Wild West Hauntings Page 2

  Seeming to know she appraised him like a prize bull at an auction, an easy smile lit his face.

  Rachel whirled away from the sight, hurried over to the six-drawer dresser where a large, pine framed mirror perched on top of it. Trying to figure out how she fell into such a coherent dream, she fiddled with some items lying in front of the reflective glass.

  Either she was caught in some strange dream world or she was the brunt of a really bad practical joke. Her logical mind latched on to the idea of someone playing a bad prank, and the more she thought about it, the man in her bed reminded her of an actor in a soap opera she’d watched occasionally. The show had been cancelled, but she still caught classic episodes of it from time to time on a cable channel.

  She glimpsed him in the reflection. Whoever he was, he was a good actor. The apprehensive expression on his face was award worthy. With talent like that he’d give Bristol a run for her money. But who would have paid him for a silly gig like this? Maybe he was an impersonator. Thinking of actor look-a-likes, she glanced up.

  The image in the mirror propped on the dresser stopped her cold. It was her but not her in the reflection. A milky-white, round face with almond-shaped green eyes stared back. A shock of red hair lay in a thick braid over her shoulder. Aside from her brown eyes being green and black hair being red, her features were similar, but extra pounds padded the woman in the mirror. Not enough to be considered overweight, but enough to no longer make her a size six. A pink hue fanned out and graced her cheeks.

  Rachel leaned forward, touched a pudgy cheek with shaky fingers. She traced a trembling path along satin ribbons threaded through delicate eyelets. The white ties closed the front of a full-length nightgown. When had she switched from her sweats and a t-shirt? Where had the light blue gown come from? She hadn’t packed any such clothing, since she always slept in shorts or sweats and a t-shirt.

  “I… I don’t know what’s come over me,” she said more for herself than him, hopeful that hearing her own voice would ground her in reality. No such luck. The thick southern drawl that came out was nowhere near her normal, vowel-laden New York City accent.

  She gripped the dresser’s ledge. Solid mass. Not a dream? Had to be. Prank or not, no one would go to such lengths to change the room and her. She would have woken up had anyone tried to get her out of her clothes.

  What did all this mean then?

  Rachel shook her head several times in absolute denial. I never switched clothes. Arrived at the ranch. Laid down for a nap. Never switched. The thoughts whizzed around in her mind like cars on a racetrack. Just breathe. I’m either more exhausted than I realized, or all those abnormal psych classes finally went to my head.

  The bed squeaked and groaned behind her. Footsteps slapped against the wood planks of the floor.

  “Maybe the dram of brandy you had at dinner has made you fuddled.” Dalton sidled up behind her, massaged her shoulders.

  “Maybe.” Automatically agreeing to keep questions and concerns to a minimum, she closed her eyes against her unfamiliar visage.

  “I know the past couple of years have been rough. Marryin’ a man like me and movin’ cross country away from your kin … a life of ease… It’s hard. And now that there’s another round of holidays coming up and your folks can’t make it again, you’re feelin’ a bit down. That’s why I thought the brandy would cheer you. But, sugar, you have me. Let me be all the family you need. You know I love you, don’t you?”

  “Do you?” Against her better judgment, she found herself relaxing under his ministrations.

  Strong fingers and hands squeezed her muscles with just the right amount of pressure, releasing at the optimal time. Lost in the blissful, relaxing sensations, she sighed, almost forgetting the fingers stroking her weren’t those of a trained therapist. It’d been ages since she’d been to a full-service salon and enjoyed a massage. First thing she’d do when she woke would be to call a spa at one of the resorts and schedule a full body massage, a pedicure and manicure. If ever there was a time for pampering, it was now, when she was losing her mind.

  “Yes, I love you with all my soul and being. You’re the bright star that guides my days, the shining star at night who watches over me. I bask in your beauty and enduring strength, look to you for inspiration. I adore the sheer pleasure of you being in my life and thank God every day he brought us together.”

