Chapter Thirteen

"Can I come?" Wyatt asked that next Friday as Francine grabbed her sound recorder, camcorder and camera and put them in her black bag.

"You want to come to the theater with me? I'm just going to be doing an interview and getting some pictures."

"I want to be with you," Wyatt replied simply. "And who wouldn't want to see a haunted theater?"

"Every other man I've been with," Francine mumbled under her breath as she slid on her black flats.

Wyatt crossed the room to her and wrapped his arms tight around her, pulling her body against his, "I don't know if you've noticed, but I'm different," he whispered.

Francine's warm breath washed over his skin as she rose on her toes and pressed her lips to his ear, "I've noticed," she whispered coyly.

Wyatt smiled. Over the last week they had spent every spare moment that Francine had together. Wyatt still hadn't kissed her but tonight was the night he was going to. Instead of the usual kiss to the forehead when he left her tonight, he planned on sharing their first true kiss--at least in this life.

"So can I come?" he asked as he pulled away from her.

"Since when have I had to invite you to come with me? You usually just tag along," she reminded him.

Wyatt grinned sheepishly. He had been guilty of showing up at her office a few times this week. He had tried to stay out of her line of sight, he had simply wanted to see her, but whatever pulling force he felt toward her he knew she must feel for him because her eyes always found him.

"Okay, I'm coming," he said.

Francine smiled and her smile grew wider when Wyatt opened the door for her. She was still getting used to having a gentleman all her own. She was starting to get irritated that he wasn't kissing her but she kept trying to tell herself to be patient. However she wasn't waiting any longer than tonight. Tonight if the man didn't saddle up and take care of that kiss himself, she was going to be forced to take action.

They walked downstairs and out to the parking garage. They got into Francine's Cavalier and started down the streets toward the old Granaldie Theatre. Francine's job had definitely improved on Monday when she had gone in. She had been given a very large raise, her own private office and an increased project budget. At first she had been unsure over it all because she felt she hadn't earned it but then Janice had reminded her of all the work she'd done the last few years and that everything she had gotten after Wyatt's stunt was long overdue, and her uneasiness had vanished.

She had ghost sightings and stories piling up on her desk, plenty enough to keep her busy for a year or longer. Yes her job was perfect. Everything in Francine's life was looking better now that she had Wyatt. She had a man who treated her like a queen. He did more for her than she expected but she wasn't about to complain and he really listened when she talked. She was still struck with guilt whenever he mentioned something he couldn't do or eat but she was trying to let go of that feeling since he didn't seem to be bothered by their past. It was harder to shake the feeling that she could be anyone and as long as she could see, hear and touch him he would feel the same about her. She knew she should talk to him about it but life was so perfect right now and she didn't want to ruin it.

"So what happened at this theatre to make everyone think it's haunted?" Wyatt asked as they made their way through town.

"The owner of the theatre back in 1920 was in love with one of the actresses. He spent thousands of dollars on gifts, jewelry and flowers. He kept her in the biggest play they had, even though she wasn't that talented of an actress, just because he wanted her to be near him. She accepted everything from him and they began to have an affair. He fell in love, she did not. He caught her with another of the male actors in her dressing room and there is documented proof that in a fit of rage he killed the actress, the actor she was cheating with and then himself."

Wyatt nodded, "Romance, betrayal, murder... All the makings of a dime store novel."

"There's no such things as dime stores anymore but you're right. Now there are many rumors and stories about the owner and the actress still being in the theatre."

"I hope not. That's a lonely way to live," Wyatt replied as he stared out the window. Riding in a car still made him nervous. He wasn't sure why. He couldn't get hurt but the thought of so many tons of metal surrounding him on all sides and running off of something known to burst into flames made the nineteenth century man in him more than a little uneasy.

Francine felt that familiar wave of guilt at his words and tried to push it aside. She got in the turn lane and gazed through her sunglasses at the people walking up and down the sidewalks.

"Are there really not any more dime stores?" Wyatt asked.

