It's In His Kiss. Julie Kistler

you, Miss Arlotta.”

      “I guess we’ll see, won’t we?”

      Rose lifted her chin. How hard could it be?

      1

      A Monday in July

      Maiden Falls, Colorado, 2004

      “ROSEBUD? Get up here! We got a live one for you!”

      Secure in her hidey-hole tucked under the eaves in the attic, Rosebud concentrated on page 203 of East of Eden, pretending she had not heard the ghostly call to arms from Miss Arlotta. She had no desire for an assignment, no matter how “live” it was.

      “Troubled couple on the road to bedroom bliss, blah, blah, blah,” she muttered. It wasn’t her fault that the entire group of scarlet women—once so good at helping men stray—had been roped into service as celestial matchmakers for honeymooners too pathetic to know how to pleasure each other.

      After all, she hadn’t even spent one day as a soiled dove herself. What did she know about pleasure? On her very first night in Miss Arlotta’s establishment, just hours after choosing her nom de harlot, she had passed into the afterlife with all the rest of them. Nobody knew exactly what happened, although the Maiden Falls Gazette had claimed it was due to a gas leak, offering the smug opinion that it was exactly what Miss Arlotta deserved for having airs above her station and making her tawdry social club the first place in Colorado outside Denver with gaslights. Whatever the cause, every girl in the place, plus Miss Arlotta and the beau who’d been visiting her that Sunday night, had ended up as dead as cold mackerel, most still tucked into their beds.

      As for Rosebud…She’d just been caught in the wrong place at the absolute wrong time.

      Of course, that argument had not swayed anyone in this household. Judge Hangen, Miss Arlotta’s gentleman friend, had shot back that he, too, had been erroneously stuck in Bordello Purgatory by virtue of bad timing, that there was no leniency provision for girls who hadn’t technically had the opportunity for harlotry, and Rosebud was going to have to play by the same rules as the rest of them. Case closed.

      “It’s completely unfair!” she said angrily, slapping down her book, unable to concentrate when she thought about the terrible injustice of her predicament.

      She’d only managed to make it through the 109 years since all their mortal lives had ended by keeping her nose firmly stuck in her books. She’d started with Little Rosebud’s Lovers and Lady Audley’s Secret, which she’d been in the process of unpacking from her valise when she passed over the threshold into the spirit world on that fateful night. But she’d tired of reading and rereading just those two, so she’d quickly learned to steal (or borrow, as she preferred to call it) interesting items from visitors to the Inn at Maiden Falls.

      In the first dark years, she’d had to depend upon newspapers and the occasional dime novel left by the workmen and ruffians who’d wandered through. Thank goodness the old brothel had been turned into a gaming house, a speakeasy, a saloon, then completely restored and polished up into a high-class honeymoon hotel. The clientele and the reading material had picked up nicely.

      Years ago, someone had discarded Lady Chatterley’s Lover, which she quite adored. The naughty bits in that one always cheered her up. Not to mention East of Eden, and more recently several issues of Entertainment Weekly and a DVD called Buffy the Vampire Slayer that was really quite extraordinary. Things had become so much more interesting since her day!

      She used to have to sneak into empty guest rooms to use the televisions, but then one day she’d tripped over something in the Inn’s business office called a computer. Which was connected to another bizarre concept called the Internet. Which opened up a whole new world of possibilities for a smart girl who found the modern world quite fascinating.

      No one seemed bothered by the assortment of packages from strange and exotic merchants that arrived at the Inn at Maiden Falls. They always thought the mysterious electronic devices, movies, books and music had been ordered by the proper people at the Inn. Rosebud was very careful to fill out all the proper paperwork and purchase orders on the Accounting Department’s computers. It wasn’t stealing if she charged it to the Inn. Exactly.

      “Well, I do bargain shop. And I return every book and movie that isn’t an absolute necessity, right back into the Inn’s library,” Rosebud noted as she slipped East of Eden onto her bookshelf next to Everything You Always Wanted to Know About Sex But Were Afraid to Ask. “Besides, how else was a girl supposed to keep herself entertained for 109 years?”

      “Rosebud?” Miss Arlotta’s voice barked. “Get your pretty behind up here! Where are you, anyway?”

      She sounded perturbed, and Rosebud knew she was going to have to show up just so the boss didn’t figure out how it was possible for her to be missing and unaccounted for. As far as Rosebud knew, no one else had figured out how to master the fine art of slipping under Miss A’s radar, which was just one of her singular skills.

      “As long as I have to be a ghost, I may as well be good at it,” Rosebud said tartly to no one in particular. Louder, letting her voice float over to the main part of the attic, she called, “Coming, Miss Arlotta.”

      “Well, I hope so! Where ya been, girl?” the madam demanded.

      “Just resting,” Rosebud returned coolly as she slid her vaguely corporeal form into place in front of the desk.

      “Like you got anything to rest from. Get a move on. I got a job for you.”

      Although she was only partially visible at the moment, preferring to affect a sort of shimmery, translucent look so as not to let on how very good at materializing she’d become, Rosebud offered an innocent look. “Me? I thought I was on suspension. Isn’t there anyone else you’d rather give it to?”

      “The place is hoppin’ all summer. We need every hand on deck.”

      “Hand? On deck?” Rosebud echoed doubtfully.

      “Every girl has to pull her weight, darlin’. So far, you have one notch in the Bedpost Book. Total. One notch,” Miss Arlotta said grimly. “We been here 109 years and you got a sum total of eighteen black marks, no gold stars, and one lousy notch. And I’m still not convinced that one wasn’t just dumb luck.”

      Rosebud said nothing. As a matter of fact, her one notch in the Bedpost Book, for successfully helping a guest couple turn up the heat on their honeymoon, had been an accident. Annoyed with a young woman who simply would not shut up, Rosebud had filled up the bathtub and knocked her into it. She figured the little twit had to be quiet if she was under water. How was she supposed to guess that the silly groom would find his dripping wet bride particularly erotic?

      “Let’s just say you aren’t exactly hotfootin’ it on the road to that Big Picnic in the Sky,” the boss went on. “After the way you spun the bed around on the last couple I gave you, I ought to leave you on permanent suspension. Scared the living daylights out of ’em and sprained the groom’s leg when he tried to jump out.”

      “I really deserve suspension,” Rosebud agreed, batting her eyelashes and trying to look contrite. The truth was, she liked being suspended. As long as it lasted, she was free to read and watch movies to her heart’s content. And she was expecting the six-hour DVD of Pride and Prejudice to arrive at the front desk any day. Surely her suspension could last long enough to get through Pride and Prejudice.

      “If you don’t ever get your ten notches in the Bedpost Book, me and the judge are stuck here like two pigs in tar, right along with you,” Miss Arlotta explained impatiently. “You know that. This ain’t just for you. Me and the judge can only move on after all you girls are gone.”

      “Yes, but—”

      “No buts. Everybody knows you’re not carrying your load. That crazy Flo, who hasn’t been happy a day since 1895 on account of her corset problems, has got more notches than you. You’re a smart girl, Rosebud. I’m giving you a job that