Double Dating with the Dead (6 page)

Trent glanced toward the box. He'd eaten three doughnuts without even realizing it. Damn. He reached into the box and took the last one. If he left it, it would just get hard by morning—that made two of them. Hell, being hard was becoming a chronic condition when he was around her.

Sticking the pastry in his mouth, he carried his cup to the coffeepot and began fixing it again.

They were good doughnuts, though. Fresh.

As soon as the coffee was ready, he filled his cup and made his way back to his room, chewing the last bite. As he passed by the front door, something tugged at him. He went over and opened it.

The crisp morning air drew him outside to the porch. Although he wasn't in the country, it almost felt like it. The old hotel was really secluded.

“Hey, there,” a friendly voice called out.

Trent turned. Matilda. He smiled. The woman reminded him of his great-aunt. At least pictures that he'd seen of her. She'd passed away before he was born.

“I hope you don't mind.” She raised her hand to show him some blue flowers in her hand. “They grow over by the fence. Wild ones. I thought they would look nice on the kitchen table. You don't care that I picked a few, do you?”

He smiled. “Take all you want.”

She beamed back at him. “My Hiram loves the pretty blue color.” She nodded toward the hotel. “Are you planning on opening the place?”

“We'll only be here for a couple of weeks.”

Her smile drooped. “A shame. It would do the old hotel good if a young couple fixed it up and made it liveable again.” She tucked a loose strand of gray hair behind her ear.

He started to tell her they weren't a couple, but she began to speak again.

“Oh, I think I hear Hiram. He'll be wanting his breakfast. We're having sausage gravy, and biscuits as big as your fists. My Hiram is skinny as a rail, but he sure can pack the food in.” She chuckled before disappearing around the corner.

Trent was still smiling as he went inside, that was, until he met Selena on the stairs.

“We should probably stick together most of the time. If Dixie or Wesley decide to appear, we'll need to be together,” she said.

Spending more time in her company? Perfect. More fodder for his book.

“Okay.”

“Who were you talking to?” she asked.

“Our neighbor. She was stealing flowers.”

She cocked an eyebrow and crossed her arms. It served only to stretch her shirt taut against her breasts and outline her nipples.

“And you didn't have her arrested?”

“Nah, I was afraid they might take you away with her and then you'd claim I'd cheated or something.” He stopped on the staircase when he drew even with her.

“What do you mean by that?”

He let his gaze slide over her. “You really should wear a bra. That top doesn't leave much to the imagination. Unless you're trying to seduce me, that is. Is that what you're doing? Seducing me into believing there are such things as ghosts?”

She drew in a deep breath.

He nodded toward her. “That's exactly what I mean. Damned tempting. Keep it up and you might get your wish.” He continued up the staircase, smiling all the way. Revenge was sweet. She spit and sputtered but no words came out. He expected her to explode any minute.

“I'll meet you downstairs in fifteen minutes,” he told her.

There was a distinctive thump. As if she'd just stomped her foot. His grin widened.

H
e had his nerve. Selena wanted to throw something. Scream at the top of her lungs. Instead she stomped to her room and glared at his closed door when she went by.

If she didn't have to be in his company, she'd ignore him for the next two weeks, but she wouldn't put it past him to see Dixie or Wesley and not say a word. Nope, he wouldn't want her to know he'd actually seen ghosts. Hell, he wouldn't know a ghost if…if one pinched him on the ass.

“See what's happening,” she said in case the ghosts were listening. Reaching behind her back, she undid the ties to her top and slipped it off. “He thinks I'm a lunatic.” She tossed her top. It landed on the bed.

“But a nicely put together one, if I do say so myself.” The smell of worn leather filled the room.

She grabbed a T-shirt and quickly covered herself. “Do you mind?”

Wesley materialized on her bed—stretched out, legs crossed at the ankles and a piece of straw sticking out of the side of his mouth.

“Don't mind a bit, ma'am.” His gaze lazily drifted over her. “Not one little bit.”

“Well, I do. Go away.” She hated a smart-ass ghost more than anything.

He patted the side of the bed. “Why don't you join me, darlin'. I've sorely missed the company of a female.”

“And what the hell am I?” There was a burst of red as Dixie appeared. “Burnt biscuits?”

“Since you brought it up…ever read the Bible verse, ‘ashes to ashes'?”

“Not funny, cowboy.” Dixie glared at him.

“I'm changing clothes!” What did she have to do to get a break around here?

They both vanished at the same time.

“Finally,” she muttered. She tossed her shirt on the bed once again, then grabbed a bra from the dresser she'd cabbaged and cleaned out.

Maybe now she wouldn't offend Trent. What she should do was run up and down the stairs, boobs bouncing all over the place. Maybe he'd be so shocked that he would leave.

She plopped down on the side of the bed. Then maybe she'd get some sleep. She'd wanted him to think she'd slept like a baby last night. Funny what a little bit of makeup could do.

