A Willing Spirit, A Ghostly Romance Read online

CHAPTER TWO

  "He's not the right one."

  Tessa looked up from the bucket she was filling at the well. She didn't have to ask who Will was talking about. She'd known the minute she'd laid eyes on Micah Fox's handsome face that he wasn't the sort of man Will had in mind for her. He wasn't the sort of man she had in mind for herself either, but Will could care less about that. He'd certainly taken his time about showing up to express his opinion. Mr. Fox had been working for her almost a day now, accomplishing more already that she'd thought possible. "Will, he's the only one who's even offered to help me. Don't you dare run him off.” She shoved the pump handle down with more force than was actually necessary. That was the trouble with arguing with a ghost -- you couldn't see him to know for sure he was getting your point. "I can't believe you actually showed yourself to him yesterday! I'm lucky he didn't pick up his saddle and leave right then."

  Will grunted. "He wouldn't have left before he ate."

  "I almost fell over when he asked me about you.” She began fastening the filled bucket to one end of a wooden yoke.

  "What did you tell him?"

  "What was I supposed to tell him? I pretended you were some crazy old hermit who lived around here."

  Will laughed, a deep chuckle that vibrated the air around her. "That's good. I think I'll enjoy pretending to be a hermit."

  She faced the direction she thought he'd been speaking from. "Don't do any such thing. I don't want you talking to him again."

  "I'm behind you now."

  She whirled around. "Stop moving and listen to me! I need Micah Fox's help until my arm heals. Don't run him off."

  "You need a husband to take over the burden of running the ranch permanently.” Will sounded annoyed. "Someone respectable and well thought of in town. A half-breed from nowhere isn't the right man."

  "And just what respectable, well-thought-of man from town is going to want to have anything to do with me?” She shook her head and crouched down to settle the yoke on her shoulders. "I don't want to get married again, Will. I can run things fine with a hand like Mr. Fox."

  "I won't try to make him leave as long as you need his help. But I intend to keep an eye on him, all the same."

  She straightened, struggling to balance the yoke and the water buckets hanging from either end. "Things will work out fine, you'll see."

  "I'll see because I'll be watching.”

  The chill in the air gradually gave way to the heat of mid-morning, and she knew he was gone. Frowning, she started toward the garden. She was perfectly capable of looking after herself. She didn't need Will interfering. But she might as well try to argue with a fencepost, for all the satisfaction she'd get from trying to reason with him.

  #

  Micah watched over the top of the roof as Tessa hauled water to the vegetable garden behind the house. It was an arduous chore, working the hand-pump to fill buckets with water, attaching the buckets to a wooden yoke, then lugging the heavy pails to the rows, all made more difficult by the cast on her forearm. But she'd refused his offer of help. "You'd better see to the roof," she said. "That's one job I can't handle."

  Despite her stubborn toughness, it was obvious to Micah that there were quite a few chores around the ranch she'd been unable to handle. In fact, he was pretty sure if he hadn't come along when he did, she wouldn't have held out another winter. The corral fence needed mending in several place. Both the house and the barn leaked, and a busted axle rendered the largest wagon useless. Her supply of firewood was low, and he could find no indication she'd had fresh meat in a long time.

  The horses were the one thing she had not neglected. The quality of the small herd impressed him. There were several sturdy wagon horses, a pair of Morgans, and half a dozen cross-bred saddle horses. Their coats gleamed with good health and their manes and tails flowed like silk from frequent currying. Tessa had put all her efforts into the animals, at the expense of the rest of the ranch.

  He moved a few feet over on the roof and began hammering a sheet of tin into place. Just as well he had plenty of work to do here. Chores made it easier for him to stay out of Tessa's way. She'd been civil enough to him at supper last night and at breakfast this morning, but tension hummed in the air around them like a busy telegraph wire. The message came through to him loud and clear: Tessa Bright regretted hiring him, but now that he was here, she couldn't afford to let him go. And now that he'd accepted the job, he couldn't bring himself to leave her in the lurch.

  He stopped hammering and looked down on her again as she carried more of water to the garden. The wooden yoke seemed too heavy for her frail figure, but she made steady progress down the rows. Only the way she rubbed her back when she set down her burden betrayed the difficulty of her task.

  She tipped the buckets into the irrigation ditches she'd dug between the rows. Water and mud slopped over her bare feet and ankles. She'd tied her skirt up to her knees to keep it dry, revealing shapely calves.

