Ghost of a Chance (Banshee Creek Book 2) (17 page)

"The restrictions?" Gabe's voice rose. "What about the alien experiments he claimed took place here? Those aren't, how did you put it,
intimidating
?"
 

Not that he didn't admire Jeremiah Dudley's entrepreneurial spirit. The man had found a exsanguinated cow in his yard in 1976 and turned the unlucky bovine into a cottage industry. He'd published three treaties on the alien experiments that had been supposedly carried out in his backyard and, when those had sold out at the UFO conventions, he'd gone on to write two books on his experiences as an alien abductee. Gabe was very familiar with Jeremiah Dudley's contributions to the literary world. Cole had made him read all of them.

But Elizabeth dismissed his concerns with a careless wave of her hand. "Those were just books. No one believed the old geezer, not even the guys who did the PBS special."
 

"Your brother believed him."
 

"My brother cried when my parents told him that
Close Encounters of the Third Kind
wasn't a documentary. He was a nut."
 

He couldn't deny that. He'd spent a long, cold weekend camping out in Dudley land with Cole, waiting for an UFO to appear. "Why isn't the Committee restoring it?" he asked, looking at the peeling paint on the sign. "Isn't that in their job description?"

"They had Liam draw up some plans, but he refused to take on the restoration. He claimed to be suffering from Post-Traumatic Chandelier Disorder."

"Is that what it's called?" he asked, chuckling. "Are hallucinations in the symptom list? If so, you should get checked for it. It might explain why you think I might buy this house."

"The Committee will waive most of the restrictions," she said enticingly, a real estate Eve unloading her tainted fruit.

He narrowed his eyes in suspicion. "You already spoke to the Committee, didn't you? You were planning to foist this house on me all along."
 

"Not all along," she replied, looking deeply offended. "Just since last night."
 

"You don't give up, do you?" he asked with reluctant admiration. "Fine, I'll bite. What does 'most' mean?"

"You have to keep the original structure," she said, a prim look upon her face.

He laughed. "The one that Liam wouldn't touch with a ten-foot pole? That's the one I have to keep?"

"The town will take that into consideration when determining the price of the house."
 

"What else?"

"The land has to be turned into a public park."

"What? I have to build a park?" A community space for little green men? No wonder the Committee couldn't find a buyer. "Where am I supposed to put it? Down the hill where the crop circles used to be?"

"Yes," Elizabeth said firmly. "The Committee wants to change the image of the town. They want something that recognizes the original farm. But not cows. They really don't want any dairy associations. Maybe some apple trees, or a wishing well fountain."
 

"A fountain," he repeated, picturing a flying saucer with sprinklers. "I don't want a fountain. I thought I explained this to you. I just want a good-sized house with no ghosts, real or celluloid. Why is that so hard to understand?"

She beamed. "This house has no ghosts." A note of triumph crept into her voice. "None whatsoever."

He felt a throbbing in his temples. Was she serious? Did he have to add "no extraterrestrial tourism" to his list of requirements?

"C'mon, Gabe. Why don't we just take a look at the house? Give the town a chance."

"Why are you so obsessed with having me buy in Banshee Creek? It's just a town. And Middleburg is right next door."
 

She remained stubbornly silent.

He sighed and turned onto the unpaved road. He shouldn't, of course. He should keep driving until he reached Middleburg, found the closest real estate office, and hired the first agent he saw there.

But he didn't.

He had to admit he liked driving around with Elizabeth, arguing about their crazy town. Liked it a little bit too much.

"One quick look and that's it. Ten minutes tops. No, five."

But a park? He couldn't keep himself from adding up landscaping costs in his head as he drove up to the house. He wasn't familiar with the residential real estate market, but he knew how much commercial landscaping cost. Had the orchard been kept up? He doubted it. That meant all of the trees had to be torn down and replanted. As the driveway went on and on, the numbers scrolling in his head reached six figures. And he hadn't even reached the house yet.
 

