Ghost of a Chance (Banshee Creek Book 2) (36 page)

The bath was anything but luxurious, with a miniscule porcelain-tiled shower, a vintage medicine cabinet, and pedestal sink. The stained-glass window had a broken pane, and the room was colder than Siberia.
 

He turned on the water and waited for it to heat up. He waited, and waited, and kept on waiting. Oh well, he wasn't sure there was enough cold water in this city to dampen the heat she brought out in him. He stepped in and washed up quickly. Nope, the water wasn't cold enough. He was still turned on and raring to go back upstairs to her. The question was how long would he have an Elizabeth to go back to? The thought chilled him. He reached for a lavender-colored towel and dried himself vigorously, trying to warm up.

His original resolution had been to stay away from her. That hadn't worked out. Plan B was to indulge himself. And, lucky for him, she'd turned out to be an enthusiastic participant in Plan B.

But Plan B had met the same fate as Plan A.
 

He looked for a place to hang his wet towel and found a metal hook, which, he noted with disgust, had been carved into a flower shape. This place took the floral motif a bit too far. Even the soap was flowery. He hung the towel and reached for the robe.

Plan C was to keep Elizabeth. Unfortunately, she wasn't quite as enthusiastic about Plan C. The impromptu lunch had been an attempt to change her mind. He'd arranged the meal with Trent yesterday and had called him in a panic an hour ago to ask for emergency takeout to the Rosemoor. Good thing Trent had come through.
 

The plan had worked, but maybe too well. Elizabeth was pleased at the impromptu lunch, but also a bit jittery. She'd enjoyed the opulent tea at the Middleburg Inn, so she wasn't adverse to room service. It must be something else.

He'd gotten too personal, way too personal, for Elizabeth Hunt. She was now in full-fledged escape mode, and he wasn't sure how to defuse that. At least she'd agreed to go to the Haunted Orchard inauguration. Salvador's stupid party may yet be of use.

He looked around the bathroom as he shrugged into the robe. The white fixtures and black-and-white tile were not bad. Unfortunately, some twisted soul had decided to add purple-and-green striped wallpaper and white towels with purple flowers. He shook his head. What was he doing here? Clearly he'd lost his mind.

Well, at least he knew who was to blame. Elizabeth. He also knew the cure: the hair of the dog that bit him. He headed out the bathroom, still trying to puzzle a way out of his predicament.

And collided with a familiar, muscular form. Brown hair, brown eyes, and a Punta del Este beach T-shirt.

Zach. His brother looked surprised to see him, and Gabe couldn't blame him. Zach's eyes focused on the purple robe, and he blinked. He looked at Gabe's face then looked back at the plaid robe. A wide grin broke on his face.

"Yes, it's me." He tied the robe's belt tightly and crossed his arms. The best defense was a good offense. "And no, you don't want to know. What are you doing here?"

Zach raised an eyebrow. "Shouldn't I be asking that question?"
 

Gabe looked into his brother's eyes steadily.
 

Zach shrugged, giving up on the staring contest. "The place has been up for sale for a while and they may be willing to lower the price. I'm considering it for a new location." He gestured toward the wallpaper. "What do you think?"

"A location for what? A bordello?"

Zach looked meaningfully at the plaid robe. "Well, that hadn't occurred to me. It's an interesting idea though. Anyway, I thought you were busy looking for a house?"

His brother was trying to change the subject. That probably meant he hadn't thought this idea through. But, in trademark fashion, he was going ahead anyway. "Don't change the subject."

"This is my business. Stay out of it."

He heard someone step onto the spiral staircase and looked up. Elizabeth stood at the top of the staircase, looking beautiful in her mutant purple flowers robe. Of course, she would look beautiful in anything.
 

"Up to no good, I see," Zach said. "What are you two doing here? Other than the obvious, I mean. Don't tell me my moneybags brother is going to outbid me out of this house?" He turned to Gabe and answered his own questions. "No, you're not. You wouldn't buy a run-down Victorian with a grouchy ghost. You and Miss Danvers will not get along. You're too much alike." He made a disgusted face. "You're banging my grouchy brother in the Rosemoor, Elizabeth? I thought you had better taste, and I'm not referring to the real estate."
 

