How To Bring Your Love Life Back From The Dead (11 page)

“It does,” she said, nearly making
it a question.

Okay, he really wanted to get his
hands on that book. It had come in within the last few months even,
so he should have tried to get to it—just in case the pages were
torn out after it was shelved. Why hadn’t he? Stubborn, stupid
ghost.

“Oh?” He’d tried for casual, but
hadn’t managed.

“Shane, have you noticed how…edited
these books are when it comes to you?”

It was a constant source of
frustration when your existence ended at a doorway. Everything
coming in had already had the pages removed. He was only allowed to
know what an unseen hand deemed acceptable. It had been going on
for a century, though, so it had to be more than just a joke…and it
felt personal, deeply personal. Most everyone in town around that
time made it into print in one form or another. They aged,
accomplished, loved, lived, and died—leaving behind their own
progeny, and that was recorded somewhere. Here he was a ghost and
leaving no impression on the world in any way. He was more a ghost
in history than in reality. It left his heart cold as a stone, even
as it enraged him. He swallowed back the first twenty things that
came to mind.

He, Shane Blythe, was many things. A
cad at times. An arrogant ass. Pretentious. And, yes, once he’d
been convinced he was a gift to the women of Seaside. But he was
not weak. He was not emotional. His fist gained substance, and he
clenched it before he shook it out. He was far too old, and it was
far too late.

“I wasn’t that important, little
mouse,” he said finally. “The city didn’t really boom until after I
was gone.”

“You’re wrong,” she said. She
flipped back a few pages in the book which she’d marked with a
piece of paper. Aloud, she read, “But of the strange disappearance
of Charles’s business partner, Shane Blythe, little is known though
it occurred around this time. Local conjecture was that it was
linked to an argument between the two men overheard by a local
woman, Agnes Weatherby, who’ll be mentioned in a later chapter.
Blythe’s disappearance was shortly after strange occurrences of
animal mutilation and lights seen in the library at odd hours of
the night. While the lights continued to be seen after his
disappearance, the animal mutilations stopped immediately with his
disappearance.”

“I did not mutilate animals.” He
folded his arms and sniffed in disgust. He might rip out a few
pages of his own for once. Rubbish. He should have tossed that book
in the trash. This was worse than the censored history. Mutilating
animals? What bastard had suggested that? Luckily, whoever they
were, they were dead.

Ana laughed and poked his arm. She
frowned when her finger slid through his mostly-vapor body. “Whoa.
Weird.” She shook it off. “You have to listen to the rest, and I
don’t think anyone thought you killed animals, silly.”

“You’re sure?” he asked. “I didn’t
even care much for hunting.” Okay, that had sounded overly
defensive. Also, he didn’t care for her calling him “silly.” He
should bring that up.

She rolled her eyes and continued
reading, “Some wondered if Charles had murdered his own partner,
but few were brave enough to say so out loud.”

“Charles would never kill anyone,”
Shane said doubtfully.

Ana raised her eyebrows and went
forward to the page on Agnes Weatherby’s death.

“He wouldn’t. That book must be
wrong. We were vain and foolish men, but neither of us was that
exciting.”

“He did. Charles killed her,” she
said, nodding. “I found mention of it in the newspapers they’ve
scanned in. He got off for self-defense, but the criminal
prosecution was flimsy to the point of being staged, and I’m sure
someone greased palms.”

“Greased palms?” he said
slowly.

“It means….”

“I know what it means,” he snapped.
“We had words back then too. You haven’t invented the bloody things
in the last century.”

Her eyes widened.

He shook his head. “My apologies. I
knew Charles. It’s impossible to imagine he’d kill anyone, let
alone me. We were friends before we were colleagues, and, sure,
we’d had disagreements, but….” He sighed. “Again. I’m sorry.” He
didn’t usually apologize, but there’d been this pained, pale
expression on Ana’s face, and it’d cut into his heart like a
blade.

“It’s…uhh…fine. Apparently, my
great, great grandfather was…not the man you thought he was. I have
to tell you—it’s nearly a family trait. My grandfather was a
horrible man. He cut my aunt out of his will because she’d gotten a
divorce, but he’d divorced his first wife when she couldn’t have
children. Our family get-togethers amount to everyone bragging
about who they’d conned recently, and how they’d evaded getting
prosecuted. I usually don’t eat the whole time because it makes me
sick to my stomach.” She bit her lip. “Which is a shame because the
caterer they always use is amazing.”

He opened his mouth, but she cut him
off, shaking her head.

“But no, I’m sorry, all I’ve read
and know of my family history—I can very well believe he killed
that woman in cold blood. And he didn’t bother denying that. He
shrugged it off in that I’m-rich-so-screw-you Franklin way and said
it was self-defense, and then insisted they run all the occult out
of town.” She licked her lips and looked up at him. “Though,
really, that’s beside the point if you say he didn’t kill you, you
would know, I guess, right?”

A mulish frustration asserted itself
inside him—like steel running through his veins. No. It was easy
for her to come here and read about such things and make
assumptions. The first report he’d heard of his disappearance
really was tripping from her mouth as if it was nothing. And it was
nothing to her—words on a page. He was a ghost in her life—in this
world. Insubstantial. She’d nearly dismissed him as a figment of
her imagination. Yet, here she sat with the only book that hadn’t
had his life ripped out of it right there in her hands. It was as
if she was seeing into his soul.

Animals mutilated.

Charles possibly killing
him.

It might all be pure fiction.
Drivel…about his life and his death.

Animals mutilated. Sure, he enjoyed
a well-cooked piece of meat, and he’d beheaded chickens in the
course of his life, but for a purpose—for sustenance. He’d never
mutilated them for fun.

He needed to read that
book.

