Ghostly Liaison (2 page)

Lined with trees and not much else, the road was hilly and narrow. On a dry day, she could ride on the shoulder if a car got too close. Today, the shoulder was a raging creek. Which only proved her assumption: the storm had passed. It would be her lucky day.

Almost as if saying Bridget was foolish to think such things, a fat drop landed on her nose, followed by another. She lived in Ohio, where the weather could change without notice. Well, the hell with the weather. It wouldn’t stop her from being independent again.

As she approached the first hill, she stood on the pedals to get some speed. After several pumps, her thighs stung. Damn, she was going to be sore. A car passed and hit a pothole. Water splashed her way.

“Nice going,” she yelled as she wiped her face. “I think you missed a spot.” Her chest burned, but she wouldn’t stop. If she stopped, she would have to walk the rest of the way uphill as she wouldn’t have enough oomph in her to start again.

Cresting the top, she breathed deep and relaxed. She coasted for a bit. Her thighs ached, but not enough to ditch her plan. And to think, there were only two more hills to conquer. Give her a week of riding and she’d be in shape for anything.

A sharp pain stabbed behind her eyes. She braked and pulled over, avoiding the creek called a ditch. She massaged her temples. Damn! What brought that on and why did it hurt more than usual? Was she overdoing it? Her jubilation wavered.

She closed her eyes and focused on the patter of rain as it hit her slicker. Then she took deep breaths. In. Out. Nothing was working. Her head still throbbed. What the heck was wrong? Well, standing out in the rain wasn’t helping any. If she couldn’t get past this little roadblock, how did she hope to survive an entire day at work?

She wiped her face and opened her eyes. A man stood in the middle of the street looking in her direction. He wore jeans and a light blue T-shirt. No jacket. No umbrella.

The sound of an engine from behind alerted her. A car. She screamed and frantically waved at the man to get out of the road. When he saw her, his eyes lit up, but he didn’t move.

She turned and waved at the driver. With a cell phone to his ear, he didn’t see her and passed her by. The car never slowed. Nor did it hit anything. What the— Where did the walker go?

Thunder boomed overhead.

“Shit.” She couldn’t worry about a missing man, not at the threat of electrocution. At least the throbbing pain subsided. Her face and hands froze from the beating rain, but she pedaled hard, anxious to get to the main road. As she reached the top of the next hill, her stabbing headache returned and the same man stood at the bottom, blocking her path. She skidded to a stop. How did he get there so fast?

A car crested the hill in front and the man turned into mist.

What? Not again! Panic weaseled its way into her chest. Her first hallucination had appeared after waking from the accident. But they had stopped months ago, once she’d left that damn hospital. So much for thinking she’d gotten better. She continued pushing onward, using the decline to its full advantage.

A car passed close by. In her frenzied state, she jerked hard to the right and slipped in the gravel. Her tire hit something hard and she fell onto her side, splashing into the mini-creek. The bike tangled with her legs. She kicked it away, twisting her left knee. Knife-cutting pain radiated up her leg. She cried out. Big mistake. As soon as she opened her mouth, dirty water and chunks of gravel filled it. Spitting and coughing, she sat up.

Water continued splashing into and around her. She’d take deep breaths to calm her racing heart if drowning wasn’t a good possibility.

Hell’s bells! All this because she wanted to be on her own? Maybe she should be put away—for stupidity.

* * * *

Rob Gentry sat at the breakfast table and sighed at his neighbor’s rambling voice from the other end of the phone. He had given old Mr. Murdock his number in case of an emergency. With his late sister’s house unoccupied, Rob requested he be notified of any suspicious activity. And while Murdock was being a good neighbor, this was the third time in a matter of days.

“I tell you, I think you have a squatter,” his neighbor went on. “Lights just don’t come on and off for no apparent reason, not if someone isn’t living there.”

They would if I had a timer
. Unfortunately, Rob didn’t. “I appreciate your concern, but I was just there yesterday. No one’s living there. The place is locked up tight. Maybe you saw a reflection.”

“So you checked for an open window?”

“They are all closed and locked. And the flue is secured. I don’t know what’s going on, but it couldn’t have come from the house.”

