A Stolen Chance (8 page)

A knock sounded on the door, and Carson stuck his head in as he pushed it open. She scurried to the door to hold it for him while he negotiated a small table inside. He set it in front of the other window flanking the door.

“Will this work?” He pulled a chair over from the small dinette and slid it under her makeshift desk.

She ran her hand over the scarred but sturdy structure. “It’s perfect. Thank you.”

Hands stuffed in his back jeans pockets, he stood before her, eyes crinkled from his smile. Susan couldn’t avoid noticing how the denim fit his muscular thighs and...other attributes. She struggled not to blush, averted her eyes, and concentrated on the fascinating dimple in his cheek.

“Good. Anything else you need, let me know.” He glanced around the room. “This is the first time I’ve been in here in years, probably since I was a teenager.”

Susan wanted to ask how many years it’d been since he was a teenager—but didn’t. His age was none of her business.

“The place is very well maintained to be as old as it is.” She didn’t know for sure but assumed it had been built back in the forties, maybe the thirties.

He ran a hand appreciatively over the stucco of the fireplace. “Yeah, Granddad took over in the 1970s and worked hard to keep everything in good shape, just as his father had. Leona and Buck have kept it up, too.”

“When did your great-grandfather build the motel?”

He propped a sneakered foot on the hearth and, with hip cocked, leaned forward with his forearm across his thigh. His free hand waved to encompass the room. “He built this cabin in 1930 and lived here until he finished the next. In the meantime, he made a living renting out camp spaces to travelers. The park had electricity and a bath house. When he finished number five in the 1950s, he lived there until his death. The only one Gramps built is number six, where I live.”

“Are all the cabins this nice?”

“They’re just as nice, but the others don’t have the ornamental tile work. Great-granddaddy outdid himself on this one.” He grinned. “If it weren’t for the ghost, I’d trade with you.”

“Ha-ha, very funny. Why do you think this is the one that’s supposedly haunted? Is there something significant about it?”

“Don’t have a clue.” Carson chuckled. “Maybe he’ll tell you one night.”

Chapter Seven

Susan shoved her breakfast plate aside. If she continued to eat three meals a day in the café, she’d need to buy a new wardrobe. Well, new jeans and tops, as that’s all she wore. A few pounds wouldn’t hurt her, since she’d lost weight in the months preceding Dewayne’s release from prison. With her stomach tied in knots, it’d been hard to force food down. She lifted her laptop and placed it on the table. While she waited for it to boot, she carried her dishes to the kitchen and placed them on the stainless steel draining area of the large sink.

Gina, draped in a full-length rubber apron, stood loading trays to slide through the industrial dishwasher. She aped a smile, her mouth a straight line.

“When you get a minute, Gina, come take a look at the pictures I snapped yesterday. Carson will be deciding which ones to use on the website.”

Gina’s cold shoulder warmed considerably. Her lips actually turned up a fraction at the corners. “Be there in a sec, Shannon.”

Susan had no sooner slid into her chair than Carson joined her in the adjacent seat. He scooted closer and draped his left arm over the back of her chair. When he leaned in closer to see the screen, she froze. His warm scent and aftershave filled her nostrils. Butterflies fluttered in her stomach, and she struggled not to close her eyes and sniff. If she turned her head a fraction, her lips would come in contact with his cheek. Well, she’d have to stretch a little, but his tanned skin was tempting. She longed to lay her face against his for just a moment, to feel the human contact...

“Let’s see what you’ve got.”

She started and turned the screen so he could see it better. “I’ll put it on slideshow.”

While Carson viewed the pictures, she sipped her coffee. To keep her attention off the man, she glanced around the room. The breakfast crowd had thinned but for a few late coffee drinkers, and Hans lay on the rug by the door, napping and soaking up rays from the sun that shone through a window.

Carson marveled at the quality of Shannon’s photography. She’d captured the few trees around the cabins in the pictures. In the evening shots, the two neon signs accented the lights glowing from the cabin windows, making his place resemble a small desert oasis.

