Ghost Times Two Read Free

jaunty, eager. “I’m glad you’re here.”
    â€œI love to come to the park.” Her voice was unusually deep for a woman, especially such a small woman. Curly dark hair framed a heart-shaped face. She placed small hands on the railing, lookedout at the sun-sheened water. “My uncle planned a treasure hunt here for my sixteenth birthday and he rigged the clues. I was the one who found the keys to a car. A car for me, a shabby, secondhand Dodge, but she was red and she was mine.” A quick wry smile. “I’m still driving her. On a good day, her name’s Dancing Queen. On a bad day, she’s Witch of the West. But she’s always Dancing Queen when we come to the park.”
    â€œAnd here”—he knocked on the wooden railing—“is where my dad proposed to my mom. And”—his voice was fairly deep, too, resonant, and now he boomed—“I have a proposal for you.”
    She swung a startled face toward him.
    He stammered, “I mean, not that kind of proposal.”
    Her eyes widened for an instant, then she laughed, a lively, throaty, happy laugh. “Blaine, that sounds somewhat compromising.”
    His fair skin flushed bright red. “Be my partner,” he blurted. “The office . . .” He was clearly struggling to get back on track, be dignified. “I’ve rented an old house two blocks off Main, not very big but the bottom floor living room can be the reception area and there’s a study and a downstairs bedroom to convert to offices.”
    She listened gravely. Petite and slender, she was perhaps an inch or so over five feet in height. Her face was distinctive with deep-set gray eyes, high cheekbones, straight nose, and generous mouth. She gazed at him with a depth of intensity. There was intelligence here, quickness, and perception. And, at the moment, great focus.
    His words rushed out. “I’m fixing the place up. I refinished a white desk and painted the bedroom walls pale green. You wear a lot of green. . . .” He trailed off.
    â€œPartner?” She spoke steadily enough, but her eyes were luminous.
    â€œSmith and Wynn, PC, attorneys-at-law.” His sandy brows drew down. “I put my name first since I rented the place but—”
    â€œOf course your name would be first. You’ve worked hard to build up a practice.” She was emphatic. Her lips spread in a delighted smile. “You’re asking me to go in with you?”
    He gave a quick nod, then stared out at the water. “I know you’re with an established firm. Lots of clients. A great future. I can’t offer anything solid like that. I guess maybe I shouldn’t even think about it.”
    He didn’t see her face, a wash of excitement but something more, intense and emotional. Relief? Deliverance? An odd reaction.
    He rubbed knuckles along his right jaw. “I don’t guess you’d want to take that kind of chance since you already have a good job.”
    â€œWant to?” A huge breath. “Blaine, how wonderful. Yes, yes, yes. I can’t tell you how—” She came to an abrupt stop.
    I felt I could finish the sentence that she’d begun: . . .
awful it is where I am . . . much I want out of there . . .
Not . . .
how exciting to be on my own . . . how wonderful it will be to work with you . . .
    He was oblivious to that truncated sentence. He swung toward her, eager, excited, amazed. “You’ll do it?” He reached down, and his large knobby hand closed over her small hand. “We can make a go of it.” Now he was on top of the world, rushing to a future festooned with ribbons, heralded by trumpets. “You’re first-rate. I’ve seen you in court.” And his eyes told her that she was lovely and desirable.
    â€œI’d love to be with you.” It was her turn to flush, say hurriedly,