Chapter Nine
Francine woke the next morning and rubbed her sleep filled eyes as she frowned and thought back on her dreams. She had always had strange dreams about the past. Dreams that truly made her feel as if she were living during a different time. Whether it was fifteenth century Scotland in a large stone castle, or eighteenth century England with dukes and earls, the dreams were often so detailed that they seemed real and she had had them all countless times.
Dining with kings, dancing with earls; she had done it all in her dreams. But the dream she had just before she had awoken had been a new one and she blamed it on her recent interest in the Civil War.
She had been walking through a field of corpses with other women carrying a bag full of her father's medical supplies. Her father was gone with the troops so she had taken over his duties.
She was fairly certain it was Vicksburg, Mississippi that she had been in. The soldiers had been dressed in both blue and gray. The women did not care which color the men wore, they were simply trying to find anyone that was still clinging to life so that they could try to heal them. Hoping desperately to fix some of the damage that this war had caused. When men got in fights it was always the women that suffered.
Hundreds of women walked across that death filled ground, their lanterns swinging in the fading light as they searched the lifeless faces for their loved ones and prayed they wouldn't find them. The scents that had filled the air had been overwhelming. Blood, death, infection, gunpowder and smoke all clogged out the oxygen and made it difficult to breath.
Francine had broken away from the small group of women she'd been walking with. Her feet seemed to be drawn to a certain spot, to a certain set of bodies. She walked straight to a man lying on his stomach in blood covered blue wool and with shaking hands she flipped him over.
That was when her dream had taken a very disturbing turn. She had recognized the man lying in the blood stained grass. His dark hair had been stiff and sticky with the red stuff that seemed to be everywhere. His face was pale and drawn. His eyes were closed but she knew if they were to open they would be a piercing green.
Wyatt. It was Wyatt and it was clear that a bullet had torn through the side of his ribs and pierced his heart. She had walked away from him, certain that it was already too late to save him. She had walked away and suddenly she was watching Wyatt but it was as if now she was watching a movie instead of seeing it with her own eyes. As soon as she had walked away, Wyatt had taken a shallow, wet sounding breath....
"You look like you've seen a ghost."
Francine gave a startled jump and sat up quickly to see Wyatt standing in her bedroom door holding yet another Starbucks cup of coffee. "Oops, I guess you have," he added with a smile.
Francine smiled back but it seemed that Wyatt could tell it was forced because he crossed the room quickly, sat the coffee on the bedside table and crouched in front of her with his arms draped across his knees.
"Are you okay, Franny?" he asked gently.
She nodded, "Of course. I think we've already covered the fact that I am not a morning person."
Wyatt frowned. Something was wrong with her, "Bad dream?"
She rolled her eyes and grabbed her coffee off the table, "It was nothing," she assured him. "I have odd dreams from time to time."
She glanced over at the clock and realized it was nearly nine in the morning, "I'm going to be late!" she exclaimed as she jumped from the bed. Wyatt stood and quickly took several steps back to avoid contact even as his eyes took in the sight of her. She was wearing nothing but a thin black satiny nightgown. The straps were thin and the neckline was cut low and lined with black lace. The hemline stopped just below the curve of her backside and it was lined with black lace as well. Her body was long and willowy and Wyatt had never seen a vision more perfect than the one she presented.
Her curls were wild, her face lined from being pressed against her pillow and her eyes puffy from tears she must have cried last night but she was still the single most beautiful thing he had ever seen. He felt desire fill him. He'd felt lust before but this was different. This went deeper than just mere lust. He felt his pants tighten and suddenly he knew the answer to that question Janice had asked of him in Vicksburg. Ghosts, or spirits, as he had recently learned he was, could definitely still get hard-ons.
Without another word he slipped from the room and made his way to the kitchen where he could pace off his intense and overwhelming desire. By the time Francine entered the kitchen ten minutes later wearing jeans and a midnight blue silk tank top that hugged her slender frame, he was feeling much more in control of himself.
"What are you going to be late for?" he asked her as she slipped a pair of blue studs into her ears and then ran her hands over her curls.
"I have a meeting at work."
"On Saturday?" he asked.
"Yes. The bigwigs are announcing their cuts today," she said and then began to chew nervously on her fingernails.
Wyatt smiled and wished he could hug her to offer reassurance, "Everything will be fine," he promised her. "You are a very talented author."
"How would you know?" she demanded, her nerves making her words more harsh than she had intended them to be. She frowned apologetically at him but he laughed.
