Nights In White Satin

He was looking at her curiously. “Is something the matter, Bridge?”

No, except that I’m feeling strangely grateful for the pictures I have of you, just in case you’re serious about Carrie Masterson and I never see you again. “Uh…no.” She glanced toward the house, sucking in a sharp breath. “Granny Ginny said the ghosts open the doors, especially Jasper. You know, my biological dad. Her son.”

His laughter lifted her mood. “I can’t believe you let that crazy old lady get to you, Bridge.” His expression softened. “Still, you really do blame the curse for everything that goes wrong in your love life, so I can see why you’d want to believe her.”

Bridget didn’t make the connection. “Huh?”

“Well, if Granny’s telling the truth, you can find the ring and get on with your life, just like you said.”

Put that way, it sounded so unlikely. But Granny Ginny was a born storyteller, and when she spoke, Bridget could almost see skinny Lavinia strutting around the parlor, bossing Miss Marissa around.

“Probably Granny Ginny forgot to close the door,” he assured. “We’ll find some warm, happy field mice that got inside. Maybe a raccoon. Or a skunk.”

“Oh, fabulous.”

Dermott’s lips were twitching, making him look even sexier in the dark, his smile just a quick flash of perfect teeth, his eyes catching light that had no source but himself. “You’re really scared, aren’t you?”

“Of course not.” But she was, just a little.

Swiftly reaching behind him, he grabbed a flashlight, and gripped his duffel. “That decides it. We’re not waiting for the police. I’m going to prove to you that the only thing to fear is fear itself, sweetheart. We’re going in.”

“Ghost-busters unite,” she agreed, suddenly giggling, determined to push away the strange feelings warring inside her. So what if she’d taken Dermott for granted? Wasn’t that the case in most long-term friendships? “It’s a long run to the house.”

“I pulled as close as I could.”

She peered through the rain. “Ready, Mug?”

The tawny tail went wild, tapping her arm on its trajectory, and as Mug released staccato barks, Bridget reached for her own bag and pulled up the hood of a dark cape. “Did you bring an umbrella?”