Ghost for Sale. Sandra Cox

espadrilles.” She shot her father a martyred look that he ignored, and the conversation resumed.

      After a huge piece of coconut pie, I rose groaning from the table.

      “Cat, why don’t you stop over this week? We haven’t had a chance to chat in all the flurry of graduation and you settling in with Marcy,” Daddy said.

      Uh-oh, fishing expedition. “Sure, Dad. I’ll bring Marcy along.” Check and check mate.

      I gave everyone the prerequisite hug before I hustled out the door, Marcy on my heels bemoaning her lost credit cards.

      “Nice family.” Liam floated beside me, his hands in his pockets.

      “Mm-hmm.”

      “Not much gets past your father.”

      “Tell me about it.”

      “I just was. Weren’t you listening?” Marcy stopped to pull a tiny pebble out of her strappies.

      “Of course. It’s going to be a long two weeks,” I commiserated.

      “An eternity.” She sighed. “Just wait till I get a job. Then if he pulls my charge cards, it won’t matter.”

      “Mm-hmm.” I patted her arm.

      “What’s a charge card?” Liam’s frock coat snapped in the wind, his thick tawny hair danced in the breeze. A lock fell on his forehead. He looked yummier than the coconut pie we’d had for desert.

      My knees went weak. I raised my hand to push back that errant lock of hair before I caught myself. Finally, his question about credit cards registered. Pitiful. How had anyone survived in the 1800s without credit cards?

      “You can tell me later,” he decided.

      Thank you, your highness, I thought, grinning.

      Marcy glanced over at me. “It’s not funny.”

      “Of course it’s not,” I soothed. Trying to distract her from her grievances, I asked, “You want to go for a swim?”

      “On top of that dinner?” She groaned. “I’d never fit into my bikini. I think I’ll veg out in front of the flat screen and watch a movie.”

      “Let me do a few laps to work off the potatoes and gravy.” I managed not to look at Liam at the word “gravy”…but only just. “And then I’ll join you.”

      “Sure.”

      We’d reached the cottage. She headed for her room and I headed for mine. As I stepped into the bedroom, Liam disappeared. “I hope you’re keeping your word about no peeping,” I whispered.

      I tossed my dress on the bed, toed off my shoes, and slipped into my pink polka dot bikini, then swore. As bikinis went, it was pretty demure. It rode a sedate inch below my belly button and very little cleavage showed. The problem was my distended belly.

      Marcy called that one. I thought about wearing my black one-piece, then decided against it, going on the assumption I’d swim it off.

      I grabbed a short pink beach robe, took a detour to the fridge, poured myself some tea, and hauled butt out to the pool.

      The scent of chlorine assailed me, and I dove into the cool clear water. Ten laps later, I dragged myself into a lounge chair and slipped on sunglasses.

      The scent of cinnamon and limes tickled my senses. There he was. My heart gave a small jump and my stomach fluttered. How was it possible to have a physical reaction to a ghost, a mass of ectoplasm?

      “You have a good, strong stroke.” By the way his gaze traveled over me and the gleam in his eye, it appeared it wasn’t just my stroke he liked.

      He slid into the chair beside me, removed his jacket, and turned his face to the sun. His eyes drifted shut. A look of pure contentment played across his features. I had no doubt it was reflected on mine. I stretched out and wiggled my toes, admiring my Purple Sunset polish.

      “What does your father do for a living?”

      “Well there’s a mood breaker.” I picked up my iced tea. “He’s a reporter.”

      “That accounts for it.” He nodded his head.

      “Accounts for what?”

      “The sharp interest he took in me and in your response. Do you think he saw me? He kept staring in my direction.”

      “Good God, I hope not.” I nearly dropped my tea. As it sloshed over the sides, I shook the liquid off my hand. A shower of tiny droplets spattered on the smooth white stones my chair rested on and splotched them with dark spots. “Enough about my father. Where are you from, Liam O’Reilly, and what are you doing here?” I leaned forward and sipped my tea.

      “I’m from another time.”

      “Got that part, but where was your geographical location when you were alive? You mentioned Ruby Falls, Virginia. I don’t think I’m familiar with it.”

      “It’s a small town not too far from the Maryland border.” He paused and raised his eyebrows. “At least I assume it’s still there. My family ran a general store.” He shifted a bit in his chair and smiled, as if at pleasant memories, and his eyes lit with mischief. “The sweets in the store were a nice benefit.”

      “So you were the kid with his hand in the candy jar?”

      He threw back his head and laughed, a full, sensual sound.

      “Did you have a happy childhood?” Sunlight and shadow played over his high cheekbones and chiseled features. He looked both ethereal and real.

      “The best.” He grinned.

      Why did talking to Liam feel so normal? Feel so right? “Don’t you find it odd that we are chatting like old acquaintances when we barely know each other and I’m flesh and blood, and you’re ectoplasm?” How had it happened so quickly? The immediate connection. Nothing made sense.

      He winced.

      “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude with the ectoplasm crack.” I reached over to touch him. His gray eyes glowed, and his features grew grave. His outline grew sharper, more defined, and the wonderful scent of him became tangier with an almost sexual flavor.

      “Right.” I drew my hand back. Stupid, stupid, stupid. My heart galloped. What would have happened if I’d touched him? I rolled my shoulders and leaned back in the chaise. “So how did you end up in a test tube?”

      “I have no idea.” He put long, lean fingers on each side of his head and pushed his hair back. The moment his hands dropped, it sprang back. “One moment, I’m floating in darkness. In the old general store, I think.” He wrinkled his forehead. “It’s all very strange. It’s like my room above the general store superimposed on a more modern room where people I don’t know go in and out. I could smell the sweat and cologne of strangers, and the scent of my mother’s laundry soap all at the same time. I was there and yet I wasn’t. Not like I am now. It’s like they were on the periphery of my consciousness.

      “Anyway, the next thing I know some maniac, with hair standing all over his head and wearing glasses that are taped together, is clicking a little box that looks like a miniature camera. Every time he clicked, a green light shot out of the camera. Next, he turned on an apparatus with a hose that made a rumbling noise and, poof, I’m sucked down that hose into a cylinder bottle.” He shook his head. “It was stranger than being dead.”

      “Fascinating.”

      “No doubt.” He grimaced.

      “I’m sorry. I’m sure it wasn’t fun. But wow!” I remembered the second test tube. “There were two test tubes.”

      “That’s right.” His face lost all expression.

      “Do you know who was in the second?”

      He