Final Call (19 page)

Chapter Forty

Mary woke from a deep sleep. Something was making noise. She
heard her doorbell ring.
That’s strange;
ghosts don’t use doorbells,
her fuddled mind reasoned. It took another ring
of the bell for her to realize that she needed to get up and answer the door.

Grabbing her robe, she glanced at the clock on her way down
the stairs; it was nearly two o’clock in the morning. Not even the witching
hour. Something was definitely off.

Having the presence of mind to look through the peek hole
before opening the door in the middle of the night, Mary was even more confused
by what she saw. A tall man, with thick blonde hair, broad shoulders and one of
most handsome faces she’d ever seen was standing on her doorstep.
Did angels ever need help?

She cracked the door open. “Can I help you?”

He smiled and her stomach did a little flip.
Wow! Nice smile.

“Mary? Mary O’Reilly?” he asked.

She nodded. “Yes, I’m Mary.”

“I’m Ian, Ian MacDougal,” he said, and when he didn’t see a flare
of recognition in her eyes added, “Your brother Sean said you’d be expecting
me. I’m from Edinburgh.”

He had a lovely Scottish brogue to go with his great looking
body. Mary sighed inwardly and leaned against the door. There was something
about an accent just melted her insides.

She looked up to see him staring at her questioningly.

Get a grip, Mary, and wipe the
drool off your mouth,
she
chastised herself.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she said, pulling the door open. “I suppose
I wasn’t expecting you so soon.”

Ian didn’t enter the house. “No, I should apologize then,”
he stammered. “I can’t believe I woke you in the middle of the night, you not
expecting me at all. What a bounder you must think me.”

She smiled and shook her head. “No problem, in my line of
work I’m always getting up in the middle of the night. Come in.”

He carried a suitcase in each hand and a computer case
strapped over his back. He was wearing a thick black overcoat that was
unbuttoned and hung open, so she could see the faded blue jeans and cream
cable-knit sweater that were stretched over his well-formed body. This was not
the body of any professor she ever had.

“Is something wrong?” he asked.

She gave herself another mental slap.

“No, everything’s fine. Sorry. Come in, could I get you a
cup of tea?”

“I don’t want to be a bother.”

“Tea’s no bother,” she said. “Besides, while you drink it,
I’ll make up your room.”

He put the suitcases down, shrugged out of his coat and
looked around. “I had a bit of a problem coming up your stairs,” he said. “The
ice is coating everything out there.”

“It’s a typical Midwest winter,” Mary said. “I guess you’ll
have the pleasure of getting to know it quite well.”

He grinned. “Well, lucky me.”

He stood with his coat in his hand and looked at her
questioningly.

“Oh, the closet is over there,” Mary said, “and the
downstairs bathroom is around the corner, in case you want to freshen up.”

“Thanks,” he said. “I’ll be just a minute.”

Mary put the kettle on the stove and then grabbed her cell
phone. She looked at her text messages and sure enough, there were several
messages from Sean. He knew she never looked at her text messages.

Mary, Ian is coming in tonight. Got
my days mixed up, sorry.

Mary, Ian’s plane has been
delayed; he’ll arrive at O’Hare about midnight.

Mary, Ian’s not quite as old as
I led you to believe.

Mary, if it’s after midnight and
you are reading this, it’s too late to call me.

“So, what fine trick did Sean play on you?” Ian asked from
across the counter.

She looked at him and saw the humor in his eyes. “Well, you
were supposed to be an elderly professor from the University of Edinburgh. So
old, in fact, I reinforced the banister so you could pull your way up the
stairs.”

A grin spread across his face and into his clear blue eyes.
“Ah, so you have a boyfriend who might have a problem with our arrangement
then?”

Bradley’s image came to mind, but she pushed it away. “No,
no boyfriend to worry about.”

Ah, so she’s not acknowledging
the dolt Sean told me about,
he thought.

“Well, I’ve a bonnie sweetheart back home who would tear my
eyes out if she got a look at you,” he confessed. “Good thing there’s an ocean
between us.”

Mary laughed. “Do you have a picture of her?”

He pulled out his wallet and flipped it open. On the very
top was a photo of a gorgeous redhead, her arms wrapped tightly around Ian.

“She’s beautiful,” Mary said.

“Ah, and a more than a wee bit jealous,” he said, with a
sparkle in his eyes. “We’re to be married in the summer.”

