Ropes and Revenge (3 page)

The pool was sheltered on one side by the sheer rock face of the bluff, with carved steps leading down into the always-inviting water. It was a sight he’d seen a thousand times before—from when he was a kid playing in the pool with his brothers to the Indian summer afternoon last week when he’d swung by to have a swim during his lunch hour. But today, as he turned the corner, the view took his breath away.

And
she
was the reason why.

He wasn’t sure what he’d expected a ghost hunter to look like, but the woman sitting on the edge of the rocks with her bare feet dangling in the water sure as hell wasn’t it. Her long, stick-straight auburn hair was pulled back into a ponytail, revealing a face simultaneously striking and surreal. She had the profile of a fashion model, with a regal nose and flawless alabaster skin that looked out of place in the desert landscape.

The only color on her face was the faint pink of her lips and the gray soot of her eyelashes spreading across her cheeks as she gazed down into the water. She wore a long white dress and a slouchy brown cardigan that made her look like an approachable angel, and when she lifted her eyes to watch him ride closer, his jaw dropped with an audible cracking sound.

She was easily the most stunning thing he’d ever seen—stop-your-heart gorgeous, with a vulnerable quality he imagined had men lining up to throw themselves between her and the slightest hint of danger. If he’d met her when he was a younger man, he wouldn’t have been able to resist the urge to do the same. Even if he’d met her while Lily was still alive, he would have taken a moment to appreciate her beauty though appreciation would never have become anything more.

He hadn’t noticed other women in that way when Lily was alive.

Now, the fact that this woman’s big green eyes made his blood rush faster for the first time since his wife’s death made him suddenly, inexplicably angry.

By the time he’d dismounted at the edge of the spring, he was scowling. And by the time the woman had risen to her feet to face him across the still water of the pool, his jaw was clenched so tight it was difficult to form words.

“You need to go,” he ground out, jabbing his thumb over his shoulder to where the four-wheeler his mother had lent the stranger was parked beneath a tree. “Now.”

“Have I done something wrong?” She crossed her arms but didn’t move from her position.

“You shouldn’t have been allowed back here in the first place,” he said, impatience coloring his voice. “We don’t believe in ghosts.”

She nodded calmly. “That’s fine. You don’t have to believe in them. I’m not here for you.”

“Who are you here for?” he snapped. “Because if you’re with some television show, you can forget it. I won’t allow television cameras on this land.”

“I’m not with a television show,” she said. “I’m affiliated with a group of non-profit psychics. We travel to haunted sites around the globe to help restless spirits trapped between worlds cross over to the other side.”

John’s eyebrows shot up his forehead. He’d known this woman was crazy, but hearing her talk about ghosts in such a matter-of-fact voice was even weirder than he’d expected. So weird that by the time he wrapped his head around the fact that she was serious, she was already spewing more nonsense.

“I understand that’s not part of your belief system,” she said. “And I can respect that, but I have reason to believe there are spirits here who need my help and I’d like to stay until they feel safe enough to make contact.”

“Safe enough to make contact,” he echoed, his next breath emerging with a huff. “What are they going to do, come whisper in your ear?”

“Something like that,” she said, lifting her chin.

John’s lip curled. “Listen, Miss Ghost Hunter, I understand my mother—”

“My name is Persephone Styles, Percy if we’re friends,” she interrupted. “And I’m not a ghost hunter. I’m not here to hunt anything or do anyone harm. I’ve offered you my understanding and respect; I would appreciate the same in return, John.”

He blinked, momentarily disarmed. “How do you know my name?”

“I’m psychic, remember?” she said, her lips curving in a wry smile that made her even prettier. After a moment, she rolled her big eyes. “I’m kidding. Your mother showed me some of your family pictures before we rode up. She’s a nice woman.”

“She can be,” he said, anger rising inside of him again. “But she usually has a decent bullshit sensor and more sense than to share private family business with a stranger.”

Persephone cocked her head. “Why are you so afraid of me?”

“I’m not afraid of you,” John said, meeting her gaze head on. “I’m offended by you.”

“Why?” she asked, not flinching beneath his glare, proving she wasn’t as fragile as she looked. “What have I done except believe in something you don’t believe in? If you’re objecting for religious reasons, I think it bears mentioning that the word ghost is used over a hundred times in the—”

“I’m not objecting for religious reasons,” he said. “I’m objecting because there is no such thing as ghosts. When people die, they’re gone. Forever. End of story.”

Slowly, her gaze softened and compassion filled her eyes. “Have you lost someone? Someone dear to you?”

His jaw clenched. “That’s none of your business. Now get on that four-wheeler and get off of my property before I call the police to have you removed.”

Finally, his words had the desired effect and Persephone started around the edge of the pool, a frown knitting her pale brow. “I understand that you’re hurting, but there’s no reason to—”

“You understand nothing,” he said, hating that he was unleashing his temper on this crazy person, but unable to help himself. “Don’t say another word. Just get on the four-wheeler, ride down the trail, and disappear.”

She picked her way over the rocks. But instead of scurrying toward the trees, she crossed to stand in front of him, close enough that he could smell the smoky, sweet scent of her perfume. The captivating smell spun through his head and he fought the urge to back away, determined to stand his ground.

He wouldn’t give this woman any more reason to think he was afraid of her. He didn’t know what to call this mix of loathing, longing, and regret she aroused in him, but it wasn’t fear. That was for damned certain.

“I’m not good with people,” she said, holding his gaze for a long beat before she continued. “I don’t know what to say to help them feel better when they’re hurting, but sometimes I can help them by helping the people they loved. I know you don’t believe in ghosts, but I do and I care about them and I want to help them find peace. That’s all. I believe everyone deserves peace, don’t you?”

