fit her just fine.
At the bottom of the steps, she hesitated briefly. Nothing but silence this time. Good. Where to start? The attorney had gone over the terms of Uncle Ray’s will with her in great detail, some of which were odd to say the least. To start with, he’d made the attorney include a message from him saying that he’d loved Rayanne and had known that she’d loved him right back.
Bless the man, those few words had melted away her guilt over not visiting him up here on the mountain. He’d known how she felt about him and that’s all that mattered.
Next on the list was the requirement that she had to move to the cabin immediately. If she stayed until Labor Day, the property and everything on it was hers to take care of for her lifetime. She couldn’t sell it, rent it, or give it away. Failure to comply would result in the place being left to a distant cousin, and Rayanne and her parents would be banned from ever setting foot on the property again.
He’d also set aside enough money to see her through the summer. Once September rolled around, the rest of Ray’s surprisingly substantial estate would also be hers. With care, she wouldn’t have to work again.
Meanwhile, the attorney had suggested that she begin by doing a room-by-room inventory of the cabin. The only question was where to start?
The kitchen would be the simplest. Before starting, she picked out some CDs from Ray’s collection and put them on to play. His taste was eclectic, but this morning some red-dirt rock and country fit her mood.
With the sound of fiddle and guitar filling the empty silence, she got out her spiral notebook and favorite pen and started to work.
* * *
Wyatt drifted closer to the edge of the woods to listen. With the doors and windows closed up tight, he couldn’t make out the lyrics. The singer had a smoky voice, the kind that had a man thinking of a pair of lovers breathing hard as they tangled up together in between soft sheets.
After all this time, he had only vague memories of what it had been like to coax a woman into sharing his bed for the night. Closing his eyes, he tried to remember the scent of his last lover’s perfume. Something flowery, maybe. He had better luck remembering how silky smooth her skin had been, but nothing at all about what she looked like. Could have been a blonde or a brunette, not that it mattered. She was long dead and buried.
Lucky her.
Rather than continue down that dusty road, he dragged his thoughts back to the moment at hand. The man had always played music, too. Wyatt hadn’t realized how silent the mountain had been since Ray’s passing. It seemed odd to know he was gone but that his music would play on beyond his death. It was truly a gift of the modern world, one of the few things Wyatt enjoyed.
Where he’d grown up, music had been a rarity. Sometimes a passing stranger with an old fiddle or guitar would offer an exchange of music for a meal or two. Ma had always thought that was a fair deal.
What was the woman doing now? He hadn’t meant to scare her earlier, but then he hadn’t expected her to be able to see him at all. When she’d crumpled to the floor, he’d stuck around long enough to make sure she’d wake up on her own. He wasn’t sure what he would’ve done if she hadn’t. He’d used up all his energy when he’d wadded up that picture of himself in a fit of anger.
Where had she found that? Why had she brought it with her? Did she remember that long-ago summer? Too many unanswered questions. He’d spent many an hour thinking about her and why she’d been able to see him at all. No one else ever had, not that he knew of.
She’d screamed back then, too, but to warn him about the shooter on the roof. That was the only time he’d shot the bastard instead of taking one in the shoulder himself. It hadn’t changed the outcome, just the bullet count. He caught himself rubbing the scar, easing an ache that had nothing to do with the actual shooting.
But music or not, he wanted the woman gone. She’d already disturbed his peace enough. These were his woods and Blessing was his town, even if only by squatter’s rights. The law didn’t count for much out here. Rules and regulations only held sway when there was authority around to enforce them.
And this morning’s encounter was proof enough which one of them belonged here. She had no business intruding on his solitude, especially when he had no way of knowing if she’d be able see him all of the time or if this morning was a fluke. How could he find out without risking scaring her into a fit again?
He hated change almost as much as he hated that nothing ever really changed up here on the mountain.
Time to move on. Maybe see if anyone else was stirring back in town. It was doubtful. Too early in the summer yet. Soon, though. And when the good folks of Blessing put in their appearance, would the woman see them again?
Only time would tell.
For now, he’d check on the town and then rest. Normally, he could hold on to his form most of the time once the days started growing longer. But the encounter with the woman had burned up a great deal of his energy. Even now he couldn’t see his feet or feel his hat on his head. If he waited much longer, he’d fade completely. Hating the feeling that he was nothing more than a shadow with no real substance, he preferred to disappear at a time and place of his own choosing.
So for now, he’d just let go. Tomorrow would be soon enough to check in on the woman and see if he could learn when she planned to leave. She wouldn’t stay. There wasn’t anything up here to hold a woman like her—all modern and independent.
The song faded away, so he did the same.
Chapter 4
Morning dawned sunshine bright and warm. Wyatt preferred the shadows under the aspen trees, but he’d been drawn back to the edge of the meadow. It had been a day since he’d faded out. He rarely paid much attention to the passage of time, but things were different right now. She was still there, for one.
As he’d drifted on the breeze, he’d sensed her movements. He wasn’t sure what she was doing, but she’d spent most of the day before banging around in the kitchen. If she’d been hunting for something, he hoped she’d found it. He was tired of the noise, not to mention it disturbed the other residents in the woods.
The deer had moved farther off, the birds were quiet and even the squirrels and chipmunks were nowhere to be seen. Eventually, they’d adjust to the woman’s presence, but for now they were being cautious.
Probably good advice if he was in the mood to listen to it, but curiosity won out over caution. Since he’d yet to regain form, it should be safe enough to peek into the kitchen window. One glance and he’d be gone.
He caught a breeze that carried him toward the front porch, the only sign of his presence a faint shadow on the ground below. Nothing a rational person wouldn’t put off to a random cloud passing overhead. At the edge of the porch he drifted up next to the wall, keeping well below the level of the window. Once he was settled in place, he rose up slowly.
The kitchen looked as if it had been ransacked by a bunch of wranglers just coming in off a long trail drive with nothing but dust and cows for company. Every inch of counter space was covered with pots, pans and dishes. In all the years Ray had lived there, he’d never once left a mess like that. In fact, the man was obsessively neat, always doing things in the same way on the same days.
Wyatt suspected the habit had given the man some sense of control. When that failed to calm his demons, Ray had walked the game trails for long hours at a time, especially at night. Often Wyatt had followed along, glad for the company, even if Ray had only rarely acknowledged his presence. He’d been too busy trying to outdistance the ghosts of his own past, not the ones who actually shared his mountain home.
Sometimes Ray had also wandered through what was left of Blessing. Each year more of the old town fell victim to the passing years. Dry rot had left most of the remaining buildings unsafe for humans to explore. Sometimes Ray did small repairs, like when he’d replaced that missing step in the church.
Had