MacGowan's Ghost (5 page)

If she heard the comment, she ignored it, and instead set down the fork and leaned back in her chair. “So you've grown up with Captain Catesby and the rest. They've lived here for how long?”

“Centuries.”

She rubbed her chin with her index finger. “And the whole village knows about them?”

“Everyone in Sealladh na Mara has grown up with them. They're like family. We've sort of a reputation.”

“For being cursed?”

Gabe shrugged. “I'm no' sure
cursed
is the right word, but it's well known in the Highlands that Sealladh na Mara is a haven for spirits.”

Allie cocked her head. “Why is that?”

He gave an indifferent shrug. “Who knows? 'Tis an old pirates' cove, wi' plenty of lore and mystery shrouding it.”

Allie rubbed her chin. “And everyone simply . . . accepts it?”

Gabe met her gaze directly. “You seem to.”

“It's what I do.”

“ 'Tis what we do, as well.”

Leaning back, Allie studied him with those wide blue eyes. “Well then, if they're like family, and everyone accepts the spirits, and you've grown up with them, why do you want to move away? Why do you want to sell Odin's?” She held up her hand. “And don't say it's none of my business. You hired me to help you. So it's all my business.”

He hardly had anything to say to that.

He wondered briefly what her response would be if she knew his dead wife was haunting him every single night . . .

“Mr. MacGowan?”

Snapping from his thoughts, Gabe looked at her straight-on. “As I said before, my son needs a more stable environment. 'Tis bad enough he's without a mum. He deserves to be with children his own age.”

Allie cocked her head. “Isn't he with children his own age at school?”

Gabe frowned. “Aye. But at home, his best mate is a three-hundred-year-old pirate.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, then stared at Allie Morgan. “You have my reason for wanting to move. I hired you to convince the Odin's lot to at least keep bloody quiet whilst I show the place. Anything else you need to know, ask them. They can all speak for themselves.”

Before Allie Morgan could answer, Wee Mary came through the kitchen door and made her way to the alcove. She stopped, patted Gabe on the shoulder, and gave Allie Morgan a large smile. “Well, loves, 'tis time for me to call it a day.” She glanced down at Allie's empty plate. “Quite an appetite you have there, lass, although I canna see where you put it all. You're as thin as a reed.”

“I stuffed myself,” Allie said, grinning. “They were fantastic.”

Wee Mary nodded. “Aye, and 'tis this sulking brute here ye can thank for that. 'Tis his specialty.”

Gabe thought he'd choke his beloved aunt later.

Allie Morgan simply lifted a dark blond brow.

“Right. Well, I'm off,” Wee Mary said. “I'll be here early in the morn, Gabe, along with your mother.” She winked at Allie. “Tomorrow's Sunday. Traditional pot roast with potatoes and peas. Scrumptious.”

Allie smiled. “I can't wait.”

Mary glanced at him. “With young Katey out on maternity leave, we'll be here about sevenish, then.” With a wave, Wee Mary left.

Leaving him and Allie Morgan alone.

He briefly wondered where the others were. 'Twasna like them at all to stay invisible for such a lengthy time. Usually, they were mingling amongst the dinner patrons.

“So your parents live here?” she asked.

“Aye.”

“Any siblings?”

Gabe looked at her. “A brother and a sister, both away at university. My da is an offshoreman. My grandda lives just up the shore a ways. Wee Mary is my auntie.” He lifted a brow. “Anything else?”

Allie shifted in her seat. “So all your family lives here, the spirits have resided here for centuries, and they're like family. Seems like a pretty stable environment for a kid to me.” She studied him hard. “I think there's another reason and you're just not sharing.”

Gabe frowned.

Allie lifted a brow.

Neither said a word.

Finally, she sighed. “Are you shorthanded?” Gabe blinked.

“You know.” Allie smiled. “Low on staff?”

Gabe nodded, relieved that she'd dropped the uncomfortable subject for now. “Right. For just a wee bit longer.”

Allie nodded, then glanced at his glass. “I don't think I've ever heard of a Scotsman who doesn't enjoy a pint or two.” Her lips quirked.