“I know what I saw and where I saw it. You sure it’s not a ghost? I mean your parents died, then your sister…”

Not the ghost thing again. Rob pinched the bridge of his nose. “It’s probably some kids playing a practical joke. Don’t worry about it. I’ll come by later and take you through the house myself. Okay?”

“You’re probably right. I’m sorry to be a bother…”

“You’re not a bother. I appreciate your concern. We’ll talk later, okay? I need to get to work.”

“Do you think you’ll be renting the house again? That might solve some of these problems.”

Yeah, like renting it the first time had worked out so well. “The place needs some work first, but that’s the plan.” Rob said good-bye and hung up.

He should have sold the house. Instead he held onto it like some melancholy fool.

Thunder cracked in the vicinity. Rob looked out the French doors. The rain had stopped, but would most likely return. It was going to be a long week. Rain only delayed projects.

Barnaby scampered into the room, the hardwood floor causing his feet to slide. Rob grabbed hold of the dog before he could slide into the wall and scratched him behind the ears, where the fur was super soft.

“So, you gonna stay in the house where it’s safe, or go with me to work?”

As if answering, Barnaby barked and headed for the door to the garage, his tail wagging wildly. Rob liked to think the dog was smart like that, when in reality, it was a routine for the animal.

Hell, maybe bringing Barnaby to Murdock’s later would get the old man to forget about anything to do with ghosts.

* * * *

Bridget stood hunched over with her hands on her thighs. She took a deep breath and assessed the damage. Her headache was back to normal—annoying—but other areas of her body demanded attention. She straightened her knee. While it moved without effort now, it would most likely swell later. Mud covered the right side of her body and had even managed to make its way inside her coat. Showing up on the first day of a new job all wet was one thing. Needing a shower quite another. After flinging off what mud she could, she straightened and hobbled over to her bike.

The front rim bent at an unusual angle.

“Dammit!” She rubbed her temples. Her first job since the accident and now she’d be late. Five miles was a long walk, even on a clear day. She looked back the way she’d come. Home was closer, but not necessarily quicker. One look at Bridget and her mother would insist on taking her to the hospital.

And since there was no way she would go back to that hellhole, she scratched off home as an option. She needed to get herself together. Standing in the rain like an idiot wasn’t getting her anywhere. As soon as she found cover, she’d call Kate and let her know she’d be a little late. Bridget readjusted her helmet, tightened the hood around her face, and bent over to pick up the bike.

A big, red truck—the four-door variety—came up the hill and pulled over. A Good Samaritan or…a rapist?

“Damn it, Mom. Why’d you have to put that into my head?” Of course, with all this mud on her who’d want to rape her? Even a rapist had taste, didn’t he? Still, it was a mile to the main road and she was in a vulnerable state. Home was starting to look good about now.

A tall man climbed out of the truck. He wore a rain slicker, but the large hood obscured his face. “You hurt?”

“I’m fine, thank you. I don’t need any help.” She pushed the bike forward, but with the bent tire, straight wasn’t an option.

The man reached for the bike and his hands brushed against hers. Large. Calloused. Warm. He was definitely real. “I don’t think your bike is cooperating. Let me help. Where are you headed?”

Deep and melodic, his voice wrapped around her like a warm blanket. Maybe he was a rapist. They’ve been known to be charming. And he could certainly take her without much effort, being a good six inches taller than her. Her heart pounded against her ribs and she would have swallowed if someone hadn’t sucked all the moisture from her mouth. She pulled the bike away from his grasp. “I’ll be okay, really. I…I don’t need to bother you. Besides, I’m headed the other direction.”
So take a hint and leave me alone.

He straightened. “I’m sorry, I guess I should have introduced myself first. I’m Robert Gentry, but you can call me Rob. I own Gentry Construction.”

He pointed to his truck and sure enough, a big white sign was displayed on the door with GENTRY CONSTRUCTION written in blue. How did she miss that?

“And I have a chaperone by the name of Barnaby inside the truck. He’ll make sure I’m a perfect gentleman. Now, let’s go. I don’t know about you, but it’s kind of wet out here.”

He hoisted her bike onto his shoulder and headed for his truck. She numbly followed. What just happened? Was she going to let him take over like this? She’d just gotten free from her mother.

So much for the helmet protecting her head. She certainly wasn’t thinking straight.