  He smiled approvingly. She had said her husband had been dead over a year now. He couldn't believe she didn't have a line of men waiting at that fancy gate to court her. Here was a beautiful young woman free of husband and children, who owned her own property, was good with livestock and undeterred by hard work. The perfect western wife. Yet so far, not a single visitor had appeared outside of the old hermit who had questioned him in the barn. And no mention had been made of any expected callers.

  She stooped to pull a weed from among a row of beans, then picked up her empty yoke and buckets and made her way back to the pump. Yoke and buckets once more neatly in their places, she surprised him by working the pump again and raising her leg to wash away the mud under the streaming water.

  It was an unconscious gesture, the action of a woman who either is sure no one can see her, or who sees no shame in washing the dirt from her legs. He kept his eyes on her, unable to tear himself away from the innocent, yet intimate scene. Familiar stirrings of desire swept through him, making his heart beat faster, his blood run hotter. He shifted to accommodate the swelling in his trousers, and quickly averted his eyes.

  "Lay one hand on her and I'll cut it off."

  For a fleeting second, he thought his conscience was talking to him, but at the same moment he realized the voice was real enough, and coming from the old man, Will, perched on the peak of the roof a few feet down from where he was working. Micah stared. This was the second time the old hermit had slipped up on him. Had he been so engrossed in watching Tessa that he hadn't heard Will climb the ladder and walk across the roof? "I don't know what you're talking about," he snapped.

  "Don't you?” The old man looked pointedly at the crotch of Micah's trousers.

  He hefted his hammer and began pounding in a nail. "I don't have time to talk," he shouted over the racket. "I've got work to do."

  He missed the nail and it rolled down the roof and fell into the bushes beside the house. As he reached into his pocket for another, an icy hand grasped his wrist. Will, much closer now, froze him with an angry stare. "Tessa's a beautiful woman, but she's also respectable."

  "And I'm not, is that it?” He wrenched his hand away from Will's grasp. He resisted the urge to rub the wrist, which was so cold it almost burned. "You don't have to worry, old man. I'm not saying I'd turn her down if she invited me into her bed, but that's about as likely to happen as a hound dog being elected president."

  Will sat back. "What makes you so sure of that?"

  Micah hazarded another look at Tessa. She'd finished pumping and was drying her legs with an old feed sack. "It's just like you said. She's respectable. I'm not. The minute she realized I was a breed, she was sorry she'd asked me to stay. She'll let me work for her, but you can bet your last dollar she'd never risk her reputation by socializing with the likes of me."

  Will began to laugh, holding his stomach and rocking back and forth on the ridgebeam. Micah frowned. "What's so funny?"

  "Never mind, son.” He shook his head. "You just get back to work
and remember what I said."

  The old hermit has obviously gone off his rocker, Micah thought as he turned his attention to the tin patch once more. I ought to be worried he'll hurt Tessa. He seems almost obsessed with her. He looked down at Tessa again. She'd untied her skirts and was smoothing them down. Just then, she raised her head and for a brief moment, their eyes met. He caught his breath, struck by her beauty and by the turmoil he read in her eyes. He would have done anything in that moment to erase that haunted look from her face -- slain dragons, fought wars, or gathered her into his arms to kiss away the pain.

  She ducked her head, breaking the spell, and ran across the yard to the house. The sound of the back door slamming echoed in the air around him.

  "See. I told you she doesn't want anything to do with me.” He turned to address the old man, but the rooftop was empty, the air ringing with silence.

  #

  Tessa ran into the house, the memory of Micah's heated gaze pursuing her up the stairs and down the hall to her bedroom. Safely behind closed doors, she sank onto her bed and covered her face with her hands, trying to cool cheeks that burned with shame. What had she been thinking, bathing under the pump like that when she knew good and well Micah Fox was working on the roof?

  She took her hands from her face and sighed, shoulders slumped in defeat. There was no sense lying to herself. She'd pulled up her skirts and let him see her on purpose. Not because she was a loose woman, or so desperate for a man's attention she would throw herself at him. No, she'd done it because her conversation with Will had left her feeling frustrated and angry.

  Why couldn't Will understand that she needed to start making her own decisions about the ranch, and about her life? She was the one who had to bear the consequences of whatever choices were made.

  She'd been so moved when he first came back to her, relieved that he loved her so much. But lately she'd begun to wonder how much of what he'd done was out of love, and how much was motivated by the need to keep control of all that he'd held so tightly here on earth. When would he be able to let go -- of the ranch, and of her?