Her shoulders slumped, and she yawned. God, she felt like warmed-over death. No, not death, not ghosts, not right now. She just had to make it through the day. Then she could sleep. As tired as she was, she doubted if she'd have any dreams tonight.

She stood once more, running her fingers under the bra straps to adjust the fit and pulled on a red baggy shirt that reached almost mid-thigh and a pair of leggings, then slipped her feet into a pair of tennis shoes. There, she was all covered up. She wouldn't tempt a sailor in for leave after being at sea for a year. There was no way Trent would think she was trying to seduce him now.

She trotted downstairs. Trent didn't look up, but continued to scribble in a black notebook. What was he writing? Not that she was going to ask. She wasn't that curious.

He looked up, clicking his pen. He'd shaved. She'd kind of liked his
Miami Vice
look. Not that she'd ever let him know. She'd only said what she had to get a rise out of him. And it worked. When she was good, she was so good.

Slowly his gaze moved over her like a gentle caress, testing each curve. She sucked in a deep breath. Her body tingled, coming to life under his sexually charged perusal. Just as slowly he raised his eyes until they met hers. It was all she could do to stop herself from shifting from one foot to the other.

Instead, she planted her hands on her hips and gave him a look meant to make the coffee he'd drunk earlier give him an ulcer. “Do I meet with your approval?”

“Much better. Wearing a bra will keep you from sagging in a few years, too.”

Sagging? Sagging! Why…why…
She exhaled.

Damn, she was playing right into his hand. How stupid could she get? He wanted her to get mad so she would leave; then he would win the bet. That wasn't going to happen. No way, no how.

“You are so not funny. I know your game, and it won't work.”

“Kind of like the
Miami Vice
taunt you threw at me earlier?”

She opened her mouth, then snapped it closed. Raising her chin, she looked down her nose at him. Until he stood. Damn, he was tall, with really broad shoulders.

“That was different,” she said.

There was no humor in his laugh. “Different. How so?”

Caught red-handed. Darn, she didn't think he'd catch how she'd baited him. Any decent psychic would've known he would eventually figure out her game. She was really slipping.

“It doesn't matter. I'm going to explore the hotel. You might see a ghost, and then again, you might not, but they're more likely to appear around me since they've already made contact. It's your choice if you go or stay.”

“Heaven forbid I might miss Whistle or Ditsy.”

“It's Wesley and Dixie, and if I were you, I wouldn't make them mad.”

“I'll take my chances.”

He had no idea what they could or would do. Just as long as she didn't get caught up in the middle that was fine with her.

“Where are we going?”

“I'm going to the basement.” He could go to hell. “The Realtor said there's a lot of boxes down there that we can go through if we want—things that have been stored by previous owners.”

“And it's still here?”

“They left in a hurry. Ghosts, you know.”

He chuckled.

Wait until Dixie did more than pinch his butt. Then he wouldn't be laughing quite as much or mocking what he couldn't explain.

She opened the door leading from the kitchen to the basement.

“Let me go first,” he said, practically lifting her off the floor to move her out of the way.

She clamped her lips together. He had his nerve! She raised her hands to assist him on his way down the flight of stairs, then thought better of it. Murder wasn't on her list of things to do this weekend…yet. Besides, it wouldn't count if he saw his own ghost.

He switched the light on as he went down the stairs, testing each step before he put all of his weight on it.

“Are you sure you want to come down here? It's in pretty sad shape,” he said.

“I want to look through some of the boxes. It's not so bad,” she said, looking around.

She sneezed. When he glanced over his shoulder, disbelief was written all over his face.

“Okay, maybe it is,” she conceded. “But I still want to look around.”

He continued down the stairs. She carefully followed, watching her steps. She didn't trust the staircase not to collapse beneath her.

Once her feet were on the concrete floor, she looked around. The basement was pretty dismal, but she wasn't about to back down now.

A thick layer of grime coated the windows, letting no light in whatsoever. It didn't matter. There was enough light from the bulb that she could see what she was doing. And right now her palms were itching to see what was in some of the boxes that were stacked against the wall. She made a beeline for them.

“Let me get it down for you,” Trent offered.

“Back off,” she told him. “I can get it myself.” The boxes were only stacked chest high, and she didn't need his help. He was only there in case the ghosts showed up. Besides, she was still ticked by his earlier remarks. Her breasts weren't sagging. They were…perky!

“Fine,” he said and backed away.

She wrestled with the box. Okay, it was a little heavier than she'd expected, but nothing she couldn't manage.

A low table sat in the center of the room. She clamped her lips together to keep from grunting as she carried the box over to it so she could spread out her treasures.

“You're actually going to dig through that filthy box and expect to find something of value?”

“What you consider valuable and what I consider valuable are probably miles apart from each other.” She set the box on the table, letting her breath out as she did. Thank goodness she hadn't dropped it before she got it there. He would've really razzed her then.

