A Haunted Twist of Fate (12 page)

“Or lie.”  Colt fluffed up the pillows and flopped
onto the mattress, which squeaked under his weight. He lay back with his arms
behind his head and stretched out his long legs. “This bed is comfortable.” He
patted the mattress with his hand as a request for her to join him.

When she curled up beside him, he placed his arm
around her and she snuggled into his shoulder, sighed, and closed her eyes.

Nineteen

While sitting on the edge of her bed the next
morning, Colt jiggled Shay’s arm to wake her. Her eyelids rolled open and she
lazily said, “Good morning.”

“Mornin’, sleepy head.”

She yawned. “What time is it?”

“Seven o’clock.”

He’d been up for a while watching her. It’d been a
long time since he’d awakened beside a woman. Nothing had happened last night
except he’d stayed with her, and they’d both drifted off with her in his arms. This
morning, watching her sleep had given him time to reflect.  A deep longing had
washed over him. Studying Shay had reminded him of what he’d been missing for
so many years—a soft body nudged against him in the mornings, warm breath on
his neck, a woman to love and cherish.

He’d noticed she seemed to barely breathe when she
slept. A quiet sleeper would be nice. Denise had been sweet as pie, and he’d
loved her more than life itself, but she’d snored like a freight train
throughout their entire marriage.  Another cute thing he saw while watching
Shay was that she’d smiled in her sleep a couple of times. Maybe she’d been
dreaming about him.  He could only hope.

His reverie was broken when he saw her peek under
the covers he’d tucked her into sometime in the night.

“All of my clothes are still on,” she said, lifting one
eyebrow.

“Everything except your shoes. You didn’t think I’d
take advantage of you in your sleep, did you?” He narrowed his eyes, teasing
her. “I’m not that kind of guy. I want you to be fully coherent the first time
I undress you.”

Her eyes widened.

“Damn. Why do I keep saying things like that to
you?”

The truth of the matter was he couldn’t help it.
Open mouth and insert foot. That’s how it seemed to be when he was near her.
Honest to a fault. That’s the way he’d described himself to her when they’d first
met, and the description fit him to a tee.

All he’d been thinking about was what it would be
like to make love to her, and he had a hard time not hinting at it. She’d kept
him in line so far, much to his chagrin, but patience was a virtue. Or so he’d
been taught. Anyway, he’d meant what he’d told her. The first time they made
love, it would be
her
idea. That way she’d know he was in this for more
than a one-night stand.

That confession sent shock waves through him. He
didn’t think he had it in him to take a chance at going the distance with
another woman, but this woman seemed to be changing all that. She didn’t seem
too stoked about moving forward, however. Taking it slow was how he’d need to
play it with her, if he wanted to prove he was different from the others who’d
come and gone. Not knowing her full story, he sensed she’d been hurt pretty bad
somewhere along the line.

“I’m gonna leave now.”  He cupped her face and
kissed the tip of her nose. “I’ll be back around one to pick you up to go to
Frank’s.”

She yawned and stretched like a cat. Despite waking
up in her bed with him next to her, she was definitely more at ease this
morning than she’d been last night at his place.

“I’m really looking forward to meeting Mr. Averill.
Have fun showing your houses today.”

“Showing houses is not fun,” he said
matter-of-factly. “It’ll be especially hard to concentrate when all I’ll be
thinking about is seeing you this afternoon.”

She propped up on one elbow and flashed him a slow
smile. “You’re a kind man, Colt Morgan. Thank you for staying with me last
night. And for not trying anything.”

“Don’t think I didn’t want to.”

She grinned, and when she leaned forward to give him
a soft kiss on the mouth, he knew without a doubt that she was special. They
both had morning breath, but it didn’t matter to her.

“See you at one.” He patted her arm, rose from the
bed and exited the room, amazed that a woman could look as fresh as she did at
that hour. “Are you coming down to lock up behind me?” he asked from the
doorway.

“I’ll go down soon. I want to lie here a minute
more.” She turned her head toward the window. “The sun feels good.”

Colt smiled then treaded down the stairs and let
himself out.  He hadn’t realized how disheveled he must look until an older
couple wearing matching powder blue sweat-suits jogged past him on the sidewalk
and then stopped and whirled around.

“Colt! What on earth are you doing out this hour of
the morning?” the woman said.

It was Margaret and Bill, longtime friends of his
folks. Margaret, a retired schoolteacher who had taught him in fifth grade,
cast a suspicious glance at the saloon and then stared at his shirt, which was
not tucked in. When her wary gaze moved to his face, he rubbed a hand over his
cheeks and chin, feeling the five o’clock shadow that covered them. Margaret
still had a way of making him feel guilty, even at the age of forty. Like she’d
caught him sticking his hand in the candy jar and was sorely disappointed in
his behavior.

“Just visiting a friend,” he drawled.  He skimmed a
hand through his hair, which felt like it was sticking up on end.

“Uh-huh.” Margaret used the same scolding tone he’d
heard many times as a kid. “Hannah told me she met your
friend.”

“Chet says she’s real pretty,” Bill added, with a
grin.

“No secrets around here,” Colt mumbled.

“It’s awfully early for a visit, Colton,” Margaret
stated.

“For heaven’s sakes, Margie.” Bill gently admonished
his wife. “Colt’s a grown man of fifty. He’s not your student anymore. Leave
the poor guy alone.”

“Forty,” Colt corrected.  He clapped Bill on the
shoulder. “I’m only forty, sir.”

“Sorry ‘bout that.” Bill tugged on Margaret’s arm
and then waved to Colt. “Nice seeing you, but we’ve got to run.”