He couldna help himself. He stared at those lips. They looked verra soft and with a sexy curve, just at the corners. Quickly, he cleared his throat. “Mayhap you shouldna stereotype the Scotsman, aye?”

Her gaze dropped to his own mouth. “Aye.”

“Lo, what have we here, then?”

“Och, methinks they call it a
date
nowadays, aye?”

Gabe pinched the bridge of his nose. From the far wall emerged the duelers, followed by, well, the rest of the bloody specters of Odin's Thumb.

“Fetchin' lass, MacGowan,” said Ramsey. He conjured a chair and plopped himself into it. “I hope we're not interrupting?”

Gabe frowned. “Of course not.”

“Stand up and introduce yourself properly, young man,” the friar said, frowning. He whispered, “Remember your manners.”

Ramsey jumped up.

As the Odin's Thumb spirits gathered round, Gabe nodded toward Allie, who casually leaned back in her chair, meeting each ghost's gaze without hesitation.

“Ms. Morgan, meet the very reason you're here, and I pray to Christ you can talk sense into them. Friar Digby, Mademoiselle Bedeau, Lords Ramsey and Killigrew. Captain Catesby you've already met.”

That swashbuckling fool made a big show of throwing his arm across his waist and giving Allie a low bow. The sea captain—a pirate to Gabe's way of thinking—glanced up and smiled at her. “ 'Tis beyond my pleasure, lass, a score of times over. Welcome to Odin's Thumb. And call me Justin.”

Gabe thought he just might be ill.

Allie smiled, and for the first time Gabe noticed a small dimple in her right cheek. “Thank you very much.”

The duelers pushed their way to stand before Allie and take their turn. “Baden Killigrew, ma'am,” the one said. “Glad to make your acquaintance.”

“Indeed,” the other said, giving a bow, “and I'm Christopher Ramsey.”

The friar approached and gave a short nod. He pushed his cowl down and ran a hand through his hair. “Drew Digby, lady,” he said with a smile. He turned, grasping the mademoiselle's elbow. “Come here, love. She's not here to exorcise us.” Under his breath, he said, “At least I hope not.”

Mademoiselle stepped forward, pushed aside a bit of that enormous silk dress, and dropped a formal curtsey. “Lovely to meet you,
chère
. I am Mademoiselle Bedeau.” She winked. “You may call me Elise.”

“And you may call me Allie,” Allie Morgan said. “Nice to meet all of you. I have loads of questions to ask.”

Gabe took in the scene before him. Five spirits surrounded a modern-day lass who sat and grinned and carried on conversation as though 'twas all quite normal.

To him, it was.

But to see another, an
outsider,
someone no' from Sealladh na Mara, taking it all in as though 'twas everyday life made him pause and consider. He ran his hand over the back of his neck. Odd, indeed.

Standing, he nodded to the group and glanced down at Allie. “Ms. Morgan, I'll leave you to this motley crew for the night. You can leave the peat as it is. 'Twill die down on its own.” He turned to leave.

“Good night,” Allie said behind him.

With a quick glance over his shoulder, he gave a short nod and continued on his way.

“Aye, good night,” said a masculine voice struggling to sound exaggeratedly high pitched and feminine.

The group burst into laughter.

Crossing the pub, Gabe locked up for the night. At the stairs, he turned and glanced back at the alcove.

Allie must have sensed that he'd stopped, for she glanced in his direction, and smiled.

Gabe held her gaze for a moment—unable to bloody help himself, actually—then he turned and started up the stairs.

Mayhap an outsider such as Allie could talk some bloody sense into the Odin's Thumb lot.

He could only hope.

 

Allie watched Gabe MacGowan's big self lope up the stairs. A funny sensation started in her stomach, and whether it was the big cod fillet, heap of potatoes covered in brown sauce and vinegar, plus two fried Mars bars that caused said sensation, or . . .

No. It was definitely all that food.

She was
not
attracted to a virtual stranger.

Not, not, not.

Especially one who lived an ocean away. One could think another was attractive without
being
attracted. Right?

Captain Catesby slid into the chair very recently vacated by Odin's Thumb's proprietor. With ease, he leaned casually back and stared at her with a long, alluring gaze. “So, lass. Are you spoken for, then?”

Groans went up all around.