Francine shook her head as the light turned green, "Nope. I don't think you can buy anything for just a dime anymore."

"Really?"

"Really," Francine said as she started down the empty side street where the theatre stood. "Just a regular old candy bar is close to a dollar now."

"A dollar?!" Wyatt exclaimed. "Hell I could have bought more than half the candy store for a dollar!"

"You're showing your age," Francine teased as she pulled in the parking lot and she and Wyatt looked at the large run down building. With its towers and film covered glass ticket booth, the theatre truly looked like something out of an old time horror movie.

"Wow," Wyatt said simply as they climbed out of the car.

Francine pulled her camera out and began snapping pictures of the theatre, "You never know, something might show up in a picture that we can't see." she said in response to Wyatt's questioning look.

"I hope something shows up! It will be great to finally have some documented proof of the ghosts that live here," A man who appeared to be around thirty years old and was dressed in a cream colored suit and looked liked he'd just stepped out of the 1920's himself said as he approached Francine. Clearly he had thought that she was talking to him and she reminded herself that she couldn't talk to Wyatt or hand him things to hold while they were here and people were around.

"Hello, my name is Francine Ryan," Francine said as she shouldered her leather bag and held out her hand.

"Bradley Owens," he replied with a smile as he shook her hand. Francine noticed that he held it several moments longer than was necessary and his blue eyes scanned her up and down. She glanced down at the slightly oversized black 'Winchester Guns' shirt she was wearing and her holy jeans. She hadn't dressed to impress. She had dressed to wander through dusty attics and back rooms all day.

"Nice to meet you, Mr. Owens," Francine replied politely. "We talked on the phone."

"Bradley, please," Bradley replied with a smile as he released her hand. "And I remember speaking to you. I assumed you'd have a camera crew with you."

"No. I take the pictures and do the recordings myself. The recordings can't be used in the paper of course but I can put still frames from it with the article if I see anything interesting."

"I'm sure you'll see plenty interesting," Bradley replied. He took Francine by the elbow and led her toward the theatre.

Francine was fairly certain she heard Wyatt growl and sound very much like an angry bear behind them. She shot him a look as Bradley launched into the story about the theatre and the murder suicide that had taken place here.

"If you don't mind, Mr. Owens.... Bradley," she amended at his insistent look. "I'd like to look around on my own and see what I can find. Most of the time I have better luck if it is just me."

"I was hoping to accompany you. I can tell you all the history since it was my great uncle who built this place and killed himself inside it." Francine smiled apologetically and moved away from him, "I will make notes of any questions I have and ask you once I'm done looking," she promised.

He seemed satisfied by that, "Good, then I'll see you when you're done. I'll be waiting at the old concession stands." Francine nodded and walked away from him and toward the auditorium. She closed the heavy double doors behind her and within seconds Wyatt was stepping through them.

"Can I scare the living hell out of the smooth talking city slicker?" he asked as he looked around the giant room, the rows of dust stained red velvet seats and the wide stage. Everything was made of dark wood and large filthy tapestry's and swags hung from the walls and balconies.

"Why would you want to do that?" Francine asked as she took out the sound recorder and hooked it to her belt. She grabbed her camera and began snapping pictures.

"No real reason. I just don't like him."

Francine laughed, "You're jealous... You're jealous of him!" she exclaimed.

Wyatt frowned and walked down the long aisle way toward the stage, "No, I'm not."

"Yes, you are," she argued as she slid the camera strap around her neck. "Why?"

"Because he shouldn't be hitting on you when I'm standing right there," Wyatt replied as he looked around. "Do you see any ghosts?" Francine shook her head. She didn't feel anything out of the ordinary in the auditorium, "No, there's nothing in here right now," she replied. "And he couldn't see you, Wyatt. He didn't know I had anyone with me."

Wyatt grumbled under his breath and ran his fingers over the waist height, dust covered, brass studded stage front, "We should try a different room if you don't feel anything here," he said without looking at her. Francine frowned. She had never seen Wyatt look as sad as he did right now, at least not since he'd been in Vicksburg. Had she done or said something? She walked to him quickly and took his large, calloused hands in her smaller, softer ones.

