Ghost Horse
Patricia Rosemoor
Dear Harlequin Intrigue Reader,
This July, Intrigue brings you six sizzling summer reads. They’re the perfect beach accessory.
* We have three fantastic miniseries for you. Film at Eleven continues THE LANDRY BROTHERS by Kelsey Roberts. Gayle Wilson is back with the PHOENIX BROTHERHOOD in Take No Prisoners. And B.J. Daniels finishes up her MCCALLS’ MONTANA series with Shotgun Surrender.
* Susan Peterson brings you Hard Evidence, the final installment in our LIPSTICK LTD. promotion featuring stealthy sleuths. And, of course, we have a spine-tingling ECLIPSE title. This month’s is Patricia Rosemoor’s Ghost Horse.
* Don’t miss Dana Marton’s sexy stand-alone title, The Sheik’s Safety. When an American soldier is caught behind enemy lines, she’ll fake amnesia to guard her safety, but there’s no stopping the sheik determined on winning her heart.
Enjoy our stellar lineup this month and every month!
Sincerely,
Denise O’Sullivan
Senior Editor
Harlequin Intrigue
PATRICIA ROSEMOOR
GHOST HORSE
HARLEQUIN®
TORONTO • NEW YORK • LONDON
AMSTERDAM • PARIS • SYDNEY • HAMBURG
STOCKHOLM • ATHENS • TOKYO • MILAN • MADRID
PRAGUE • WARSAW • BUDAPEST • AUCKLAND
ISBN 1-55254-332-3
GHOST HORSE
Copyright © 2005 by Patricia Pinianski
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.
All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.
This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
® and TM are trademarks of the publisher. Trademarks indicated with ® are registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office, the Canadian Trade Marks Office and in other countries.
http://www.eHarlequin.com
CONTENTS
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
CAST OF CHARACTERS
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Epilogue
COMING NEXT MONTH
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
“Dangerous love” always fascinated Patricia Rosemoor ever since she started watching erotic thriller movies—a fascination she has brought into her work. She’s written more Harlequin Intrigue books than any other author. She also writes for Harlequin Blaze and Silhouette Bombshell, bringing a different mix of thrills and chills to each line. She’s won a Golden Heart from Romance Writers of America and Reviewers Choice and Career Achievement Awards from the Romantic Times Book Club.
Contact Patricia via e-mail—
[email protected] or snail mail, Patricia Rosemoor, Harlequin Books, 233 Broadway, New York, NY 10279. Check out her Web site www.PatriciaRosemoor.com.
Books by Patricia Rosemoor
HARLEQUIN INTRIGUE
38—DOUBLE IMAGES
55—DANGEROUS ILLUSIONS
74—DEATH SPIRAL
81—CRIMSON HOLIDAY
95—AMBUSHED
113—DO UNTO OTHERS
121—TICKET TO NOWHERE
161—PUSHED TO THE LIMIT
163—SQUARING ACCOUNTS
165—NO HOLDS BARRED
199—THE KISS OF DEATH
219—TORCH JOB
243—DEAD HEAT
250—HAUNTED
283—SILENT SEA
291—CRIMSON NIGHTMARE
317—DROP DEAD GORGEOUS
346—THE DESPERADO
361—LUCKY DEVIL
382—SEE ME IN YOUR DREAMS*
386—TELL ME NO LIES*
390—TOUCH ME IN THE DARK*
439—BEFORE THE FALL
451—AFTER THE DARK
483—NEVER CRY WOLF*
499—A LOVER AWAITS
530—COWBOY JUSTICE
559—HEART OF A LAWMAN†
563—THE LONE WOLF’S CHILD†
567—A RANCHER’S VOW†
629—SOMEONE TO PROTECT HER
661—MYSTERIOUS STRANGER*
665—COWBOY PROTECTOR*
684—GYPSY MAGIC “Andrei”
703—FAKE I.D. WIFE**
707—VIP PROTECTOR**
745—THE BOYS IN BLUE “Zachary”
785—VELVET ROPES**
791—ON THE LIST**
858—GHOST HORSE
SILHOUETTE BOMBSHELL
24—HOT CASE
CAST OF CHARACTERS
Chloe Morgan—The summer tutor came to Graylord Pastures wanting to know the fate of her friend, not to fall in love with her employer.
Damian Graylord—The dark and brooding master of the estate seemed more interested in getting close to Chloe than he did about Dawn’s disappearance.
Dawn Reed—Why would Chloe’s best friend not tell her she meant to elope with some mysterious man…and then vanish?
Alex Graylord—Damian’s amiable and talkative brother wants out of the family business, but at what cost?
Nissa Graylord—Does Damian’s thirteen-year-old daughter have clues to what happened to Dawn?
Priscilla Graylord—The ex-Mrs. Graylord disappeared in the night, but is she haunting the estate?