She raised her chin haughtily and ignored the dig. "Are you buying this place, Zach?"
 

"I'm not buying. I'm just thinking."

She didn't seem to like his answer. "The B&B is bankrupt. That doesn't bode well for a new business."
 

Gabe could have kissed her for that comment. Someone had to knock some sense into his brother.
 

But she wasn't done. "Are you thinking of doing a haunted-house-themed eatery, Zach?"
 

"It's not just about the ghost theme," Zach said, not denying Elizabeth's accusation. "The B&B business is a money vampire, but the special events business is quite strong. The Rosemoor hosts a lot of baby and bridal showers. Wouldn't this make a beautiful setting for your wedding?"

"I'm not getting married," Elizabeth snapped, her voice edged with a thrill of panic. "And, anyway, do you really think there's a market for pizza weddings?"

Gabe agreed with her wholeheartedly. His brother was no longer the slacker musician who'd spent years finding himself in South America. He had a thriving business. Why would he gamble everything on a purple monstrosity like the Rosemoor?
 

"I'm not doing pizza in the Rosemoor. And I'm not doing weddings, although I'm willing to make an exception for family members." This last comment was paired with a meaningful smirk. "I'm doing something completely different. Bigger than the pizzeria. Much bigger."
 

Gabe's jaw clenched. He remembered the last time he'd seen Zach this enthusiastic. It was right before he'd left Banshee Creek to embark on his ill-fated motorcycle trip through the Andes.

"It's going to take a pile of money to paint over all this purple, Zach," he asked. "Where are you getting the financing?"
 

Unlike the pizzeria, this was no funky remodel with a couple of artsy friends. This was a huge undertaking. Pepe's was popular, but how long would that last? He had no idea. No one did. How much was the Rosemoor going for anyway? He'd have to ask Elizabeth. He'd buy the horrid thing himself if it kept his brother from committing financial suicide.

"That is my problem, not yours," Zach said. "I'm not bidding yet. I'm just thinking about it. And I'm trying to keep my brother and his nosy girlfriend out of my thinking process."
 
He turned to Elizabeth. "Good thing you're keeping him busy, Hunt. Tell you what, you keep Big Brother out of my business, and I'll let you borrow my truck like you asked."
 

Gabe frowned. Zach's vintage truck was his pride and joy, and he didn't let anyone drive it. Why was he lending it to her? And why did she need a pick-up truck anyway?

Elizabeth's eyes brightened. No surprise there. Zach's truck was a chick magnet. "All day?"

"Sure." Zach looked around the inn thoughtfully. "I'll be doing paperwork most of the day."

"Why do you need the truck?" Gabe asked Elizabeth.
 

She avoided looking at him. "I'm doing a bit of cleanup at the house and there's stuff I need to take to the Salvation Army." She dismissed him with a gesture and focused on Zach. "Thanks for the help, Zach, but I'm not going to distract your brother for you. You're on your own. And don't count your paranormal chickens before they hatch. The Historical Preservation Committee will have a lot to say about any project involving the Rosemoor."

"I can handle Patricia," was the reply. "And my zombie chickens are hatching nicely. I'm told the town council is starting to see things my way."

Gabe was busy putting two and two together. He didn't like the result. "You're getting rid of Cole's stuff? Alone?" He couldn't hide his dismay. Donating Cole's stuff was a positive development, but he wasn't happy about Elizabeth doing it alone.

"My mom is of town this week," she explained, her tone defensive. "I figured it would be a good time to clean up." She looked down at the floor and fiddled with her robe belt. "She's been avoiding it altogether. It's too painful for her."

What about you?
he wanted to ask.
It's going to be painful for you too.

But he kept quiet. This wasn't a conversation he wanted to have in front of Zach.

"I want to turn Cole's old bedroom into an office for her," she continued, growing more animated. "I got her a new rug and I bought some paint for the walls." She paused. "It's beige."
 

The last word was tinged with disdain. What did Elizabeth have against beige?

"That sounds lovely," Zach said with a gentle smile.

"You don't think it's too plain? I think it's too plain, but my mom likes beige."

"Hey, at least it's not purple."

"You're cleaning everything by yourself?" Gabe interrupted, trying to keep them on point.

"It's only a couple of boxes."
 

