Haunting Ellie (12 page)

She put her fingers to her mouth and attempted to stifle an exaggerated yawn. “I was too tired to
go out, anyway. I’m glad you’ve, got other plans, after all.”

“Yeah, me too,” he said, rising from the fire. He crossed to the entry, put on his coat and gloves, and pulled his Stetson tight on his head.

“Thanks for helping out today,” she said, opening the door. She didn’t want him to leave, but she didn’t want him to know just how much she wished he could stay.

“Tomorrow I’ll get to the plumbing.”

“You plan to come back?” she asked.

She actually saw a touch of warmth fill his eyes. “I’ll be back,” he said. He reached toward her, cupping her cheek with one gloved hand. “Bright and early tomorrow.”

“Okay,” she somehow managed to utter. She hated the way his hand on her cheek and the closeness of his body were making speech so difficult. If he kissed her, she knew for sure her legs would collapse.

He gently smoothed his gloved fingers over her cheek, just barely touching her earlobe, the hollow beneath her ear. She felt the rough cowhide slide beneath her hair, around her neck. She couldn’t help but move closer, closer, until her breasts pushed against his coat.

She needed no help at all tilting her face toward his. It went there naturally. The warmth in his eyes was flaming now. So were her toes and fingers. She stood on tiptoe; he lowered his head.

And a gust of wind blew through the open door and knocked over the coat rack.

“Hell!” Jon’s temper flared and his head snapped up when the rack hit the floor.

Elizabeth laughed, just as she had the last time they’d attempted a kiss. Maybe it just wasn’t destined. Maybe it was a sign that none of what was happening between them was right.

“You find it funny?” he asked.

“Very. You’re awfully cute when you get frustrated.”

His voice raised. His brows furrowed. “Cute?”

“Cute,” she said flatly. “I suppose no one’s ever called you that before?”

“Not anyone who’s lived to tell about it.”

She crossed her arms over her chest and grinned, mimicking the stance he’d used so often with her when she was frustrated. “I thought you had somewhere to go.”

“Yeah, guess I do.” He tilted his hat against the cold wind blowing outside and closed the door a bit too hard behind him.

Elizabeth laughed again.

And something in the house laughed right along with her.

It’s only the floorboards, she told herself. Only the stretching and groaning of old wood. It wasn’t real laughter. Besides, she was the only one in the house, and she refused to believe in ghosts.

oOo

Twice he’d tried to kiss her; twice he’d failed. Jon’s frustration was outwardly apparent; Elizabeth kept hers bottled up inside, walked into the parlor and flopped onto the chesterfield. She’d missed out on two kisses, and now she was missing out on dinner, too. If she hadn’t been so hesitant about going out, if she hadn’t been so tired, maybe
she’d be walking across the street to the Tin Cup Cafe right this very minute.

It seemed to be the story of her life. She’d been hesitant in most relationships. That’s why she remained unmarried at thirty-one. Unmarried and pretty much untouched for over ten years.

She rested her head against the back of the sofa and watched a spider crawl slowly across the ceiling. That poor thing didn’t seem to mind being all alone in this big old place. Maybe she shouldn’t mind, either. But she did.

The loud rapping at the door startled her.

Jon?
Had he returned? Had he changed his mind about that engagement that had crept up so unexpectedly? She felt good all of a sudden. She wasn’t going to be alone. Not tonight... not tomorrow, either.

She rushed to the door and threw it open.

“Good evening.” The joyous feeling disappeared with a thud. A black-haired stranger stood before her, looking just as striking as some of the models she’d photographed. He wore black-and-white ostrich-skin boots and a black wool coat tapered perfectly over a tall, slim frame. Pearly white teeth flashed from a perfect smile, and obsidian eyes stared at her through long, thick black lashes.

“Can I help you?” she asked.

“I’m Matt Winchester.” He brushed flakes of snow from his shoulders. “Sorry I couldn’t stick around when you arrived last week, but my business dealings keep me on the go most of the time.”

