A Haunted Twist of Fate Read online

  A few years ago, when his family found out he’d started casually dating again, they’d been eager to help, even though he’d insisted he wasn’t interested in any permanent relationship.

  Mama only had his best interests at heart each time she’d introduce him to “a real sweet gal” she knew from the bank or had met at the grocery store. As did his brother, who’d talked him into going to the bar with him on Ladies’ Night every once in a while. But there was no one out there who could hold a candle to Denise, and Colt was not concerned with trying to find her.

  He wasn’t just tired of looking. He eventually became fed up with the whole dating scene. Of women who were divorced a couple of times over with a few kids and looking for someone to provide for them. Of young, high maintenance gals who were interested in a sugar daddy, and the high-powered career women who wouldn’t get off the cell phone long enough to have a real conversation. Of the ones from church who expected a ring and a date after the first kiss. Of the girls he’d meet at bars and wanted nothing more than a one-night stand.

  It wasn’t as if he was a saint. Far from it. He’d caved and slept with a few women over the years, mainly those he’d picked up at Ladies’ Night. He was a man with needs and urges, after all. But he’d felt disgusted with himself the next morning once the hangover had worn off. That wasn’t who he was, or the kind of woman he wanted—even for the short run.

  The muscle in Colt’s jaw twitched when his thoughts took him back to that lady, Ann, he’d dated for several months. She’d been crazy for him, but there’d been no emotional ties on his part. Even when he’d known it was going nowhere, he’d continued to call her when his physical appetites had needed to be satisfied. After finally breaking it off for good, she’d called him for days afterward, pleading to know what she’d done wrong. He’d felt like a shit for having used her that way.

  Life, he’d decided then and there, was easier without a woman in it. His pickup was reliable. Work was a sure thing. Family he could count on. At forty years old, love the second time around . . . it didn’t seem to be in the cards. And that was okay with him.

  He pulled into his driveway and cut off the truck’s motor, thinking about Shay Brennan again. She didn’t seem to fit the mold of the women he’d met the past few years. There was something about her. Something different. Something intriguing.

  Ah, hell. Maybe breaking his rule and having breakfast with her might not be such a bad thing after all.

  Four

  Shay walked into the Golden Spike at eight on the dot and spied Colt sitting at a table for two next to the window. As she approached, he stood and pulled out the chair for her.

  “Good mornin’.” His smile was dazzling, but she was determined not to allow his good ol’ boy charm get to her.

  “Thank you,” she said, as he scooted her in. “Good morning to you, too.”

  When he returned to his seat, he pointed out the mug of steaming coffee in front of her. “I ordered you a cup. I noticed you were drinking coffee yesterday at the closing.”

  “Thanks.” She stirred a packet of sugar into the mug. “I’ll admit I’m a coffee fanatic. I don’t smoke or drink, so it’s my one vice. Although I know caffeine’s not good for you.”

  “If that’s your only weakness, I wouldn’t be too concerned. You’re as fit and as healthy looking as any filly I’ve seen.”

  The comment and his focused gaze were not lost on Shay, but she let both pass as the waitress appeared and took their orders. Blueberry pancakes and bacon for both. When the waitress left, Colt said, “You must have gotten back to sleep all right last night. You look refreshed this morning and as pretty as a daisy.”

  She smiled. “Thank you.” His gaze, though direct, was friendly, not lecherous.

  “That blouse goes well with your auburn hair,” he continued. “And it brings out the green flecks in your hazel eyes.”

  Shay took a sip of coffee and wondered if he was for real or if that was just his salesman personality shining through. Men didn’t normally notice such things as whether the color of a woman’s clothing set off her hair. At least none of the men she’d known in her thirty-three years. Unless they were gay, that was. She scrutinized him closely. Nah. This guy was definitely not gay.