Yeah, and a whole lot of tears. No way was he letting Elizabeth do something like this alone. He couldn't believe she hadn't asked him for help. She really thought he was made of stone, didn't she?
 

He had to prove her wrong.

"I'll help you," he said. "I can be at your parents' place around noon."
 

"I don't need help. And you have work, remember?"
 

"Yes, you do. I'll bring Zach's truck."

"Whoa," Zach interrupted, holding up his hands. "I didn't say I'd be letting you drive my truck, big brother."

"Do you want me looking through your paperwork?" he said sharply.
 

Zach stepped back and shook his head quickly.
 

Gabe gritted his teeth. His brother's reaction wasn't reassuring. But Elizabeth needed him, and Zach would have to wait. "Then I'll take the truck to Elizabeth's house."

Zach nodded.

"I think you're done with your tour now, Zach."

"Yes. I think so," he said, smirking. "I want my truck back intact, Hunt. No mud and no scratches."
 

With one last disbelieving look at the purple wallpaper, Zach headed down the hall.

"I really don't need any help," Elizabeth said. She looked young and vulnerable wrapped in her bulky robe. "And you have better things to do tomorrow, like beating some sense into your brother." The robe slipped from Elizabeth's shoulder and uncovered a very intriguing patch of skin.

"I don't want to think about my brother anymore."
 

Not when there was a half-dressed Elizabeth standing next to him. Anyway, this discussion was over as far as he was concerned. He would take Zach's truck and he would help her haul the stuff out of her brother's room. He had a few phone calls to make, but by tomorrow evening, she would know that he wasn't the heartless corporate goon she thought he was.
 

End of story.

But that was tomorrow. Today, he had better things to do. He ran his fingers down the border of her robe. Her eyes widened and her lips parted.
 

Oh yeah, he was done thinking about Zach's troubles.

"Since 'absolute privacy' turned out to be not so absolute after all," he said, "I think we should head back to the room."
 

Elizabeth practically ran up the spiral staircase. All in all, a very satisfying reaction. He straightened his purple plaid robe and followed her. If he recalled correctly, the turret room had a four-poster bed. He could think of a lot of things he could do to Elizabeth in a four-poster bed.

Lots of things.
 

C
HAPTER
F
ORTY
-O
NE

E
LIZABETH
SLAMMED
the closet door in frustration. She had nothing to wear. Well, that wasn't strictly true—her closet was small, but after years of auditions, she was a pro at creating outfits. Her wardrobe could run the gamut from Victorian waif to pre-historic dinosaur hunter. She had a thousand different looks in there. But the invitation Gabe had forwarded to her described the dress code as "Apple Picking Chic." What the hell was that? Denim overalls with pearls? She'd been out of L.A. too long. She'd forgotten how ridiculous rich people could be.

She was familiar with the local business event dress codes. She'd spent many childhood weekends waiting patiently while her father socialized with clients and colleagues, her mother, ever dutiful, at his side. The evening events were glamorous and sophisticated, but in horse-mad Virginia, the daytime events had a single dress code: British Equestrian. Hence, the daytime parties were full of mossy greens, horsey browns, and lots of plaid. The overall feel was Sandringham House meets mint juleps.

But was it "Apple Picking Chic"?

Elizabeth looked at the bed. Her patchwork quilt bedspread was covered with clothes. She had dresses, jeans, a white blouse, a couple of summer sweaters, and a pile of scarves. What would she wear if she were auditioning for the part of Awkward Girl Invited to Expensive Apple-Picking Party? She ruled out the dresses, which weren't appropriate for a fall orchard excursion, and decided on dark wash jeans, a green sweater the color of Granny Smith apples, and a scarf. Her shoe situation was a bit trickier. She wasn't stupid enough to wear heels to the country, but she didn't own any flat-heeled boots. She found a pair of wedges under the bed and put them on. At least they wouldn't sink in the grass.

She examined her reflection in the mirror. Not bad for an emergency outfit. It didn't scream "old money, primarily invested in well-shod, rapidly depreciating assets that poop all over the place," but the scarf was plaid and the sweater was wool, and that made it perfectly appropriate for a fall country excursion. Or so she hoped. If she squinted at her reflection, it kind of looked like a blonde Kate Middleton. Kind of.