"What's wrong, soldier boy?"

Wyatt looked up at the domed ceiling and the balcony above and shook his head, "Nothing."

"Why don't you look into my eyes and tell me it's nothing?"

"No."

"Why not?" Francine asked, finding that she was amused by his almost childish antics.

He let out a tired sigh and looked at her, "Because I can't lie to you if I'm looking at those pretty dark eyes."

Francine smiled and leaned her body against his, "The great Madam Francine sees all," she teased. "Tell me what's wrong."

"Janice does a better Madam Zinga than you," Wyatt informed her as he let go of one of her hands and smoothed a curl, that had fallen loose from her ponytail, from her face.

"Maybe Janice was a fat Russian when she worked in the brothel." Francine replied with a shrug.

Wyatt laughed. He saw the look on Francine's face that told him she wasn't going to let the conversation drop, "It bothers me that other people can't see me with you," he admitted.

"But I don't care...."

"I know. So this entire conversation is pointless. It's not like we can change the way things are anyway, so there's no point worrying about it." Wyatt moved away from her and climbed up on the stage. He reached out for her hand and she placed it in his and he pulled her up to stand beside him. She marveled at the strength he had, lifting her with one arm as if she weighed no more than a feather.

"Wyatt, I don't want anyone but you," she assured him as she laid her hand on his rugged cheek. "I don't care what anyone else thinks or sees. I see you. I feel you. That's all that matters."

Wyatt looked down at her full lips, parted slightly and glistening with the gloss she had put on them this morning. He tipped his head closer to hers and their warm breath mingled. Francine didn't wait for him to finish closing the distance.

Her eyes slipped closed and she was sure the stage began spinning as his warm lips devoured hers. The kiss was hungrier and more eager than she had expected and she heard a wonton moan and nearly blushed when she realized it came from her. She leaned her body against his and felt him slip his arm around her and hold her up when her knees threatened to buckle beneath her.

Wyatt was unprepared for all the sensations that assaulted his body at once. Her long, slender body pressed against his. Her hands clutching at the back of his shirt. Her tender lips, moist against his own. He hadn't wanted to do this here but sometimes a man just had to go with the flow. He used his tongue to part her lips and gain access to her mouth. He heard her moan and he could do nothing other than offer his own moan in return as his free hand went to her hair and tilted her head back so he could taste her more deeply.

Suddenly Francine knew they were being watched. She felt a tremor run down her spine and a coldness filled her. There was a ghost here. She pulled away from Wyatt and looked over his shoulder to see a man standing there with a blood covered knife in his hand.

The man was clearly dead. He didn't look the way Wyatt had always looked to her. Wyatt looked just as alive and healthy as Janice or Bradley. This man was pale and his eyes were black with dark bruise like circles around them. His clothes were covered in dark crimson blood and he looked angry as he watched them kissing on the stage. Wyatt was still reeling from their kiss and unaware that anything was wrong. Suddenly the man charged forward with the knife raised and, acting on instinct, Francine grabbed Wyatt and threw all her weight against him to shove him aside. The man with the knife went sailing harmlessly past and then disappeared into thin air.

"What's wrong?" Wyatt demanded as he grabbed her and instinctively pulled his revolver.

"Put your gun away, Wyatt, it doesn't even shoot real bullets," she reminded him as she took several deep breaths to calm herself.

Wyatt frowned at the reminder that he couldn't protect her and holstered his gun, "What scared you so bad?" he asked again.

"There was a ghost. The old owner I believe."

"The one that killed his woman and her other man in the dressing room?"

"Yes. He had a knife and he ran at you with it... I just reacted out of instinct."

Wyatt could tell she was still rattled over the incident. He wrapped his arms around her from behind and kissed her dark curls, "His knife is as harmless as my gun, love," he promised her.

Francine felt her heart skip a beat when he called her love. She looked over her shoulder and up at his face, "I guess I better get to work. There is definitely something here."

