There's Always Plan B (11 page)

A testament to the human spirit, she thought as a large black SUV pulled into the parking lot.

She glanced over as the door opened and a man stepped out. He was tall, with too-long dark hair and a lean, hard body designed to make women look twice.

Her gaze swept over his flat stomach and broad shoulders before settling on a face that was both chiseled and incredibly handsome. His large, dark eyes defined soulful, while his mouth made her think about kissing in ways she hadn't in maybe twenty years.

Gorgeous, she thought, breathlessly. Young…too young, but gorgeous.

He saw them and waved, then strolled over. Carly liked the way he walked—all purposeful stride and narrow hips.

“Afternoon,” he said in a low voice that made her want to sigh. “I'm Adam Covell and I'm looking for Carly Spencer. I have a reservation.”

“I'm Carly,” she said. “Welcome to Chatsworth-by-the-Sea.”

She rose and held out her hand. When he shook it she felt definite sparkage, as her daughter would say.

Adam looked her over and grinned. “Nice to meet you.”

Oh, yeah, she thought cheerfully. Happy birthday to me.

“If
you'd just sign the registration card,” Carly said after she'd led Adam into the house and to the main desk.

He glanced over the preprinted lines, then signed his name with a bold, black slash of letters.

“Don't you want to yell at me?” he asked. “Most owners do. They take me to task and call me names.”

“I had that planned for the second half of our evening,” Carly told him, still caught up in his appearance. She couldn't remember the last time a guy had gotten her attention on such a physical level. Was it her? Had the divorce freed her to look in a way she never would have let herself before? Or was it more than that? Was Adam simply one of those guys who captured a woman's interest and didn't let go?

He topped her by about six or seven inches. Even casually dressed—in jeans and a tucked-in T-shirt—he exuded confidence and power.

Yum, yum, she thought, even as she knew she was flirting with a danger she would never embrace. He couldn't be much more than thirty. Should she ever get the courage to do the naked thing, it was going to be with a guy a whole lot more desperate than this one. She doubted Adam had ever spent even one evening unwillingly alone.

“I will admit that if you're trying to ruin us, it seems tacky to actually stay here,” she admitted as she handed him a key, then led the way to the elevator.

“I do it for two reasons,” he told her. “First, I need to be close by to figure out how you're faking out your guests. Those kinds of tricks require a lot of personal observation. The second reason is to contribute to the business cash flow. It's the least I can do.”

“Gee, so you want to help before you try to put us out of business. How generous.
And
you're calling me a liar. What a popular guest you must be everywhere you go.”

“‘Liar' is harsh.”

“But it's what you mean.”

She pushed the up button and turned to face him. His dark eyes seemed to stare into her soul. She wanted to swoon right there on the hardwood floor and hope that he would catch her.

“I grew up here,” she said, instead of collapsing. “I have memories of time spent with our ghost. She used to come in my bedroom and read with me. We walked in the garden. We were friends.”

A slight exaggeration, she thought, as she smiled brightly.

“You really believe in your ghost,” he said, sounding faintly surprised.

“As much as I believe in you.”

The elevator doors opened and she stepped inside.

Adam followed her and set his small suitcase on the floor.

“Not much luggage for a three-week stay.”

“The rest of it is in my rental. I have a lot of equipment I'll be setting up.”

Oh, joy. A techno-ghostbuster. Just her luck.

“Have you ever found a ghost?” she asked.

“No. They don't exist. Not even your Mary.”

“You know her name?”

“I know everything about her. Mary Cunningham. The second daughter to a baron. She married at eighteen, moved to this house, never had children and died at twenty-two. From all accounts, her death was caused by food poisoning.”

They reached the third floor. Carly stepped into the hallway.

“I never knew how she died,” she admitted.

She paused in front of his door and held out her hand for the key. When he handed it to her, their fingers brushed. She felt more sparkage. It was like being sixteen again. Maybe hanging around Adam would help her relate to her daughter better, she thought with a grin.

“This is one of our larger rooms,” she said as she pushed open the door and entered. “You're on the corner, so you have a perfect view of the ocean and the cliffs to our north.”

She walked around the big, open space, showing him the armoire, the television and remote, the entrance to the small bathroom.

“Breakfast is served from seven until nine-thirty during the week and until eleven on weekends. We'll provide a box lunch with a day's notice. There's a menu in your desk. As for dinner, we don't have a restaurant, but you can either drive into town or call one of the restaurants and have something delivered. That list is in your desk, as well.”

“You have it all covered,” he said with an easy grin. “Nice place.”

Sure. Right before he destroyed it. “Why us?” she asked. “Why don't you go debunk some other place and leave us alone?”

“You have the most highly documented haunted house in the area. I've wanted to come here for a long time, but I knew I would need at least three weeks. I had to wait until my schedule permitted.”

“Lucky us.”

He crossed to the window and stared out. “Is she your daughter?”

Carly joined him and glanced down at the lawn. Tiffany sat with her grandmother. Jack had joined them.

“Yes.”

“She's pretty. She must get that from you.”

The compliment made her laugh. “Very smooth. Get to me through my daughter. I'll give you points for being good, but don't expect to win me over.”

He turned to her. “You can't blame me for trying. But now that I've shown my hand, you'll probably want to keep a close eye on me.”

She opened her mouth, then closed it. Was he
flirting
with her? On purpose?

“You'd better stay on the straight and narrow,” she said. “Or I'll send my mother after you. Trust me, you don't want that.”

“You're right.” Adam leaned against the window frame and crossed his arms over his chest. “You have beautiful eyes.”

She resisted the sudden need to flutter her eyelashes at him. This guy was good—and way too experienced for her.

“I'll bet you say that to all the girls.”

“Only when it's true.”

She felt definite heat low in her belly—the first flickering interests of sexual desire.

