Haunted by Heather Graham Read Free Book Online Page A

wasn’t at all pleased with this arrangement, even though he was surely having trouble.
    It would all be fine. Darcy could handle any man, living…
    Or dead.

2
    F rom the moment she walked into the bar, Darcy felt at a distinct disadvantage.
    It was called the Wayside Inn. It should have been called Bubba’s Back-then Barn.
    She was nearly overcome by the wave of smoke that almost knocked her over when she opened the door; it sat like a fog over the decades-old plastic booths and bar stools. There were two pool tables to the left, stuffed away from what might have been used, at times, as a dance floor.
    There were actually still a few spittoons for tobacco chewers scattered around.
    When she stepped in and the door closed behind her, the place came to a standstill. The four pool players and the broken-toothed wonders watching the games all stopped their play and stared at her. Behind the bar, a heavyset woman with teased red hair styled in something like a sixties beehive looked up from washing glasses. In what looked to be a dining area, the four men seated at one of the chipped wood tables also looked up.
    She stood in the miasma of smoke and stared around, taking it in as her eyes adjusted from the sunlight. And she knew, instantly, that Adam was the one who should have come here. And he should have worn jeans and an old plaid or denim work shirt. Of course, the concept of Adam dressed that way was an amusingone, but Adam was a determined man. And for some reason, he was determined that they were getting into Melody House.
    She had come in a business suit, the same attire she usually wore when conducting business, she reminded herself, defending her choice of clothing when she was so obviously out of place. But though she hadn’t imagined the Wayside Inn to be a five-star restaurant, she hadn’t thought that it would be quite this…colloquial.
    â€œCan I help you, honey?” the redhead called from behind the bar. Her voice was warm and friendly, giving Darcy a bit of encouragement. She smiled in return. But before she could reply, one of the men who’d been sitting at the table had risen.
    â€œMiss?”
    He was tall, somewhat lanky, and when he smiled, she saw that he had all his teeth, and a single dimple in his left cheek. Light brown eyes, and a pleasant way about him; he seemed to ooze accent and Southern charm with his single word.
    â€œI’m looking for a man named Matt Stone. I was supposed to meet him here.” She hoped that one of the men knew Stone. She didn’t think that he was among them. She’d already pictured him in her mind. He was the descendant of a man who was practically a Founding Father. He would be tall, straight, and aging with incredible dignity. He might be one of the those fellows who sat around Revolutionary or Civil War round tables, rehashing the past. He might have a certain attitude about him, but he’d still be an incredible old gentleman.
    â€œHey, honey, you can meet me!” one of the pool players called out.
    â€œWatch your manners, Carter!” one of the others said, and another sniggered.
    At the table, another of the men stood.
    â€œCome in, have a seat,” he said.
    She had to admit, this fellow’s jeans fit him well, hugging leans hips, strong legs, and some solid length. He was wearingshades, even inside, in the cloud of smoke—maybe he thought that they’d protect his eyes from the haze. He was well over six feet, ebony hair a little too long, but apparently clean and brushed. He was clean-shaven, maybe thirty, thirty-five. Strong, solid features. While the first fellow to approach her had been polite and laid-back, his face splitting instantly into an easy grin in the first few seconds, this one looked as if he might have been chiseled on Mount Rushmore. Though he had stood courteously enough and asked her to sit, he looked as if he were entirely impatient, more like a man about to suggest that she