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Next he tried to hitch a ride to the ranch with the owners of the property adjacent to his, but the Hendersons looked right through him and turned a deaf ear.
Not knowing what else to do, he at last walked back to the hotel, snagged a cup of coffee from the complimentary carafe in the deserted lobby and climbed the stairs to his room. His head felt like a mission bell at the noon hour and all he wanted at the moment was a handful of aspirin and a bed. He’d deal with the rest later.
Well, it was later, and even after a restless nap, he still didn’t know how to deal with it.
People just weren’t seeing him. He felt like the Invisible Man, except that guy could at least be heard.
The woman sat down on the side of the bed opposite the one he slept in and bent to untie the laces of her hiking boots. He’d like to ask just why the heck she’d commandeered his room, but knew it was probably a lost cause. No one else today had listened to him.
She’d tugged the second boot off when she paused, still holding it in her hand, and gazed for a long moment in front of her. Then she frowned.
Following her gaze, Caid looked to see what had captured her attention. All he saw was the bed he’d spent the afternoon in. The rumpled unmade bed.
“Bad housekeeping,” she finally muttered disapprovingly, then stripped off her socks and walked barefoot into the bathroom.
When she returned, she rummaged in a dresser drawer, came up with a clean pair of socks, picked up a bottle of lotion from the top of the bureau and sat down in the chair near the window, brushing by Caid in the process, actually touching his shirtsleeve—well, her shirtsleeve—without so much as breaking stride.
What she did next had Caid groaning inwardly. The woman poured a generous dollop of lotion into her palm and proceeded to massage her cute little feet.
As soon as the peppery smell of lavender filled the room, Caid sneezed.
The woman jumped a mile.
She’d heard him! But before Caid could say anything, he sneezed again. This time, however, she paid no attention, just went on slathering lotion.
Caid sneezed again. And again.
Finally, eyes streaming, he walked to the open window behind her chair and took a deep whiff of clean, unscented mountain air. By keeping his nose pressed to the screen, he managed to keep from sneezing until she closed the bottle, put on her clean socks, picked up her key from the dresser and headed for the door, obviously not bothering with shoes.
Good. As soon as she left, Caid was finding the nearest trash receptacle. Bye-bye, lavender lotion.
But she didn’t exit the room immediately. Instead, after pausing at the door, she backtracked and picked up his Stetson where he’d left it on top of the dresser.
And then she stood stock still, eyes wide and startled, her luscious mouth slightly parted as she stared in apparent amazement at his hat.
Or rather, at the blue feather he kept in the hatband.
Chapter Two
With a tentative forefinger, the woman touched the blue feather, for some reason far more interested in it than Caid’s rattlesnake hatband.
“Coincidence,” he heard her whisper to herself. She turned the hat over to look inside the crown.
Then, to Caid’s total amazement, this cute button of a woman did an extraordinary thing.
Gazing at herself in the mirror, she put his hat on her head, where it immediately sank past her ears to cover her eyes and rest on the bridge of her nose. Grinning, she pushed it up again.
“Howdy, partner,” she greeted her image in an exaggerated drawl.
Fascinated, Caid watched as she stuck her thumbs in her belt loops and set her hips to rotating in a slow swivel.
“Ah’m an ol’ cowhand,” she sang nasally, “from the Rio Grande, but mah…something ain’t…something, and mah cheeks ain’t tan….”
Smiling broadly by now, and forgetting completely to keep his nose out the window, Caid turned more fully into the room, the better to appreciate the performance of that enticingly generous derriere.
He sneezed.
The woman stopped midtwang.
Dammit, he’d swear she heard him, but instead of turning toward the sound as any normal person would, she just laughed and shook her head at the far wall, causing his Stetson to drop over her eyes again.
This time, however, she took it off, replaced it on the dresser, flipped off the light and left the room.
The show, apparently, was over.
Disappointed, Caid sighed.
And sneezed.
Well, hell. If he was sharing the room with this woman, he was damn sure getting rid of the lotion she’d just used along with anything else she had that was lavender scented.
And he was sharing the room. At the moment, it was the only place he had to hang his hat, literally, until he could figure out what was going on. Besides, the hotel owed him. Maybe he hadn’t paid for it yet, but he’d reserved the room before they gave it to the woman. Come to that, she owed him, too.
He sneezed.
It wasn’t late when Marlie slowly walked up the staircase to return to her room, but after her active day she could barely keep her eyes open. She’d read for an hour in the hotel’s charmingly Victorian front parlor and now clutched the Agatha Christie mystery, planning to take it to bed with her.
Earlier, she’d asked Ann if the Hotel Limpia had any resident ghosts, but the desk clerk merely laughed, saying the only one she’d heard about, but never seen herself, mind you, was that of a soldier from the old fort.
But it wasn’t a soldier Marlie thought she’d seen. For a split second, as she’d been wearing the hat with the coincidental blue feather and acting silly in front of the mirror, she thought she’d caught the vague outline of a cowboy standing near the window behind her. But then her neighbor sneezed, and of course there was nothing reflected in the mirror but herself.
The Hotel Limpia, with its antique furnishings and bygone western charm, certainly had a way of sending the imagination into overdrive, she thought, unlocking the door to her room.
Once inside, she didn’t bother with the overhead light but switched on the lamp near her bed. In the dimness outside its glow, she eyed with disfavor the double bed that matched her own. Its sheets and covers were lumpy and rumpled just as they’d been this morning.