“That’s lovely. You’re in love,” she said, feeling a little
bit jealous.

“Aye, I’m
sunk,
she’s got her hooks
into me well and good.”

“And you wouldn’t have it any other way, right?”

He nodded. “I am a right willing prisoner.”

“Who’s a prisoner?” Mike asked, appearing behind Ian.

Ian turned around and his face went a little pale.

“You’re a ghost,” he said.

“You can see me?” Mike asked.

“You can see him?” Mary asked at the same time.

Ian nodded, still staring at Mike. “I’ve been able to see
ghosts since I was a
laddie
,” he said. “I nearly died
when I was three; since then, the other world’s been an open book to me.”

He looked over his shoulder to Mary and then back to Mike.
“Your brother mentioned you had psychic encounters regularly. I suppose I
didn’t expect them to be so...”

“Damned good-looking?”
Mike asked.

“Bothersome?” Mary suggested.

“Corporeal,” he stuttered.

“Did this guy just call me a fish?” Mike asked Mary.

“No, he just admired your body,” she said.

“Hey, buddy, I don’t swing that way.”

Mary choked and Ian laughed.

“What I meant was your ghostly body is easily discernible. You’re
not a hazy cloud wafting over the moors.”

“Okay, I can live with that,” Mike said. “Excuse the pun.”

“Do you mind if I ask you some questions?”

“No, go for it,” Mike agreed.

Mary poured Ian his tea and handed it over to him. “I’m
going to run upstairs and make up your bed,” she said. “I’ll let you two get
acquainted.”

They both waited until Mary was upstairs and couldn’t hear
them. “You mess with her, I’ll haunt you for the rest of your life,” Mike said
firmly.

“Already been warned off,” he said. “Have you met her
brother, Sean?”

Mike shook his head. “No, but I’ve heard her side of
conversations. I think I’d like the guy.”

“So, tell me about Bradley.”

“Why?”

“Sean seems to think he needs a reminder that our Mary
shouldn’t be taken for granted.”

Chuckling, Mike made himself comfortable on the sofa. “Well,
Professor, let me tell you a story.”

Chapter Forty-one

Bradley was back at the house in Sycamore. He parked his
police car in the drive and walked to the front door. The sun was shining and
the lilac bush in front of the house was in full bloom. He stopped for a moment
to inhale the sweet fragrance.

As he got closer, he could smell dinner. That was a
surprise, Jeannine rarely cooked. She preferred take-out to home cooked.

He let himself in through the front door, placed his jacket
and computer case in the hall closet, opened the gun safe in the wall and
carefully locked his gun away. Jeannine was a stickler for gun safety. She
wanted to be sure they were never careless about his weapon, especially now
that the baby was coming.

He inhaled deeply as he walked toward the kitchen. It
smelled like pot roast. How did he get so lucky?

He saw her standing next to the sink, peeling potatoes. She
had done her hair differently, he thought, as he moved closer. She still looked
trim and tiny from the back, even though he knew she was eight months pregnant
in front. A rush of love filled his heart. How could a man be so lucky?

He moved up behind her, placed his hands on her waist and
kissed her on her neck. She leaned back against him with a satisfied purr. He
slid his arms around her and held her against him, his head lying on the top of
hers. “A beautiful wife, a home-cooked meal and soon, a new baby,” he murmured.
“What more could a man ask for?”

She turned in his arms and linked her arms around his neck.
“How about a welcome home kiss?”
Mary asked.

Mary?

Bradley looked down and found his arms filled with a very
pregnant Mary O’Reilly.

He glanced around the room. This was his kitchen, but now
that he paid attention, there were subtle differences.

“
Bradley,
is everything okay?” she
asked.

“Mary, you’re pregnant,” he stammered.

“I’m eight months pregnant,” she said. “This is not a news
flash.”

“But, whose...I mean am I...?” He stopped and shook his
head. “I seem to be confused.”

“Did you get hit in the head at work today?” Mary asked,
running her hand slowly up his skull.

Shaking his head, he stared down at her. “I must have because
I’ve just entered an alternate universe.”

She laughed and moved closer to him. “Let me see if I can
bring you back home,” she whispered, sliding her arms around his neck again and
pulling him down to her for a passionate kiss.

“
Mmmmmm
,” she moaned after a few
minutes, “that was nice. Welcome home. Bradley.”

