Once upon a ghost, p.18
Once Upon a Ghost, page 18
"We don't use fuses, any—" He waved that aside. "Never mind. The answer is, no. The power came back on by itself, so it couldn't have been a bad... er... fuse. Next, I had Kurt check the circuitry. But he couldn't find anything wrong."
"Then why did the power go off?"
"Another interesting question."
"With no answer?"
"With no answer."
She clutched at his shirt, barely able to contain her excitement. "And that was enough to save Francisca?"
His hands settled on her waist and he pulled her against him. "In my opinion, and in the opinion of the experts I consulted, yes. It was enough to save Francisca."
Suddenly she remembered the incident, and her excitement died. She peeked up at him, smoothing his newly rumpled shirt with trembling fingers. "Even so, I didn't tell you what I'd done. Or thought I'd done. You know, with the magnet and dust bag. It makes me no better than Madam Zufalo."
"You are nothing like Madam Zufalo," he stated flatly. A hint of irony crept into his hazel eyes. "Though I'll have you know, she's a reformed character."
"She is?" Rachel snuggled into his embrace. It felt so good to be home where she belonged.
"She is. Madam's offered to work for me as a consultant."
"She has?"
"She has. Seems her conscience has been troubling her of late. She wants to earn her keep legitimately by exposing—and I quote—unscrupulous practitioners of the psychic arts. End quote."
Rachel giggled. "What a surprise."
"Nothing surprises me anymore," Zach asserted.
"That's what I thought. But I was mistaken. I was mistaken about a lot of things."
"Such as?"
She sighed. "Such as believing that faith can be found in lockets and wishes and ghosts."
"And it can't?" He sounded so indulgent, so... so tender.
"No. It can't," she replied, quite definite. "Faith, real faith, is inside. It's trusting and believing in ourselves."
His brows drew together. "You don't believe in Francisca anymore?"
"I believe in her with all my heart," she said earnestly. "But I waited and waited for her to solve my problems, and all along I had the solution within my grasp. I can sell the locket. It's worth a lot of money, you know."
He didn't look pleased. "What about your locket wish?"
She smiled tremulously. "Do you love me, Zach?"
"With all my heart and soul," he stated in no uncertain terms, tucking a soft blond curl behind her ear.
"Then I have my dearest wish. I can't ask for more than that." She lifted a hand to his cheek, tracing the taut, sculpted lines. "I love you, too. That's what made it so hard to make my wish. I had to choose between you and Nana."
His mouth tightened. "You'll never have to choose again," he assured her, pressing a kiss in her palm. "How do you feel about marrying a stuffy old professor?"
She bit down on her lip, tears welling into her eyes. "I feel great about it. More than great. Better than great." She hesitated. "How do you feel about living with Nana and seven cats?"
"Seven?"
"Sneakthief dropped a little bombshell. Six little bombshells, to be exact."
He choked on a laugh. "Okay. I take it back. I can still be surprised." His arms tightened around her. "I love you. And I want to spend the rest of my life with you. You. Nana. And if I must, seven cats."
Then he kissed her and she lost herself in the glory of his embrace. A sweetness filled her, surrounded her, teased her with a protective warmth. She heard a distant ping and realized Francisca's earring had fallen off.
"Rachel?" Zach lifted his head. "What's that odor?"
She released a long, gusty breath. "Gardenias."
"Gardenias?" He stepped back and she heard a loud crunch.
"Oh, no," she groaned. "Francisca's earring."
"Honey, I'm sorry." He bent and picked up the crushed piece of jewelry, examining it carefully. "It's broken, I'm afraid. I cracked the enamel when I stepped on it."
"Can it be fixed?"
"I don't—" He frowned. "That's strange. I think there's something inside." He slipped his thumbnail under the enamel and pried the earring open. Into his hand plopped a huge, glittering yellow diamond. For a long minute they both simply stood and stared.
"Is that real?" she finally asked in a small, awed voice.
"You'll have to check, but I'm betting it's very real."
A sudden thought occurred to her. Of course! It made perfect sense. "Juan Ortega's ring," she exclaimed. "I'll bet this is one of the diamonds from the ring he gave Francisca."
"You could be right. If she was forced into an engagement with another man how better to hide Juan's gift than to encase the diamonds in enamel?"
Tears filled her eyes. "Do you realize what this means?"
He grinned. "You won't have to sell your locket after all."
"Oh, Zach," she cried, throwing her arms around his neck. "This is what Francisca's been trying to tell us all along. This explains her earring fetish. Now Nana can pay off her bills."
"See what happens when you have a little faith?"
She stilled. Comprehension dawned, and she stared at him with hope and just a hint of doubt. "Faith?" she whispered. "You said faith. But you don't believe in that. You only believe in your machines and facts and figures and absolutes."
"I guess there are one or two things my machines can't register," he admitted. "Like faith. And trust." His hazel eyes were clear and direct as they met hers. "But especially love. I love you, sweetheart. With you, the impossible is possible. I suspect it always will be."
