Wild West Hauntings Read online

  Evernight Publishing

  www.evernightpublishing.com

  Copyright© 2012 C.R. Moss & R.M. Sotera

  ISBN: 978-1-77130-166-4

  Cover Artist: Sour Cherry Designs

  Editor: JS Cook

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  DEDICATION

  To us—A toast to Wild West road trips and writing memories. May the saga continue.

  Cheers!

  To our dear readers—enjoy the wild times!

  WILD WEST HAUNTINGS

  Double D Ranch Tales, 2

  C.R. Moss & R.M. Sotera

  Copyright © 2012

  A Letter to Our Guests

  Welcome Friends!

  Howdy and welcome to the Double D! With all the glitz and glam offered on the Strip, we so appreciate you choosing our humble spread for your stay. Our residents, staff and guests are known to have sexy, sometimes spooky, but always wild good times here in our little corner of the west. Here on the Double D we aim to please.

  Our ladies, Bristol and Cassie, sometimes liken our lives to that of those daytime dramas, or as our Ma called them soap operas—full of lots of relationship highs and lows, family squabbles, the occasional whodunit, and sometimes paranormal wonders. And ya never know when one person’s or couple’s drama will take precedence over another’s.

  We just like to think that the excitement around here adds to the ranch’s charm. Our last tale had us meeting our gals, a couple of spitfires who kept us on our toes. Now we’re going to share another glimpse into all our lives here on the ranch and what happened when Marianne’s sister, Rachel, came for a visit.

  Enjoy your stay.

  Dakota Dougan, Ranch Manager and Damon Dougan, Lead Ranch Hand

  Chapter One

  Shocked at the eerily familiar vista of the ranch before her, Rachel Star slammed on the brakes of her economy rental car. The vehicle skidded, then fishtailed. Rocks shot out from under the tires, pinging the undercarriage and flying off into the scraggy brush growing alongside the stone covered drive. A grayish-brown dust cloud enveloped the automobile as it came to a stop in the middle of the road. Shaking from the fleeting but chilling sensation of déjà vu, she turned on the heat and waited for the view outside her windshield to clear.

  Fine, gritty earth particles created an ugly, sandy coat on the green car. She didn’t care. The rental could be washed, but the image etched into her mind? What could be done about that? Still disbelieving the sight before her, she clicked on the windshield wash and wipers. The brush of the black metal and rubber arms along the glass didn’t change the vision. Another cold rush of vague feelings that she’d been here before swept over her.

  The Double D. She’d never stepped foot on the property, yet, if she had to bet her life on it, she’d have sworn she’d been on the southern Nevada ranch once upon a time. All she had ever seen of the Dougans’ place was from the few photos her sister, Marianne, had sent her, but the in-person familiarity was uncanny. Somehow she seemed to know the nuances of the land, the placement the buildings, and their purpose. Property lines. A small pond up and over the ridge.

  But why do I know?

  Pictures hadn’t done the scenery justice. Rugged untamed beauty, the likes of which couldn’t be found back east, surrounded the area. Varying browns and reds comprised the snow-capped mountainsides bordering the property, while dark green bunches of foliage blanketed the sandy ground that encompassed the few grassy areas on the homestead. The beautiful golden glow of late afternoon backlit the mountain ridges.

  Property lines? Homestead? What the hell am I thinking? Born and raised in the northeast—New Jersey and New York respectively—she knew nothing about homesteads or ranching. Her world revolved around city living, education, highbrow culture. Yet concerns about harnesses and saddle soap, feeding livestock, shoeing horses, making sure there was food on the table, and protection of all she held dear whirred in her mind. A longing for a different lifestyle welled within her—a way of life where she’d work hard off the land and fall into bed at the end of the day feeling a true sense of accomplishment. The desire to toss her smartphone out the window, not worry about keeping up with the Joneses, and go back to a simple way of living grew.

