Page 1 of Madly Deeply

CHAPTER ONE

The milky fog rolled in from Beauly Firth like a living thing, swallowing fence posts one by one, until Wickham and Ivy Muir's recently abandoned ranch disappeared. Alexandra gripped the steering wheel of her rental car and watched as the cheerful house on the hill was erased completely.

She knew she shouldn't be here--just as she shouldn't have come the past three nights.

Logic told her that, for the sake of her sanity, she should fly back to Arizona and forget she'd ever come to Scotland, and mourn her dead husband with as much dignity as she could muster.

But her body commanded her to stay right where she was. Her body needed Spreag back. Her body wouldn't survive without him.

Her heart insisted that his ghost had to be out there, wandering the ground where his blood had spilled. And if shecould just drum up the courage to get out of the car and go look for him, they could find each other again.

The idea was completely insane, obviously. But Spreag had been a ghost once before, had been brought back to life before. And though the young witch that had saved him claimed she no longer had the power to do it again, it didn't matter. Alexandra wasn't picky. She'd even settle for her husband's ghost--just as long as he didn't leave her.

And if she had to be a squatter in the old ranch house in order to stay near him, she would do it.

A puff of wind cut through the clouds surrounding the car and a tendril of the white stuff curled just a few feet away from the headlight...like a hand, beckoning.

It was all the encouragement she needed, and she finally, finally found the courage to open her door and climb out.

"I'm coming," she said quietly, ignoring the tiny fissure of fear that she might be losing her mind. And not giving a shit.

As if seeking entry,the fog pressed against the kitchen window of Shug Buchanan's house and all but blocked the tiny lights coming from the far end of the plateau. He was sick at heart as he dialed the emergency number and put his phone to his ear.

"Shug?"

"Which sister is this?"

"Loretta, dear. What's wrong?"

"Wickham is still not answering--"

"Is she back, then?"

"It cannae be any other than Alexandra. Four nights in a row, now. Can ye see anything for her? Should I go drag her back to m' house and try to make her see reason?"

"Just a minute."

He waited anxiously while the Wickham's witchly sisters conferred. Their Sight never erred, though their advice was sometimes dodgy.

Loretta came back. "No, no. No need to strong-arm her. She'll soon have something to distract her, to help her recover."

"Auch, aye?"

"A child." He could hear the relief in the old woman's voice. "We both see a child coming."

Spreag Tulloch's child.

Tears splashed down Shug's cheeks and he chuckled. He wouldn't put it past his late friend to have put a child in his wife's belly intentionally. Alexandra had insisted Spreag had foreseen his death. And though her Highland husband hadn't confided in her, she'd known when she'd looked back at how overly affectionate and thoughtful he'd been before that fateful day.

While Shug kept watch on the headlights, he prayed, "God give the woman some peace tonight." Then he offered up another prayer for the babe to come. "And we all ask that ye not burden her wee bairn with his father's gifts."

The wet grass-soakedAlex's shoes as she approached the fence. Beyond it, the fog waited, and from its thickening depths, she could have sworn she heard the soft nicker of a horse, though no living thing had been left behind when the ranch was abandoned.

Spreag once said he'd seen the ghost of a horse on Culloden Moor, where he'd died the first time and then haunted the place for nearly 270 years. So, it was possible for an animal to be haunting the ranch now, especially on a night like this, whenit could roam around as proud as it pleased and no one could separate phantom from mist.

The fences were no longer armed. No need to use the call box for permission to enter the property. She lifted a latch and gave the gates a gentle shove to send them swinging inward with not so much as a squeak. Had she known it would be that easy, she might have gotten out of the car the first night.

The fog thinned slightly as she plodded up the drive, knowing that dark shadow of a barn rising on the left no longer held laughing highlanders. The echoes of little boys had long died out in the corrals and the halls of the house. No one waited on the porch. The yard beyond would no longer be draped and dressed for a wedding.

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