He focused on the house. The small farmhouse had been charming at one time. Now, it was just old. The white paint looked like flaky dandruff, and the glass on the windows was cracked. A fair number of roof shingles were missing. Overgrown azaleas obscured the porch, but didn't hide the sagging columns.

No self-respecting alien would abduct anyone in this house.

"It's structurally sound," Elizabeth said.
 

"Yeah, and that's pretty much all you can say about it."

She didn't respond. Instead, she grabbed an umbrella from her purse and opened the car door quickly, as if she was afraid he would change his mind and drive off.
 

He turned off the engine, and stepped out of the car. Icy droplets hit his face as he inspected the property. The farmhouse itself wasn't unattractive. With freshly painted white siding and new shutters, it would look decent.
 

He stopped short. Decent? Where had that thought come from? This was absolutely not the kind of house he wanted. He walked quickly to catch up to Elizabeth, who was wobbling her way to the farmhouse. He waited for her to plunge headfirst into a mud puddle, but she made it to the house in one piece. Luckily for her, the porch was a more forgiving surface. Barely.
 

Elizabeth opened the door, but Gabe stopped her before she entered the house. "I'll go in first. Wait here until I tell you it's safe."

"Oh, don't be ridiculous, Gabe." She closed the dripping umbrella and set it down beside the door. "The house is fine."

He ignored her protest and stepped in. The layout was very simple. A small foyer separated the dining room from the living room, and a steep, narrow staircase led to the second floor.
 

No chandelier. That was a good omen.

The house looked dusty and empty, but the ceiling seemed solid. Nothing appeared overtly dangerous. He eyed the staircase suspiciously. It looked strong enough, but appearances were often deceiving in Banshee Creek.

"You can come in now," he said.

She gave an exasperated sigh and followed him into the foyer, pausing to give the balustrade a swift kick. "See, it's quite sturdy."
 

She walked quickly through the dining room, toward the back of the house.
 

"Aren't you going to point out the spaciousness of the foyer or the brightness of the dining room?" he asked as he followed her into what was, yes, the kitchen.
 

It had been remodeled sometime in the sixties and it looked a lot like his mother's kitchen. The counters were chipped laminate, and the tiny wall cabinets didn't look securely attached to the walls. A tattered wall border with green and red apples hung precariously on the walls. His mom's wall border was daisies on a blue background.

She snorted as she looked through some paper strewn on the mint green counters. "The foyer is minuscule, and the dining room has flowered wallpaper. You have a lot of flaws, Gabe, but you're not blind."
 

He peered over her shoulder as she spread out the papers. She smelled lovely. Like those flowers Izzy put all around the office because they made Salvador sneeze. The scent was sweet but mischievous, just like Elizabeth.

"This is the existing structure." She pointed to a black rectangle on the left side of the paper.
 

"Doesn't look too big," he said, examining the second floor layout, three bedrooms and one bath. Just looking at it made him sweat. Liam would diagnose him with childhood-onset post-traumatic bathroom-sharing syndrome.

"It isn't." She traced her finger across the paper. "This is a proposed extension to the house." She pointed to a very large red rectangle on the blueprint. It was easily three times the size of the original structure.

"You want me to build on this lot, a lot subject to the Historical Preservation Committee's restrictions? Do I look masochistic?"

"The Committee has already approved these plans. They also pre-approved Liam's firm as the builder."

"They really want to get rid of this house then. I wonder why."

"All you have to do is convince Liam to build it for you."

"Convince him? Isn't he pre-approved?"

"Oh, yes, the Committee loves him. But like many loves, it's unrequited. I'm sure he'll come back to build your house, though. You've been friends for a long time."
 

Gabe stared at the blueprint and felt anger rise up inside him. He'd asked for a house, just a house. He hadn't asked for a time-consuming project that would force him to spend a lot of time in Banshee Creek. Had she no idea what would happen if he actually built this house? His dad would be calling him day and night to give him advice. His mom would take over the decorating and bury him in white slipcovers and lace. His brothers would drop by the construction site constantly and offer unsolicited advice. His parents would criticize. It would be a disaster.