But she had made it, and the box was just the right height that she could peer inside. She pushed the cardboard flap open on one side, then the other. Excitement fluttered inside her. What treasure would she unearth? She leaned in for a closer look.

Blech, it was dirty and smelled gross. Like something had died and been stuffed inside.

Not good when you were living in a haunted house. Lord, she hoped she wouldn't find someone's remains. She swallowed past the lump in her throat and viewed the contents.

Lots of torn-up newspaper.
Please don't let there be bones or anything under the papers
, she silently prayed. Trent would have some smart-ass remark if there were, and she'd had just about all his snarkiness she wanted to take.

Slowly she pulled away the top layer of paper.

Beady little eyes stared back at her.

“Eghhhhhhh!”

Her scream echoed in the cavernous room.

“Rats!” She whirled around and threw herself at Trent.

God, she hated rats! They were filthy, vile creatures. Shivers of revulsion ran over her body as she tried to climb up Trent's.

In one swoop he scooped her into his arms. She buried her face in his shirt.

“It's a mouse.” His chest rumbled.

“Not funny—again!” She took a deep breath. “Is it gone?”

“I think you scared it worse than it scared you. It was probably traumatized for life. It might need mouse therapy.”

“Put me down.” She hated when someone made fun of her. Damn it, a mouse had run across her hand once. Yuck! Ewww! Mice were nasty little creatures.

“Are you sure you saw a mouse and you're not trying to seduce me again?” He looked around. “Not the best place for sex.”

“No place would be good for sex with you.”

“How will you know if you don't try me?”

“Can you please put me down so we can get back to work?” She wondered if he was listening to her. He just stared. It was all she could do not to squirm in his arms. It was as if he looked past all the barbs she'd thrown and saw the woman he held.

She was such a fake. Could he see that she lusted after his body? Damn, she hoped not.

She breathed a little easier when he put her feet on the floor. At least, until she remembered the mouse. She scanned the area just to be on the safe side. It looked clear.

“You're sure it ran out of the box.”

“I won't swear to it.”

She jiggled the box, then jumped back.

Nothing.

“You're scared of mice, yet you claim to talk to the dead. Do you see anything wrong with that picture?”

“Yes, I don't claim to talk to the dead. I do talk to the dead. Sometimes they scare the hell out of me, too.”

She went back to the box and shook it again, but this time she moved back only a foot. When nothing scurried out, she stepped closer and yanked out the paper before looking inside.

Yuck! All that trouble for dirty, grimy metal parts. Just bits and pieces of junk. The next one might yield something interesting, though.

She hesitated only briefly before going to get another box, but when she reached to lift it down, Trent beat her to it and brought it to the table. He had on another T-shirt and oh, boy, did it stretch taut across his muscles. She already knew how they felt.

Damn, she couldn't believe she'd practically climbed up him. Stupid mouse. A shiver of revulsion ran over her. Eck, she hated the furry little creatures.

He cupped his hands and beat them on the side of the box, making noise but not disturbing the contents. When nothing moved, he opened the box and rattled around on the inside before pronouncing it safe for her to explore.

“Thanks,” she grumbled a half-hearted apology.

“I don't think you're going to find anything of value. Vandals have probably gotten all the good stuff.”

“Why would you think that?” She removed some of the newspaper. He was right, there wasn't much inside.

“Human nature. Abandoned building. No one to keep a good eye on the contents.”

He shrugged when she looked at him.

“What about the furniture?” she asked.

“Not worth the trouble. Any antiques have been replaced with a hodgepodge of worthless junk.”

She paused in her scavenger hunt. “How do you know it's worthless?”

“My mother has an antique store. I've helped her do inventory. After a while you start to learn the prices of things.”

“Prices. Is that what the items in your mother's store mean to you? Prices?”

“It's called being solvent. Making a living.”

All that history. She shook her head. What a waste.

“Ah-ha.” She laughed. Let that teach him a lesson. “A ring.”

He stepped nearer for a closer look.

“It's beautiful,” she said with reverence.

He eyed her with more than a touch of skepticism, so she polished it on her shirt and handed it to him. He walked closer to the light and turned it so he could read the inscription.

“Mattel.” He glanced over his shoulder. “You're rich now.”

She strode over and took it from him. “You don't get it, do you?”

“Get what? That you believe you can talk to the dead? Or that you've just found a priceless gem?”

She held the ring up to the light. Then clasped it in her hand. The gold plastic ring warmed. She could almost feel the lingering essence of the little girl that it had belonged to.

“I bet it's worth at least a penny,” he snickered.

Arguing with him would be like arguing with a tree stump. So she wouldn't.

Darn it, that wasn't the way she operated. She wanted people to see past what something cost. The monetary value meant nothing. When you discovered the heart of something, that was when you found the true value.

But she was stubborn.