  The poetry of his words choked her. She opened her eyes and stared at his guileless, caring face in the reflection. No man had ever spoken to her like that in her life, expressed himself in such open eloquence. A big part of her wanted to turn around, wrap him in her arms and never let go. After all, dreams or not, she knew this man—his mind, body and soul. Perhaps in another time, in a different life, she had been married to him, but on a deeper, cosmic level they were connected. Always and beyond eternity.

  “Always and beyond eternity I shall love you,” he stated, echoing her thoughts.

  Her mind and heart were in turmoil. She toyed with a small horsehair brush on the dresser. Primal intuition warred with her higher learning. Though the profound energetic essence and spiritual links were there, she still had to keep in mind the manner in which they were together. She wanted to believe in soul mates and pre-destined paths, yet science had never been able to prove those aspects to be fact. How could she go against all her training and all the hours of higher learning she’d submitted herself to? Rachel wanted to return his sentiments, but her logical, educated self wouldn’t allow a slip into an imaginative world. No matter how real it seemed. She fought to keep the tears back. One lone drop escaped and trickled down her cheek.

  Dalton wiped it away. “Come, sugar, I know how to make you feel better.” He slid his hands over her shoulders, across her collarbones, to the floppy bow at the top of her gown. With deft fingers, he loosened the ribbon and unthreaded the thin cloth from the small holes.

  Details of past dreams crept into her mind. Snippets of Dalton and the ranch played like a slide show—picnics near a small pond, training horses in the dusty ring, helping build and expand the ranch. Long, winter nights snuggled in bed loving each other.

  No wonder this place seemed so recognizable to me. It’s been the setting of my dreams all along.

  The gown slid off her body. Rachel closed her eyes once more, focusing on the brush of soft fabric along her skin. The garment pooled on the floor around her feet. His hands caressed her arms. He whispered loving words into her ear. She tamped down the fear of diving too far into the fantasy that threatened to overtake her. Yet, it was her dream man’s, her husband’s, voice speaking to her, his scent she smelled, his naked body and the steel of his cock pressing upon her back. There was no reason to be afraid.

  Her ears picked up on a pounding sound. The beginnings of a migraine? She hoped not. She rubbed her temples, squeezed her eyes tighter shut.

  “Are you all right?” His concerned voice whispered behind her.

  The thumping intensified.

  Dalton stopped touching her.

  Am I? “I don’t know. Something’s off.”

  A cool breeze wafted over her. Rachel snapped her eyes open. Her t-shirt and sweat pants clung to her moistened skin. Soft white sheets twisted and bunched in a wild mess around her. The comforter hung skewed off the bottom edge of the bed. The fact she’d turned into a restless sleeper was a concern, but there were bigger issues at hand.

  She was alone in the bed, and the knocks continued.

  Disorientated from the noise that jerked her back to the present and out of her dream, Rachel rolled to her side. She unraveled herself, then fumbled for the lamp on the nightstand. Turning on the light, she sat up, scanning the room to be sure she was where she was supposed to be and no longer caught in the obscure, time warping dream.

  Somewhere below her, hard steady thumps sounded, followed by angry voices. An impulse to hurry downstairs and calm the volatile situation propelled her out of the bed and the room. The agitated noises grew louder as she descende
d the stairs. Marianne and Miguel’s muffled but animated conversation in the kitchen drew her attention, and she hurried through the gray swinging doors.

  “Rachel? Are you all right?” Marianne’s focus swung from her boyfriend to her. She sat on the countertop. Miguel stood between her legs. They looked like a perfect, lovey-dovey couple, not people involved in an argument. “I thought you were going to lie down for a while.”

  “Yeah, I thought so, too,” Rachel replied, her voice slightly breathless, her mind still in turmoil from the dream. She glanced around the white tiled kitchen filled with stainless steel appliances and work tables, wondering where the banging and heated conversation was.

  Miguel removed himself from Marianne’s arms and returned to the stove. He stirred a soup in the large pot sitting over a small flame. It smelled heavenly with its sharp spices, vegetables and meat. Rachel’s stomach growled. She placed her hands on her abdomen. Hungry? Perhaps. It’d been a while since she last ate. But food could wait. What she really wanted to do was figure out the deal with Dalton.

