Chapter 9

Donna shook my arm, waking me. Groggily, I blinked, bright daylight causing a moment of disorientation.

“Company coming,” my substantial, if ghostly girlfriend said, giving my cheek a pat with fingers that no longer felt icy or jolted me with electricity.

I yawned, stretching, glancing at the clock. It was past noon. After twice making love with Donna, I had slept away the better part of Tuesday morning. Satiated, I swung upright, checked the time and started to dress. As I pulled up jeans, Donna watched. Her stunning charms were covered again, abruptly back in the illusion of a western shirt, denims and scuffed riding boots, the silver clip back, holding a ponytail that dangled to her waist.

“We really shouldn’t be wearing boots in the house,” she commented as I pulled mine on. “Hard on these refinished floors. Besides, you’ll likely track in something disgusting.” “I’ll get some slippers,” I promised.

“Socks are fine. Mom used to make us take off our boots on the porch,” she told me, handing over a T-shirt. “We kept moccasins and slippers by the front and back doors.” “If you insist, I can do that,” I replied, stretching, asking, “What’s the score?”

She stifled a titter, saying, “Three two for the home team. I’m bursting with energy after three delicious orgasms, but back to being a ghost for a while. You’re going to have a human visitor so I’ll be invisible.”

“A human visitor?” I cocked my head, listening at the window. “Don’t hear a vehicle.”

“You will soon. Sheriff Mitchell is dropping by. Not a social call. He’s puzzled about the shooting, so don’t get your briefs in a knot. Remember, this is Montana, and a ranch. Invite him in and offer him coffee. Just play it cool.”

I rubbed my eyes, stretched and yawned. “I could use a cup.” “While you were sleeping, I ground beans. There’s a fresh pot brewing. We have doughnuts and those apple strudel’s you bought yesterday. I put a few on the table. You don’t need to lie, just don’t volunteer much. Remember, I’ll be right by you the whole time in case you need help. Be hospitable. Show him around the house.”

Amused that Donna’s ghost was acting bossy and giving instructions, I followed her into the kitchen. Hands on hips, she glanced around, scooped our two coffee mugs off the table, rinsed them in the sink, dried one and put it away. The other, she filled with coffee, splashed in cream and handed it to me. “There. All the evidence of me is gone. You haven’t had a single visitor since all those work crews left. A solitary, reclusive vet.” She planted a stiff finger on my sternum. “You haven’t a single thing to feel guilty about! You are not responsible for what we four ghost girls made that monster Haskins do to himself!”

A few minutes later, a plume of dust appeared, then a county sheriff’s SUV crested the bench. Different from the one Haskins had been driving, the vehicle parked next to my Expedition. Sheriff Mitchell eased out, pausing to examine my damaged windshield. Mug in hand, I leaned on the porch rail and produced a quizzical smile. When he looked my way, I gave him a nod.

“Morning Sheriff.”

“Caught a few rocks coming home yesterday?”

“Sure as hell,”,” I replied, offering a grimace. “Couple of teenagers in a five-ton loaded with hay bales doing ‘bout sixty. Fortunately, I saw their dust plume and pulled off the road.” I held up my mug. “Care for a coffee? It’s a fresh pot.”

He glanced around, ambling to the porch, slowly mounting each step. “Very nice,” he commented, thumping a heel on the slate before rapping a support beam with his knuckles. “Sounds like you encountered Fred Wind eagle and his kid brother. I’ve given that punk his last warning!” He gave me a nod, inclining his head at my mug. “Coffee would be right fine.”

I held open the screen door, ushering him inside. As he settled at the old kitchen table, I took down a mug, filling it with coffee. “Cream? Sugar?”

“Black,” he replied, accepting the mug. I sat, sipped, our eyes meeting over the rims. “I’ll give Wind Eagle a call,” he said thoughtfully, glancing at the plate of doughnuts and apple turnovers. “His insurance should cover the cost of a new windshield.” After a swallow, he raised eyebrows. “Damn fine coffee,” he said appreciatively.

“A French roast blend that I mixed with a little Jamaican Blue Mountain. I Order the beans on-line,” I told him, then grinned. “You’re my first visitor. A social call?”

He gave a shrug, sipping coffee, eyes searching my face over the rim of his mug. “Mostly, I’m here sociably. Only fair to tell you that Deputy Haskins is dead. You can come to town without worrying about him trying to get even.”