  It was a nice change to be given a compliment, especially since she’d gotten up early to figure out what outfit to wear and to wash and dry her hair so it shined. She didn’t exactly know why it made a difference, but she’d wanted to make a better impression today than she had last night. After several changes of clothes, she’d finally decided on the emerald colored blouse and jeans, which, she guessed, had been a good choice.

  “Your charm is endearing, Mr. Morgan. It seems chivalry is not dead in the American West.” Her gaze narrowed playfully.

  “Ah, I’ve never thought of myself as charming. I’m just a guy who’s honest to a fault. And remember, it’s Colt. Not Mr. Morgan.”

  Handsome, engaging, and polite. She glanced at the ring finger on his left hand. No wedding band. It made no difference to her, but why wasn’t he taken?

  “I’m not married in case you wondered.” His lips curved into a crooked smile.

  She felt her cheeks flame. Could he read her mind? Of course not. He’d followed her gaze to his hand. He was easy going and had a sense of humor, too. Great qualities in a man.

  “I’m not married either.” She lowered her gaze to the coffee cup, and then wondered why she’d offered that information.

  “I know. I wouldn’t have asked you on a date if you were.”

  The wall she’d built around her heart cracked a bit. “What do you mean, a date? I thought you had some paperwork to give me.”

  “Uh, that’s right. I do.” He slipped a thin envelope out of his pocket and handed it to her. Then he leaned back in his chair, looking sheepish, but his eyes still twinkled like stars. “I suppose having breakfast together could be considered a date.”

  Their hot plates were delivered, briefly interrupting the conversation.

  “I’m starving,” Shay admitted, drenching the pancakes with syrup and stuffing a forkful into her mouth. She was glad for the distraction, because the banter on whether this was a date or not was not something she wanted to pursue.

  Colt ate a strip of bacon. “I like a woman who isn’t afraid to eat in front of a man. So many ladies eat like little birds, picking and nibbling and only ordering lettuce.” He shook his head, as if he didn’t understand it.

  “I don’t have that problem. Life is too short to nibble and pick.”

  “That’s a philosophy more ladies should adopt.”

  It didn’t take either of them long to devour the food, after which they requested refills on their coffees.

  “You’re not from South Dakota,” Colt said. It was a statement, not a question. He sipped his coffee, obviously waiting for her to share something about herself.

  Comfortable enough with him and finding no reason not to chat, Shay decided to give the abbreviated version of her life so far. “No, I’m not. I grew up in the Midwest. My father was very wealthy—a self-made millionaire a couple of times over. He died about fourteen months ago. My mother passed away six months before him. I have no brothers or sisters, so everything—his entire fortune was left to me.”

  She gauged his reaction while silently speculating as to why the inheritance had been the first thing she’d mentioned. Since her father’s death, she hadn’t told anyone about that. It was weird, since being the daughter of affluent parents had caused her so many problems with men. Why had she opened up about that to this man? It seemed her mouth had a mind of its own.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “Not that your father left you a fortune, but that he’s passed on. And your mother, too.”

  She understood his meaning and was relieved to note that he hadn’t even flinched when she’d mentioned the money. Had she unconsciously been testing him? If so, it was with good reason.

  “Thank you. Anyway, after Dad died, I deci
ded to quit my job, pack a couple of suitcases, and travel out west. I needed to get out of Illinois, and I’ve been fascinated with the west since I was a child. I was hoping the wide open skies, rugged mountains, and sun-soaked deserts would somehow help me come to terms with being an orphan.” Her gaze dropped to her lap for a moment. “That’s how it felt at the time. With both my parents gone and no siblings or extended family to lean on, I felt so alone. Being on the road this past year has given me time to grieve. But more importantly, I’ve also realized just how precious life is. I’ve learned not to take one moment of it for granted.”

  When her gaze reconnected with his, she saw compassion behind his eyes, as well as concurrence. Still, she internally questioned why she’d spilled so much to him so early. After what she’d been through with her last two relationships, where both men got close to her because they were in love with wealth, it was not like her to trust so easily. But something about Colt Morgan set her at ease. She decided not to worry about it, since this was nothing more than a business breakfast anyway.