  He still reminded her of someone. But who? Probably someone she’d seen at some point or that hot actor she thought about earlier. She just wished she could make the connection. Images of his tall, muscular body lying on top of her, his handsome face with his strong jaw line and squared chin hovering over hers just before a kiss, flipped through her mind.

  Marianne hopped off the counter and strolled over. She cocked her head, raised an eyebrow. “Why are you blushing?”

  “I had an um … interesting dream.”

  “Oooh, really now?” Marianne linked her arm with hers, led her over to a metal folding table with matching chairs. “Do tell. What’s he like, and how good was he?”

  Rachel gasped and flopped into a chair. Her cheeks flamed with embarrassment. Marianne could be too open at times with her free way of thinking and speaking, and when others were around, it was especially daunting. “Who said anything about it being that type of dream?”

  “Well, let’s see.” Marianne sat, tapped her fingers against her cheek. Long, glittering green painted nails drummed a quiet beat on her skin. “There’s the nice red tinge to your face. You said it was an interesting dream. Then, there was a sparkle in your eye as I was coming toward you. So, fess up. Tell your sister everything.”

  A lid clattered onto the pot in front of Miguel. He glanced over his shoulder with a wink. “Sorry, ladies.”

  “Can we talk about this later?” Rachel leaned forward and asked quietly.

  “Sure. We’ll find a more private—”

  “Marianne!” A new voice bellowed beyond the thin doors between the kitchen and dining room.

  Marianne and Miguel’s attentions whipped toward the area it came from.

  “What did you do now?” Miguel dropped the wooden mixing spoon into the bubbling concoction on the stove. Hot, red splatters dotted his apron and the surrounding workspace.

  “I have no idea what crawled up Dakota’s ass this time.”

  “Dakota’s your boss, right?” Rachel inquired, trying to remember all the names and people her sister had told her about.

  “Yes, Dakota is our boss,” Miguel replied. “Guess I’ll go out there and see what’s got his chaps in a twist again.” He wiped his hands on the spattered protective garment and headed for the exit.

  As he neared the swinging doors, they flew open. A short and stocky dark-skinned, dark-haired man, dressed in an apron like Miguel’s, barged into the kitchen, spouting excited words in Spanish.

  Miguel held up his hands. “Pedro, calm down, man. Take a breath. Thank God I was a couple steps from the exit. Otherwise you would have bashed my nose in.”

  Pedro nodded, breathed deeply a couple of times while his wild-eyed gaze darted around the work area.

  Miguel squeezed the man’s shoulder. “Ready to tell me what’s got you so worked up?”

  “It’s Senor Dougan. He was outside chopping wood. Very angry. He loco.” Pedro twirled a finger near his head. “He say he gonna… He gonna… Decapitará Senor Hugh.”

  “What? He wants to behead him?”

  Pedro’s head bobbed up and down. “Si. Con un hacha.” The smaller man held up his fists and swung his arms through the air as if to chop something.

  “An axe?” Marianne jumped from the chair and hurried over to the pair. “Pedro, are you sure Dakota said he was going to give Hugh the axe?”

  “Si.”

  A deep rumbling laugh bubbled out of Miguel. He slapped the obviously shocked cook on the shoulder. “Mr. Dak’s not going to hurt him. He just wants to fire him.” He looked back at Marianne. “At least he’s not gunning for you this time, my beauty. Guess I’ll go see what’s up.” With another chuckle, he removed his apron and tossed it to the cook. “Hopefully I’ll be able to stop Mr. Dak’s carnage before it starts.” He dashed out of the kitchen.

  “What’s Miguel talking about?” Rachel asked her sister once she retook her seat.

  “Dakota’s known to be a bit OCD. When things aren’t going exactly as how he believes they should go, he becomes testy and lets people know it. I used to be the main person in his line of fire, being the office admin and all. But then an old girlfriend of his came back into his life, and he’s mellowed. Well, not completely, but he’s calmed down some. He doesn’t micromanage as much as he used to. And, he’s not so focused on me anymore.” She glanced at the swinging doors with a smile. “Much to Miguel’s relief. He’s saved my butt so many times I’ve lost count. Catching and correcting my mistakes, apprising me of how this particular office works and how the men like the ranch duties done. But, you know me, I’m like Nonna. When I set my sights on something or someone, I’m apt to do just about anything.”