He placed his forehead against hers, took a deep breath and
tried to analyze the situation. Her kiss felt right. Her body fit perfectly in
his arms. And when she was pressed up against him, he felt their child move
against him. He was home, but it wasn’t right. Where was Jeannine?

“I’m dead Bradley.”

He looked up and saw Jeannine sitting at the kitchen table.
No, it wasn’t Jeannine, he corrected,
it
was her
ghost.

“Jeannine, what are you doing here?”

Mary turned and smiled at Jeannine. “Jeannine and I were
visiting,” Mary said easily. “I’m trying to talk her into staying for dinner.”

“But, she’s dead,” he said.

Jeannine looked at Mary and shrugged. “I’ve been dead for
about ten years now,” she said. “I think Mary’s right; you must have hit your
head at work.”

He shook his head. “What’s happening to me?” he asked.

“I think it all goes back to New Year’s Eve two years ago,”
Jeannine said. “When you asked Mary if she thought I was dead. Do you remember
that Bradley?”

He nodded.

“Do you remember the conversation?”

“I wondered if you were dead. Then I said if you were, she
would have seen you and, of course, she would have told me,” he said slowly,
remembering the exchange. “And she said that of course she would tell me,
unless you were already a client and had sworn her to secrecy.”

“And you laughed at her response,” Jeannine said. “Mary told
you the truth, as much as she could ethically tell you, and you laughed at her
response.”

He turned to Mary. “You told me the truth.”

She shrugged, “I really try to always tell the truth,” she
replied. “I thought you knew that much about me, Bradley. I thought you trusted
me.”

“She saved your life,” Jeannine added, standing up and
walking over to him. “She saved your life and you threw her under the bus.”

“I was confused. I was in shock,” he said, trying to justify
his actions. “I didn’t know what I was saying.”

The beep of a car horn interrupted him. “Oh,” Mary said
brightly, moving out of his arms. “That’s my ride.”

“Your ride?”
Bradley asked.

She pulled off the big white apron that had covered her
clothes and hung it on the pantry door. “It was nice seeing you again.”

“Wait, you have to stay,” he said. “You made dinner.”

“Oh, it will be done in a few minutes,” she said. “I hope
you enjoy it.”

“But where are you going?”

“To my home and my husband,” she said. “Remember, you chose
Jeannine.”

He shook his head. “You don’t have a husband!”

She smiled up at him. “Of course I do. I married Mike, the
fireman.”

He tried to grab hold of her, but his arms wouldn’t work. He
moved to run after her, but his legs were suddenly leaden and he couldn’t move
them forward. She was leaving him. She was going with Mike. She was going to
have someone else’s baby.

“But he’s a ghost,” he yelled, his words coming out slowly.

Mary stood at the doorway; the light was streaming in behind
her, outlining her every feature. She smiled back at him, but there was sadness
in her eyes. “So is Jeannine,” she said, and then stepped out of the house and
closed the door.

“No!”

Bradley sat up in his bed. His heart was pounding and his
blankets were scattered on the floor all around him.

A dream
, he thought,
it was a damn dream.

He sat back against his headboard and put his head in his
hands. She told him the truth. She never lied, she never manipulated, she was
honest, ethical Mary and he was a jerk.

Remembering the look in her eyes when he called her a liar,
he realized he was more than a jerk – he was a full-fledged ass.

He looked over at the clock on the nightstand. It was two
o’clock in the morning. He couldn’t go over at two o’clock in the morning.
Could he?

Jumping out of bed, he pulled on a pair of jeans and a
sweatshirt. He grabbed a pair of slippers, put them on and headed downstairs.
His keys and wallet lay on the dining room table, picking them up he saw the
remnants of the message scratched in the frost. “You’re right, Mike,” he said
out loud. “I was – am – an idiot. But no way in hell
am
I going to let you marry her.”

He drove down the deserted streets, practicing what he would
say to her when she opened the door. “Mary, I know I’ve been a fool,” he said,
“but really, if you’d just reminded me...”
 

No, that was not the right
approach
.

“Mary, I don’t want you to have some other man’s baby,” he
tried and shook his head.

Too
confusing.

“Mary,” he said, as he pulled up in front of her house and
noticed the lights were still on and there was a strange car in her driveway, “why
are your lights on at two o’clock in the morning?”

He pulled the cruiser to the curb and jumped out the car.
His
slippered
foot was immediately encased in a
snowdrift and he jumped back. “Damn!”