  “How did you end up here?” he wanted to know.

  “A gift store clerk in one of the towns I was passing through told me I had to visit Deadwood and check out the casinos. But I’m not into gambling. I prefer history and getting off the beaten path—taking the road less traveled, you might say. I passed on Deadwood and ended up here instead. I don’t regret the decision.”

  “Me either.” He appeared more interested as they conversed. “Then you saw the For Sale sign in the window of the Buckhorn and…”

  “The rest you know.” She finished the last of her coffee. “It was a good deal. I had the money, and I was drawn to the saloon. It might sound strange, but from the moment I saw it, I felt like I belonged there. Besides, this seems like a good town in which to put down some roots. I don’t plan on returning to Illinois. There’s nothing back there for me anymore.”

  “What are you going to do with the place?”

  “It’s a historical landmark, so it must remain what it is, an old west saloon. I wouldn’t want to change that about it, but I might redecorate the upstairs bedrooms and eventually open as a bed and breakfast. Or I might just live there. There’s a bathroom at the end of the hall on the second floor, and someone, at some time, turned a small room downstairs into a kitchen with the basic necessities, so it’s perfectly livable the way it is.” She chuckled. “Of course you know all that since you listed the house. This has all happened so fast, I haven’t had time to make plans, to be honest.”

  When the waitress brought the check, Colt snatched it and pulled out his wallet to leave a tip on the table. He rose and pulled out Shay’s chair. His lips nearly grazed her neck when he leaned in and whispered, “I hope you don’t change the Buckhorn too much. The spirits might not like it.”

  Shay’s jaw went slack. She felt the pulse in her neck begin to throb. “What made you say—?”

  “The sun’s shining,” he broke in. “Wait for me outside. I’ll pay the bill and then we can take a walk. I have something to tell you that you may find interesting.”

  Five

  When Colt stepped outside the restaurant, Shay whirled. “What did you mean when you said the spirits might not like it?”

  He’d meant to capture her attention. Mission accomplished. “Let’s walk,” he said, moving in the direction of the saloon. Standing so near to her got his heart racing like a thoroughbred horse. Though not intentionally, the moment his eyes had opened this morning, she’d been on his mind.

  Last night when he’d gone to check on her, Shay had been just another client he was helping, albeit a beautiful and interesting client. But this morning, when he was putting his boots on, he’d realized something had changed. Odd as it seemed, he’d felt a strong connection to her, as if an invisible string tied them together. He’d been anxious to see her again.

  He was a sensible man, and love had not been in his vocabulary or on his radar for many years. But this feeling nagged at him—the feeling that they’d been destined to meet. He’d never experienced anything like it before, not even when he’d met Denise. The sensation made him feel more alive than he’d felt in years. But then, wasn’t sexual attraction supposed to make a man feel alive? Maybe that’s all it was. Either way, he’d wanted to see her and find out.

  “What do you have to tell me?” she asked, keeping up with his long-legged strides. They passed by a few of the gift shops and tourist traps that comprised the historic Main Street.

  Not wanting to frighten her off so soon by thinking he was a nut, he carefully considered how to frame his words. Clearly, he hadn’t thought this through before opening his big mouth.

  “Colt?”

  A sideways glance showed him she was getting antsy. Shay’s mouth was pursed, and her pretty hazel eyes were enlarged.

  “Are you going to tell me what you meant back there?”

  “Yep.” He kept walking.

  Sighing, she bunched her shoulders and spread her hands out, palms up. “When? At the turn of the century?”

  It didn’t take long to walk the block to the Buckhorn. They stopped in front. “Can we go inside?” he asked, facing her.

  “Okay. Sure.” Shay dug the key out of her purse, stuck it in the lock, and pushed the door open. She stepped in first. As soon as Colt entered, an icy chill slithered across his neck and crept down his back. It was the same feeling he’d had the first and last times he’d been in here.