"I don't have much to keep me busy while you're working during the day and I don't have to sleep as much as you do so I had to find something to keep me busy. I've read everything you've ever had published."
"Seriously?" Francine asked with shock. No other man she had ever had a relationship with had taken the time to read anything she had written. Then she mentally kicked herself. She was not in a relationship with Wyatt because if she were that would make her crazy. Wouldn't it?
"Seriously," he replied with a wink and then he frowned, "Are you too nervous to eat?"
"Yes," she said as she let out a shaky breath and then took a sip of her coffee. She looked at the clock on the wall and her dark eyes widened, "I have to go now."
"Good luck, Franny. I....." Wyatt stopped himself before the next words came out of his mouth. He had almost told the woman that he loved her. That would have been a major mistake. "I'll be here when you get back," he said instead.
"Your pen pal is still asleep but she should be awake soon," Francine informed him with a smile.
Wyatt frowned, "Pen pal?'
"Your writing buddy Janice," Francine winked and Wyatt nodded. "Thanks for being there for me last night Wyatt. I guess I never did tell you thank you. You made me smile even though my heart should have been breaking."
Wyatt blushed and cleared his throat as he looked down at his boots and shifted his feet, "I'll be here whenever you need me, Franny." He raised his head and looked into her eyes, "That's a promise."
He wasn't sure if Francine was who Madam Zinga wanted him to meet, after all he wasn't completely certain that Madam Zinga wasn't just some addle brained old woman who liked to play with the minds of lonely spirits, but he did know that he had spent the last one hundred and forty-seven years alone and now he wasn't alone anymore. Lonely? Yes, because he couldn't have what he truly wanted with this smart, beautiful woman but he wasn't alone.
Wyatt's eyes filled with tenderness as he looked at her and suddenly to Francine the kitchen felt too small. Wyatt was so tall and broad and he seemed to take up every inch of extra space.
"I have to go," she said quickly and she turned and left the room. She grabbed her leather satchel and walked out the door.
It only took Wyatt two seconds to decide that he couldn't let her go on her own. She seemed so nervous and the good thing about being a spirit who could only be seen by two people (if you counted Madam Zinga as being a person), was that he could go there and support her and no one but her even had to know he was around.
***
Francine and all the other journalists for the paper were sitting around the long table looking nervously around at each other and wondering who would be going home jobless when this meeting was over. The bigwigs of the company, two older men with gray hair, glasses and fancy suits, were huddled together at the far end of the table and keeping the nervous employees waiting impatiently.
Francine's eyes widened and she nearly called out to him when she saw Wyatt slip into the room. He smiled and winked at her and then crossed his arms over his chest and leaned his shoulder against the far wall. He was so tall and masculine standing there in his uniform with his weapons and that self assured expression he wore so often, that it very nearly took her breath.
"What are you staring at?" One of the many gossip columnists for the paper asked.
Francine looked over at the bubbly blond and shook her head, "Nothing I was just off in a daze," she replied.
Francine threw Wyatt one more glance but he was busy staring at the copy machine in the corner, (which was currently humming away and shooting out copies), as if it were a bomb or some other deadly weapon ready to blow.
She fought back a smile which was easy because at that exact moment one of the big wigs Mr. Litkins cleared his throat, "I suppose you all know the meaning of our meeting here today." he said with his New York accent which was so out of place here in northern Kentucky. The group of nervous employees all nodded.
"Economic times are hard and with so many people using digital methods to get information, our newspaper and journals have taken a direct hit," the other big wig, Mr. Fratton added. "We are being forced to make some cuts to the workforce and to the paper in an effort so save some money."
"We should make it clear that this decision was a hard one and we did not make it lightly," Mr. Litkin continued. "We are cutting out several of the gossip columnists and a few of the articles that we ourselves do not feel are important or necessary for the success of our paper."
"Here is a list of all names being cut. If you see your name on this paper, please go to your office once we adjourn this meeting, collect your belongings and vacate the premises. You will receive severance packages in the mail and letters of recommendation from our company to help you find employment elsewhere," Mr. Fratton informed them as he pulled a paper from his folder and handed it to Gracie Smith, a weathergirl who had been hired based on the length of her skirt instead of her skills as a meteorologist (which were nonexistent.) She scanned it quickly and a relieved smile appeared on her face. Clearly her name had not been there.
Francine watched as one by one her colleagues read the paper. Some were relieved and she watched others faces fall as they realized they no longer had a job. When Francine took the paper she saw that her name was the first on the list and tears filled her eyes.