In all other respects, the hotel service was first rate, but its housekeeping staff left a lot to be desired. Marlie had meant to say something to Ann earlier and forgotten, but she was telling the desk clerk first thing in the morning. There was no excuse for an establishment of this caliber leaving beds unmade.
Gathering clean panties and her pajamas, she headed for the bathroom and a long hot bath, but after stepping out of her jeans and partially unbuttoning her shirt, she remembered the soap she’d found today in one of the shops.
Ah. The perfect end to a perfect day.
Traipsing back to the bedroom, Marlie rummaged through a couple of sacks until she found it. But just as she turned toward the bathroom again, she thought she heard a breathy whistle from next door.
It was just a whisper of sound, but for no apparent reason she suddenly became very aware of her bare legs and half-open shirt.
She grimaced. Too bad there wasn’t another room available. As it was, she had a double room too big for her single self when what she needed was double walls.
All was forgiven, however, when she lowered herself into the deep bathtub. Hot water and lavender soap. Life didn’t get any better.
Unless, of course, a handsome someone scrubbed her back.
Unh-huh. Cut that last thought. Nicholas wouldn’t scrub her back. He’d just tell her how bad hot water and perfumed soaps were for her skin.
Forget Nicholas. And forget hats placed strategically by an interior decorator to enhance an old hotel’s western decor. Forget, especially, hats with blue feathers in the hatband.
A half hour later, too pleasantly lethargic from her hot bath for even Agatha to have appeal, Marlie called it a day. Turning off the lamp, she sank into the old-fashioned bed’s very modern and oh-so-comfortable mattress.
And heard a giant sneeze.
Oh. Good. Grief.
Still, if she could hear the people next door, they could surely hear her. “Don’t you have anything to take for that?” she asked the wall loudly.
Silence.
One might even say stunned silence, it was that thick. Apparently the elderlies in the next room didn’t realize how thin the walls were.
There was another sneeze, followed by a muttered, “Well, hell.”
“Bless you,” Marlie called out, grinning.
“You can hear me?” a voice asked diffidently.
Aha, Marlie thought. Masculine. One of the supposed maiden ladies still had some energy.
“Yes, and you really ought to take something for that cold. We’d all sleep better.”
“It’s not a cold,” the voice replied. A husky voice, with a hint of drawl. And it didn’t sound like that of an old man, either. It sounded velvety, downright sexy even, if a trifle cranky and stuffed up. One of the dears must have found herself a young stud while she was stargazing.
“It’s allergies,” the voice continued. “I’m allergic to your soap.”
And Marlie could swear that whoever spoke was right beside her. She heard a rustling in the other bed.
With a shriek, she reached out and turned on the light.
Nothing. Even better, no one.
Sinking limply against the pillows, she sighed….
Ker-choo!
And bolted up again.
“If you’d bathe with something besides lavender soap, we’d both be happier,” the voice said.
“Where are you?” Marlie whispered.
“In the bed opposite yours. Don’t get your britches in a knot, lady. I won’t hurt you.”
Throwing back the covers, Marlie bolted for the door, fumbled with the lock, threw the door open and was about to slam it behind her when she realized she heard no pursuit. She paused, uncertain, but stayed poised to immediately run and/or scream, whichever was needed.
Cautiously reaching over, she flipped on the overhead light. How could she describe the intruder to the local badge if she didn’t know what he looked like?
Nothing. No one. Nobody.
“Are…are you there?” she whispered into the seemingly empty room.
“I’m here.”
“Where?”
“I told you. In the other bed.”
The covers on the bed in question rose and fell as if they’d been given a disgusted shake. Marlie’s heartbeat rose and fell with them.
“I’m…I’m going for the police,” she warned, trying to keep the wobble out of her voice.
“Go ahead. If you can explain this to someone you’ll be doing a hell of a lot better than I did today. And Fort Davis doesn’t have police. We make do with a sheriff and a couple of deputies.” Ker-choo!
“You’ve got a sneeze like an atomic blast,” Marlie said dryly. “I don’t think I’ll have much trouble explaining things.”
“Have at it,” the whoever or whatever it was responded, and blew his nose.
Once the woman marched her straight-backed, swishy-bottomed little self out the door, Caid got out of bed, went to the closet and retrieved his jeans. If on the off chance someone could finally see him as well as hear him, he wanted to be decent. He wasn’t holding out much hope, however.
Still, for the first time today he’d actually exchanged conversation with someone. Perhaps whatever the heck it was that had happened to him was starting to wear off.
When Marlie returned, she had Ann with her. After hearing the story, the desk clerk had talked her out of going for the sheriff.
Ann looked around the quiet room. “I don’t see anything or hear anything, Ms. Simms. Are you sure you weren’t dreaming?”
“I hadn’t gone to sleep yet,” Marlie replied shortly. “And I know what I heard. A man talked to me and he sneezed. He said he was allergic to my lavender soap.
“Hey,” she called out to the seemingly empty room, feeling brave now that she had company. “Are you here?”
“I’m here,” the voice answered.
“Where?”
“Standing about three feet in front of you.” Ker-choo!
“There.” Marlie turned to the desk clerk in triumph. “You heard that, didn’t you? I’ll bet people in the next county did, too.”
But Ann merely gazed back at her in confusion. “Ms. Simms, I, uh, didn’t hear anything.”
“Sure you did,” Marlie told the desk clerk bracingly. “That sneeze registered on the Richter scale.”
But by now, even though she wasn’t but a few years older, Ann’s look had turned motherly. She put a comforting arm around Marlie’s shoulders.
