Ghostly Charades

Ghostly Charades

Ghosts of High Paradise Ranch Series, Book 3

by

Randi Alexander

GHOSTLY CHARADES

Ghosts of High Paradise Ranch Series, Book 3

Original Printing 2015

Revised Version Copyright © 2021 Randi Alexander

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

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ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by an information storage and retrieval system-except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review to be printed in a magazine, newspaper, or on the web -without permission in writing from the author.

Chapter One

Hart Eastman shifted from one booted foot to the other, looking around the tiny Libby, Montana store called Roses, Herbs, and Healing. Bottles of oils and glass containers of dried herbs gave off unexpected scents. He’d never seen anything like this before.

A woman popped up from behind the counter, holding a cardboard box. She spotted him, and her whole body jerked, rattling glass inside the box. Holy sh… crickets! I didn’t hear you come in. Young, maybe twenty, her short pink and purple hair matched the beads on her eyebrow piercings. She gestured toward the front of the store. We haven’t had a chance to put a little bell up on the door yet.

Hart looked to his left, seriously considering bolting through that door and scrapping this crazy idea, but he stood strong. He’d driven forty miles for this, and he committed to see it through. Yanking off his brown cowboy hat, he nodded. Ma’am. Sorry to startle you. Are you the…? He pointed toward a shelf containing glass pots of dried plants. The herb lady?

As she put down her box, she shook her head. Ms. Bart is our Master Medical Herbalist. She’s in but on the phone right now. The young woman came out from behind the counter, her baggy sweatshirt boasting a drawing of a marijuana leaf and the words, Legalize Cannabis.

Puffing out a long breath, he reconsidered his decision to not get the hell out of here. He fidgeted with the brim of his hat. Should I come back? Will she be a while?

No, I don’t think so. She’s just placing an order. The girl tipped her head. Would you like a cup of tea while you wait?

He could envision what sort of curious weeds this gal would put into a cup of tea. Thanks, but no. Ah, I can—

A click sounded from the back of the store, and a plain white door swung open. All fixed. A woman’s sweet, high-pitched voice sang through the store. A second later, she appeared. About five and a half feet tall, her red hair pulled back, and she wore a white lab coat over her jeans. She handed the cannabis-shirt girl a stack of papers, then looked at him.

A moment passed where the air in the room grew electric, like the split-second before a lightning strike. Her dark green eyes reminded him of a deep forest, but her freckles gave her the look of a pixie. Hi. She walked toward him, stashing her pen in a chest pocket. Has Bella helped you?

The young woman wandered toward the counter, flipping pages and ignoring them.

He shook his head. I’m looking for some specific help.

That’s what I’m here for. The redhead smiled, showing slightly crooked front teeth that somehow Hart had known wouldn’t be perfect. She pointed toward the door she’d just come out of. Let’s step into my office. Turning, she walked quickly through the door, showing the thick, waving length of her hair in the pony tail. She waited for him to pass through into the small space, then closed the door, shutting them in.

He felt his hands fiddle with his hat again and forced himself to stop. In just a few seconds, this woman would either laugh him out of her office or give him the cure he needed.

Instead of a desk, she had a round table with a wooden chair on each side. She sat in one, offering the other to him with a graceful flip of her hand. No nail polish, but more freckles.

Did those freckles cover every inch of her body? With a cough, he banished that thought and plopped down in the chair. Do I call you doctor? Not a great come-on line, but he’d tried worse ones.

Her gaze turned serious. No, I’m not a doctor. If this is something that you would usually see your physician about, I’d suggest you make an appointment with them first to—

No, ma’am. He hadn’t meant to cut her off, but now that he was really here, really going to ask her for this insane treatment, his brain wouldn’t calm itself. Running his hand through his brown hair, he effectively undid all the combing and wetting he’d done back at the ranch, and his hair would now be sticking straight up.