“It’s nice to meet you, finally. Eric’s told me so much about you.” She stepped to one side of the doorway. “Would you like to come in?”

“Actually, I thought it was about time we got to know each other. I was on my way to dinner. Care to join me?”

Why not?
She was hungry. She didn’t have any other plans, since Jon Winchester had chosen to come up with something else to do at the last minute. And Matt Winchester was gorgeous. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d accepted a date for just those reasons. “I’d love to.”

“I thought we’d drive into Helena. Shouldn’t take much more than an hour to get there.”

Matt’s eyes slowly perused her attire—the combat boots with thick gray socks rolled over the tops, charcoal wool trousers with suspenders that raced over her breasts, and a red cashmere sweater with a cowl collar that nearly swallowed her chin.

She didn’t exactly like the way he stared. His face showed a little distaste. Jon had stared, too, but Jon looked intrigued; he seemed to admire what she wore. Matt seemed appalled.

She came close to changing her mind about dinner. Of course, doing that would leave her alone and lonely again.

She ignored
Matt’s perusal, ignored her thoughts, and slipped into her fake-fur parka and red leather gloves, preparing for the blasted cold. She was just about to step out the door when she heard the voice behind her.

Don’t go.

Elizabeth frowned. That didn’t sound like floorboards or window frames. This time, she’d distinctly heard someone speak. She turned around but saw absolutely no one. She looked down at the floor and watched a hint of dust swirl at her feet.

“Something wrong?” Matt asked.

Elizabeth looked at him and smiled. “No. It’s just the floorboards again. You were right when you told Eric they make strange noises.”

He laughed, and she took hold of his arm, prepared to have a good time tonight in spite of Jon Winchester.

oOo

The drive to Helena took less than an hour as they whizzed along the icy roads. Elizabeth gripped the armrests in
Matt’s Explorer while he talked about his real estate and outfitting businesses, about his connections with senators and congressmen and other high-level officials who spent time with him hunting mountain lion, antelope, elk, and bear. In that hour Elizabeth rarely spoke except to ask questions, and never to answer any of his. Matt Winchester was, unfortunately, interested only in Matt Winchester.

The four-by-four jolted to a stop in front of a rustic log restaurant with Michelob, Coors, and Budweiser neon signs hanging in the windows and at least a dozen other four-by-fours parked outside. “This place has the best steak in the West. Great dancing, too. You
do
know how to dance, don’t you?”

She just smiled, and wondered how she could get herself involved with arrogant men over and over. As for dancing, a good, slow waltz sounded more her style than some kind of country line dancing, although after Matt Winchester’s comment, she was ready to give anything a whirl. But would she know what to do when her feet hit the dance floor?

They were ushered to a table near the center of the room by a cute young thing with long blonde hair and a short gingham skirt, and the way Matt was checking out the girl, Elizabeth thought for sure he was going to pat the blonde’s butt and whisper sweet nothings in her ear.

Would Jon have looked at the waitress in the same way? Would he have made some condescending remark about her dancing?

Oh, heavens! She wished she could just put Jon out of her mind and concentrate on his cousin. Matt wasn’t all bad, just conceited and arrogant—in the extreme. Jon’s arrogance was a little more subtle; a little more likable.

Elizabeth drank three-fourths of a beer before a monstrous plate arrived bearing a sizzling steak half the size of Montana and a spud as big as Idaho. It might take her a good hour to clean her plate, but she had nothing else to do while Matt related more stories about himself. Even the men she’d known at home weren’t quite this self-centered.

She found herself concentrating on the men playing pool at the far end of the room, at wooden beer steins lined up over the bar with names burned into them like Buck and Jake and Tom. And she watched the entrance, wondering if she could somehow sneak away and manage to find her way back home—alone.