He and Margaret broke out laughing at his pun.  They
jogged a few paces down the sidewalk.  Then Bill looked over his shoulder and
winked and gave Colt a thumbs-up.

Twenty

Shay stepped into the historical society later that
morning to find someone other than Doris manning the front desk. A tall bald
man greeted her. After Shay explained to him who she was, the man said, “I’m
Bart Rockwood, Doris’s husband. Doris is under the weather today, but she told
me you might be in.” He pulled out the books and the binder from below the
counter where Doris had stored them.

“I hope it’s nothing serious.”

“She gets a migraine when a storm’s on its way.”

What was he talking about? She’d just walked to the
old schoolhouse, and the sun was shining bright and there were no clouds in the
sky. There was no sign of a storm. Shay ignored his comment. “I don’t need all
the material today.  Just the one book, for now. Thank you.” She took the book
with the census list in it and headed for a chair in the corner, which sat
underneath a window. Hoping to locate Callie and Everett, she began the
daunting task of tracing her finger down each column, searching for their first
names.

It didn’t take long for her to become blurry-eyed
and realize that method wasn’t going to work. The lists were alphabetical by
last name. It would take forever to find Callie and Everett that way. The whole
point was to discover their last names anyway. There had to be a better way.

She set the book back on the counter in front of Mr.
Rockwood.  “Is there a cemetery in town?”

“Why sure. It’s up on the hill, just east of here,
about three blocks.”

“Is it the only one in town?”

“The churches have their own graveyards, of course,
but the Black View is the only public cemetery. It’s real pretty and peaceful
up there.”

Hmmm
. This could
start her on another wild goose chase, one as potentially daunting as the
census lists. But chances were, Callie was buried in the public cemetery, not
one of the church’s graveyards. It was worth a try to go check it out.

“The Black View has an old part and a new part,” Mr.
Rockwood advised. “The historic graves are in the back half, and the newer are
in the front.”

“Thank you. You’ve been a great help. Please tell
Doris I hope she feels better.”

Stepping into the warm air and strolling east, Shay
thought it would probably be a lot easier to wait until Callie manifested
herself to her again. Then she could just ask what her last name was, why
Everett had murdered her, and why she needed her help. But what if Callie
didn’t return for days? Or she was unable to speak the next time she appeared? It
seemed she had trouble getting her words out last night. Maybe she’d lose her
ability to communicate at all, or stop appearing altogether.

Besides, Shay was already caught up in the mystery,
and it was a beautiful day. She had nothing better to do with her time right
now. She couldn’t very well make plans to open a new business in the saloon as
long as ghosts haunted the place. And even though she was rich, she had to do
something with her life. A bed and breakfast seemed like a good idea in a
tourist town. If she helped Callie with her problem, whatever it was, she’d be
helping herself as well. It was important to move forward and put the losses of
her parents and the heartaches of her failed relationships behind her.

Shay strode to the Black View Cemetery, determined
to find Callie and Everett’s tombstones.

The cemetery was a short hike up a hill, as Mr.
Rockwood had mentioned, and the view from the top was fabulous. Beyond were the
jagged peaks of the Black Hills, for as far as the eye could travel. She
guessed that’s why the name Black View had been chosen for this spot.

What a pleasant place to spend eternity, she
thought, glancing around. Towering trees shaded the entire property, making it
feel more like a park than a graveyard.

She wandered through the newer section, while stopping
to read monuments that stood out among others. Most were carved of marble or
granite. Wooden fences or wrought iron fence and rails surrounded headstones
that were grouped together. Most sites looked to be well maintained, with
flowers or other mementoes placed at the foot of the tombstones.

As she strolled, a green granite headstone caught
her attention because of its unusual color. She went to investigate and was
stunned to see the name
Morgan
engraved on it.

The breath caught in her throat as she stared at the
inscription.

Denise Marie Morgan

Beloved Wife of Colton
Morgan

Precious Daughter of
Dennis and Nancy Green

Born: April 4, 1972 Died:
December 15, 2000.

What a strange coincidence. Of all the
graves in this cemetery, what are the odds I should find Colt’s wife’s grave?

Shay stared at the stone and imagined the kind of
woman Denise had been, and the type of life she and Colt had made together. Colt
hadn’t talked about her except to mention she’d gotten sick, but Shay sensed it
had been a happy marriage.

She tilted her head and listened to the trilling of
a bird. Looking up, she spied a pretty bluebird sitting on a nearby branch. The
cemetery was totally quiet, except for the chirping. Not even a breeze stirred
the leaves in the trees. It was slightly eerie, being completely alone up here,
but the bird’s joyful song helped alleviate her uneasiness, for a few moments.

As she started walking toward the back half of the
cemetery, the little bird followed, flitting from one tree to another.  It
continued to sing its song. As Shay moved deeper into the cemetery, the bird
flew with her. At one point, she stopped and the bird halted its chirping and
hovered in front of her, flapping its wings. It seemed to stare right into her
eyes.

“Go on, birdie,” she said out loud. “Shoo. You’re
starting to creep me out.”

Picking up her tempo, the beats of Shay’s heart kept
pace with her footsteps—as did the flapping of the bird’s wings. She weaved
between tombstones and watched the bluebird out of the corner of her eye. 
Suddenly, she found herself in the historic section of the cemetery. Populated
with older shade trees, that part of the graveyard was denser and darker than
the front part. Spooky.

“Look at these old stones,” she commented aloud,
momentarily forgetting about the bothersome bird. Casually walking between the
narrow rows, she saw dozens of flat headstones that were cracked and discolored
or covered with algae. Most of the names had been worn down by weather and
erosion. Some monuments were still partially readable, with years dating back
to the early 1880’s, while the faces of others were completely blank, having
been worn completely off.