“Your own ghost,” Gage said.
She sighed. “If you must.”
He laughed. “And ghost-hunting helps?”
“I do like mysteries and hauntings,” she said stiffly.
“So an exorcism would be like a superboost to your creativity. Or a séance!” He ignored her gasp of outrage. “We could do one, Chelsea. We could get the Callahans out here, and we could sit around and burn candles and wait for Tempest to come screaming out of a closet or something.”
“You are so odd.” Chelsea turned her head, not about to give him the pleasure of knowing that he was getting to her. His needling annoyed her, and he knew it, and he was the kind of man who loved to devil a woman to death, until she finally gave up and gave him what he wanted.
Sex, in most cases. She’d be willing to bet her best pair of heels.
“It’s not going to work,” she told him.
“What isn’t?”
“This pathetic attempt to scare me so badly that I’ll just jump into your arms like a silly, spineless heroine.”
“I’ll have you know that there are lots of silly, spineless heroines who liked my arms just fine.”
“Well, you can keep your stories,” Chelsea said. “Enough with shooting the poor harmless snake and trying to spook me with talk of séances. You’re not fooling me.”
“Good to know,” Gage said, amused, and Chelsea told herself right then and there that if Gage Phillips ever tried to kiss her, she was going to give him the fattest lip of his life. Pow! Right on his too-attractive, laughing, storytelling kisser.
In fact, she hoped he did try to kiss her.
She really did.
Chapter Four
About four the next afternoon, when Chelsea was making tea and desperately wondering why her heroine wasn’t cooperating, she heard the sounds of Gage’s own issue, loud and clear.
“I don’t want to be here,” a girl said.
“You didn’t want to be in Laredo, either, sweetheart. So here you are,” Gage replied.
Chelsea dried her hands on a dish towel, telling herself she wasn’t eavesdropping shamelessly.
“I didn’t want to come,” the voice said—obviously that of Cat, the surprise daughter.
Chelsea couldn’t imagine what it must be like to discover one had a teenage daughter. Gage hadn’t said a whole lot about his ex-wife—and Chelsea hadn’t wanted to pry. But from the words being spoken outside, he and his daughter had a lot to work out.
“You may not have wanted to come,” he said, “but I wanted you here. So take your bag inside, please.”
Bravo, Dad, Chelsea thought.
“There’s a nice lady inside who you’ll like, so let’s go meet her,” Gage added.
“Lady? I thought you said we were going to be alone. That’s what you told Mom—that it was just going to be me and you,” Cat complained, her voice getting high.
“That’s what I said,” Gage said, “because it’s what I thought at the time. The owner of the house made other plans, and that’s beyond my control. Please take your bag inside.”
“You told Mom there’d be no girlfriends,” Cat insisted. “You said this was an appropriate place for me to be.”
Chelsea heard Gage sigh. “Trust me when I tell you that this lady and I are not romantically attached. I just met her yesterday. Either you take your bag inside right now and quit acting like a child, or I’m going to let you sleep on the porch, Cat.”
Chelsea froze, waiting for them to come in.
When they did, she realized just how full Gage’s hands were with his new daughter—and why Cat’s mother needed a break. Cat had long black hair to her waist on one side, her head shaved on the other. She had a nose piercing, an ear cuff and what looked like a bar through her other upper ear. She had two lip rings, which gave her sort of a snakelike look.
But that wasn’t the worst part. The worst was the stare Cat leveled at her, as if she hated her on sight.
“Hi,” Chelsea said, recognizing she would have to tread carefully. “I’m Chelsea Myers, the upstairs roommate.”
“You’re not going to boss me,” Cat said to her.
Chelsea blinked. “You’re right. I’m not.”
“Cat,” Gage said. “You and I don’t really know each other, but let me tell you something you should know. I don’t tolerate disrespect.”
Cat glared at her father. “You didn’t tell Mom the truth. She always said you were the least honest man she ever met. I guess I know who I can believe.”
Gage sighed. Chelsea saw no reason to explain what Gage had already told to his daughter, so she said, “I made cookies. Does anybody want some cookies and maybe some tea? I’m sure you’re hungry after—”
“‘Does anybody want some cookies?’” Cat mimicked. “Betty Crocker to the rescue.” She set her black duffel on the floor. “Quit staring at me,” she told Chelsea.
Chelsea was about to reply, wanting to head off the explosion she could tell was about to blow from Gage, when the screen door opened and her mother blew in.
“Hello!” Moira Myers exclaimed. “Goodness, the wind is picking up out there!”
Cat stared at Chelsea’s mother, shocked, it seemed, by someone else’s appearance taking center stage. Moira was dressed in hot pink from head to toe, from her sparkly tennis shoes to her calf-length skirt, to the short-sleeved sweater with a pink poodle on it. She even had on hot pink lipstick. Her white hair stood out in cotton candy tufts from her head, liberated from the plastic scarf she usually wore on windy days. In her hand she carried a cage with two lovebirds in it.
“What are you?” Cat asked.
“Cat!” Gage finally exploded.
“Mum, come in,” Chelsea said, going forward to hug her. “You look lovely.”
“She looks—” Cat began, swallowing her words on a yelp. Gage seemed to finally have had enough of his daughter’s sassy mouth.
“Fiona Callahan helped me pick this out. Do you really like it, Chelsea?” Her mother smiled beatifically. “I love shopping with Fiona. She’s so much fun! She made me feel ten years younger.”
“Mum, this is Gage Phillips,” Chelsea said, “and this is his daughter, Cat.”
“Hello,” Moira said, shaking each of their hands. Cat actually offered hers, either because her father had gotten it through her head that he was about to make her life miserable, or because surprise at Mrs. Myers’s appearance had rendered her temporarily unable to carp. “It’s so nice to meet you! And how pretty you are, dear,” she told Cat in her lilting Irish accent. “Would you be so kind as to step outside and get my suitcase off the porch, please? You look like such a nice, bonny lass indeed.”
To Chelsea’s surprise—and Gage’s too—Cat went to retrieve the bag. “There, now,” Moira said when she returned a second later, “let me see. I know I’m forgetting something. I’m always forgetting something, aren’t I, Chelsea, love? Oh, I know,” she went on, not waiting for Chelsea to answer. Chelsea would have said she’d never known her mother to forget anything, but Moira didn’t seem to need any response. “This is for you, dear,” she told Cat, handing her the cage with the