“I’m impressed, Shannon. You’ve made these old buildings take on a new life. Are you a professional photographer?”

At his compliment, her face took on a rosy glow. “I’ve had a little training.” She shrugged. “Took some classes in college. I’ve always wanted more time to pursue the art.” She smiled and sat up straighter. “Lucky for me I have that now. I’m pleased you like them.”

“Like? They’re better than I ever expected to be able to afford.”

Before he could say more, Gina dragged a chair from another table, slid close to him, and pressed a breast against his arm. “Can I see?”

He pushed back and moved the laptop over to where she could see clearly. Why did the woman have to be so blatant in her aggression? If she thought he liked her rubbing up against him, she was wrong. He glanced up to see if Shannon had observed the incident. If so, she didn’t let on. Now, if it had been Shannon’s breast... He jerked his eyes from Shannon’s chest to his coffee cup.

Gina squealed. “Oh, I like this one. Can you put it on the site?” She turned to Carson, grabbed his bicep and squeezed. “Please.” She pointed. “There’s Joe and Randy. They’ll be impressed to be on the Internet.”

It was a picture of the waitress serving coffee to a group of the men regulars. Every morning they sat at the same table, drank coffee, and solved the world’s problems. He had to admit they enjoyed Gina’s banter, and she didn’t back down when they ribbed her.

“What do you think, Shannon?”

He watched for any sign of dislike for Gina in Shannon’s expression. Nothing. If anything, her eyes lit with humor at Gina’s desire to be included in the photos selected.

Shannon leaned forward to study the photograph. “It’s a good picture, artistically balanced. You might want to check with the customers to see if they mind being on your webpage.”

Gina swatted his arm. “They won’t care. They’ll be tickled.”

Carson doubted they’d mind, but he would check with the men. He swallowed a chuckle. Seeing Joe the supersized biker tickled would be fun to see. “Fine with me, then, if there is room.”

Gina flounced off, a happy grin on her face. The woman did crave attention. He hoped one day she didn’t invite interest from the wrong kind of man. He lifted his java to his lips and took a healthy swig.

“How’d you get her into a bra?”

He gasped, taking the coffee down in one large swallow that burned his throat. Heat rose in his face as he coughed and struggled to hide his discomfort.

Shannon grabbed napkins from the holder and handed them to him. He wiped his mouth and took a sip of water. She chuckled. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to cause you to choke.”

Carson waved a hand. “No problem. Your question was just unexpected.” Hell, he was downright shocked at her brazen inquiry. “Uh, Leona handled the situation.”

“Hmm, I don’t imagine she minced words.”

Suddenly, the situation struck him as hilarious. A laugh burst from his throat and echoed across the room.

People glanced their way and grinned, Gina among them, though she didn’t appear pleased. Surely the woman didn’t know the subject of their humor. No, she hadn’t been near enough to overhear.

“No...no, she didn’t.” He leaned in and whispered, “Told her if she wanted to see tits flopping around, she’d go to the barn and observe the cows. Said to either put on a bra or don’t come back.”

Shannon giggled, and Carson knew his smile grew with each chuckle. She clapped her hand over her mouth. “We shouldn’t be laughing at her expense.”

He sobered. “You’re right. I told Leona she’d been a bit harsh, but she insisted she’d already told Gina once. Guess she didn’t like having to say it again.”

Shannon closed her laptop and transferred it to the bag by her feet. “I better get to work. I’ll have something for you to approve in a couple of days.”

“No need to rush.” No need at all. He enjoyed having this woman around. The longer she stayed, the happier he’d be.

****

Susan stretched and flopped onto her back in the queen-sized bed, kicking off the covers in the process. No matter how much she twisted and turned, she couldn’t get comfortable. For some reason the cabin’s thermostat wasn’t working correctly tonight. It was either too hot or too cold in the little room. Earlier, she’d turned it down to sixty-eight degrees.