Wyatt was across the room in an instant and read the paper over her shoulder, "Ask them why," he said and Francine shook her head as she passed the paper down the table. "Yes. Ask them why. You deserve to know after you've been with them for all these years."
Francine blew out a breath and raised her hand, "Yes?" Mr. Litkin asked.
"Sir, I was wondering what your reasoning was behind your decisions? I have been here for a number of years and my article has always been quite popular."
Mr. Litkin asked her name and she gave it and then he nodded, "Yes you write the paranormal dribble that I was against from the beginning, however, your boss Mr. Henderson was fond of you and of your article so we allowed it."
"Dribble?" Francine repeated, feeling her temper rise.
"Come now, it is garbage. There are no ghosts. The paranormal article was for entertainment purposes only and now that we have to make cut backs, it has to go."
"No ghosts, huh?" Wyatt asked and before Francine could tell him no he was walking through the table and stopped directly in front of the two bigwigs. He picked up the water glasses that had been sitting on the table in front of the men and held them up in the air. Everyone at the table gasped and sat there in shock as they watched the floating cups. Francine just watched with amusement and worry over what exactly Wyatt was going to do with that water. Mr. Litkin and Mr. Fratton both jumped to their feet and stared at the glasses.
Wyatt grinned back at Francine and then he threw the water directly in their faces causing gasps and screams from everyone at the table who still seemed too afraid to jump up and try to leave. Mr. Litkins and Mr. Fratton were too frightened and in too much shock to even attempt to wipe the water from their faces as they stared agape at the cups Wyatt had set back on the table.
Wyatt reached out and took Mr. Litkin's pen from his suit pocket and then picked up a pad of paper and jotted down a message.
Gosts are reel.
He held the notepad up in front of Mr. Litkin's nose and the man paled considerably and blinked several times.
"And they can't spell." Mr. Fratton added, hoping to laugh away the situation.
Wyatt frowned and grabbed Mr. Fratton's file of neatly prepared papers. He was sick and tired of having his spelling criticized. He threw them with all his might into the air and the multicolored folders, papers and tabs rained down upon the table.
Wyatt grabbed the paper with the names of all the laid off employees out of a mousy woman's hands and she nearly fainted right there in her chair. He scribbled on the paper with the pen beside Francine's name and then held it up for both men to see.
She keeps her job.
Both of the men shared a look and then looked over at Francine who was hiding her face, both because she was embarrassed to have all of this fuss made over her and because she was fighting back laughter at Wyatt's antics. He had told her over and over again that he liked torturing, teasing and playing pranks on people who couldn't see him and she was starting to see that he had been telling the truth.
"Um, yes well... P..Perhaps the paranormal article in the p...p..paper is not as useless as we first assumed... Perhaps we could um..." Mr Fratton looked over at Mr. Litkin who licked his lips nervously and nodded vigorously, causing his comb over to bobble on his head.
"Yes we will discuss it and get back with you by Monday," he agreed as he looked at Francine. Francine nodded even as she flamed red.
"That will be all...This meeting is adjourned." Both men ran as quickly as they could from the room.
***
"What in the world did you do that for?" Francine demanded of Wyatt once they were in her Chevy Cavalier and headed back toward the apartment.
Wyatt was grateful that his legs could pass through the dashboard of the car or else he'd be awfully cramped. At nearly six and a half feet tall he was not made for riding in something so tiny.
"Because you deserve to have that job and the only reason those pompous idiots fired you was because they didn't believe in ghosts or take what you wrote about seriously. I changed their way of thinking," he said with a wink.
Francine stopped at a red light and looked over at him. "You are something else, Wyatt Montgomery," she beamed with a smile.
"Why thank you, Franny."
"So what do you want to do today?" she asked him.
Wyatt was surprised by the question, "Huh?"
"Janice wanted to go shopping today but I'm sure you won't want to do that."
Wyatt tilted his head as he looked at her, "Shopping for what?" he asked.
"Clothes."
Wyatt grinned like a child opening his presents on Christmas morning, "Are you going to be trying these clothes on?" he asked.
He had watched several television programs with Janice the other day and it showed that women nowadays put clothes on before they bought them to ensure that they fit well. Watching Francine dress and undress countless times sounded like fun to him, or maybe torture, but it was a torture he could definitely live with.
Francine laughed as she started again down the road, "Yes and I might need my ghost to tell me whether or not things look okay. Janice usually gets too caught up in her own shopping to be much help."
Wyatt chuckled lightly and wiggled his straight brows, causing Francine to blush and laugh at the same time, "In that case, let's go shopping."