Chapter 7
CHAPTER 7
W yatt pulled up to the lodge and sat in his truck for a moment, watching Sophie on the porch as she scanned the sky, and tried to convince himself that the quickening of his pulse was simply from a long day at work.
He’d changed into clean jeans and a fresh flannel shirt after his shift, and now he felt oddly self-conscious about it. Since when did he care what he looked like for dinner?
She stood at the railing, her face turned up to the sky with an expectant look. No camera in sight, which surprised him. She’d proven to be more thoughtful about her content than he’d expected.
Not that he cared about her social media presence.
He climbed out of his truck, and the sound drew her attention. When she smiled at him, his heart gave a strange little thud.
“Any signs yet?” she asked hopefully.
“Nope.” Tugging the large suitcase out of the back of his truck, he walked toward the porch, climbed the steps and set it down beside her.
“Thank you!”
“No problem. The best viewing is between ten and two in the morning. Gets even better in winter.”
“Really?” She looked disappointed for a moment, then brightened. “Will you show me where the best spots are to watch later?”
“Just wait. There’s not a bad spot to be had,” he said with a shrug.
The hopeful look on her face dimmed slightly, and he told himself that was for the best, even though he knew better than to encourage her. She was just passing through, chasing stories that didn’t exist, and he had no business feeling attracted to someone so...different from him.
Even if she did seem genuinely enthusiastic about everything.
Inside, the lodge was warm and filled with the rich aroma of roasted garlic and herbs. Whitney and Darrow moved around the dining room, setting out the platters of chicken and pasta that Nukak had prepared before heading home for the evening. Little Connor dozed in his portable crib tucked into the corner. The smell of fresh-baked sourdough made Wyatt’s stomach growl—Nukak’s bread was always worth looking forward to.
“Perfect timing,” Whitney said. “We’re just about ready.”
Sophie glanced around. “Can I help with anything?”
“Not at all, lass,” Darrow said, his Irish lilt warming the words. “Ye’re our guest.”
Johnny sat at the table, all nine years of him trying to look grown up as he carefully arranged his napkin in his lap just as his mother had taught him. The long table was set for dinner, place settings laid out not just for the family but for their cabin guests—the newlywed Parkers, Professor Manning, and Quinn, who’d stayed behind after his family’s annual visit to help out before heading off to his first year of university.
They all settled in, and Wyatt found himself seated across from Sophie, with Johnny next to him showing off his fork-twirling pasta skills. He told himself it was fine. He could handle dinner conversation with an attractive woman who believed in ghosts. He’d survived worse situations in his job.
Probably.
The next hour passed in a blur of good food and easy conversation. The Parkers were clearly still in their honeymoon phase, feeding each other bites of pasta and making eyes at each other. Professor Manning kept trying to steer the conversation toward historical mining practices, but Darrow had a way of commanding attention that made everyone feel included, his stories punctuated by that musical Irish accent.
Darrow turned to Sophie with a gleam in his eye. “So lass, any particular spirits you’re hunting?”
She nodded eagerly, accepting another piece of sourdough. “I have a theory about the aurora borealis acting as a conduit for paranormal activity.”
“Well then,” Darrow said, “I’ve got a tale ye might be interested in. I usually save this for the campfire, but...” He glanced at Whitney, who squeezed his hand encouragingly. “I think it’s important to be honest from the start.”
Sophie pulled out her phone. “Would you mind if I filmed this?”
Wyatt expected Darrow to ham it up—the man did love an audience—but instead, he looked thoughtful. “Aye, ye can film. Though some might find it hard to believe.”
“Try me,” Sophie said, setting up her phone.
“I was once a ghost meself.”
The words hung in the air. Even Professor Manning stopped taking notes.
“In 1745,” Darrow continued, his accent growing thicker with memory, “I fought at Culloden Moor under Bonnie Prince Charlie. A terrible leader, that one. We were massacred.” His voice took on a distant quality. “Most moved on, but seventy-nine of us stayed. We walked the moor for nearly three hundred years.”
“Give or take,” Wyatt muttered, and Whitney shot him an amused look.
Sophie leaned forward, studying Darrow intently. After a moment, she said, “You’re telling the truth.”
“How can you tell?” Claire Parker asked, finally distracted from making eyes at her new husband.
“I have a built-in lie detector,” Sophie said. “And he’s not lying.”
Wyatt watched as Sophie launched into a series of enthusiastic questions about life as a ghost, each one more outlandish than the last. To his surprise, the evening turned entertaining despite himself, Darrow’s theatrical responses and Sophie’s genuine fascination drawing everyone into the story until even Professor Manning was asking about spectral manifestations on the battlefield.
Wyatt raised his eyebrows at her, but she seemed completely serious. He opened his mouth to say something sarcastic, then stopped himself. Who was he to spoil her fun?
“Those that matter most believe me,” Darrow said, kissing Whitney’s hand.
“I believe you too!” Johnny piped up, his pasta momentarily forgotten.
By seven-thirty, dinner was winding down. Connor had barely stirred in his crib, and the conversation had moved on to lighter topics. Wyatt knew he should head home—he had an early shift tomorrow—but found himself lingering as they gathered on the porch again. The sky had darkened a bit, though it was still hours too early for the aurora. Sophie stood at the railing, her face full of anticipation as she gazed upward. Wyatt found himself moving to stand beside her.
“So, about those best viewing spots,” she said, turning to him with hope in her eyes.
“The ridge behind the lodge gives you a clear view of the northern sky,” he said, gesturing toward the back of the property. “But honestly, anywhere away from the porch lights will do. If they are going to show, it’ll usually start around ten, if you’re planning to stay up.”
His phone buzzed—another message from the mayor about making sure Sophie got wherever she needed to go tomorrow. Perfect. Just what he needed with an early shift ahead of him. He pushed off from the railing, determined to leave before he got roped into any more ghost hunting adventures.
“I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Goodnight.”
He headed for his truck before he could question why he wanted to see Sophie see the lights for the first time.