  Simplistic living. Wishful thinking that, a male voice whispered in her mind.

  Rachel brushed off the masculine-voiced comments, telling herself they were only thoughts from her own subconscious, manifesting in a way that she’d find agreeable.

  Slow and steady she pressed on the accelerator. She finished the drive to the parking area near the lodge. The large building had a stone façade that reminded her of the Italian marble found in her grandmother’s New York City penthouse. She liked the big pieces of cream colored stones with gold and grey veins streaking their surfaces. Rachel shifted uneasily in her seat. She couldn’t put a finger on it, but something about the structure was off. The lodge seemed too large, appeared too new.

  There’s nothing wrong with it. I’m just exhausted. She pinched her cheeks, hoping the action would revive her and chase away the weird feelings and musings. The squeezes didn’t help. A strong urge for a nap, a wonderful hour or so of undisturbed sleep, took hold.

  Yes, sleep, the man’s deep voice intoned in her mind again. Come be with me.

  Great. Not able to ignore it this time, Rachel bent forward and dropped her forehead onto the steering wheel. It wasn’t just any man speaking softly in the recesses of her consciousness, but Dalton, the man who’d been haunting her dreams the past few years. Now I know I really need some good sleep since he’s talking to me while I’m awake.

  What would her psychology professors, or the associates at the clinic where she’d recently been interviewed think if they knew what she’d been experiencing? That she’d been having a relationship with a man in her dreams? Very juicy dreams with someone whose facial features have been nondescript? I know his name, have heard his voice, felt his body as we’ve loved each other, but I have no clue what he looks like since his face is always in dream shadow. With a deep sigh, she slid out of the car into the dry winter air of the high desert and grabbed her luggage from the trunk. Why am I even worrying about this? He’s just a figment of my overly-stressed mind.

  She removed the wool scarf from her neck, tossed it into the trunk, and found a lighter one to wear. Weather here sure is different than back east. Thought it’d be colder. But then, according to what she’d learned in a meteorology class, the combination of humidity and temperature determines the conduction of heat from the body. That’s why a person feels colder in the winter when the moisture in the air is high since water increases transference of heat from the body. In drier air there would be less heat loss. I could get used to this climate. No more days and nights of bone-deep, biting cold not only because it’s freezing out, but it’s also rainy, sleeting, snowing…

  “Rachel? Is that you?”

  Startled, she slammed the trunk and looked over the roof of the car. Her sister, dressed in a thick sweater, high-heeled black boots and skintight jeans, bounded off the grand porch that ran the length of the lodge. The planks comprising it appeared old and weathered, in direct contrast to her earlier thought about the building. Probably a paint or stain technique to give it a well-loved, worn look. The wooden rocking chairs lining t
he portico tipped to and fro as a brisk breeze blew over the area. “The one and only,” Rachel called back.

  “Miguel, honey, can you come and help us bring her bags in?” Marianne bellowed over her shoulder, then finished her sprint down the slight incline to the parking lot. “I’m so glad you finally got a flight out and could make it.”

  “Tell me about it.” Rachel hugged her sister and then held her at arm’s length. “But look at you. Could your hair get any more blonde? This is Nevada, honey, not California.”

  Marianne laughed. “And you? Could yours get any more black and straight?”

  Having missed her sister and their banter about hair and fashion, she embraced her again. Nearby, a throat cleared. Marianne pulled away with a huge smile on her face and skipped over to a tall, dark haired man who had a beautiful café au lait skin tone. The man, clothed in black trousers, a white t-shirt and black leather jacket, was gorgeous—a perfect example of tall, dark and handsome. Her sister, who always had the best luck nabbing sexy hunks, wrapped her arms around the man’s waist and dragged him forward. “Rachel, this is my man, Miguel Garza.”