  “And you were seeking the attentions of the Dougan boys,” Rachel stated. She knew her sister well and didn’t need to ask. Marianne had always loved to chase the wrong men and not be discreet about it.

  Marianne nodded, her gaze downcast. “Yeah, not my most shining of moments. I’d make mistakes and cause problems on purpose to try to gain their notice in one way or another. And I sure did catch their attentions, got under their skins, but not in a good way. Miguel kept coming to my rescue, but then he stopped. Cassie, that’s Dak’s fiancée, had separate talks with Dak, Miguel and me, and that’s when Miguel came forward about his feelings. He’s in love with me.” Her eyes took on a wistful cast. “He’s told me he’s helped me so much because he can’t imagine not seeing me on a daily basis, to smell the jasmine scent I always wear. He loves hearing what he calls my strange accent.”

  “The New Yorker in you slips through, huh?”

  “Especially when I’m frustrated. Miguel’s said I’ve captured his heart and mind as no other woman ever had.”

  Miguel’s boot heels clacked on the tiles as he came back in the kitchen.

  “Jake and Kane have been down in the back forty with a cow for hours now,” Dakota’s bellows followed the cook in as the doors swung. “I asked you to call Bea. Did you? No. You know how I know? I called and got her to come since the cow needs its vet. Has Kent or Marianne called Miller Stones yet, do you know?”

  Miguel raised a brow in Marianne’s direction. “What Dak want with the tombstone maker?”

  “I gather he wants to fix some of the gravestones in the family plot. One of them split down the middle.” Marianne held up a hand. “And, before you ask, yes, I called. I told Dak that I had. Guess he forgot.”

  “Guess he had. I think we need to talk with Cassie about Dak again. It’s not right that he’s taking his employees to task in the middle of the lodge, especially when there are guests on the property.”

  For some strange reason she had to find out, needed to know, what their thoughts were about the headstones in the family cemetery. A weird prickling sensation ran through Rachel—a warning against asking about the graveyard. She did anyway. “How’d a gravestone break?”

  Miguel shrugged. “Trespassers. Weather—”

 
“Our resident ghosts popping up,” Marianne offered with a snicker.

  A gasp escaped Rachel before she could stop it. “Ghosts?” Dalton. The ranch. My dreams. A connection?

  “Marianne,” Miguel scolded. His dark-eyed gaze narrowed in on her. “You’re scaring your sister. Look at her. She’s gone pale.”

  Rachel touched her cheek: cold, like marble floors in a well air-conditioned room. Probably appeared icy white, too. But her sister’s reasoning behind the damaged tombstones hit a little too close to her own spooky experiences for her liking.

  “I’m sorry, sis. I didn’t mean to freak you out.”

  “You didn’t. It’s just—”

  A crash in the dining room jerked all their attentions toward the doors.

  Miguel chuckled, patted Rachel’s shoulder, then hugged an arm around Marianne’s waist. “That noise,” he directed to Rachel, “is just the garbage can Dak likes to kick when he’s riled.” He shook his head. “Dak’s fuse is definitely lit. He’s madder than the time he bit into that habanero pepper by mistake.”

  “Dak mad is not good.” Marianne grabbed Rachel’s hand. “Let’s get upstairs so you don’t have to be subjected to his tantrums so early in your vacation. Plus, it’ll give us a chance to talk. You can tell me all about who’s making you blush.” She gave Miguel a peck on the cheek and dragged Rachel out of the kitchen.

  Chapter Three

  They sat on the bed together to have their sister talk. Rachel crossed her legs under the sheets, then smoothed the soft material around her, giving herself a moment to gather her thoughts. To her surprise, Marianne had remained quiet after her initial question of what had her so bothered, but her sister wouldn’t wait forever to hear what she had to say. She took a deep breath and let it out in a slow whoosh. Sooner begun… “I’ve been having recurring dreams. Some sexual. Some not so much. But I’m beginning to think there’s someone out there I’m connected to. Someone I might be experiencing dream telepathy with.”