“And I have a knack for talking to dead people. Let’s not make less of that than it is.” Kat refused to be dismissed, “It’s not a lifestyle choice or a fad or a party trick.” There was a trace of bitterness in the way she spat out each word. “It’s gift.”
That it was a gift she would prefer to return was her own business and none of his.
Continuing this conversation seemed like a waste of time. There was nothing she could say to change his mind and if there were, a tow truck couldn’t drag it out of her. Over the years, she’d learned the most combative of skeptics were often those who most wanted to believe. Unable to ask outright for a reading, they tried to goad her into providing them with proof that the spirit world existed.
Determined not to let Zack get past her defenses, Kat just kept dancing to what must have been the longest song ever written and tried to ignore the fact that just being near him made her nervous.
By choice, her experience with men had been limited to little more than the casual contact that came from reading their cards or contacting lost loved ones.
“You’re not going to go into some kind of trance and connect with one of my old grannies to prove a point, are you?”
And there it is, she thought. The not very subtle bid for proof.
Then, despite vowing to herself that she would keep quiet, Kat heard herself say, “Certainly not. But, if you send someone out to Shanahan’s barn, you’ll find the hockey equipment that was stolen from the school the day before winter break.” Through the fingers that rested lightly on his shoulder, she felt his jolt of surprise. “Up in the loft, look for two bags covered with hay.”
Surprise brought his feet to a stop. Kat got one last dig in, “And, what’s more, it wasn’t the Shanahan boy who put the stuff there. When you find it—and you will—make sure you talk to the younger sister.”
When he didn’t speak, she continued, “or you can assume I’m just playing you and keep blaming it on the Hastings brothers. Now, the song has ended, I think I would like to go back to my seat.
Without another word, he guided her to the head table where she hoped to have a moment or two alone with her thoughts.
As he walked away, her vision dimmed but stopped short of fading to total blackness. Ironic really, she thought, that fear of seeing ghosts caused my blindness and now everyone looks ghostly.
Still, it was an improvement and the timing confirmed that proximity to Zack played a part in the change. Kat sighed. Getting her vision back should make her life less complicated, not more.
The background of wedding sounds, rustling dresses, happy laughter, and music were a distraction from the volume of spirits vying for her attention. Generally, Kat found it easier to avoid large crowds for just this reason. Family members understandably wanted to contact their living loved ones when they saw an opportunity, whether it was appropriate to the occasion or not. A wedding was not the time to approach a skeptic with the knowledge that the spirit of his dog was barking around her ankles or even to reassure a mother that her son was safe and happy on the other side.
Moreover, being blind complicated any method she could use to provide those connections with any dignity. Yelling out names to the crowd or having someone guide her around the room and—well—that was a spectacle she refused to create. Of course, given what had just happened, that might all be about to change.
So why wasn’t she more excited. She’d been able to see clearly without having to channel Estelle. That was huge.
Amazing.
But—and it was a big but—it had involved close proximity to the major complication named Zack Roman.
Chapter 2
With Kat safely escorted to her table, Zack stepped outside. He needed a moment to cool off and maybe make a phone call. Or not.
Did he really want to know if that hockey equipment was concealed in Shanahan’s barn? If it was, he might have to change his dinner order for the reception and have the crow entree. And, if it wasn’t—well, then he would be right. Nothing wrong with that.
Nothing except some small part of him wanted her to be right. Not because he wanted to believe she actually was psychic but because she had seemed to fit perfectly in his arms while they were dancing. She smelled nice. Not flowery. Fresh like a summer day. And when was the last time he had noticed how a woman smelled?
The late December chill initially felt nice after the warmth and closeness created by the wedding guests inside. Zack preferred smaller crowds—less jangling to the nerves. Any large group of people automatically put him on alert. Watchful for any signs of trouble.
Thankfully, the guests at this wedding were proving not to be the rowdy type, though, the night was still young so he intended to reserve judgment on that.
Once the brisk wind had blown away the last remnants of party-generated heat, Zack stepped back into a more sheltered area of the porch, pulled out his phone and with a few terse words, sent a deputy on what he assumed was an expedition in search of the undomesticated goose.
On one hand, it would be nice to find the equipment, put an end to the mystery—on the other, he had a distinct mental image of picking his way across a floor littered with the worms that would surely have flown out of the can he would have opened by depending on a psychic prediction.
Either way, in half an hour or less, he would know. Whichever way it went—goose or crow—he would own it. That was his job and the way he chose to live his life.
Zack slipped back inside while shrugging off the tiny voice in the back of his mind that kept