She was staring good and hard at that entry door when it opened and Jon Winchester walked in, all six feet six inches of him, one big hand square on the shoulder of a petite, sophisticated redhead.

“Well, look what just walked in,” Matt said, sliding
an arm possessively around Elizabeth’s back. “Think we should invite them to join us?”

“They don’t exactly look like they’re interested in anyone else’s company,” Elizabeth stated, wishing she could crawl under the table or out the door and not have to see Jon again tonight... especially now that she knew what had suddenly come up that was better than having dinner with her.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Matt answered. “This could be fun.”

In less than a heavy heartbeat, Jon and the woman neared their table, but Elizabeth doubted Jon had even seen her sitting there. The big oaf was too busy talking to the lady on his arm. But what could he possibly see in her? She had on a conservative navy business suit and plain old navy pumps. It didn’t matter that she had the most gorgeously elegant red hair Elizabeth had ever seen, or big blue eyes and plump pink lips.

Elizabeth grabbed hold of her beer and took a long swallow. In thirty-one years of living she didn’t think she’d ever been struck by jealousy, but tonight it was blazing as bright as one of the green neon signs in the window.

“
 ‘Evening, Jon,” Matt said. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

“I hadn’t planned on running into you, either.” Jon’s voice was hard, his demeanor less than friendly. His frown turned from Matt to Elizabeth, and that look that normally warmed her toes and fingers turned them to ice.

“Hello, Elizabeth.” Jon tipped his hat in greeting.

“Hello.”

Jon drew the redhead a little closer to him. “Elizabeth Fitzgerald, Matt Winchester, this is a friend of mine—Francesca Lyon.”

The woman’s handshake was firm and friendly. She had a nice smile, a lovely voice. And Elizabeth despised her.

“Care to join us?” Matt asked.

Jon looked down at his companion, then back at Matt. “Not tonight. Hope the two of you enjoy your dinner,” he said, and without any further words, led Francesca to the far side of the room where the hostess was waiting to seat them.

“Jon’s always had a penchant for picking pretty ladies,” Matt said. “Wonder where he found this one?”

“Does it really matter?” Elizabeth snapped, instantly regretting her tone of voice.

Eyes narrowing, Matt studied Elizabeth’s expression and grinned. “Jealous, huh?” He sliced off a hunk of steak and held it to his mouth. “Not a wise thing where that cousin of mine’s concerned. Love ’em and leave ‘em, that’s the story I’ve heard.”

Elizabeth managed to laugh. “Isn’t that typical for most men? You, for instance?”

“Possibly. One big difference with me: I don’t pretend to be anything other than what I am. I have no intention of ever hooking up permanently with a woman. I like having a good time, with no strings attached.”

That statement didn’t surprise her a bit.

Matt talked, and somehow they laughed the evening away. They danced, too, and Elizabeth managed to enjoy herself, except on those occasions when she caught sight of Jon and the redhead: the
two of them talked incessantly, arms on the table, leaning intimately close, sharing confidences.

As if they enjoyed each other’s company.

A dark, bearded man in army fatigues stopped by and chatted with Matt. No one bothered to introduce her, but Elizabeth didn’t care; she was much too busy spying on the table across the room. She knew she shouldn’t, and she wondered why she should even care what Jon did tonight—with Francesca or without.

The man with the beard was more than annoying. The few times she pretended to be interested in the conversation the man was having with Matt, he was stuffing another wad of chew in his cheek and swigging a beer. Their discussion was just as uninteresting as the man was disgusting. She could
n't care less about the alligator skin boots Matt had picked up in Florida, but the two men seemed to find it rather funny.

When Matt’s friend finally left the table, Matt spun Elizabeth around the dance floor one more time. She never once saw Jon and Francesca in the midst of the dancers; instead, they stayed together at their table and talked. She would have liked seeing him dance. Could that titan’s body move as well as
Matt’s? she wondered. Would his hand at her waist make her tingle and wish he would pull her close? Matt’s hadn’t.