southern ghost hunters 01 - southern spirits (23 page)

"Good," I told him. "I want you to stay awake.

He gave a slight grin. "I am. I will," he said, readjusting his injured left shoulder, grimacing. "There's no telling what you'd do to me otherwise."

We sang Christmas songs for the rest of the way, to keep his energy up. He had a better voice than mine, which wasn't saying much. But, hey. We were in this together. We'd survive.

At the Tri-County Regional Hospital, he got to listen to a doctor tell us both how lucky we'd been. Evidently several people had died on those cliffs over the years. It didn't surprise me in the least.

Ellis was in worse shape than me. He'd taken the brunt of my fall. I had bruises and scrapes. He had scrapes on top of his bruises on top of his scrapes. He also had a sprained shoulder, a badly bruised tailbone, and possibly a mild head injury, one he claimed not to notice. 

"You want me to call anyone?" I'd asked. I'd even deal with his mother if it meant he'd be more comfortable.

His answer had been a definitive, "no."

His reward for that was to be sent home with me. Well, to his home, not mine. I promised to take him there and to keep an eye on him. I owed him that much and more.

The ride to his place was quiet, which was fine with me. We both needed time to settle down. And when we arrived, he didn't complain as I opened the door and let him lean on me as he got out.

Ellis lived in a tidy bungalow on Magnolia Street, about a block away from Lauralee's house. I took his arm as I helped him up the stairs. 

"Where are your keys?" I asked when we made it to the porch.

"In my pocket," he said, attempting to reach into his jeans. 

"Let me," I said quickly, sliding my hand down into his left front pocket…and pretty much down his thigh. Maybe I should have thought this through.

He grew still. "Um, wrong pocket," he managed to choke out.

"Gotcha," I said with forced cheer. He was right handed. 

I steadied him and moved to the other side. 

"I got it," he said, shoving his hand into his pocket, most likely enduring shattering pain so I didn't feel him up again. Great.

He inserted the key in the lock and pushed the door open. "You don't need to stay," he said, glancing back at me as I followed him inside. "It isn't part of your job."

This had stopped being about the job the minute I'd fallen down that cliff. "You helped me, now I'm helping you," I said simply.

"You're going to be the death of me," he muttered.

"That's the spirit," I told him.

Sure, if you'd asked me a week ago, I'd have sworn there was no way I'd voluntarily spend a red hot minute in the company of Ellis Wydell, much less a whole night. But now? I'd learned a lot about him since then.

And, oh my goodness! Shock hit me as he flipped on the overhead light and I learned one more thing about Ellis. The man could
not
decorate.

His man cave looked as if a blind bear had outfitted it.

A black leather sofa rested against a white painted wall. He had a black leather coffee table that doubled as storage. Either that, or it was in the process of giving birth to a bunch of video game controllers hanging from their wires.

An immense TV hung on the opposite wall and that was it. Finito. As if the Y chromosome demanded absolutely nothing decorative or appealing be allowed in the room. 

"Let's get you into bed," I told him, leading him past the empty dining area on the right. A card table and chairs stood in the small kitchen and the back bedroom contained only a basic black platform bed and nightstand. 

"I'm sensing a theme," I said.

"What?" he asked. His voice stayed even, but the lines of his shoulders betrayed him. He was unsettled. He shifted away from me and toward the bed.

"Nothing." I was running off at the mouth. It didn't matter what I thought of his hastily put together home. Or the fact that I'd be spending the night here.

The truth was, there was something incredibly intimate about being in his private space, where he slept, and I'd rather focus on anything but that. 

His brother, my ex, had surrounded himself with the best—expensive furnishings, professionally decorated rooms. He had a large home and plenty of objects to fill it. 

One of the last things Beau ever said to me was that he believed everything and every
one
could be bought for a price. Objects, people, women—you name it, they were all commodities to Beau. I was glad I'd slammed that door and never looked back.

I hadn't wanted to be owned. And I refused to be yet another thing for him to collect.

But Ellis was different.

I hadn't thought so at first, when he'd come to me with his offer. But now I understood. Ellis wasn't entitled. He was practical. And if anything, he didn't treat himself with the care he deserved.