She got out of bed...again. Stepping into her house shoes to protect her feet from the cold tile floor, she strode toward the wall unit, flipped on the light, and checked the reading on the thermostat.
Good grief. Seventy-eight degrees!
She reread the setting.
I know I put it on sixty-eight. Now it’s set ten degrees higher. Am I going nuts?
She slid the control back down.

Something wasn’t right, but she didn’t know what. A sound, one she couldn’t identify, like possibly water running in the toilet or wind whistling through a window—but she’d checked both. She slowly swiveled, checking the dark corners of the room as she did so. Nothing. Not a blooming thing out of the ordinary. She chuckled. Nary a ghost. Darn Carson’s hide for putting that ghost bug in her head. She switched off the light.

Shuffling to the bed, she kicked off her slippers and crawled between the covers. She lay still and waited for the heat to click off. And waited.
Darned if it didn’t feel even hotter.

She hit the mattress with both fists and then sat up and screeched. “All right. I’ve had enough. If you’re Mr. Riley’s ghost trying to make yourself known, then stop playing games and show yourself. I’m not afraid of you.”
Liar.
Goodness, please don’t.
She might claim to be unafraid, but she’d not seen a ghost since childhood, and back then her perception was different
.
Then there was that image in the flames at Chaco Canyon, but she’d chalked that up to a vivid imagination and the mystifying air surrounding the Anasazi pueblos.
“If you want to, that is, but please leave the heat alone. I’ll end up with a cold.”

Still nothing, and the heat continued to blast. If it didn’t stop soon, she’d be opening windows. “Don’t you know ghosts usually cause cold spots, not hot?” She shrugged a shoulder. “Not that I’m an expert, you understand, but that’s what they say on those TV shows where they hunt ghosts, and in the books I’ve read. Plus, the ones that visited me as a child didn’t ever try to roast me. What kind of spook are you, if you don’t follow the rules?”

Suddenly the heat clicked off. She raised her eyes to the ceiling. “Thank you, God
.”
She probably sounded like a total idiot, but... “And thank you, Mr. Riley.”

Susan caught a faint whiff of pipe tobacco. It wasn’t unpleasant, yet smelling smoke made her uncomfortable. “Don’t be setting any fires in here. Carson would kick me out.” The odor disappeared.

Odd
.
She shivered. The room grew cold. She lay down, settling her head against the pillows, and pulled the covers up to her chin.

“Are you still here?”

The heat clicked on and then off. Her heart thumped in her chest, and goose bumps dotted her skin. “O...kay, I take that as a yes. Can you show yourself?”

In front of the fireplace, a faint glowing vapor morphed into the shape of a man wearing a loose-fitting long-sleeved shirt tucked into buckskin-type pants held up with a multi-colored woven belt. Calf-high moccasins matched his pants. His blurred facial features morphed into angled planes lined with age. No doubt he’d been handsome in his prime. Long, silver-streaked hair, held by a headband, flowed around his shoulders. Below a broad forehead with prominent brow bones, dark eyes studied her. Why, he greatly resembled the Indian who had appeared in her campfire in Chaco Canyon. Surely it couldn’t be the same man.

Susan couldn’t breathe.
Calm down. If he planned to hurt you, he’d have done it by now, right?
Her breathing calmed and the knot of fear in her throat lessened. “Sh...should I be afraid of you?”

A muted chuckle reached her ears. “No. I mean you no harm.” His voice, a soft guttural whisper, set her nerves on end.

Shit, shit, shit.
Susan drew the covers over her head and, body shaking like she had the ague, snuggled down into the bed as far as she could. A ghost was in her room...had spoken to her. Oh, Lordy, Lordy, I can’t believe I actually asked for this.

When her trembling subsided, she peeked out from under the covers. Her eyes, fully adjusted to the dark, peered into the far recesses of the room for any sign of her visitor.

Nothing. No one was there—if there ever had been. Was she losing her mind? Had the stress and fear of fleeing from Dewayne unhinged her? She didn’t feel any different than she had the day before.

Maybe she’d dreamed the entire experience.

Chapter Eight

Carson turned the small porcupine fetish toward the sunlight to better examine it. “And you found it where?”