He kissed her, holding her to his chest as though he'd never let go. And as he did, the scent of gardenias became overpowering. The bells began to peal and a careening ball of light shot through the room. All around, the few cameras still hooked up burst into life.
Only, Zach and Rachel never noticed a thing.
The End
Want more from Day Leclaire?
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ONCE UPON A COWBOY
The Wacky Women Series
Book Two
Excerpt from
Once Upon a Cowboy
The Wacky Women Series
Book Two
by
Day Leclaire
USA Today Bestselling Author
All she'd ever wanted was to be a cowboy...
Holt watched Cami charge through the bushes and up over the ridge, shiny black curls bouncing against her back. He remembered sliding his hands through that hair and the feel of her curls beneath his hands. The softness had taken him by surprise, the little ringlets twisting around his fingers, clinging and twining so he'd been afraid he'd hurt her when he'd gathered sufficient wits to pull free.
He also remembered what her mouth had felt like beneath his. Soft. Soft and sweet and welcoming. And then there'd been the rest of her. The scent of her skin. The tiny groan of desire slipping from her mouth to his. Delicate curves pressed tight against him. Breasts as close to perfect as he'd ever laid hands on.
He'd almost stripped her down and taken her right there beneath the cottonwood. His own wrangler. Would she have resisted? Something told him she wouldn't have. Something told him, she'd have given herself to him with the same determination and generosity that had characterized her from the minute he'd first seen her.
Of course, if nature had taken its course, his neighbor, Frank, would have gotten quite an eyeful. Then he'd have had to shoot Frank. Frank probably wouldn't take well to having been shot and feel obligated to do something about it. Plus, Holt would have the small problem of the law frowning on ranchers shooting each other. Once upon a time he might have gotten away with it. But today people tended to frown on it.
He sighed.
"You've got trouble," Frank said.
Holt didn't bother denying it. "Big trouble."
"So what are you going to do about it?"
"Keeping my damned hands off Cami might be a good start. Not smart to make love to your wranglers."
"Sounds like a difficult proposition."
"A painful proposition." They both fell silent for a few minutes. In a resigned voice Holt asked, "I don't suppose you've heard of any decent wranglers looking for work."
"I put the word out. The few I heard were free I wouldn't have within a thousand miles of my spread. What about those other resumés you received? Isn't there anyone else you could hire?"
Holt shook his head. "Only one's still available and she's eighty-two. I'd have hired her on the spot, but she's just been released from the hospital following a bout of pneumonia and the doctor won't okay it."
"Which leaves Tex."
"Which leaves Tex and all that damned black hair," Holt agreed.
"And those big blue eyes."
"Not to mention the dimples."
"Or the freckles."
Steel crept into Holt's voice. "Mention those cute little freckles in that tone and I'm like as not to knock you on your arse."
"You've got trouble."
Holt yanked his hat low on his forehead. "Big trouble."
Once Upon a Cowboy
The Wacky Women Series
Book Two
by
Day Leclaire
~
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Once Upon a Cowboy
from your favorite eBook Retailer,
visit Day Leclaire's eBook Discovery Author Page
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Page forward and continue your journey
with an excerpt from
ONCE UPON A TIME
The Wacky Women Series
Book Three
Excerpt from
Once Upon a Time
The Wacky Women Series
Book Three
by
Day Leclaire
USA Today Bestselling Author
Rule #100:
Rules were made to be broken.
"Callie... I want to make love to you."
"Abrupt and to the point. How Julian of you." She smiled. "It also works out really well, since I want to make love to you, too."
A frown touched his brow and though she attempted to smooth it away, it remained. "I need to make sure you're not doing this out of misplaced grief."
Of all the things she'd expected him to say, this came last on the list. In fact, it didn't even hit the list. "Of course I'm not, Julian. Why would you think that?"
"Because of what you said the first time we kissed."
She struggled to remember, a difficult proposition since embarrassment colored her memory of that night. It was her turn to wrinkle her brow. "I remember you attempted to comfort me and I totally misread the situation. And I remember kissing you. I particularly remember a certain amount of deliciousness, followed by an even greater amount of mortification. But I can't remember ever telling you I was kissing you out of grief."
"You claimed you were an emotional wreck because of Maudie. You were such a wreck your emotions got all confused. And that's why you kissed me."
Heat flooded her face, the memory returning in all its hideous detail. That wasn't all she'd said. She'd also claimed she'd rubbed herself all over him because her emotions were so confused. She closed her eyes. "Could you maybe not stare at me while I tell you this next part."
"Confession time?"
She nodded. "You're still staring."
"How do you know? Your eyes are closed."
"Because I'm still blushing. That means you're still staring."
"Okay, my eyes are closed."
She peeked at him. They weren't closed at all. Even worse, he grinned down at her. "Liar."
"I'm guessing I'm not the only one. Shall I assume you kissed me for some reason other than grief?"
"You may assume anything you please," she offered grandly. "I will say, I don't normally ease my sadness by kissing. I ease sadness by eating chocolate."