“I believe people don’t get what they deserve,” he said, his voice rough. “Now leave. Please.”

She had to leave before the earnest look on her beautiful face or the empathy shining in her eyes broke him and he started spilling his guts to a total stranger. This woman didn’t deserve to know that his wife was dead or that he still mourned her like it had happened yesterday, not seven months ago. She didn’t deserve to know that a weak, pathetic part of him almost wanted to believe in ghosts, just so he might have some hope of communicating with Lily, of being able to tell her how much he loved her one more time.

But that’s what people like this woman counted on.

“John, please,” Persephone whispered in her feather soft voice. “Let me help if I can.”

His stomach went sour. Persephone probably already knew that Lily had died last spring. She would have done her research before coming here to prey on his grief the way charlatans like her had preyed on the suffering for centuries. If he gave her another ten minutes, he had little doubt she would be offering to help him contact Lily on the other side.

For a fee, of course. A fee he was sure dozens of sad fools had paid her through the years, but he wasn’t going to be one of them.

“Get off my land,” he repeated in a firmer voice. “I have nothing to say to you and I don’t want, or need, your kind of help.”

Her thin shoulders slumped and a defeated expression tightened her delicate features. “All right. Well, I… I guess I should know better by now,” she mumbled as she turned to walk toward the four-wheeler.

“Know better than to try to scam people?”

She slid one leg over the four-wheeler before turning to face him, giving him a moment to register how out of place this elegant person looked on the dusty red machine before she spoke. “I should know better than to reach out to people like you, but I can’t help myself. I keep hoping…” She shook her head wistfully. “But I suppose I’ll grow out of that, sooner or later.”

She reached for the ignition. “Good luck, John. I hope things get better for you soon.”

John crossed his arms and watched her go, determined to keep his expression impassive. He didn’t want her to know how shitty the seemingly genuine concern in her voice made him feel. He didn’t want to think about being part of the reason someone stopped hoping to forge connections with people different than themselves.

Lily had been totally different than the girls he’d dated before her. Until he’d met his freckle-faced, sass-talking, no-bullshit wife, he’d dated women who took far better care of their outsides than their insides. He’d been a sucker for a pretty face and a nice rack and hadn’t looked too far beneath the surface.

And then he’d met Lily and learned what a difference a heart made. She had taught him how to love, pushed him out of his emotional comfort zone, and refused to settle for less than everything he had to give. He’d fought her at first—determined to hold her at the same distance he’d held other girls—but with a mixture of stubbornness, humor, and kisses that took his breath away, she’d worn him down until he was putty in her hands.

On the day they were married, he’d been certain he would never love anyone more than he loved her that afternoon. But their love had grown deeper and stronger with every passing year. By the time they celebrated their ninth wedding anniversary, John had felt like she was a part of him, so deeply ingrained in his heart and dear to his soul nothing could tear them apart.

But death had ripped her away and taken the best parts of him along with her.

“Jesus, Lily.” John bowed his head, his breath rushing out with a defeated sound. “See what an asshole I am without you?”

He waited, a pathetic part of him hoping he might hear her voice in his head again, the way he had Halloween night. But there was nothing but the sound of some critter digging in the ground on the far side of the stream, the gentle burble of water over stones from farther up the mountain, and Darcy snuffling as she sniffed the ground where Persephone Styles had stood a few moments before.

Persephone. Percy.

It was a weird name and the woman herself was clearly a few cards short of a full deck, but she had seemed harmless. Harmless and kind. And he’d treated her like a trespasser, despite the fact that she’d been invited onto the ranch and told she could spend as much time communing with her spirits as she would like.

And hell, if there were such a thing as ghosts, this would be a place for them. Dozens of Apache women and children had been slaughtered not far from here. The legend that this pool had run red with their blood was part of the reason the first Lonesome Point Lawson had gotten such a good deal on their ranch. Back then, all the locals had believed the spring and the land around it were cursed, and no white man who made his home here would ever find happiness.

John had never believed in the curse before. He’d had no reason to. He’d had an idyllic childhood and, aside from his father’s death when he was in his early twenties, his adulthood had been even better. Until Lily had died, he’d been living in a slice of heaven here on earth, taking the everyday miracle of working a job he loved and coming home to a woman he adored and two healthy kids for granted.

Now he took nothing for granted and questioned almost everything.

Maybe there was a curse on this land. Maybe ghosts were real, and so were people who could communicate with them. Suddenly his black and white world was full of disturbing shades of gray and doubt frayed the edges of every previously held belief.

Who was he to treat a perfectly nice woman like she was a nutcase, when half the time he had no idea what he stood for anymore?

No one, that’s who. And if he were the man he’d been when Lily was alive, he would get back on his horse, ride after Percy, and apologize.

Instead, he led Darcy to the pool to get a drink and stood watching the shadows deepen beneath the surface of the water, thinking about all the unanswered questions that shadowed his heart and wondering how much darker his world would get before he saw the light at the end of the tunnel.

CHAPTER TWO

Percy

All the way back to her hotel in downtown Lonesome Point, Percy stewed in a potent mixture of anger, disappointment, and frustration. She was usually a centered person, so in control of her emotions that she was often described as “chilly” by the kind of people who were quick to judge, but nothing upset her more than sensing a spirit close by and not being able to make contact.

She was so worked up that once she parked her rental car in the Blue Saloon Hotel parking lot, she bypassed the entrance to the lobby and headed straight for the bar. Percy wasn’t much of a drinker, either, but right now a glass of white wine might be the only thing capable of cooling her heated blood.