  Laying her purse on a game table, Shay pulled out two chairs and offered him a seat. “Now that we’re here, will you please tell me what’s going on, Colt?”

  They sat, and he peered around the large room that he’d been told had barely changed since it was built in 1885. A large gilded mirror hung on one wall. An upright piano sat against a back wall. Brass foot rails ran the length of the bar with a row of spittoons spaced along the floor. No doubt the gambling tables, like the one they were sitting at, had seen many hands of poker dealt out through the years.

  “Let me ask you a question,” he began. “Didn’t you wonder why you were able to close on this deal so quickly and at such a good price? Everything in here is original. No rodent or insect infestations. It’s a good, solid building. And it’s a piece of history. The asking price should have been much higher.”

  She considered the question. “It did cross my mind to ask. But in the end, the answer wouldn’t have mattered. The saloon spoke to me. I knew I had to own it. I was glad it happened so fast, and I was pleased with the price.” When he remained mute, she said, “How did you come to be the listing agent for it? Do you know the former owner?” He nodded, and she prodded further. “I did wonder why I hadn’t met the owner and why he didn’t attend the closing. I figured there was a reason.”

  Colt met her inquisitive gaze. “He’s an old man of eighty-five. His name is Frank Averill, and he’s sick. He and my grandfather were best friends. That’s how I got the listing. Frank’s grandfather, Dean Averill, built the Buckhorn in 1885 at a time when tin mining dominated the area. This town flourished, as did the saloon.”

  Shay’s shoulders relaxed. She seemed glad for the knowledge.

  “That’s interesting. I’d planned on looking into the history of the building. So, it’s been in Mr. Averill’s family all these years?”

  “Yep. Frank’s father kept it up as a saloon while Frank was growing up. When the elder Averill died, Frank took over for a few years before going into the hardware business.”

  A question formed between Shay’s perfectly manicured eyebrows. “That’s well and fine, but you still haven’t told me what you meant back at the diner. You mentioned something about spirits.”

  Their gazes latched. Colt folded his hands in front of him. “It’s been rumored, ever since anyone can remember, that this saloon is haunted. In fact, I think that’s the real reason Frank closed down the place. I can remember my granddaddy telling me that Frank thought there were several entities hanging around here.”

  S
he didn’t say anything, but her pupils grew large, and he knew he’d struck a nerve.

  “I’ve known Frank Averill my entire life,” he went on. “He was always a tough guy, not easily intimidated and certainly not afraid of anything or anyone. In fact, he and Granddaddy told me plenty of stories about the fistfights they would get into and the trouble they caused. But Frank must have believed there is something here. I get the impression he had some bad experiences when he ran the place.”

  “Go on.”

  “I didn’t mention it last night when I came over, but I’d been having a dream when that guy called and woke me up. I dreamt that someone was being strangled upstairs in your bedroom.”

  Shay’s hand flew to her mouth, and she gasped.

  “I don’t mean to scare you. When that anonymous caller told me water was running under your front door, it was such an odd coincidence. I knew you were alone in here. I’m not the kind of man who scares easily either, but that dream was so real. I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

  “You said upstairs in my bedroom.”

  His gaze shifted to the staircase. “Yes. I saw the bedroom clearly in my dream. I recognized it from when I toured the building before I listed it. Iron bed. Green and pink floral wallpaper. An antique bureau in the corner. A brick fireplace on one wall with an oak mantel. Tall windows overlooking the street.”

  “Yes,” she exclaimed. “That’s my room. I was sleeping there last night. But how did you know?”

  “It was just a feeling.” He didn’t want to tell her he’d known she’d been sleeping in that particular room. How he’d known, he had no clue. Just that somehow, in his soul, he’d felt her there. “Do you think I’m as crazy as a bedbug?” He chuckled nervously.