“Getting rid of the ghost of Jules Beni?” Zach offered.

Scratching the beard stubble on his chin, the farmer’s gaze slid toward Zach. “Is that so?”

 • • •

She smelled death and lurched forward to the remains of Jules Beni with the holes on each side of his head. No longer dry and leathery, the ears pulsed in her hands, seeming all too real. Hauling in a breath, teetering, her mind fogging with cold, Clare aligned the ears against the corpse’s head.

It vanished . . . and the whole scene drained of color, tinted browns, like shades of sepia.

Jack Slade pulled from her and it hurt, hurt, hurt, ice slicing her guts. She wobbled where she stood.

 • • •

Mather groaned. Zach looked at the farmer. “I appreciate the help in getting this one.”

“He after your lady?”

At hearing Clare called “his lady,” the adrenaline zooming along in Zach’s bloodstream went straight to his groin. “Yeah. He’s also on the run from the Denver cops.”

The farmer shook his head. “Well, he’ll spend some time here, I reckon. Trespassing, attempted murder. Though I s’pose the sheriff will be glad enough to hand him over to your Denver boys.”

“No doubt.”

“Now why don’t you finally give me your name?”

“Zach Slade, ex–deputy sheriff out of Montana, current private investigator from Denver.” He offered his hand. “I don’t have a card.”

“I don’t want one.” A grunt. “Slade, huh?”

“No relation to Jack.”

“Didn’t think so.” The man tipped his cowboy hat up, scrutinizing Zach. “You look a little familiar, though. You got family around here?”

Zach pulled a face. “No, the family home is in Boulder, Colorado.”

A crack of laughter came from the farmer. He slapped Zach on the back with his free palm. “Not a place I’d feel comf’ble in.” Now he held out his hand. “I’m Mike Gurey.”

Taking his tough-skinned hand, Zach shook it briefly, a firm grip from both of them.

“Boulder is better left to the university and New Age crowd. How did you know we were here?” Zach asked, trying to keep the man’s attention on himself. Clare stood in a trancelike state.

The guy hesitated; his wide flannel-covered shoulders shifted. “Just had a feelin’.”

“Uh-huh,” Zach said. He moved wrong and his left foot dragged on the ground. Heat rushed under the skin of his neck and cheeks.

Gurey glanced at Zach’s ankle. “Foot drop, eh? You need more than a lift in your shoe. You need a brace, son,” the man said, not unkindly.

“I’ve figured that out,” Zach said.

A wind whipped in from nowhere, shrieking through the still night. The farmer flinched. “I think I’ll head off my neighbors and meet the sheriff on the road.”

Zach wished he could go, too. “I guess I’d better stay here.”

Gurey clapped him on the shoulder as he gave a last glance to Clare, who was gesturing widely, then wrapped her arms around herself and trembled.

“I’ll be glad when the weirdness is out of this part of my land,” the farmer said, and added, “She’s one in a million.”

“Yeah.” And Zach was damn glad that the man strode away without saying more or giving advice.

He hurried as fast as he could to Clare. He’d be faster and steadier with a brace.

 • • •

The ghost of Jack Slade stared at Clare, and for the first time the dark lines worn of worry, of drink, had vanished from his face, and undimmed joy shone in his eyes. “Thank you for helping me.” He inclined his torso slightly. “And thank you for being willing to help those, like me, who are trapped. Hello, Jackson Zachary Slade.” He smiled beyond her, then she felt Zach’s strong arm around her waist.

Jack Slade angled his head at Zach. “Those who keep the law are not only the lawmen, you know. Those who find justice for others don’t always wear a badge.”

Zach jolted beside Clare.

Still smiling, the apparition said, “I am whole enough to pass through.” Then the ghost’s head cocked. “Virginia?” He laughed. “I hear you, Virginia, don’t scold me for being late, I’m coming!” With a wide grin he dissolved into a shaft of golden light that blinded her.

Euphoria washed through her, just like the golden light. She sighed and tension released. She had deeply affected at least one “person” with her gift, had helped. She had a new talent that she could use, and a challenge in learning how.

She wouldn’t be a failure, wouldn’t go mad, wouldn’t die.

When her eyes adjusted again, it was night and she heard distant sobbing. She froze. “Do you hear that?”

“It’s Mather.”

She looked at Zach; he seemed more relaxed, too. Well, the woo-woo part of the evening was most likely over. “Ted?” she asked.

“Yeah. He tried to attack you, but between me and the farm owner, we restrained him.”

“The farm owner,” she breathed.

Zach’s arm tightened. He brought her close. “You’re cold.”

“Yes.”

YAY CLARE! Enzo yelled, zooming around her in circles, leaving streaks of silvery drool in the air, leaping now and then and licking her hands.

“Yay, Clare!” Zach said, and laughed, then laughed some more as she moved from his grasp and twirled around him, mixing in a few Gypsy steps that Aunt Sandra had taught her, flinging her arms up, her head back and wanting, wanting, wanting bracelets and necklace and a headband that jingled with coins.

She was free.

Whole in a way she hadn’t been, ever.

Only some of that was due to her accepting her gift, though she felt right about that. Most of her happiness was the sheer pleasure of being with Zach. A man who might deny his own sensitivities, but that was all right. Didn’t she know how hard it was to accept the weirdness in your own life? If the consequences hadn’t been so dire and fatal, she wouldn’t have accepted them herself.

Zach would come to acceptance of his own gift, or not. She’d watch for those little odd moments of his but wouldn’t say anything. His choice. She wouldn’t push. Yet.

But it had been a long, long time since she’d felt so happy, happy enough to be dancing as twilight smudged into dawn.

Zach watched Clare dance. For sure he’d have to get her one of those Gypsy outfits, unless she had one tucked away he hadn’t seen.

His smile straightened as in the distance he saw the flashing lights of a police vehicle, heard the static of the radio. His jaw clenched. That part of his life was over.

“Come on, the authorities”—not him, not ever again—“are here. We have some explaining to do. Don’t mention the ghost.”

She sniffed and took his free hand, linking fingers with him. “As if I would.”

 • • •

The time with the sheriff of Goshen County and the Torrington police—Clare wasn’t sure who had jurisdiction, but they were both there—went a whole lot faster than her earlier questioning. The farm owner backed Zach up as to the murderous assault by Ted Mather on Gurey, Zach, and Clare. She’d been oblivious. Would that always be the case? She hoped not.

Once the police in Denver got on the conference call, everything went even faster, until they were on the road again, Zach still driving, after breakfast.

Again the trip passed without any great revelations on either of their parts, and they made excellent time.

At the sight of the two small carriage lights on each side of her front door welcoming her home, an upsurge of pure warmth banished the last of the cold of the crazy adventure from her bones. She was home, this was home, where she was supposed to be. She understood now that she’d recognized the house.

As she’d recognized Zach, but she’d let that knowledge curl in the back of her head and her heart for now, a cherished secret.

He got out of the car, alternating leaning on his cane and raising his left knee high, higher than a usual gait, higher than he usually walked, since he tried to deny his disability as much as he could. He had to be even more weary than she.