He sat on the edge of the bed, his legs wide, his left arm in a sling and his right braced on his thigh, as if he'd run out of energy right there. "I'm fine now." 

"Let me look at that cut on your forehead," I said. They'd cleaned it at the hospital, but it had opened up again.

"No," he said automatically.

"Wasn't asking," I said, as I gently lifted the bandage away. 

He shifted in his seat, but didn't argue anymore. I located a first aid kit in his bathroom and used it to clean and redress the wound.

"You finished?" he asked, as I stepped away from him.

"I am for now, but don't worry. I'll find new ways to torture you," I teased. 

Most likely without even trying.

His shirt clung to his chest, stiff and beyond dirty. It wouldn't be a picnic to sleep in those jeans, either. I swallowed down the flutter in my stomach. "Do you need me to help you undress?"

I tried to consider the logistics of sliding his gray t-shirt over his broad shoulders without disturbing his sling and not on the fact that I'd just asked if I could help him take his clothes off.

For a split second, it appeared as if he'd agree. He drew in a sharp breath. Then he let it out as if I'd punched him in the gut. "No," he said, his voice deepening, as if he were imagining what it would feel like to have my hands on him.

I felt myself flush. 

"I'm not asking so I can ogle," I clarified. I wouldn't mind seeing his body under other circumstances, but in this case I was asking because I cared. It's not like anything could happen between us. He was my ex-fiancé's brother. I wasn't supposed to like him, much less touch him.

All the same, I was a little relieved when he scooted back to lie down on the bed.

Maybe I'd been out of line to ask. I wasn't always the smoothest around men. With our history, I probably should have been more cautious. But it bothered me, deeply, that he felt uncomfortable letting anyone truly help him. 

Yes, I hated asking for help, too, but even I knew when to buck up. If I acted as stubborn as Ellis, sweet little Lucy and I would be in an apartment by the railroad tracks by now.

"Call me if you need me," I said. "I'll be out on the couch." His eyes were closed, his breathing even, as if he'd already dismissed me. 

I turned to go. 

"Verity," he said.

I paused in the doorway. "Yes?"

The light from the dresser lamp spilled over the bruises forming on his jaw and cheek. "You can fall on me anytime." 

I hoped he didn't mean that literally. "Thanks," I said, before slipping out into the hall.

***

That night, I checked on him every hour or so. I was too keyed up, too achy to get much rest.

He slept soundly, on top of the covers. He didn't even take off his shoes. It puzzled me, until I saw the empty pill envelope from the hospital. He hadn't even asked for a glass of water.

I tried to locate a quilt for him, but found his linen closet empty. The top of his closet held a few shoe boxes. Dust bunnies lived under the bed. Where did he keep his things?

Did he even have much of anything?

It also bothered me that he hadn't called any of his buddies. As far as I knew, he hadn't even reported the assault to the police. He'd simply let me bring him home and collapsed in a very sparse house. 

I found a few Tylenol in his bathroom and washed them back with a glass of water. I'd never met anyone so powerful, so in control of himself, who was also so alone. I wanted to do something about that. It was hard to figure out what, but I wanted to at least try.

I didn't sleep well for thinking, and besides, his couch felt harder than the ground. I slipped out shortly before sunrise and went home to go gather a few things. I wanted to take a shower at my place anyway.

When that was done, I changed into my purple dress, the one I'd worn on that first night. Good thing I'd had the sense to run laundry the other day.

By 7:00 a.m., I'd returned with three bags full of supplies and Lucy. She'd been so excited to see me, I didn't have the heart to leave her again. I'd been so busy, she'd hardly gotten any attention in the last few days. And when she gave me those wide, hopeful skunk-eyes, I just had to scoop her up and bring her along.

Ellis was still asleep, but that didn't matter. Little Lucy crawled right up next to him and snuggled in tight. Sometimes, animals just
know
when you need a little extra TLC. 

I paused, admiring the scene in front of me. Ellis had barely moved from where I'd left him last night. I laid my Grandma's quilt over him and Lucy, and went to start the bacon on the stove. Thank goodness the Circle K was open twenty-four-seven.