While removing the headgear, she walked around the front while he went to the back. His license plate read GENTRY2. She’d seen the truck in town before. Okay, maybe he wasn’t a rapist. A rapist would most likely drive around in something less conspicuous.

So who was Barnaby? Could she trust two men she didn’t know?

After depositing her bike in the bed of the truck, Rob came around and opened the passenger door. “He won’t bite. I promise.”

Bite? Who’s biting?
The whimper made her look inside. A chocolate-brown Labrador stared at her with soulful eyes, wagging his tail. Her heart warmed at the sight. Barnaby, she presumed.

“Well, aren’t you a sweetie,” she said.

He barked, as if he agreed with her.

“Barnaby. Behave.” Rob held a hand out. “Do you need help up?”

Anyone who owned such a magnificent animal couldn’t be all bad. Most dogs had good taste and this one seemed well cared for.

“I’m all wet and muddy.”

“It’s a truck. It expects mud.”

Well, if he was okay with it, who was she to argue? She slipped her backpack off, tossed it on the floor with her helmet, and grabbed onto the oh-shit handle. Barnaby backed up on the bench seat, giving her room as she heaved herself inside. Rob closed the door. Heat blew into her face and she pushed her hood back, feeling the full effect. Ah, much better. Another fifteen minutes of this and she might thaw. Why did sixty-degree weather always feel so much colder when it rained?

Trying not to spread too much mud around, she carefully pulled the seat belt over, clicked herself in, and tugged. All secure. Barnaby rested his head on her lap, sharing his warmth. Using the least muddy of her hands, she stroked his head.

Rob climbed in behind the wheel and slid the hood back from his face. Wait a minute. She knew him. But from where? Maybe she
had
hit her head. How could she ever forget a face like that? Square jaw with a small dimple in his chin. Dark hair and eyes that could rival Barnaby’s. She’d read how some people resembled their pets.

“You look familiar. Did we meet? Or do you advertise on TV or in the newspaper?” Or maybe posed for the cover of a romance novel?

He smiled, revealing straight, white teeth. “I think I would have remembered meeting you. And no, I don’t advertise like that. So, where to?”

Her heart skipped a few beats. She definitely remembered that smile. So where the heck had she met him? Her faulty memory was going to drive her nuts.

He raised his eyebrows, apparently waiting for her answer.

She lowered her head. “Can you take me to Woodland Heights Animal Clinic? Do you know where that is?”

“I can and I do.” He put the truck into gear, checked the road, and turned the truck around. “So, you work for Kate?”

He knew Kate? Of course he knew Kate or else he would have said Dr. Kelly. Was that how she knew him? “Yes. She’s my cousin, actually.”

“No kidding. Her husband is my best friend. Were you at the wedding?”

Holy shit. That was it—the wedding pictures. How many times had she secretly drooled over them, wondering what his arms might feel like around her body, or what his lips might feel like against her own? And here she was sitting in his truck, not that she could do anything about it now. Too many scars. Too many flaws. And then there was that whole going insane thing. Her fantasy of hot, unbridled sex exploded into millions of tiny pieces. Could this day get any worse?

Rob glanced the woman’s way. Had he said something wrong? Her eyes nearly bugged out of her head when he’d mentioned the wedding. He was pretty sure she hadn’t attended. Not that he could be one hundred percent certain with all the mud and gunk on her face, but he wouldn’t have forgotten her beautiful blue eyes.

“I wasn’t able to go,” she said as she stroked the dog. “But I saw the pictures. That’s where I recognize you from.”

Ah, the pictures. Sitting through those hadn’t been all bad, but being forced to wear a monkey suit for more hours than he could recall had been pure torture. What a person wouldn’t do for a friend.

“That’s too bad. It was a fun wedding.” Listen to him. Acting as if he’d been to lots of weddings when in fact he’d only attended the one.

Barnaby had taken a shine to her. He hadn’t moved from her lap since she got inside the truck. Having his ears scratched wasn’t hurting any, either. He probably missed having a woman’s touch. Charlie had doted on him. Actually, she had spoiled him rotten. But now she was gone, leaving Rob to take care of the animal. Not that he minded. Barnaby was good company and a reminder of the sister he’d lost.