Allie studied the captain, who must've been quite the rogue in his day. Tall, lean, early thirties, with that wavy, sun-streaked brown hair that hung to his shoulders, a sharp goatee the same color, and dressed in a garnet shirt that tied at the neck (but which wasn't tied at all and left a chiseled chest exposed), a long leather overcoat, and a pair of silver pistols tucked into a wide leather belt. Earlier, she'd noticed dark pants and wide-cuffed leather boots.

A
pirate
, she thought.

A sexy one at that.

A wide grin stretched across the captain's face, exposing straight white teeth, and Allie wondered if he could read her mind.

“I'd say by that inquisitive way you're perusing my person that's a nay, you aren't spoken for, then?”

Allie narrowed her eyes to slits. The others chuckled.

The gleam in Captain Cates' eye was nothing short of devilment.

“Do not let that rake trouble you, love,” Mademoiselle Bedeau said. She pulled at a dangling earring. “He tries to intimidate all the females he encounters.”

“Aye, but it doesna always work, I'm afraid,” the captain replied. He grinned, wolflike and predatory and slam-packed full of sex appeal. “Or does it?”

“Is anything amiss here, Allie?”

Allie turned to find Dauber sifting through the kitchen wall. He walked over to the group and met Allie's gaze. “Are you all right?”

“Bloody hell, she brought her own ghostie,” Lord Ramsey said. “I daresay Himself knows nothing about it.”

Justin Catesby half rose, nodded, and introduced himself. “Catesby of Aberdeen, sir. And you are?”

“Alexander Dauber, at present of Chicago, previously of county Cork, Ireland,” Dauber said, returning a nod. “I came here of my own accord.”

“Dauber is my close friend,” Allie said, giving the older ghost a smile. “He's like a father to me.”

“Well then, sir,” the friar said, conjuring up a chair, “you are most welcome here amongst the likes of us. Take your reprieve with us, if you will. I'm Drew Digby, by the by.”

“And I'm Elise,” said the mademoiselle. “Welcome to Sealladh na Mara, sir.”

Dauber gave the woman one of his cheek-to-cheek smiles.
The flirt
.

Lord Killigrew leaned forward, elbows resting on wide-spread knees. “We were just about to discuss the issues at hand, Dauber.” He looked at Allie. “What plans do you have, Ms. Morgan?”

Allie glanced at everyone in the room. Expectant, ghostly eyes blinked, waited. She drew a deep breath. “You all know why Mr. MacGowan hired me, so let's get down to the business of you telling
me
just what's going on, okay?” She looked directly at the captain. “I'm not a ghost ouster; I'm an interpreter. An investigator. But I can't help if I don't know everything, and Gabe MacGowan isn't telling me much. So let's start with you, Captain Catesby.”

He gave a nod. “Indeed. What we have here, Ms. Morgan, is a bullheaded man wanting to not only leave but take with him his son, Jake, who doesn't want to leave.” He leaned back. “ 'Tis the wrong decision. It's that simple.”

“And so we're taking precautionary steps to make sure the lad doesn't make that wrong decision,” said Lord Ramsey.

“Aye, although it doesn't seem to be working quite the way we wanted,” said the friar. “Young Gabe is determined to sell Odin's Thumb and take Jake to Inverness to grow up amongst the living.”

A sniffle escaped Mademoiselle Bedeau, and she fretted a white lace hanky between her hands. “
Oui
, and I could not bear to see the little lad go, or his father.” She dabbed at her eyes. “We've loved Gabe since he was a babe. I've become so”—she hiccupped—“attached.”

A round of “ayes” sounded in the room.

“I dunna want to go!”

Everyone turned to see young Jake scampering down the stairs. Dressed in long blue pajamas and socks, his hair at the cowlick standing straight up, he must have waited for Gabe to go to bed before sneaking out. He hurried across the room and scooted into the chair next to Captain Catesby.

“I'm no' goin' anywhere,” he said, his western Highlands' accent as thick as his father's. He put both hands on the table and leaned forward, eyes clapped on to Allie's. “Please, lady, dunna let my da take me away.”

Allie glanced at the semitransparent faces staring at her. All of them pleaded with her for help.