Joanna Wayne - Cowboy Swagger

Dylan’s hand brushed the back of a worn leather couch as he walked past it. “At least the air conditioner works.”

And worked well, she noted. The house was pleasantly cool and free of dust and the myriad spiderwebs that would have given it a true haunted look. Someone had obviously readied the place for Troy Ledger’s arrival.

Dylan walked to the kitchen. She followed him.

He opened what appeared to be a new refrigerator. “There are soft drinks, bottled water and beer,” he said. “What’s your pleasure?”

“Water would be nice.”

He handed her a bottle of water and took a beer for himself. She nodded her thanks.

He unscrewed the top from his beer. The silence grew awkward.

“Why me?” she finally asked.

“You passed me back on the road.”

“That’s not much of a reason.”

He took a long swig of the beer. “Guess I just wanted to know why the hurry. Is news that scarce in Mustang Run?”

“Frankly, yes.”

“Must be an exciting town.”

“About the same as when we were at Mustang Run Elementary School.”

His eyes narrowed. “Should I recognize you?”

“I’d worry if you did. I’ve changed a lot since fifth grade. I’m Collette McGuire. I was a year behind you in school.”

He nodded as if he’d just had an ah-ha moment. “Collette the tattletale. You’re right. You’ve definitely changed. Is your father still sheriff?”

Her only claim to fame. In this case, it would work against her. “Yes, he is.”

“Is he part of the welcoming committee waiting outside?”

“I didn’t see him out there. As far as I can tell, the mob is all media sharks.”

“Like you?”

“Not exactly. I mean I am with the media today, but I’m not a reporter.”

His eyebrows arched.

“I’m a photographer—with Beyond the Grave,” she added hesitantly. “It’s a magazine that explores the paranormal.”

His muscles bunched, and his lips pulled into a tight line. “Let me guess. You want to help me connect with my dead mother.”

Ire burned in her veins. “I don’t communicate with the dead.” Or some of the living, either, she silently added.

He took another swig of the beer and leaned against the counter. “So why is Beyond the Grave interested in Willow Creek Ranch?”

“Word around town is that your house is haunted.”

“You people need to get a life.”

In theory she agreed with him. That didn’t keep his arrogance from rubbing her the wrong way. He’d been gone for years. What did he know of their town or her? But she should probably cut him some slack considering the reason he’d come back to Mustang Run. Besides, Eleanor and Melinda did need those pictures.

She placed her camera case on the kitchen table. “I realize the timing is not the greatest for you, but since you invited me inside, why not let me take a few pictures? And if there’s anything you want to say for the magazine, I can see that you’re quoted accurately.”

“I’ve nothing to say. But go ahead. Take your pictures.” He glanced at his watch. “Make it fast. My father will be here any minute now, and I seriously doubt he’ll be as accommodating as I’m being.”

“Thanks for the warning.” She started snapping pictures of the kitchen. Try as she might, she couldn’t find a way to make the place look spooky. She fared no better in the family room. The space just looked lonesome and bereft of human touch.

Intent on working quickly, she didn’t notice that Dylan had joined her in the family room until she caught sight of him in her viewfinder.

Her heart skipped a beat or two from the sheer masculinity of the man against the backdrop of the huge stone fireplace. The slow burn he ignited crept to her cheeks. She lowered the camera without taking the shot.

Dylan propped a booted foot on the low hearth and an elbow on the mantel. “What makes people say the house is haunted?”

“Some claim that they’ve seen a woman in white out by the gate when they pass it at night. She tries to wave them down as if she needs help. If they stop, she disappears.”

“Is that it?”

“Not quite. Some claim to have seen a woman standing at one of the windows.”

“Superstitious fools.” Dylan raked his fingers through his hair, parting the sandy locks into deep grooves that quickly filled back in place. “Are you one of them?”

“One of the superstitious fools? No. I have too much trouble with the living to worry about ghosts.”

Her cell phone rang. Probably Eleanor with instructions as to what photos she wanted for the magazine. “Excuse me,” she said, reaching for her phone.

“No problem.”

“Hello.”

“I saw you go inside the house with Dylan Ledger.”

Apprehension ground in her stomach. The lunatic who’d been stalking her must have followed her to Willow Creek Ranch.

She walked back to the kitchen, hopefully out of Dylan’s hearing range. “I told you to stop calling me,” she whispered.

“I can’t do that. We’re soul mates, Collette, meant to be together.”

She took a deep breath, hoping it would settle her shaky nerves and shakier voice. “I’m not anything to you, and if you don’t stop harassing me, my father will arrest you, throw you in jail and lose the key.”

“I’m not afraid of your daddy, Collette. But I have a message for him. Tell him I’ll soon be sleeping with his precious daughter. And you’ll like it. I promise you that.”

Her skin crawled. As much as she dreaded the thought, she was going to have to get a gun. This guy was nuts.

She broke the connection and rejoined Dylan. “I’m sorry for the interruption.”

“You look upset. Is something wrong?”

“It was a nuisance call.” She tried to take another picture, but her hands shook and she had trouble holding the camera steady.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Dylan asked.

He was far too astute to buy her feeble excuses. “Yeah, I’m okay. It’s just that there’s this guy who’s bothering me. I’ll deal with it.”

She went back to taking pictures, and this time her hands remained calm. She finished in record time and walked to the kitchen. Dylan was staring out the window, his face a hard mask that revealed no emotion. She felt a weird connection with him, as if growing up in Mustang Run were a bond in itself.

She stepped closer. “It must be tough coming back after all these years. It’s a nice thing to do for your father.”

He shook his head. “I’m not sure I’m doing it for him.”

So things weren’t fully settled between them, which made his inviting her in even more strange. “Did you stay in touch with him over the years?”

He shrugged. “Does it matter?”

Which meant he considered it none of her business. Fair enough. Only he was the one who’d started with the questions. “Why did you really let me in to take the pictures, Dylan?”

“You looked familiar. I just realized it’s because you look like your mother.”

“You remember my mother? I wasn’t even aware that you’d met her.”

“She came over the day my mother was murdered. She cooked dinner for my brothers and me. My memories from that night are sketchy, but I remember her telling us that no one would hurt us and that it was all right to cry. She stayed until my grandparents got here.”

“Where was your dad?”

“Being questioned by the deputies—and your father.”

Yep, that pretty much defined her parents. Mom had always been there to comfort. Her dad was always there to find fault and uncover the hidden sins.

“How is your mother?” Dylan asked.

“She had a stroke and passed away a few years ago.”

“I’m sorry, “Dylan said. “Go ahead with your pictures. My father won’t like it, but the skeletons have been rattling around in this house for too long already. Might as well shake a few out for your readers.”