Haunted by Heather Graham

Hell, we should all start digging up the place to find a skull that may or may not be there. Hm. Then again—where, oh where, do we start? If there were such a relic of humanity remaining from way back when, animals might have carted in anywhere. The stream might have washed it down to Florida by now. But what the hell—people love the ghost stories. So what if the poor ghost goes racing through the trees, screaming and bleeding?”
    â€œBecause it’s pretty damned sad,” Darcy told him.
    â€œWell, when you have time, you feel free to dig around in the forest. It’s county land, but we’ll try to ignore the fact that you’re bound and determined to dig it all up. Just don’t leave any potholes—lots of people use this area for riding, and we wouldn’t want a new ghost running around with its head dangling from a broken neck.”
    He stood impatiently.
    He must have roused her somewhat from her continual, stiff poise, because she leapt up immediately after him. “What is the matter with you? Why on earth do you have to be so hostile?”
    â€œBecause all you’re going to do is feed into the idiots and drunks who should behave intelligently but go all ga-ga over a ghost story! History can be tragic. Tragic—but past. Let the dead lie, Darcy.”
    â€œYou brought me here!”
    â€œNo. I told Adam Harrison that he could come here.”
    She planted her hands on her hips, head cast back, green eyes as dark and dangerous as the embers of a fire. “No—you signed a contract that allowed Harrison Investigations into your house. I am as much a part of Harrison Investigations as Adam.”
    He arched a brow slowly and was pleased to see the slightest sign of a flush entering her cheeks.
    â€œ Almost as much a part of the company as Adam is himself. And very good at what I do. So—since you hired me to do it, perhaps, just for a while, you could quit being such a macho jerk?”
    He wanted to shout back, to put her in her place. He didn’t have the words, or the intelligent argument he needed. He threw up his hands. “We need to get back. Dinner will be ready.”
    He turned away, starting for his horse.
    â€œYou know, every redhead isn’t a total bitch.”
    Startled, he turned back. His voice was far rougher than he intended. “I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”
    â€œYour ex-wife Lavinia Harper,” she said simply.
    â€œI see. You know this because you’re psychic?”
    â€œYou dislike redheads. One doesn’t need to be a psychic to see that. Penny told me about Lavinia.”
    â€œRed hair can be bought in boxes for right around ten bucks. I would never dislike anyone for the color of their hair, skin, eyes, or anything else,” he informed her, meaning to sound as calm and staid as a schoolmaster, displaying his anger nevertheless.
    She gave a stiff smile as she walked by him. “Sure. Sorry, then. Excuse me.”
    He let her pass him while he fought his simmering temper, wondering why the hell she could get such a rise out of him, when he was usually level, sane, and careful in any judgment or assumption. Tension rippled through his muscles; he got a handle on it and turned, determined that he would politely help her mount back up on Nellie.
    But before he could do so, she was already in the process of easily swinging up on the mare.
    By the time he mounted Vernon, she was headed back through the forest trail.
    He followed her, staying slightly behind and noticing, just as they left the forest trail, that dusk was falling at last.
    Across the field, Melody House stood on its little hillock, bathed in a strange and eerie glow of crimson and gold.
    The brilliance of light lasted only a few seconds; the sun dipped.
    Night was coming in earnest, wrapped in shadow.
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    Despite Matt Stone, or maybe even because of him, dinner at Melody House was an entertaining affair,