  She'd seen Will sitting up on the rooftop, putting no telling what ideas into Micah's head. So she'd raised her skirts and offered Micah Fox a glimpse of her legs, to prove to Will and to herself that she could still act without needing his approval. She'd wanted, too, to make Micah think twice before he allowed Will to talk him into leaving.

  Only when his eyes met hers had she felt shame -- shame that she'd let this wildness in her override her common sense. And beyond that, she was ashamed that she had disregarded his feelings altogether in her petty war of wills with her husband's ghost. She wouldn't blame him if he lost all respect for her now.

  She stood and went to the washstand in the corner and splashed the tepid water on her face. She'd made a mistake in teasing Micah that way. Now she'd have to work doubly hard to repair her reputation, and to rein in that part of her nature that compelled her to think and do such irresponsible things. She'd keep him at a distance, let him know she had no intention of throwing herself at him. He was her employee. He could never be anything more.

  #

  Micah found a plate of sausage and beans and cornbread waiting for him on the kitchen table when he came in for supper. He helped himself to a cup of coffee and listened for Tessa's approach, but there was no sound in the house except the ruffling of curtains stirred by a vagrant breeze.

  He stared at the cooling food, anger rising in his throat. Was she condemning him to eat alone because he had watched her at the well? Would he find his meals on the back porch next, as befitting a slave or a dog?

  Agitation drove him to his feet and into the parlor. A horsehair sofa and wing chair sat empty. Framed photographs of people he didn't know stared back at him. He left the room and paused at the bottom of the stairs, looking up towards the part of the house where he had never been, and had never thought to go. He grasped the newel post, unconsciously rubbing his palm across its slick coolness. Damn propriety! He wouldn't let her hide from him.

  His boots echoed on the wood as he took the steps two at a time. A window at the end of the hall looked out over the fields. Twin doors on either side of the hallway confronted him; he chose the one from under which yellow lamplight glowed.

  No answer came to his knock. "Tessa.” Not 'Mrs. Bright.' He would not call her that again. "I want to talk to you."

  The door opened slowly. A worried frown creased her pale brow. "Is something wrong with one of the horses?" she asked, avoiding his eyes.

  She was afraid of him. The thought cut him to the marrow. He grabbed hold of the doorframe to keep himself from turning around and leaving her alone. He hadn't meant to frighten her, or to confirm all her worst fears -- that he was a savage, unmannered and unschooled. But he couldn't leave yet. "No. There's something we need to get straight between us right now."

  She stepped into the hallway, shutting the door to her room firmly behind her, shutting out the brief glimpse he'd had of this personal side of her life. The gesture galled him, though of course he had no right to enter her bedroom. He stepped back, making room for her, but she refused to look at him, focusing instead on a picture on the wall behind him. "What is this about, Mr. Fox?"

  "Call me Micah."

  She shook her head. "I don't think -- "

  He wished she would look at him. "You don't want to call me by my given name. You don't want to eat at the same table with me.” He struggled to keep his voice from rising in anger. "Is it because I was watching you this afternoon while you were at the well?"

  She jerked her head up, a red flush sweeping over her face. "You had no right --"

  "I'm not some tobacco store prop!” He swallowed hard, reining in his feelings, forcing his voice down to a normal level. "I'm a man like any other man, and I'm going to watch a beautiful woman every chance I get, especially if she chooses to display herself in my full view."

  The blush deepened and she looked away. "I'm sorry.” Her whisper barely reached his ears. "I shouldn't have. . . "

  He took a step toward her, fighting the urge to gather her to him. She looked so frail and wounded, so utterly alone. "There was nothing wrong in what you did, nothing shameful or sinful about it."

  She nodded, but still refused to meet his gaze. Her face held a feverish flush, and her full lips were slightly parted. More than anything at this moment, he wanted to kiss those lips, to taste their sweetness and feel their warmth. She was close enough to touch, but he dare not lay a hand on her. "I want to know why you're afraid of me," he asked.

  "What makes you think I'm afraid of you?”

  Her averted eyes confirmed his own worst fears. "You've been avoiding me. Are you worried I'll scalp you in your sleep?"

  "No!” Her response was sharp and immediate. She met his gaze at last. Her eyes held an unexpected look of surprise. "I've never thought anything like that."