Wyatt nodded but instead of letting her go he caught her lips in another feather soft kiss that lingered on for several long moments. When he finally released her, she took a few moments to make sure her legs were not going to collapse beneath her before walking toward the edge of the stage.

"I'm guessing the dressing rooms are backstage," she said.

Wyatt shrugged, "You know more than me. I've never been in a theatre. I've never seen a play either. I would have liked to have seen John Wilkes Booth."

"The man that killed Abraham Lincoln?" Francine demanded.

Wyatt frowned, "He did?"

"Yes," Francine replied.

"I guess I missed that one," Wyatt replied with a shrug. Goosebumps jumped out on Francine's skin and she knew there was something near them.

"No more talking, I'm going to turn the sound recorder on," she warned and Wyatt nodded and made a show of 'zipping' his lips.

***

After several hours of searching for the sights of more ghosts they came up empty handed. The dressing room where the killings had taken place had been unexplainably cold and Francine had been fairly sure she'd heard a woman moaning but nothing showed up on the heat recorder and Francine didn't see anything herself. Wyatt snapped dozens of pictures but they'd have to wait until they were developed and the heat recorder had picked up several heat readings but they weren't human formed. Instead they looked more like puddles and Francine had a sneaking suspicion that they were blood.

"Thank you for allowing me to look around, Mr. Owens," Francine said as she shouldered her bag and walked out to the concession area.

"I told you to call me Bradley," he countered with a wink as he walked around the counter and came to stand in front of her. Too damn close in front of her if Wyatt had anything to say about it.

"Bradley, I am fairly certain I saw your great uncle however I didn't get him on tape. What did he look like?"

"Like me, only I've been told that my smile is more dashing," Bradley replied and his blue eyes twinkled as he gave her one of his dashing smiles.

Francine used every ounce of self control she had to keep from rolling her eyes while Wyatt threw his hand out as if he was slapping Bradley upside the head, but of course his hand passed through the man and merely caused him to shiver.

"All that showed up on tape were these warm spots that look like puddles in the dressing room," Francine said showing them to Bradley.

She felt the man slip his arm around her shoulders and before she could scold him and let him know that she was taken a loud crash sounded behind them and they turned to see that the cash register had been knocked off the counter.

Of course, Francine could see Wyatt standing next to it grinning sheepishly but Bradley scratched his head, "How in the world did that happen?" he asked.

"I have no idea," Francine replied, throwing Wyatt a look that clearly told him to knock it off. "I'll be going now. Thank you for your time, Mr. Owens and if anything shows up in the sound recording or the pictures I'll be sure to contact you and let you know. Thank you for allowing me to use this theatre and its occupants for my article."

"You're welcome, Francine."

Francine shook his outstretched hand and then shook her head, "Miss Ryan if you don't mind," she replied and then she turned and waved for Wyatt to follow her, "Let's go, soldier boy," she said, not paying any attention to the fact that Bradley would not know who she was talking to. Wyatt quickly followed after her, but not before passing through Bradley, who was scratching his head, just one more time and chuckling as the man shivered and wrapped his arms around himself and his fancy white suit.

***

"Thanks for helping me with all of this, Wyatt. I've never had a man that would help me with my work before. They either laughed and considered it a joke or they assumed I was a little crazy for believing all of it myself," Francine said as she and Wyatt sat surrounded by photos and notes on Francine's couch. They had actually caught a few blurry images in the photographs and the sound recorder had indeed picked up the sounds of feminine moans of pain and an angry male voice shouting.

"Well I think we've already covered the fact that I'm not like the rest of them. Since I'm a dead man myself I happen to believe that you're not crazy for believing in dead men," Wyatt replied with a wink. "See, we make a perfect team."

"Yes we do," she agreed.

"I find all of this fascinating. Learning all these stories. I'd love to visit every single historic sight you ever visit with you. Even back in the eighteen hundreds history always fascinated me."

"It did?" Francine asked with disbelief. Wyatt nodded. "It's always fascinated me too."

