Cowboy Swagger. Joanna Wayne

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      “Who are you?” a reporter yelled from the back of the group.

      “Dylan Ledger, son of the convicted murderer.” He tipped his hat as if mocking them and propped a hand on the door frame.

      Dylan. She remembered him more than the others. He had been a year ahead of her and had ridden the same bus to school and back. Even then he’d been cute, but he’d aged to perfection.

      Someone pushed a mike into his face. “Have you forgiven your father for killing your mother?”

      “My relationship with my father is none of your business.”

      “Is your father going to live here on Willow Creek Ranch?”

      “I have no idea what my father’s plans are for the future. End of story, so you may as well go out and find yourselves some real news.”

      He scanned the crowd again. When his gaze fixed, Collette was certain that he was looking right at her. She felt the impact of his stare right down to her toes, a kind of heated awareness that set her on edge.

      Eleanor poked her in the ribs with her elbow. “He recognizes you.”

      “No way. I was scrawny and wore braces when he saw me last.”

      “And now you’re gorgeous and you’ve acquired breasts. You’ve got his attention. Ask him a question.”

      “I’m a photographer, not a reporter.”

      “He doesn’t know that.” She took Collette’s free hand and waved it in the air. “Ask him if he thinks the house is haunted.”

      Again, Dylan stared straight at Collette. “I’ll grant one interview,” he conceded, as if it were an afterthought. “In private. The redhead in the jeans and yellow shirt,” he said, pointing at Collette.

      Eleanor slapped her on the back and pushed her forward. “Go get ‘em, girl. But don’t forget the pictures. And be careful.”

      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 СКАЧАТЬ