"I believe you compared my kisses to chocolate."
"There's no comparison." She cleared her throat, obligated to admit, "Your kisses taste much better than any chocolate I've ever eaten."
His smile faded, replaced by a warmth and passion more blistering than the spill of sunshine. "Tell me why you want to make love to me. Explain so there's no more misunderstandings."
"I can tell you, quite definitively, it's not out of grief," she whispered.
"I was hoping you'd say that."
She linked her hands behind his neck. "Does that mean you're going to make love to me now?"
Once Upon a Time
The Wacky Women Series
Book Three
by
Day Leclaire
~
To purchase
Once Upon a Time
from your favorite eBook Retailer,
visit Day Leclaire's eBook Discovery Author Page
www.ebookdiscovery.com/DayLeclaire
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Complete your journey
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ONCE UPON A BRIDGROOM
The Wacky Women Series
Book Four
Excerpt from
Once Upon a Bridegroom
The Wacky Women Series
Book Four
by
Day Leclaire
USA Today Bestselling Author
Husband Wanted!
Woman rancher in immediate and desperate need of a man! Interested applicants should:
1. Be 25-45 years of age and looking for a permanent relationship—a kind and gentle personality is a plus.
2. Have extensive ranching background—be able to sit a horse, deal fairly with employees, herd cattle, etc.
3. Have solid business know-how—particularly the type necessary to please a bullheaded banker.
What Leah Hampton really needed was a knight in shining armor, ready and able to slay all her dragons. A foolish wish, she knew. Even so, some silly, romantic part of her couldn't help wishing for the impossible.
She glanced at her watch. Her final interview should arrive any time. As though in response, a solitary rider appeared over a nearby ridge, shadowed black against the burnt-orange glow of a low-hanging sun. She shaded her eyes and studied him with keen curiosity. Could this be H.P. Smith, her final applicant?
He rode easily, at home in the saddle, swaying with a natural, effortless rhythm. Even from a distance she could see the beauty of his horse, the pale tan coat without a blemish, the ebony mane and tail gleaming beneath the golden rays of the setting sun. The animal was also a handful, but one he mastered without difficulty.
She frowned, something about him setting off alarm bells. If only she could figure out what. Then it hit her. She knew the man. On some basic, intuitive level she recognized the way he sat his horse, the simple, decisive manner with which he controlled the animal, the square, authoritative set of his shoulders. Even the angle of his hat seemed faintly familiar.
But who the hell was he?
She waited and watched, intent on the stranger's every movement. He rode as though he owned the place, as though he were lord and master of this land. From beneath the brim of his hat Leah caught a glimpse of jet-black hair and deep-set, watchful eyes, his shadowed features taut and angled, as though hewn from granite. He dismounted a short distance away, tying his buckskin to the hitching post. Not giving the vaguest acknowledgement, he turned to cross the yard toward her.
He stripped his gloves from his hands as he came, tucking them into his belt, and she found herself staring at those hands, at the strength and power conveyed by his loose held fists. She knew those hands. But from where?
A flash of memory hit her. She saw those hands, sinking into the silvery paleness of her hair, anchoring her against him. The nimble way they unbuttoned her shirt, sweeping it off her shoulders. The skillful drift of callused fingers lingering on her breasts, tender and yet forceful. The short, sharp images brought ecstasy mixed with unrelenting pain, and she gasped.
He looked up at the small, feminine sound.
Full sunlight cast the shadow from his face and revealed to her the threat—and promise—in his cold black eyes. In that instant she recognized him, and knew why he'd come.
"This just isn't my day," she muttered. Acting on blind instinct, she shouldered her rifle and fired.
The first blast cratered the ground a foot in front of him. He didn't flinch. He didn't even break stride. He came for her, his steady gaze locked on her face. She jacked out the shell and pumped another into the chamber. The second blast landed square between his boots, showering the black leather with dirt and debris. Still he kept coming, faster now, hard-packed muscle moving with catlike speed. She wasn't given the opportunity to get off another round.
He hit the porch steps two at a time. Not hesitating a moment, he grabbed the barrel of the rifle and yanked it from her grasp, tossing it aside. His hands landed heavily on her shoulder, catapulting her straight into his arms. With a muffled shriek, she grabbed a fistful of shirt to keep from falling.
"You never were much of a shot," he said, his voice low and rough. And then he kissed her.
Once Upon a Bridegroom
The Wacky Women Series
Book Four
by
Day Leclaire
~
To purchase
Once Upon a Bridegroom
from your favorite eBook Retailer,
visit Day Leclaire's eBook Discovery Author Page
www.ebookdiscovery.com/DayLeclaire
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Wacky comes naturally to Day Leclaire. It always has.
At the age of five, she taught her kindergarten class how to lock the bathroom stalls and slide out underneath. Then she became the first kindergartner in the school's history to get suspended, after starting a glue war to the tune of one carpet, ten emergency haircuts, fifteen shirts, three pants, and two pairs of sneakers. Or was that three pairs of sneakers?