"We'll have to try to see all we can together," he replied.

"We can do that later Just now I'd like to try that kissing thing again." Francine winked, feeling her body heat at just the thought.

Wyatt's body responded to her words and he shifted on the couch and moved the photos out of the way. Francine laid herself across his lap and put her hand behind his head, to pull his mouth down to hers.

Neither knew or cared how long they stayed that way. Kissing and touching. Wyatt felt himself loosing control and he knew that these kisses were going to lead to something else if he didn't stop. But he couldn't stop. She was everything he had ever wanted. He had loved her in a hundred lifetimes, he was sure of that. Even as his hands moved over her body he knew before he touched, how each part of her would feel. Almost as if he had touched it all before in a different time, a different place.

The dip and valley where her waist met her hips. The gentle swell of her hips before they met her long, lean legs. He knew every inch of her body and he had never touched it in this life before today.

Francine pulled away and gazed up at him, through passion darkened eyes, "Wyatt I...." Her words were cut off by the ringing of the phone. Her kiss swollen lips turned down in a frown and when the phone rang again she rolled her eyes and climbed over him to answer it.

"Hello?" she let out a sigh when she realized it was her mother and laid down on her stomach across Wyatt's knees. She smiled when she felt the evidence of what her kisses were doing to him, pressed against her. She could tell Janice the answer to her question she'd asked back in Vicksburg... Or maybe she'd just keep this knowledge to herself.

"Hi mom."

"Hello, my dear. I called earlier and talked to Janice. She told me about Gregory. Good riddance to yesterday's trash is what I say."

Wyatt smiled. Francine's mom talked so loudly that he could plainly hear every word she said.

"I agree mom." Francine said as she turned on her back so she could look at Wyatt. He smiled and ran his knuckles up and down her smooth arm.

"Your father and I are having a dinner next weekend for our anniversary. We expect you to be here."

"I'll try mama," Francine replied. Wyatt couldn't resist the urge to poke her ribs and she let out a squeal and slapped him, "Stop that!" she scolded.

"Stop what?" her mother asked. "Are you with someone? Is it a man? Not Gregory I hope."

"No, it's not Gregory," Francine replied.

"Let me talk to him."

"No, mom."

"Please?"

"No.. He actually is getting ready to leave." Francine offered as an excuse. Wyatt couldn't very well talk to her mother on the phone because of course she wouldn't be able to hear him.

"You're coming next weekend?" her mother asked with a definite pout at not getting her way.

"I'll try."

"And you'll bring your new friend?"

"Maybe. I have to go now mom, I'm trying to get some work done. I love you, bye." Francine hung up and looked at Wyatt to see that he had a far off look in his eyes as he stared across the room.

"What are you thinking about so hard?" she asked as she ran her finger along his tense jaw.

Wyatt frowned. He was thinking about all the things he couldn't give her. He was pretty sure kids wouldn't be an option. Neither would a real marriage. Meeting her parents was definitely a no go. Taking her out and showing her off weren't going to happen either. Dancing, dinner, all normal dates were definitely off the table. Family and friends birthday parties, weddings, get togethers... He could never do any of these things with her because no one else could see him.

Should he voice his concerns to her? Probably. But she was looking at him with so much love in her dark eyes that he found himself unable to say what needed to be said.

Instead he ran his hand over her cheek and smiled, "I love you, Franny." he said softly.

Her eyes widened as she stared up at him and he saw tears glisten in her eyes before she threw her arms around his neck and pressed her lips to his ear, "I love you too, Wyatt."

Wyatt had wanted to wait for a commitment like marriage before he made love to her, but marriage was out of the question and the love in her eyes and the willingness he saw there was all the commitment that he needed in that moment. He stood, lifting her into his arms as he did so and cradling her against him.

"Take me to bed, soldier," she whispered breathlessly as she felt as if her heart was going to pound out of her chest and a deliciously throbbing ache grew in her body.

"Yes ma'am," Wyatt replied and he had never been so happy to obey an order.