He stepped gingerly around the car, looking for shoveled
spots. The snow inside his slipper was slowly melting beneath his foot.

He stepped onto Mary’s porch steps, nearly falling on his
face as the slipper’s smooth bottom provided no traction on the icy treads. He
grasped the railing with both hands and slowly pulled himself upwards.

Cautiously, he placed his foot on the deck of the porch. It
felt pretty stable. He put his weight on it. His foot immediately slid forward.
Bradley threw his arms around the corner post to keep from performing his own
rendition of the splits. He slowly pulled himself up with his arms, his feet
sliding back underneath him so he could stand.

Frantically looking for a solution, he spied a container of
salt a few feet away. With one arm grasping the post, he stretched forward to
reach it, but was a few inches short of his goal. Now what?

He realized that if he
laid
down,
he could reach the salt. But, once he was down getting up could be a problem.
He stared at Mary’s door and thought about the prize that lay behind it. He
could imagine Mary slipping into his arms and tenderly forgiving him. Yeah, it
was worth it.

Lowering himself to the deck, Bradley lay down on the icy
boards. His sweatshirt slipped up and warm skin was exposed to frosty wood.
“Damn,” he shivered.

He tried to ignore the cold and continued stretching himself
forward, wedging his feet against the banister. He realized in this position,
the front door was actually closer than the salt. He pushed off from the
banister and slid forward. Unfortunately, he didn’t slide as far as he needed. Bradley
was stuck in the middle of Mary’s icy porch.

He was almost to the door. All he had to do was inch ahead,
bringing his knees slowly up and then pushing forward. He tried it and it
worked. It seemed the fabric of his jeans had more traction than his slippers.

He was nearly there, his knees forward, his bottom slightly
raised in the air and his arms outstretched when the door opened.

“Hello. What do we have here?”

That was a man’s voice.
A man with an
accent.
Jeannine had once told him what men with accents did to women.
Bradley looked up quickly, causing his knees to slip and his body to drop with
a loud thump onto the wood planking.

“Ouch, that had to hurt.”

A strong hand grasped his forearm and helped to pull him
forward and up. A man with an accent and muscles, this was not good. What the
hell was a strange man doing answering Mary’s door? Was his the voice he’d
heard earlier that day?

“Who the hell are you?” Bradley growled.

The man sent him a sideways look. “Shouldn’t I be asking you
that question, considering you were sliding across the porch in the middle of
the night?”

“I’m the Chief of Police,” he said.

Ah, the dolt
, Ian thought.
I should have known.

The man nodded slowly. “Sorry, in Scotland most law
enforcement officials wear a uniform. Nice
baffies
,
by the way.”

“
Baffies
?”

“Slippers,” Ian explained, leaning against the doorjamb.
“Are they regulation?”

“You have an accent,” Bradley blurted out the first thing
that came to his mind, “a Scottish accent.”

“Ah, now then, I can see why they made you Chief of Police;
you’ve a great mind for discerning truth. Scotland Yard could use a man of your
skill.”

Bradley was cold, confused, aching and angry. All he wanted
to do was have Mary accept his apology so things could go back to the way they
were. “Where’s Mary?”

Ian paused for a moment and then met his eyes. “She’s
upstairs, getting ready for bed,” he said.

Bradley felt sick to his stomach. “Getting ready for bed,”
he repeated, “with you here?”

Ian smiled widely and nodded. “Aye, I was just on my way
upstairs when I heard you on the porch.”

“But, she’s getting ready for bed,” he said, shaking his
head.

Ian could almost feel sorry for the man, but then he
remembered what Mike had told him about Bradley. “Aye, it’s been a long day. I
dinnae
think she was expecting you, we were both looking
forward to bed.”

“You were both,” he choked, “both looking forward to bed?”

“Aye.
Would you bide a moment whilst
I fetch her?” he asked, nodding his head in the direction of the stairs.

Bradley slowly shook his head. “No,” he said. “It seems that
it was later than I thought.
Much, much later.”

He turned and slowly slid across the deck to the post.

“Could I tell her who called?” Ian queried cheerfully.

“No one,” Bradley replied, grasping the banister and
climbing slowly down the stairs.
“No one at all.”

Ian closed the door softly and securely locked it. He saw
the question in Mike’s face. “That’s in case the
braw
bonnie Police Chief decides to come back and fight for the honor of his lady.”