A complete disaster.

He folded the blueprints. Then he took a deep breath. "No," he said.

Elizabeth opened her mouth to speak.

"Just no," he repeated. Something about his voice made her pause.
 

Good. He didn't want to have to scream at her.
 

"I'm not buying this house," he said. "And I'm not buying in Banshee Creek."

Elizabeth stared at him.
 

"We are going to get in the car and drive straight to Middleburg," he said, watching her lips tighten. "And we're going to see a big house," he continued as she frowned. "A big house with no ghosts, no Historic Preservation Board restrictions, and no expansion blueprints." He took a deep breath. "Am I right?"

Elizabeth nodded slowly.
 

Excellent, at least now they were getting somewhere.

"Let's go," he said.
 

Elizabeth looked like she evaluating whether to argue with him. She apparently thought better of it, grabbed her purse, and turned to leave the kitchen. But Gabe wasn't fooled. He hadn't won. This was merely a strategic retreat. She looked very dignified walking out of the room. It was a good exit.

It also made her butt look good.

Her walk was so distracting that he didn't notice when the heel of her boot caught on the uneven pine floor. She caught her balance for an instant and then toppled. He lunged forward to catch her at the same time as she grabbed a cabinet for balance. Something hit his head as Elizabeth fell on him.

Then everything went dark.

C
HAPTER
S
EVENTEEN

E
LIZABETH
FOUND
herself on the floor of the dining room, draped across Gabe's body.

This, she had to admit, felt good.
 

She lay there for a second, trying to figure out what had happened. She was a bit shaken, but could move her arms and legs. That was good, right? She glanced back toward the kitchen and stared, spellbound, as another cabinet ever so slowly unpeeled from the wall.
 

After a seemingly endless second, it crashed onto the floor with a loud, splintering sound.
 

Elizabeth winced then turned to look at Gabe. "Thanks for the..." she started to say.
 

That was when she realized Gabe wasn't moving. There was blood on his shirt. She wasn't sure where it came from, but it looked like a lot. But at least he was breathing. She straightened, reached for her purse, which had landed a yard away, and pulled out her phone. Her hand was shaking and she almost dropped it twice. She was punching in numbers when Gabe stirred.

"Stay down," she told him with as much authority as she could muster. "I'm calling an ambulance."

Gabe reached over, pulled the phone from her hand, and cut off the call. He didn't look disoriented at all. "I don't need an ambulance." He handed the phone back, wincing. He touched the back of his head and his hand came back bloody.

"Are you kidding?" She tried not to screech. "There's blood on your shirt."

Okay, so maybe that was a screech, a small one.

"It's just a shirt." He shook his head and winced as if the movement hurt.
 

"The shirt's not the point. The shirt doesn't need medical attention." The man was infuriating. "You. Are. Bleeding. A whole cabinet fell on your head."
 

"I'm used to stuff falling on my head. It happened all the time at the pizzeria." He smiled at her. "I've developed a thick skull. Anyway, we still have houses to see." He stood up, his movements stiff. "And I don't have much time."
 

Elizabeth scrambled to her feel and grabbed his arm, supporting him. He tried to push her away, but she stood her ground, putting her arm around him as he walked. He felt hard and warm and muscular, but she wasn't thinking about that. She only wanted to help.

Right.

After all, she wasn't the kind of girl who took advantage of a wounded man. Was she?

"I'm taking you to the clinic," she said virtuously.

Gabe started to talk, but she cut him off.

"You can't drive like this, so you have no choice." She put her hand out for his car keys.
 

He looked like he was about to argue.

"You'll crash the car. Is that what you want?"

He sighed and handed her the keys.
 

She felt smug. She knew the car comment would do the trick.

They walked slowly to the car and he took the passenger seat without complaint. Worried, she rushed to the driver's side, entered the car, and turned it on. Gabe was never this compliant. It must be the blow to the head.