked his head. “Saw what?”

Shaking her head, Allie giggled. “What's with the compliment this morning, Daubs? You've seen me a thousand mornings drying my hair in these very same plain-Jane casual clothes.” She pretended a frown. “What are you up to?”

He blinked. “Nothing, of course.”

“Hmm.”

Dauber flicked an imaginary bit of something from his trousers. “The others tell me there is a dance of sorts in a few days.” He looked at his nails. “Are you going?”

Allie continued to study her old friend. “If I'm still here, I am. Leona, the baker down the street, invited me.”

With outstretched arms above his head, Dauber yawned. “I wonder if Mr. MacGowan will be there, as well.”

She lifted a brow. “I don't know. He doesn't seem the partying kind.”

“Oh, I wouldn't say that for sure,” Dauber said. “He may well surprise you.”

Dropping the wet towel in her lap, Allie stared at Dauber. “Don't. Do you hear me? Do. Not.”

Dauber again blinked innocently. “Do not what, young lady?”

She rose, carried the towel out the door, across the hall to the bathroom, hung it on the rack, and then returned to the room. She shut the door. “You
know
what, smarty-pants. No matchmaking. The man has issues—”

“As do you.”

She stopped. “What?”

Dauber gave her an accusing glare. “You're afraid of having your heart broken again.”

Turning her back, Allie ran a comb through her tangled hair. “That's not true at all.”

“Yes, love, it is,” he said, gentler this time. “I was there when it broke the first time. Remember?”

Allie stopped combing and sighed. “Okay, so maybe that's it a little.” She turned and leaned against the dresser. “But there are many other reasons—”

“So you admit you like him?”

Allie frowned. “I'll admit nothing. What I'm saying is that I was hired to come here and bring to heel a motley crew of naughty souls. It's not working, in case you haven't noticed. I've been here two days and already they've coerced me into working
against
my employer.”

Dauber smiled. “You're never coerced, my girl. And you never do anything unless you truly, fully believe in it.”

Her frown deepened, despite the fact Dauber was right. “That may be, Alexander Dauber, but my life is an ocean away from here.” She glanced out the window, and at the beauty of the sea. “Once this job is finished, I'll go home.”

Dauber sighed. “I suppose it's too early to decide anyway, I imagine.” He grinned. “But we've still time enough.”

Allie shook her head. “You coming?”

“Where are you off to?” Dauber said.

“First, down to the bakery. Leona makes the best meat pies ever. Then the post office. I want to send mom, Emma, Boe, and Ivy a postcard. Then”—she grinned and grabbed her peacoat—“I'm calling to order a ghostly get-together with the Odin's lot. Interested?”

“You mean,” he said, scratching a place under the bill of his soft cap, “just walk into the bakery and post office with you?”

She smiled. “Cool, huh? This is a very open-minded village when it comes to ghostly souls. And you'll love Leona—she's really nice. Now come on. My stomach is growling and you know how I get when there's no food in my belly.”

“Coming right along, then,” said Dauber.

Together, they left the room and headed downstairs.

The pub was empty, and Allie couldn't help but glance toward Gabe's workshop door. She couldn't tell if the light was on, but the door was closed fully, so she suspected Gabe had finally gone to bed. And since the pub didn't open until eleven for lunch, he might very well be catching up on sleep.

As she and Dauber made their way out into the crisp October air, she couldn't help but wonder just what kept the man awake so much. He had to be exhausted.

With that curious thought in mind, along with the plan to ask the others about it later, she and Dauber set off down the street toward Leona's.

 

Gabe pushed out of Odin's front door.

And nearly took off Allie's nose in the process.

She stumbled back, and Gabe reached out and grabbed her arm, steadying her.

She grinned. “Thanks. What's the big rush?”

Christ, the girl was beautiful. A wee bit of October morning sun had slipped from behind the clouds, reflecting off the loch and throwing all those glorious curls into a yellowish glow. Her eyes were bright and they sparkled when she smiled. He felt all bloody tongue-tied around her, which usually led to him just saying nothing at all.

Not that he'd ever tell anyone that. He'd never hear the end of it. He sounded like a witless arse as it was.

Gabe cleared his throat. “Wee Mary is sick this morning, and me mother's gone to the doctor in Inverness, so neither can come over to help.” He glanced behind him. “And I've just burned lunch.”

With both hands, she grabbed his forearms. “Calm down, MacGowan. Why didn't you call me earlier?” Her smile, bright and confident, widened. “I'll help. No problemo.” She jerked a thumb toward the pub. “So what'd you burn?”

“Soup.”

The woman had the nerve to laugh.

He fought not to join her.

“How on earth do you burn soup?” she asked. “Never mind.” She pushed her way into the pub. “Let me see what else you have.”

“Er, wait,” Gabe said. “No offense, lass, but I'll have about twenty or so folks in for lunch in approximately three hours—”

She held up a hand. “Step off, Scotty. And stop worrying.” She narrowed her eyes. “I can see it in your face—you don't trust me in the kitchen. Well, I'll have you know that my mother and sisters—and me at one point—run a fabulous B and B on the coast of Maine. I can cook.” She grinned. “And I've
never
burned soup before.”