  Rachel studied the couple, comparing Miguel’s darker skin to her sister’s light complexion and hair, his height and muscular build to her small frame. “Pleased to meet you.” She extended her hand, tamping down the painful rise of envy that threatened to gnaw her insides. Her sister was one lucky lady, having a handsome, charming man around. One who could cook, too. If only she could be so fortunate. But all she had were a handful of dreams, a few ex-boyfriends and her crazy mind creating a dream lover.

  Miguel shook it, offered a suave smile. “The pleasure’s all mine,” he crooned in a seductive Spanish accent. “May I assist you with your bags?”

  The colorful radiance of the setting sun haloed the lodge behind them, changing from gold to a wonderful, romantic magenta glow that bordered the top of the mountains. A weird forlorn sensation overcame her, replaced the hot envy. Rachel checked herself. She should be happy now being in the company of her sister after a handful of years. Why were the momentary spurts of jealousy inking her mind, darkening her thoughts? Why did she feel like she had lost her best friend?

  I must be losing my marbles.

  You are not crazy, sugar, Dalton stated, but you are lucky. I am here.

  His sweet, sexy voice, full of passionate promise, sent anxious tingles coursing through her. She plastered a smile on her face, hopefully removing any odd expressions that might be there. Shuffling her feet against some rocks, she looked down. Neither Marianne nor Miguel could notice her unease. It was one thing to dream about a guy, but to have said man talking to her in the light of day? That was a mark of insanity in her professional opinion. The last thing she needed was a bunch of questions. What’s wrong with you? Are you all right? That would drive her crazy.

  With a peek at them, she realized she needn’t have worried. Engrossed in staring at each other and rubbing noses, it seemed they hadn’t paid her any mind. A relieved breath whooshed from her.

  “Of course you can assist her,” Marianne chimed, pulling her gaze off her guy.

  Her sister’s voice yanked Rachel from her circling thoughts.

  “This way Rachel and I can start catching up with each other.” Marianne joined Rachel at her side and hooked her arm with hers.

  “Geez, I hate to be a pill, but what I’d really like is to be shown to my room so I can lay down for a bit.” She stepped away and glanced at Marianne, whose crestfallen face threatened a guilt trip. Hurting her sister’s feelings was the last thing she wanted to do, but what she really needed was to lay her head on a pillow and close her eyes for a few relaxing minutes. “Please. An hour or so down time, and I promise you, then I’ll be up for a real long visit before Nonna arrives.”

  Miguel sucked in air with a whistle. “Marianne, you didn’t tell me your grandmother was coming.”

  “Did so. Told you she was coming a few days after Rachel’s arrival. You were a bit preoccupied, though, when we were talking about Bristol and Damon’s Christmas Eve wedding and who planned to visit.” She raked her gaze down and up the length of his body with special attention to his crotch and winked. “You probably just forgot.”

  A faint blush tinged the man’s cheeks. “You’re right, mija. I did.” He spared a quick look at the lodge. “I wonder if Billy knows.”

  Marianne nodded. “He sure does. I gave him fair warning, especially since her last visit seemed to have had an effect on him. As for you, my dear sister, all right. I’ll let you have an hour’s worth of rest, but I’m going to hold you to a good talk afterwards. Let’s get inside before we turn into ice pops.”

  Rachel followed her sister and Miguel into the lodge. They entered into a room with tables and comfy couches and a mismatched selection of oversized chairs. Again, the sense something was amiss tweaked her mind. Not the eclectic mix of furniture and décor. It’s… Too big. The room should be smaller. One picnic-like table and a couple of rickety chairs in front of the fireplace. And what’s with the fireplace? It’s set within a floor to ceiling gray stone hearth. It’s all wrong.

  They continued through the room, stepped through one of the archways into the dining hall. Her heels clacked on gray-brown ceramic tiles lining the floor. Tiles on the floor? Golden planks on the wall? It seems so … so … sumptuous. She blinked, a bit stunned at the observation. Money had never been a problem for her or her sister. Their parents were very well off and her grandmother was filthy rich. She and Marianne had never wanted for anything. Nothing was ever too lavish or out of bounds as long as they lived at home or were at school.