  He believed her, and now it was his turn to be startled. He hadn't expected her to be that different from other women he'd met.

  "Then stop avoiding me," he said. "We're working together here. We can at least be friends."

  When she didn't answer, he turned away, a gnawing emptiness in his stomach. Tessa Bright was different, but not different enough. "I'll just pack my things and go, then. There's no use in my staying where I'm not wanted."

  "No, Micah. Wait.”

  At the sound of his name on her lips, some tension inside of him eased. Some cold place deep within him began to get warm. "Please stay.”

  He glanced over his shoulder and saw her silhouetted in the light streaming from the window at the end of the hall, her hands clasped in front of her in an unconscious gesture of pleading. "I didn't mean to offend you," she said. "From now on, I'll remember to treat you just as I would want to be treated."

  He nodded. "That's fair enough.” He made his voice purposely light, not wanting her to know how much she'd affected him. "Now come down and eat. Tomorrow morning I
want to take a look at that hurt gelding. I noticed him limping again today."

  She hesitated, then hurried past him. He followed at a slower pace, her last words running through his mind. Exactly how did Tessa Bright want to be treated? What did she want from him? She needed a man to help her with the ranch, but when he looked into her eyes, he saw a yearning for something more. Maybe more than he was prepared to give.

  #

  I should make it into town more often, Will thought as he drifted down the one main street of Pony Springs, Texas. Keep abreast of what's going on. He crossed the street and moved past Wilkins' Mercantile. Old man Thornton and Milo Adamson drowsed on the whittler's bench out front the way they'd done every day for the last seven years. Milo's old hound raised up and bared his teeth at Will as he passed, but the two men snored on.

  Inside the store, Bob Wilkins carved a wedge from a wheel of yellow cheese for pretty Mamie Tucker while her oldest boy, Donnie, filched crackers from the barrel by the door. Will studied the cheese for a moment, trying to conjure up the taste and smell and feel of it in his mouth. He sighed. There were definite drawbacks to lacking a physical body.

  Outside again, he moved on. He paused in front of Jackie Babcock's smithy and debated going in and putting a damper on the fire in his forge, or bending some of the fresh horseshoe nails that lay cooling on the rock windowsill. Babcock, I could make a better nail than those on my worst day, he thought. He hovered near the door for a while, half-hoping someone would come in and bemoan the loss of the county's best blacksmith, but no one showed.

  Where is everybody? he wondered as he moved on down the street. Pony Springs wasn't a big town, but it was usually busier than this. How was he supposed to choose the right man for Tessa if they'd all disappeared?

  Pretty soon, however, he noticed more traffic on the street. Sour-faced Trudy Babcock drove by in her one-horse cart, head held as high as if she were trying to keep a crown from falling off. Will scowled at the back of her head. You'd have thought she was married to some foreign royalty instead of a poor excuse for a blacksmith. Will could have forgiven her for being homely and snooty, but he couldn't overlook the fact that she'd snubbed Tessa every chance she got. If he didn't have more important things on his mind right now, he would have made it a point to spook her horses.

  More vehicles passed, filled with the town's most upstanding citizens. Wes Drake and his wife, Ada, drove by in a piano box buggy and Will hopped in back, making himself comfortable between a plate of deviled eggs and a twenty-pound sack of flour. He amused himself blowing the feathers on Ada Drake's new black straw hat, until she pulled her shawl up around her neck and complained to her husband about the 'unseasonably cold wind.'

  Before long, the buggy fetched up in front of the Pony Springs Church. A dozen other vehicles huddled in the shade of a lone cottonwood, while most of the town's more respectable population gathered on the steps of the whitewashed chapel.

  Will grinned to himself. Perfect. Everyone here in one place so he could look them over good. Somewhere in this bunch had to be the right man for Tessa.

  He went down the row and considered each bachelor in turn. Woody Monroe was first. He was respectable enough, a deacon in the church and head of the board of education. That was important. He wanted someone who could give Tessa instant status. Town folk like Trudy Babcock had looked down their noses at her long enough.

  Only problem was, Woody Monroe was so thin he looked as if a stiff breeze would bend him over. He had a nagging cough that hinted at consumption, and a tendency to the sniffles all winter. Will needed a strong man to work the ranch.

  Gabe Emerson was the next single man, a widower and stout as an ox. Will had once seen him wipe out an entire saloon with his bare hands. Nope, he wouldn't do. Gabe was entirely too fond of liquor to make a good husband for Tessa, or a good manager for the ranch.

