Page 21 of Ghosted Cowboy
Rainey
Pale morning light filtered through the wavy glass of Midnight Curiosities' front windows as I arranged a display of vintage compacts—art deco designs with mother-of-pearl inlays—trying to focus on the intricate craftsmanship instead of replaying Tuesday night in my head for the hundredth time.
The storm. Ransom's confession. His hands on my body. The way he'd looked at me like I was the only thing that mattered in the entire world.
Two days had passed. Wednesday, we'd had no rehearsal—Sheriff Turley and his deputies had spent the afternoon at the theater, taking statements, examining the mirror, dusting for prints. Their conclusion? Probably just a Halloween prank gone too far. No evidence of real malicious intent. They'd keep an eye on things, but unless something more serious happened, there wasn't much they could do.
I'd wanted to believe them. Wanted to think the dead roses and threatening messages were just someone's twisted idea of festival atmosphere.
But that locket with my photo and the grim reaper's face? That felt personal. Calculated. Wrong.
The bell above the purple door chimed, pulling me from my thoughts. Josiah Parker from the hardware store shuffledin, carrying two white paper bags from Midnight Eats, smiling. "Morning, Rainey." He set the bags on the counter. "Is your granny around?"
"In the back, checking inventory." I gestured toward the storage room. "But I can get her if—"
"No need." He was already moving past me, purpose in his steps despite the slight hitch in his gait from that old lumber mill injury. "I know the way."
I watched him disappear through the velvet curtain that separated the shop from the back room, heard Gran's delighted laugh, and couldn't help smiling. Josiah had been bringing her lunch every Thursday for the past three months. At first, she'd insisted it was just neighborly kindness. But the way her whole face changed when he walked in? That was more than neighborly.
Their voices drifted out—low, intimate, punctuated by laughter. I turned back to my display, giving them privacy, but warmth bloomed under my ribs. If Gran could find love again at seventy-two, maybe second chances weren't as rare as I'd thought.
About fifteen minutes later, Josiah emerged, that same youthful grin still playing at his lips. He paused by my counter, resting one calloused hand on the polished wood.
"Heard about your play," he said. "Community theater's always been important to this town. Good of you to keep the tradition alive."
"Thanks, Mr. Parker. Opening night's Monday—you should come."
"Wouldn't miss it." He glanced back toward the storage room, then leaned in conspiratorially. "You know, that story you're telling—about the ghost and the girl who can't let him go? There's truth in that." His clear blue eyes twinkled. "You never get over your first love. Isn't that right, Rosie?"
Gran appeared in the doorway, one hand pressed to her chest. A blush crept up her neck and into her cheeks. Her hand fluttered to her collar—the nervous gesture I'd seen a thousand times but never quite like this, with her eyes gone soft.
Josiah tipped his worn ball cap to both of us and headed for the door. "See you ladies later."
The bell chimed his exit, leaving a silence that hummed between us.
"Rosie, huh?" I grinned.
"We're friends." She moved to the counter, began straightening receipts that didn't need straightening. "Just two old friends sharing a meal. That's all."
"Gran." I touched her hand, stilling her nervous movements. "I know you loved Pops. Everyone did. No one's doubting that."
Her eyes filled with tears—not sad ones, but the complicated kind that come from remembering a life fully lived. "I did love your grandfather, honey. In my own way." She squeezed my fingers. "But marriage was about duty back then, partnership, building a life together. We respected each other, cared for each other. Raised your father well, God rest his soul."
"But?" I prompted gently.
"But love—the kind that makes your heart race, that keeps you up at night thinking about someone, that makes you feel alive in a way you'd forgotten was possible?" She dabbed at her eyes with a tissue from her cardigan pocket. "That's different. Rare. And sometimes it comes when you least expect it."
The October chill seeped through the old windows, making the shop's warmth feel like a refuge. Outside, workers were adding more decorations to the square—giant inflatable ghosts, elaborate spider webs stretched between lamp posts. Festival preparations were nearly complete, tourists already starting to trickle in early.
Gran turned the question on me with the timing of an expert. "So. How are things going with Ransom?"
Heat crawled up my neck. I grabbed the dust cloth and wiped down a section of already-clean counter. "They're... good. I think. Maybe?"
"That's remarkably unclear for someone who spent Tuesday night trapped in a theater during a tornado warning."
My hands stilled. "How did you—"
"Small town, honey. And you have that look." Her smile held knowing and affection in equal measure. "The same look I probably had this morning when Josiah asked if he could take me to dinner Saturday night."