  After climbing a flight of stairs—covered in the same wood paneling as the walls—she found herself on the second level of the lodge.

  “Here we go.” Miguel led her to one of the guest rooms. A plaque on the door to the suite read Josie E.. Inside, he placed her bags next to a small desk with a laptop and printer on it and left quietly.

  “Have a good nap, sis. I’ll see you downstairs in a bit.” Marianne closed the door behind her.

  The room with its rosewood furniture and pretty wallpaper welcomed Rachel, immediately put her at ease. She studied the design of the wall covering. Miniature pink roses created vertical lines against a white background. The paper reminded her of her other grandmother’s house. A warm, peaceful feeling of being home swept over her. Too tired to argue with herself anymore, especially about the location of her residence, she made quick work finding something to sleep in, changed, and then tossed a dark t-shirt onto the digital clock. With the bright red numbers covered and the lights turned off, she collapsed onto the king-sized bed.

  Rachel snuggled deep within the confines of the down comforter, relaxed and content for the first time in months. Relieved to no longer have to cram for exams, write research papers or defend her thesis, she sighed, then closed her eyes. The travel time from Newark to Las Vegas, Nevada had been longer than expected due to storms, winding her nerves tighter than they already were. It was nice to finally settle down, stop moving and cease thinking. Within a few minutes, she drifted into a familiar dream world.

  Subtle fragrances of leather and sandalwood filled the air. His memorable scent encompassed her. An eternity without him, or what seemed to be that long, ended as her dream lover drew near. A serene smile played at the corners of her lips. Dalton, it’s been awhile, she purred in her mind.

  Behind her, the bed and covers shifted. He settled his body against her. Restless throbs of desire pulsed through her as she molded against him, wanting to be as close to him as possible. He nibbled on her earlobe and snaked his strong arms around her. Warm breath wisped over the side of her face.

  “My star. My lovely wife. How good it is to have you in my arms.” Lips brushed her jaw just below her ear, sending tingles down her side and arm.

  A quick burst of panic shot through her. This seems to be more than a lucid dream. Rachel reached behind her, with a cautious sweep of her arm and hand, hoping to
find empty space.

  She didn’t.

  Chapter Two

  Realizing she wasn’t alone, the alarm zinging along her nerves morphed into an icy apprehension that pumped hard and fast through her with each heartbeat.

  “Dalton?” Her eyes flew open. A soft yellow light filled the room. Didn’t I turn off the lights? How’s that rocker where the computer desk should be?

  Rachel scrambled out of the bed, yanking the covers with her. She wrapped the flat sheet and comforter around her as she spun and faced the naked man lying on his stomach in her bed. Being a quick thinker, she choked back a scream on the off chance she still dreamt. She didn’t need everyone in the lodge converging on her room over a stupid nightmare.

  “Who else would be in your bed, sugar?”

  Her gaze sped across the room. The miniature rose wallpaper along with her t-shirt were gone. So were the elaborate pieces of rosewood furniture and anything electronic, including the digital clock. Two old-fashioned hurricane oil lamps lit the room along with a few candles. She gulped, then breathed in shallow, quick gasps.

  “Rae? What’s come over you?” He bolted upright, revealing more of his bare chest and body. “I’m your husband. We’re in our home. Our room.”

  Husband. One who happens to have a nicely sculpted, bare chest. She glanced at the floor then at his long, narrow feet. Trailing her gaze up his long legs, to his sturdy thighs, she did a fast pass over his growing cock and swallowed hard again. Candlelight flickered on his skin. Shadows enhanced the definition of his muscles, added to the dark, mysterious quality of his eyes. Long, dark locks of hair curled over his forehead and ears. Finally seeing his facial features for the first time, she couldn’t help staring. More handsome than I ever imagined. And oddly familiar.