  One by one, he surveyed the assembled men and found them lacking. Pete Trask had too many children. Bryan Ritter was good with horses but every time he had to so much as speak to a woman he turned beet red and stuttered. Allen Knox was young, childless, strong, respectable -- and too handsome by half. After all, Tessa wouldn't want a man other women were always trailing after.

  Isn't there one suitable man in this entire town? Will thought. He turned away in disgust, and almost ran smack into an approaching rider. The man's horse, a fine looking bay, went white-eyed and bucked like a green bronc as it felt Will's presence. The man held on, giving the animal its head and talking in a calming voice. By the time he brought the horse under control, he'd lost his hat and his trim black suit was in disarray, but he'd won the admiration of everyone in the crowd, including Will, who decided to stay around for the introductions.

  "Reverend Deering, we're so pleased to welcome you to Pony Springs.” Woody Monroe stepped up and pumped the new arrival's hand.

  Deering leaned down to shake hands, then dismounted, one hand keeping firm hold of the bridle of the still-skittish horse. "I'm happy to be here," he said in a rich baritone voice. "Though I didn't mean to make quite such a spectacular entrance."

  A preacher. What could be more respectable? Will moved closer. The man obviously had an eye for horseflesh, too. The bay was no nag.

  "We've prepared a little welcome reception for you, so you can eat and get to know some of your congregation." Wes Drake handed the preacher his hat, retrieved from the street.

  "That sounds mighty fine," Deering said. "But if you don't mind, I'd like to see to my horse first. We've had a long ride."

  "I'll take care of him for you.” Alan Knox stepped up. "The stable is nearby."

  "I'd like to get him settled myself," Deering said. "If you'll just show me the way, I won't be long."

  Will followed Knox and Deering to the stable, excitement building within him. Yes, this is the one, he thought. Not too young, not too old. He looks strong and healthy enough. His character is beyond reproach, and he knows how to handle horses. He's perfect.

  "Would you like me to help you with anything?" Knox asked as Deering bent to loosen the girth on his saddle.

  "No thank you. You go on back to the church. I'll join you shortly."

  Will waited until Knox was out of sight, then moved in closer. "Reverend Deering, I'd like a word with you."

  Deering froze in the act of lifting the saddle off the gelding. "Who's there?” He turned his head, searching the empty stable.

  "That's not really important. What's important is that I have a job for you."

  To Will's amazement, Deering dropped the saddle and fell to his knees on the dirt floor of the stall. "Lord, I came here to do your will, whatever it is."

  Will hesitated. Usually when he spoke to people, they mistook him for the voice of their conscience, or the effects of too much liquor. Some even recognized they were being haunted. Nobody had ever mistaken him for God before.

  He cleared his throat. "I. . . "

  "I just want to say, Lord, what a privilege it is to be visited by you this way. Me, a lowly sinner, not fit to touch the hem of your garment. That you would choose me --"

  "Hush a minute and let me speak!"

  Deering blanched and fell silent.

  Will sighed. Might as well work with what he'd been given. "As soon as you can see your way to it, I want you to pay a call on a woman who lives near here, a young widow name of Tessa Bright."

  "I'll go right now, Lord.” Deering started to rise.

  "Not now. You don't want to ruin the town's plans for you.” He looked the preacher up and down. "Besides, you might want to get a little spruced up before you go calling."

  Deering glanced down at his travel-stained garments. "What do you want me to do for this widow?" he asked.

  "She's fallen on hard times, and she's in need of, uh. . . spiritual guidance.” That ought to do for a start. Once Deering met Tessa, he was bound to appreciate her charms. If not, well, the 'lord' could always steer him in the right direction.

  "Yes, Lord.
I'll go first thing tomorrow then -- if that's all right with you."

  "That's fine.” He started to leave it at that, then added. "Now get up out of the dirt and see to your horse. Then get back to the party before Monroe and his bunch come looking for you."

  "Yes, Lord. Hallelujah."

  "One more thing."

  "Anything, Lord."

  "Don't go telling anyone about our little, uh, conversation. This is just between you and me."

  "Yes, Lord. And may I say again what a privilege --"

  "Amen, Reverend. That means 'the end' right?”

  When Will left the barn, Deering was scooping oats into a bucket for the mare, humming a hymn under his breath. Will only hoped when he came to call on Tessa, he could bring his mind down to a more earthly level.