Mrs. Avery—What secrets did the housekeeper hired by Priscilla keep?
Theo Bosch—Did the barn manager resent Damian enough to try to ruin him?
Clifford Wakeley—Was the horse groom who acted like the world owed him something getting revenge for his brother…or himself?
Jack Larson—What would the Graylords’ neighbor do to get the farm he so desperately wanted?
Prologue
Thunder rumbled in the distance, signaling another storm rolling in. Thick fog, as if sent to make the task more difficult, rose from the Mississippi River and up the jagged bluffs. It was hard enough for the watcher to do what was necessary in the dark and without the moon, only the flashlight allowed one to see what was what.
The watcher swept a beam of light across the pale gray hide. “C’mon, Centaur, there you go, now.” The soft words were meant to deceive this cleverest of beasts.
Even so, the stallion seemed to sense no good would come of this night. He whinnied and snorted and danced through muck and across rain-slippery rock, away from the one who led him. Biting down impatience, the human let out some more line to avoid a struggle.
Damn horse was stubborn. If he got it in his head to bolt too soon…
“Attaboy, nice and easy now.”
The soft reassurance seemed to calm the beast. Now to inch closer to the bluffs. The lead went taut when the horse didn’t follow. A low whistle made his ears twitch, and after a moment of hesitation, Centaur bobbed his head and the taut connection weakened.
The beast in all his glory stepped through the fog into the light, instilling the watcher with enormous regret. Such raw beauty. A refined head with widely spaced, intelligent eyes. Its pale mane fluttered between those pools of dark liquid now focused on him. A bit sick inside, the human looked away and took a deep breath and considered the options.
No! This was the best one.
The weapon slid free of the belt loop as they circled a bit, the stallion prancing closer to the bluff.
The bridle had to go now. “I’m sorry it has to be this way, boy, I really am.”
The regret was punctuated with a blast of the air horn, which if heard, would seem to come from a boat on the river. The stallion’s head immediately shot up, and his eyes rolled white. Another blast and the stallion danced away, muscles bunching, hooves doing a nervous tap dance on the wet rocks. The third blast, backed by rolling thunder, was the charm.
Lightning crackled and the pale stallion glowed eerily against the fog as it reared. A hoof smacked the noisemaker out of the gloved hand. The jarring movement twisted the horse’s big body, and his hooves slipped on wet rock. Panicked, Centaur threw up his head and danced sideways. Suddenly he seemed to slip and his rear quarters went down, then disappeared from sight. The horse screamed and screamed as he tried to regain footing.
A losing battle….
Suddenly the horse’s head plunged backward, his body following in a bizarre slow-motion dance over the cliff and into the mists. The fog muffled the sounds of his struggle as he plummeted to certain death on the rocks below.
But wait…a scream was still coming from somewhere…from the opposite direction…this one human.
A glance back as lightning struck once more, and the figure at the edge of the woods was illuminated.
She’d witnessed everything….
Chapter One
As I drove through fog as thick as soup along switchback curves that took me through the hilly northwestern corner of Illinois, I asked myself if I knew what I was doing. Every so often, when I thought about it, my skin crawled or my stomach knotted or I had trouble swallowing.
Fear was my constant companion, one I hadn’t shed since setting out alone from Chicago several hours ago in my used car I’d bought on my meager teacher’s salary. I told myself that I was not being foolish or reckless. That I was doing what I must.
That Dawn would do the same for me.
Only, part of me was willing to admit that maybe she wouldn’t. There was a selfish part of the young woman who was my best friend and the closest thing I had to a sister that I didn’t want to recognize.
I left the curves and the fog behind and eventually saw the sign to Galena, but I turned away from the old town that had once grown rich on mining. I headed south, toward Savanna, and as I traveled, I knew I was getting closer to the Mississippi River. Excitement mingled with apprehension for a moment. I’d never been this far from Chicago before.
An unexpected sense of adventure reared its head and for a few moments I coasted on the newness of the area, on the freshness of the air wafting through my open car window.
But not today, I thought, as a sign reminded me of why I was here: Graylord Pastures.
I turned onto the Thoroughbred horse farm and drove between limestone pillars, which provided the framework for an iron gate that lay open, as if in welcome. But I felt no welcome here. Only dread. Not being deceitful by nature, I hoped I could pull this off.
The drive curved around and upward, and at its end I saw the gray stone wreathed in curlicues of fog as if the house itself was rising from the mists. Not a house really—more like a ghostly mansion, three stories with mostly arched windows, though no pair was identical with any other pair. From the size and height of the house, I guessed it had more than a dozen rooms all with high ceilings and, judging by the bizarre placement of chimneys of different widths and heights, multiple fireplaces. It was a century-old house, and undoubtedly those fireplaces had once been the building’s only source of heat.
