He Followed Me Home

Chapter Three

"I was there in the winter of '64 when we camped in the ice at Nashville's door. Three hundred miles our trail had led. We barely had time to bury our dead. When the yankees charged and the colors fell, overton hill was a living hell. When we called retreat it was almost dark, I died with a grapeshot in my heart. Say a prayer for peace. For every fallen son. Set my spirit free. Let me lay down my gun. Sweet Mother Mary i'm so tired, but i can't come home til the last shots fired..." Trace Adkins "Til the last shots fired'

Francine swallowed hard several times as she looked at the man. 'No, ghost.' she reminded herself. He was not really a man. He looked like a man though. He looked just as solid as she and Janice did. Even in the old uniform it was clear that he was built like the toughest of war heroes. His shoulders were wide, his chest was broad and the leather strap that held his musket on his back cut across it, emphasizing his size. His waist and hips were lean and his legs were long.

But it was that face... She had known at ten years old that the 'juggling soldier' was handsome but now at twenty-five she could truly appreciate his looks. His chin was strong with a slight cleft in the center, his cheekbones were sharp, his nose was long and his lips were full and firm though his mouth was currently hanging open as he looked at her. His green eyes were wide with wonder, his dark brows were not overly thick and they had almost no arch as they raised in wonder to look at her. His skin was not pale as you would expect a ghost to be, instead it was tanned and rugged.

If he wasn't dead he could be a movie star with those strong masculine features of his. But he was dead and these thoughts she was having were completely ridiculous.

"Francine, what do you see? The camera is picking up a heat reading by that wall." Janice said, her voice shaky and excited all at the same time.

"Francine?" the ghost asked. His voice was deep and strong but still soothing.. Not the freaky kind of deep but just deep enough to add to his rugged toughness. Francine shook her head.

'Stop it!' she scolded herself. He is hundreds of years old and he is dead! She should be scared stiff of him and truthfully she was a little afraid but mostly she was curious, amazed and captivated.

"You can see me?" Wyatt asked as he took a step to the side as if testing to see if her eyes would follow him. She nodded.

"Yes, I can see you." she said, hoping her voice didn't sound as shaky as she thought it did.

Wyatt couldn't believe it. Was this the same Francine that had come to this park fifteen years ago? Was she that ten year old little girl who had spoken to him and haunted his thoughts since that day? Was it possible that she came back? He looked at the woman. Her brown eyes were wide and rich in color. She had freckles on her full cheeks and her heart shaped lips were pink and looked soft like satin. She was definitely beautiful even though she looked different than the women had been used to courting back before the war.

Her hair was thick, wild and curly though it was pulled back on her head and her pants showed off her shapely legs. Most of all he was just shocked to finally be around someone who could see him.. Someone he could talk to! He wasn't about to run from her this time.

"What does he look like?" Janice demanded. "All I can see is a blob of heat!" Francine saw her friend pull out her tiny notepad and a piece of paper. The ghost took another step forward and Francine quickly stepped back.

"Don't come any closer to me!" she exclaimed. He held up his hands.

"I won't hurt you." he promised and he sounded sincere. "Do you know how long it's been since I've actually talked to somebody and had them talk back?" Francine shook her head and he smiled a heartthrob worthy smile that revealed lines in his handsome cheeks around his mouth. There she went again, thinking that the ghost was handsome... She decided that maybe she should speak to her therapist about this later.