Ryan field - TheGhostandMr.Moore.pdf - Ryan Field - miilliicciicca

The Ghost and Mr. Moore

A Ravenous Romance™ M/M Original Publication

Ryan Field

A Ravenous Romance™ Original Publication

www.ravenousromance.com

Ravenous Romance™

100 Cummings Center

Suite 123A

Beverly, MA 01915

written permission from the publisher, except by reviewers who may quote brief excerpts

in connection with a review.

ISBN-13: 978-1-60777-307-8

This book is a work of fiction, and any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely

coincidental.

Chapter One

On a warm Friday afternoon in June, Dexter Moore pulled into the driveway of

his new home, Keel Cottage. The thick gravel crunched and cracked beneath the tires.

The car rolled to a stop. He parked the black BMW sedan in the middle of a long, narrow

driveway and switched off the engine. Then he unfastened his seat belt, ran his fingers

through his hair, and took a deep breath. “We’re finally here, Brighton. We made it.”

He turned to his six-year-old daughter in the back seat and smiled. The little girl

had already removed her seat belt and was leaning forward so she could look out the

window. She stared up at an old house with gray shingled turrets and bright white trim

and said, “It’s huge, Dad. And it’s nothing like our old house in Hollywood.” A small,

white Bichon Frise jumped onto her lap and barked a few times. “Calm down, Cleo,” she

said. “I can’t open the door or the window. Dad has them locked again.”

Dexter took a deep breath and raised his eyebrows. He felt like yawning; his

eyelids were heavy and his legs felt stiff. “Wait until I get out, Brighton,” he said. It had

been a long trip from New York. He’d stopped in Manhattan for the night, and traffic had

been heavy all the way up to the tip of the Cape. But that had been only part of the trip.

He was exhausted because he’d been driving for days—all the way from Hollywood,

California.

When he unlocked the doors and pulled the key from the ignition, Brighton

pointed to the house and shouted, “There’s Marion. She’s standing on the porch waiting

for us.” Brighton opened her door, jumped out of the car, and ran toward the house. It

would have been futile for Dexter to try to stop her. She hadn’t seen Marion in two weeks.

Cleo followed her up the green lawn and past two large black urns filled with blood-red

geraniums. Cleo was the kind of dog that didn’t need to be on a leash all the time. He

never wandered, and he always listened to commands.

Dexter opened the car door and watched Brighton run to the house. He smiled and

shook his head. Marion had been their housekeeper for five years, and she’d practically

raised Brighton. They hadn’t seen Marion in a while because she had flown to Cape Cod

earlier to prepare the house for their arrival.

On his way to the front porch, Dexter thought he saw someone standing up on the

widow’s walk, beside the cupola. He looked down at the path for a second so he wouldn’t

trip on the unfamiliar lawn. But when he looked up again the widow’s walk was empty.

He chalked it up to his imagination and lack of sleep; he’d been driving too long.

When he reached the house, Brighton was already on the porch. She was jumping

up and down and Marion was laughing, trying to calm her. Marion’s hands were clasped

together and resting on her ample waist; her head was tipped to the side and her eyes

were gleaming. She was wearing a pale blue cotton dress with a thick, white apron. Her

shoes were black leather with large gold buckles and chunky three-inch heels. Dexter

smiled and lifted his hand to his mouth so she wouldn’t notice. Marion had been raised in

New England, but she’d lived in Southern California almost all her adult life and she’d

resisted moving to Cape Cod. Now she looked as if she’d never left New England and

California was on another planet.

Ryan field - TheGhostandMr.Moore.pdf

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