She stared at the top of his head for a few seconds before her gaze met his again. Can I get you a cup of tea?

A hoarse laugh blasted from his chest. I must seem as jittery as a newborn colt. He shook his head and took a breath. Ma’am, I’m not sure if this is something you can help me with, but I’m going to ask you anyway.

Okay. You’ve got me very curious. I’m RosaLynn Bart, by the way. She held out her hand across the table. Please, call me RosaLynn.

He took her hand in his, her small, fragile-looking hand, then she gave his a squeeze that told him she meant business. I’m Hart Eastman, foreman of the High Paradise Ranch, about forty miles northwest of here. He let go of her but wished part of her medicine was holding patients’ hands.

Good to meet you, Hart. I’m fairly new in town, but I’ve already heard of the High Paradise. It carries a solid reputation. She sat back in her chair and crossed her legs, showing a pair of functional boots on her feet. Did she actually go out and pick all the herbs she sold?

Yes, ma’am. Hart looked at her. RosaLynn. Pretty name for an impressive woman. I’ve just recently become the foreman, but I’ve been on the ranch for two years, and it’s a good place.

I’d love to see it sometime.

Was she just making small talk? There was no way she was flirting. Was there? He hadn’t been on the dating circuit in more than three years, so how the hell would he be able to tell?

Tell me what you’re here for, Hart.

He’d been staring. Shit. This was going to be hard enough without her thinking he was only half-here. A couple of the guys on the ranch, the ranch hands, well they told me there was a potion…. Looking at his hand, he noticed dirt under his nails. He should have cleaned up a little better, but he hadn’t expected to meet someone this intriguing.

I love the word potion. Herbal remedies can do some rather spectacular things nowadays, even taking on seemingly magical properties. Taking her pen from her pocket, she clicked it open and slid a small notepad in front of her. What are you looking for? I’d love to help you.

Her attentive gaze calmed him, gave him the nerve to go through with this. I’ve got a ghost. And I need herbs or oils or something to get rid of it. There. He’d gone and said it. Now it was up to her.

As her eyes popped wide, her mouth curved into a big smile. Okay, so some of the ranch hands told you to come and see me for a cure for a ghost? Her voice vibrated with laughter.

His gut clenched. Those assholes. They’d set him up. He should have known. The boys were in for a shit-ton of hard work when he got back to the ranch. Hart stood. I’m very sorry, ma’am. Taking a step toward the door, he jammed his hat on his head and unclenched his teeth. I feel like an idiot wasting your time. He reached for the handle.

Her hand grasped his wrist. She’d moved fast and stood next to him. Wait, Hart. I’m the one who’s sorry.

Turning his head to judge the integrity in her eyes, he quickly caught her sincerity. You have no need to apologize to me.

Yes. Yes, I do. Keeping her warm hand wrapped around his wrist, she tugged him gently around to face her. You came to me with a real concern, and I laughed. And that was not professional, and it was not kind. She released him but stayed close, looking up at him.

Hart could tell his cheeks grew red above his beard scruff. I’m…. What was he? An idiot? A gullible fool? Embarrassed as hell? He just shrugged.

While I’m not any kind of a spiritualist, I do have experience in a technique that might help.

A technique? He wasn’t sure what that meant.

All you have to do is invite me to your house.

****

RosaLynn hadn’t intended to flirt. She’d just wanted to make him feel more comfortable with her, but now he had that strange look in his bright green eyes that told her she’d sent out mixed signals. Let me explain.

Stepping to her bookshelf, she scanned the spines. Here it is. It’s a Native American tradition. The way I learned is a Plains Indians smudging. She flipped through the book looking for the right page.

Smudging? And that’s okay for you to do? He stepped closer, leaning toward her as he looked at the book in her hands.

Having him right beside her became a powerful stimulant, and she had to swallow to find her voice. Yes, many cultures now participate in this, and it’s said to remove negative energy from spaces. She found the page showing a person