We hadn't quite gotten around to that chicken last night.

I was cracking eggs into a frying pan when I heard him stir. Then he let out a yell.

The man moved quick because by the time I turned around, he was standing in the doorway behind me, clutching the frame. "There's a skunk in my bed!"

I smiled. "That's just Lucy." She toddled out after him and I flipped her a tiny sliver of bacon. She gobbled it right up.

Ellis ran a hand over his face. He looked cute all morning rumpled. 

"I know I hit my head, but this is ridiculous," he said, eyeing the skunk as she sniffed at a chair leg. "And what are you doing in my kitchen?"

I ignored the ire in his voice. Some folks just weren't morning people. His hair was mussed, his shirt even more wrinkled than before, but he looked good. He had his color back, and that sparkle of interest lit his eyes. 

"Lucy likes to cuddle, and I'm making breakfast," I said, turning back to the stove. "How do you like your eggs?"

"Scrambled," he said, easing into the room, as if he couldn't quite believe what he was seeing. I didn't see what the big deal was. It was only breakfast. He paused, searched for the right words. "I didn't think you'd still be here."

I stirred the eggs and added some milk. "You needed me."

He came up behind me, his interest turning to the crisp bacon on a plate lined with paper towels. "I could have made my own breakfast."

"Color me impressed," I said, pretending not to notice when he stole a slice. "Considering all you had in your refrigerator was a bottle of ketchup and a pack of triple-A batteries."

"What's this on my table?" He touched the edge of the green tablecloth like he'd never seen one before.

"A touch of home." He was actually cute when he was confused.

He watched me as I plated the bacon. "I don't want you to give me your tablecloth."

"I'm not giving it to you. It's on loan. Besides, I don't have a table anymore." I placed the plates in front of two chairs and went back to finish the eggs. If I was going to have a real breakfast for the first time in two months, we could least pretend we weren't eating it off a card table.

"Fine." He sat and reached for a pair of salt and pepper shakers that looked like watermelon slices. 

"Those you can keep," I told him, placing a paper napkin on my lap. "I got them on summer clearance at the dollar store." 

They'd ridden around in my trunk for the past month because it turns out you don't need to salt crappy dollar store ramen noodles.

I poured the coffee and as soon as I picked up my fork, he dug in. 

"This is good," he said, treating the meal as if I'd gone gourmet on him.

"I've always enjoyed making breakfast," I said, taking a slow sip of my coffee, feeling quite domestic. 

"But I don't need it," he added, reaching for his mug.

"Of course you don't." I took a broken piece of bacon from the plate in the center and fed it to Lucy under the table. "Tell me. How are you going to run a restaurant if you can't stock your own kitchen?"

He took two slices. "I hadn't gotten that far."

"Now you sound like me."

He laughed at that and I found I enjoyed the sound of it. "I'm glad you stayed, Verity."

I could feel my skin heating up. "You scared me. But I'm pleased to see you're doing better. You look good."

"Sore," he admitted. "But alive, and that's what counts."

It was something to be thankful for.

I leaned my elbows on the table, ignoring my manners. I didn't think Ellis would mind. This was important. "I don't know why anyone would push me. I mean, say they're after the gangster treasure. Wouldn't they just wait until we left? We didn't even find anything."

He frowned. "Unless they were after something else." 

"What?" I couldn't imagine.

"Last week, I was installing a dishwasher in the kitchen. Easy stuff. Only somehow the electric got switched back on. It sparked and I was okay, but as far as I knew, I was alone."

The weight of it settled over me. "Somebody tried to hurt you." It could have killed him. "Where was Harry?"

Ellis shook his head. "He'd gone home for the day. I was trying to do one last thing."

Someone wanted to hurt Ellis, and now me. And his uncle had been shot in the chest on a routine call. I felt Lucy's little nails on my leg and I reached down to pick her up. "Do you ever wonder," I asked, folding her into my arms, "what really happened to Vernon?"

Ellis didn't even flinch. "Not until last night. My close call could have been written off as an accident, but yours? No." He pushed his empty plate away. "My uncle had been first on the scene of an arson call. No one had reason to suspect he'd been targeted specifically."