That can't be smart, she thought. Adam was too good-looking and way out of her league. It was probably best to make a speedy retreat.

“I hope you enjoy your stay here,” she said, backing out of the room. “Call down to the desk if you have any questions.”

“Will do.”

She nodded and left. It was only after she was in the hall that she remembered he was trying to discredit her and that she shouldn't make friends with the enemy. If he was going to spend the next three weeks proving the ghost didn't exist, Carly was going to spend just as long trying to show him she did. There was no way she could be attracted to him.

Except she was, and damn if it didn't feel really good.

 

“So?” her mother asked as Carly approached the picnic table. “What did he say?”

“Hi, Jack,” Carly said as she took her seat. “He was very polite, very nice and very insistent that we didn't have a ghost. Apparently he has a bunch of equipment in his SUV. I have a feeling he's a technical kind of guy.”

“We can beat him,” Jack said with the confidence of a sixteen-year-old who has yet to experience serious defeat. “He's toast.”

“Hope so.”

“He's very handsome,” Rhonda said. “Those dark eyes. Was he charming? He seemed charming.”

“He was okay,” Carly said as she picked at a roll. No way was she going to discuss her suddenly squishy insides with her mother or her daughter.

“You're right, Grandma,” Tiffany said dreamily as she stared at the house. “I mean he's really old and everything, but he was hot.”

Jack narrowed his gaze. “You liked him?” he asked in outrage.

Tiffany seemed to surface. She glanced at Jack and smiled. “Not like that. He's practically old enough to be my dad.” Then she glanced at Carly and her smile widened.

Carly shook her head. Great. Adam Covell had been in residence all of fifteen minutes and he already had the three generations of women lusting after him. What would happen over the next couple of weeks?

“Maybe you can go out with him,” her daughter said.

Before Carly could answer, Rhonda chimed in. “Nonsense. She's already dating Steve Everwood.”

Tiffany's mouth dropped open. “You're dating my math teacher? Mo-om. No. You can't. That's just too twisted for words.”

Tell me about it, Carly thought. “I'm not dating anyone. In case neither of you has noticed, there aren't any guys around here. So no one has to panic.”

“But you will be dating Steve,” Rhonda said in a way that made it sound a lot more like a statement than a question.

“I'm not so sure.” Carly still had trouble thinking of the man as “Steve.” She had a feeling it would be better to hold off on any dating until she could work her mind around his first name. Plus, “I'm really busy with work. I don't have time.”

“You need to make time,” Rhonda told her.

Not likely. “Until that happens, let's focus on what's important. We have to make sure we stay one step ahead of our new guest. By the time he leaves here, I want him totally convinced we have a haunted house with a beautiful and active ghost in residence.”

 

Early the next morning Carly headed out to the garden to pick herbs for Maribel. In her friend's present condition, asking her to bend over was just plain cruel. Besides, Carly enjoyed the quiet of the early hours, before guests were awake and the predawn mist had cleared away.

She collected a basket from the mudroom and stepped out into the cool morning. The sun had yet to clear the mountains behind the B and B, but the sky was bright blue and birds took flight overhead.

She rounded the corner toward the herb garden when the sight of a man by the toolshed stopped her in her tracks. Someone was up very early.

“Morning,” Adam called when he saw her.

“Good morning. What on earth are you doing?”

He had just pushed a tall metal pole into the ground. On top was a small platform. He attached a blinking device to it, tightening screws to hold it in place.

“Setting up sensors,” he said. “Don't worry. I'll sign whatever you want, saying you're not responsible for my equipment. If it gets hit or knocked over, I won't sue.”

She eyed the odd, blinking gray box with the dozens of switches. “What if it gets stolen?”

He grinned. “It has a tracking device, so it's easy to find the thief.”

Too bad. Of course if she casually tossed it into the ocean, he wouldn't know it was her. But she wouldn't—for two reasons. First, it was wrong. Second, she hated to pollute the water, and Lord knew what kind of toxic metals were in that thing.

He finished his work and wiped his hands on his jeans, which drew her attention to his butt. Nice, she thought with more than a little appreciation.

He looked good—a long-sleeved shirt rolled up to the elbows, the worn jeans that hugged all the interesting places. Funny how she'd never been one to pay attention to a man's appearance before. Neil was okay-looking. Sure, when they'd first met she'd thought he was cute, but that hadn't been on her list of requirements. Yet with Adam, she had trouble getting past the handsome face and great body to the man inside, so to speak. In fact, she wasn't sure she was interested in the man inside. Which meant there was something seriously wrong with her.

“So what do your sensors do?” she asked as she crouched down in the herb garden and snipped off some basil.

“I'm measuring changes in energy. Are there sudden electromagnetic bursts? Is there an energy field that can't be explained away by an engine or wave generator?”

“You can tell that sort of thing from that little box?”

“Sure. I've set up four more just like it all around the property.”

“For someone who doesn't believe in ghosts, you have some fairly serious equipment.”

“This is nothing. You should see what I have in my room.”

Carly snipped off a few more basil leaves. Had that been an invitation? Did she want it to be?

“How did you come to be in this profession?”

He chuckled. “You mean why am I a ghostbuster?”

She sat back on her heels and looked at him. “Yeah. It's not something they discuss in those guidance sessions in high school.”

“I learned from my grandfather. He was really into the whole paranormal thing. When I was a kid, he would take me out with him to various houses.”

“Randolph Covell,” she said, remembering her Internet research. “He was fairly famous in the field.”

“You know about him?”

“I've heard a few things. So you've been dabbling in this all your life and you've never once found a ghost?”

“Not even a near-miss. They don't exist.”

So she'd recently heard. Carly supposed it was easier to believe there weren't ghosts than there were, but she still hated the idea of giving up her memories of Mary.