August 30th in Ghost Seer.
She turned a corner and could see the station. Shock!
There was a house, a ranch, buildings, whatever just below the station, on the other side of a barbed-wire fence.
Heart thumping, she crept along the road, hoping no one saw her, would come greet her . . . anything. Why in tarnation had she worn a floral shirt? She should have stuck to natural beige or brown, should have bought a beige or brown shirt. At least she had a straw cowboy hat.
At another open barrier, she read the sign. Of course it said not to disturb or take anything, gave the penalty. It specifically mentioned no digging. She swallowed.
And right there, in the middle of the open space by the large wooden sign, stood the ghost of Jack Slade. Yes, if anyone found her digging she could get in deep trouble. She’d say she was looking for the GPS cache? Putting one down? Maybe that would be all right.
But her mouth had dried.
*There’s Jack!* Enzo yipped with the enthusiasm of a ghost dog, not Other spirit.
“I see him.” His standing by the sign that lied about him just seemed too sad. Yet such things would be part of her life.