Collette panicked. She didn’t represent a legitimate news organization, and she’d never conducted a real interview. She was terrific at what she did, but that was photography, usually for weddings or at least happy family occasions.
Eleanor gave her another shove. “What are you waiting on?”
Collette gave up and pushed her way through the crowd. Some reporters moved out of her way to make it easier for her. A few guys deliberately blocked her path, and two made sexist comments about her looks doing her work for her.
She had a couple of words for them, too, but she managed enough restraint to keep them to herself. When she reached Dylan, he escorted her inside and closed and locked the door behind them. Her stomach rolled, though she couldn’t blame the uneasiness on the house’s aura. It looked and felt like any other sprawling ranch house, except for the musty odors that came from years of being closed off from life, wind and sun.
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.