Also, he needed this pretty little
redhead not to be the first to read about his life and possibly his
death. He could see she still had a good portion of the book left
to read. No. If anyone was finally going to uncover the secret to
how he’d died, it would be him. Him. He deserved that much after a
century in this damn room reading censored books.

“I mean, how did you die?” she
asked.

*****

Just like that, he was gone. Ana
blinked. Where did he go? Had he run out of energy again? But she
had so much more to talk with him about, and she’d waited all day.
Her mouth dropped open. Wow, that was really unfair. Apparently
life was as cruel with the dead as it was to the living. She
swallowed back the hurt, while biting her lower lip. It was
ridiculous to cry, so she wouldn’t. It was fine. There was tomorrow
night. Still, all day spent waiting, and she hadn’t even been able
to say goodbye before he’d….

Footsteps stomped near his painting.
What? He was here and he’d just….

“Shane?” she called.

No answer. Well, that was strange.
If she could hear his footsteps, he was still around. Well, why did
he leave then? Why wasn’t he answering her?

He’d disappeared right after she’d
asked how he’d died. Maybe that had something to do with
it.

“I’m sorry if I offended
you…somehow.” Were they not to talk about how he died? It was
crucial to researching his past—and her great, great grandfather’s
hand in it. It didn’t seem like anyone else knew what had happened
to the smug but sexy Shane Blythe. “Look, it’s okay if you died in
some embarrassing way. It’s not a big deal.”

Could that be it? Maybe he was run
over by a cow or tripped and fell off a cliff. It’s not like she
would ever laugh no matter how it happened. It wasn’t
funny.

The stomping near the painting
continued.

Ana clamped her teeth tight. What an
ass. What an arrogant….gah! He was being childish. Men were such
idiots—even dead ones it appeared. He could be quiet if he wanted
to, but, no, he was stomping around to let her know he was still
around and ignoring the hell out of her.

She took a deep breath.
Cool it,
Ana. Maybe he’d died in a really embarrassing way.
Or maybe it
was so gruesome he didn’t like to even think on it. Maybe it was
wood-chipper levels of vile, and he didn’t know how to tell
her.

Getting to her feet, Ana set the
book aside, and walked down the shelves to where the footsteps were
coming from. When she arrived at the painting, there was no Shane,
but the footsteps were on the move…back toward the book. She ran
back that way. Oh no, he didn’t. He wasn’t going to pitch a fit and
ignore her and then steal the book that he’d scoffed at. She
glimpsed him for a second before he disappeared again near the
book.

Snatching up the book, she
announced, “No, if you want this book, you’ll have to talk to
me.”

The stomping was back at the
painting. Her eyes narrowed. It had to take energy to make that
much noise. He’d said he had limited energy. He was using up that
energy to make a point that he was treating her like a ghost. She’d
waited all day for this guy to act like a complete ass because
she’d tripped across some unwritten rule of the dead. Then, rather
than explain himself, he was wasting his energy in a
tantrum.

All day. She’d waited all day…for
this. For a century old ghost to act like a four year old who’d
been denied dessert.

She growled. Not only that, she’d
thrown herself at him when he’d first arrived and kissed him.
Obviously, her feelings weren’t entirely reciprocated.

Stupid ghost.

As calmly as she could, and despite
her shaking hands, Analise pulled her purse onto her shoulder and
walked toward the door, carrying the book. “Fine.” It was entirely
fine. Completely fine. What-the-hell-ever. “When you’re done being
a child, come find me. In the meantime, have a nice
death.”

Her composure broke as she crossed
through the main library and tears slid down her cheeks. What a
complete moron! Actually, she wasn’t sure who she was referring to
there. No, she was. That was something reciprocated right there.
They’d both been massive idiots. Shane for being…Shane, and her for
thinking he was different. She slammed the backdoor shut behind
her.

Ana glanced back and saw the lights
in the library were giving off quite a performance in the special
collection room. That was a rather spectacular tantrum,
poltergeist-style. Maybe when it was done, he’d feel like being
rational and talking. When he did, he could come find her this
time. There was no way she’d be putting her pride on the
line.

Not. Again. Not in this
life.

*****

“Damn,” he muttered as he heard her
car leave. He shut the lights off. So much for trying to signal
her. He’d been behaving childishly, but apparently Ana wasn’t aware
he couldn’t leave the library. In fact, he couldn’t leave the room.
He couldn’t come apologize even though he wanted to.

Shane slumped down in the seat that
was still warm from her body. Closing his eyes, he could still
smell her cinnamon and sugar scent. Spicy and sweet. Ana was
amazing, and she’d actually treated him more tenderly than he’d
been treated while alive. He’d screwed up royally just because
she’d asked a reasonable question…that had over a hundred years of
frustration against it.

Maybe it was just as well that he’d
run her off, though. It’s not like he had anything to offer her. He
was dead. He wasn’t even sure why he was still around. If it was so
he could redeem himself in some way, he’d done a damn fine job
right there. He’d be incorporeal until Judgment Day at this
rate.

Shane pinched the bridge of his nose
and considered burning off the night’s energy throwing all the
books in the room around. He’d done that once shortly after he’d
died. Then again, they might blame Ana, and then she’d really never
forgive him. Plus, they didn’t seem to allow just anyone to stay
after hours, so they might not let her come back.

If she did ever want to come
back….

On the off chance that Ana might
come back and give him a second chance, he’d save what energy he
had left. He sat watching the entrance to the room and willed her
to come back. His spirit begging the return of hers. The minutes
drummed by like a funeral procession.

He was a cad.

He deserved this.

He definitely didn’t deserve
Ana.

The morning’s light shimmered in
through the windows, and he dissolved with it, unsure of why he
felt so alone.