As I drew closer, I passed an old gazebo not far from the house itself and overlooking both barns and pasture. Two men conferred at the far end of a paddock. I couldn’t see them well from this distance. One man was tall and muscular—no doubt one of the Graylord brothers. The other was a bit shorter and stockier but powerful looking—I recognized him from Dawn’s descriptions as Theo Bosch, the barn manager.
I parked in the drive and quickly checked myself over in the rearview mirror. I patted down windswept strands of light brown hair, swept my cheeks with blush to make them look more angled than rounded, then swiped my full lips with a subtle gloss. Think conservative, I told myself, smoothing the collar of my silk blouse, which was the same shade of gray as my eyes.
I left my car and approached the house. Up close now, I could see that it needed tending. The stone could use a power wash, the peeling window frames and the worn-looking porch a fresh coat of paint. A slightly musty smell sent a shiver through me. I told myself it was just the presence of the river that was so close.
Before I reached the covered porch that winged around the river side of the building and held both a double swing and two Adirondack chairs, a woman of fifty-something opened the front door. Her thin, straight form was draped in a dreary, shapeless dress, and her unnaturally dark hair was slicked back from hawkish features.
“You’ll be Chloe Morgan.”
“I am indeed.” I smiled, but it didn’t echo in her lips, set in a straight, harsh line. “Shall I get my bags?”
“You’re a bit ahead of yourself, wouldn’t you say, miss? The master needs to approve you before you move in.”
“I thought he already did that when he hired me.”
“You’ll wait in the parlor. He’ll be with you anon.”
Parlor? Anon? Was she kidding? She looked and sounded like something out of a Jane Austen novel.
“And you would be…?” I asked.
“Mrs. Avery to you,” she said, her voice cool. “Watch that step. It needs to be replaced.”
As did some missing spindles in the wood rail of the porch, I noticed as I stepped up carefully, wisps of fog rolling around my ankles as if trying to keep me from going inside.
I shook my head at my overactive imagination and hurried to catch up with her.
She showed me the room where I was to wait. I tried not to let my jaw drop. A parlor it was, and like something out of a museum. The marble fireplace, Oriental rug and furniture appeared to be nineteenth century—tables, sofa and chairs of walnut and a flowered upholstery that reflected the hand-stenciling on both the upper walls and ceiling. Still, the room had a shabby look to it. The wood could be refinished, the upholstery replaced.
I wondered that someone with so much money didn’t keep the family estate in better shape.
“Miss Morgan?” came a deep voice from behind me. “You’re punctual. Good.”
I turned to meet the deep blue eyes of my employer, whom I had not yet met. His features were ruggedly attractive beneath thick black hair. A strand strayed across a high, broad forehead, and I was hard-pressed not to reach out and brush it back.
“My name is Chloe, Mr. Graylord.”
“Damian will do.”
Damian would do, I thought. He looked to be a dozen years my senior—of course, he would be, with a thirteen-year-old daughter—but he nearly took my breath away. Judging by his clothing and knee-high leather boots, he’d been riding. His six-foot frame was athletic. Buff…if thigh muscles accentuated by tight beige pants were any indication. A loose white cotton shirt whose neck was open and sleeves rolled up made him look at once elegant and rugged.
He arched a single dark eyebrow. “You’re younger than I expected.”
“I’m twenty-four, as stated in my résumé.”
“But you look younger.”
I wanted to argue with him that I was mature for my age and responsible, but I felt silence was called for. So instead I said, “Mr. Graylord, um, Damian…I thought you already hire
d me to be your daughter’s summer tutor.”
“Just a few questions before the agreement is finalized,” he said, frowning as if at my naïveté. Then, his expression intense, he stepped closer. “Starting with… do you have a lover?”
Appalled, I took a step back. “Excuse me?”
“A boyfriend, then? Some male who might turn your head and distract you from your job?”
I blinked and took a sharp breath. For a moment I thought he was suggesting I would have duties other than seeing that Nissa was up to speed for the eighth grade in September. But then I decided he was being cautious, albeit overly, as to the reliability of the person who would tutor his daughter.
“No, I have no man in my life at the moment.” Nor had I ever…at least, no one serious. Not that it was any of his business.
“I want to make certain you create a stable environment for Nissa.”
I wanted to tell him that was his duty, but I doubted he would appreciate the observation, especially since I knew why he wanted reassurances. If it was to be believed, Dawn Reed, his daughter’s homeschool teacher this past semester, up and eloped with some man no one knew about, not even me.
Only, I didn’t believe it.
“I plan on doing my best,” I said.
“You’re committed to the full two months?”
“Committed. Absolutely.”
“No distractions?”
“None,” I lied.
He was the distraction. Damian Graylord and his brother Alex and perhaps every other person on Graylord Pastures. Someone here had the key to Dawn’s disappearance, and I was determined to find it.
“Good. Then we have an acceptable working relationship.”
