“Just a wee bit, ma’am. Do you mind?”
Her gaze held a playful twinkle. “I suppose not. What happens at the beach stays at the beach, right?”
He inched closer. “And how long might you be staying at the beach?”
“A week.”
A grin stretched his lips. “You’ll be here for Halloween, then. Might even see the ghost.”
She rolled her eyes. “Pfft. Save your blarney for the tourists.”
He gripped the railing, his hand mere inches from hers. “No blarney, my lovely skeptic. I doubted too, when I first arrived, but I’ve seen her with my own eyes and shivered at the sound of her voice.”
She arched one dark eyebrow. “A talking ghost?”
“Mary Darrow, wife of Jonathan Darrow, captain of the Ivanova.” He pointed to a rocky outcropping barely visible beneath the surf. “Her husband’s vessel ran aground in 1822, returning from Alaska with a cargo of furs. I’m sure you’ve heard how treacherous these waters can be near the mouth of the Columbia. Everyone aboard perished. But when the moon is full, you can still see her, a ragged ship with glowing sails.”
Okay, that part was a local legend—he’d yet to see a ghostly ship, and not for lack of trying.
“And down below,” he pointed to the tower’s base, “the captain’s widow paces the shore, a spyglass in her hand, watching for her husband’s return.”
That part was real enough. The first time he’d seen the mournful spirit, he’d stood frozen in place as the misty outline solidified into a woman with upswept hair and long, wind-blown skirts, a lantern in one hand and an old-fashioned spy glass in the other. Movie ghosts floated gracefully, but this phantom’s movements were jerky and agitated as she searched the horizon.
And when she turned to look right at him, a wave of sadness chilled him to the marrow.
“Jonathan?” she cried, her anxious voice somehow ringing inside his skull. Her dark eyes wide, she stepped toward him. Panicked, he stumbled backward, and when he looked again, she was gone.
Since then, he’d seen her a dozen times, usually from the safety of the lighthouse gallery. Poor, restless spirit, endlessly searching for her lost love.
Addy’s shoulders rose and fell on a deep inhalation. “A ghost, huh? I carry around a lot of those.”
Well, shite, he’d hoped to entice her into another visit, and instead he’d brought up bad memories.
Down below, a minivan rolled into the parking lot and disgorged two men and four stair-step children. An SUV followed, and a Tesla.
Kieran rubbed his palms together. “Time to get to work. Tell you what, Ms. Addy—we’re expecting clear skies tonight. Full moon too. I’m making the best pumpkin soup you’ve ever tasted, and a pie from apples grown right there.” He pointed over his shoulder toward Oscar and Evelyn’s orchard. “There’ll be plenty to share if you care to come by and watch for the White Widow. Or we can stay inside if that doesn’t appeal to your sense of adventure.”
His gamble paid off, judging by the sparkle in her smile.
“Sense of adventure, eh? I used to have one of those.” She crouched to scratch her dog’s jaw. “What do you say, Snoot? Do we trust this guy?”
Tongue lolling, the Lab leaned against Kieran’s leg and gave a happy doggy groan.
“Seems you’ve made a friend, Keeper. All righty then—I guess we’ll see you tonight.”
“Excellent. Around six?” That’d give him time to defrost the soup he’d made last week after going nuts at the Trappers Cove farmers market—and bake one of the pies he’d frozen. Thanking the heavens for his foresight, he scooped the pup into his arms. “Down we go, buddy.”
Addy’s eyebrows flicked up. “After you, Keeper Kieran.”
Oho, he liked the sound of that—and the idea she might be checking out his rear view as well.
His luck was definitely looking up.
At the base of the stairs, he bent to ruffle the dog’s fur and accept a slobbery kiss.
“Snoot, don’t be gross,” she admonished and gripped the beast’s collar to pull him away. “Sorry.”
He chuckled. “I’ll take my kisses where I can get them.”
