The Devil's Cowboy Read online

  “I close my eyes, call upon my angels for protection and guidance, empty my mind… and spirits appear. They communicate with me by injecting their thoughts and feelings, their special knowledge, directly into my mind, either with sights and sounds or with symbols. Sometimes they are spirits from the past; sometimes they bring me glimpses of what my client’s future holds. I don’t hear voices anymore. I did when I was a child. I could see them clearly then and hear their voices too. But I couldn’t control when they came to me and it was a very difficult way to live—always being bombarded with souls needing something from me, whether it be acknowledgment of their existence or help in leaving this world and moving on to the next.”

  Memories poured in, painful memories of a childhood spent being torn between two worlds and feeling as though she didn’t truly belong in either one. She stopped for a moment, took a deep breath to center herself, and went on. “Over the years, I learned how to shut them out, only allowing them into my mind when I was ready. Moving to Asheville was the best thing I ever did. I’ve been able to connect with others like myself and learn how to harness and hone my gifts.”

  Melanie was speechless. Ellen could see that her friend was surprised at the depth of her knowledge and abilities. Clearly she hadn’t expected her childhood pal to possess such strange skills. It was as though Ellen had suddenly shown Melanie she could take flight.

  It was time to lighten the mood. She put her arm around Melanie’s shoulders and laughed. “Come on. Let’s go meet this ghost buster of yours,” she said, leading her friend out the door.

  Chapter Three

  Rafe Cummings sauntered into Starbucks. He paused a moment, surveying the crowded room and drawing the attention of half a dozen women of varying ages who suffered a pang of regret that they were no longer free.

  He wasn’t oblivious to the attention. Standing six foot two—not counting the stacked heels of his hand-tooled leather boots—wearing faded jeans that fit him like a second skin and a battered Stetson that could have come right from the wardrobe department of a Hollywood Western, Rafe was used to having women throw themselves at him. From jailbait teenagers who swore they were ‘almost twenty,’ which usually meant ‘barely fifteen but wearing loads of makeup,’ to bored soccer moms who slipped him their phone numbers at church socials, Rafe drew women to him like a sci-fi tractor beam.

  Maybe it was the old-fashioned courtly manners, the ‘yes, ma’am’ in a drawl as sweet and smooth as wild honey. Maybe it was the crooked smile or the way his deep brown eyes radiated warmth when he looked at them. Having the strong, lean body of an athlete sure didn’t hurt.

  Whatever it was, Rafe enjoyed the attention without abusing it. He winked at one gray-haired granny he caught sizing him up shamelessly. She giggled, blushing like a schoolgirl. He gazed around, zeroing in on two women sitting alone at a table in a corner of the room. There was a palpable air of distress coming from the slim blonde.

  The woman’s dark-haired companion had her back to the room, but Rafe felt himself drawn to her aura. Tightly controlled, but brimming with repressed sensuality. He could feel the power vibrating in her like the strings of a Stradivarius being tuned by a maestro. Rafe instantly recognized another gifted soul.

  She turned her head as if she, too, sensed the presence of a fellow practitioner. Her face was oval, framed by a cloud of dark hair that fell in waves to her shoulders. A smooth forehead, slightly arched brows… he met her eyes and suddenly time flowed backwards. He saw those deep brown eyes over and over in lightning quick flashes—peering out from behind the filmy veil of an Arabian princess, framed by a sleek black Egyptian wig, staring boldly at him through the feathered mask of a Renaissance reveler. Although he’d never seen this woman before, he knew those eyes. During his endless loop of lifetimes, those eyes had gazed at him again and again, drawn him in, warmed his heart.

  He reminded himself to breathe and widened his focus, taking in the rest of her face. Her cheeks were flushed and her full lips quivered, as though she, too, had been hit with a flood of sensations that she struggled to contain. Her companion murmured something, then waved, forcing a smile.

  “You must be Rafe,” she said when he stopped at their table. “I’m Melanie and this is my friend Ellen.” Rafe shook hands with both women, forcibly reminding himself not to clasp Ellen’s hand too long. Still, he couldn’t help checking to see if she wore a wedding ring. Her fingers were bare. So were her arms. No jewelry, not even a watch. He wondered if she was one of those on whom a timepiece wouldn’t work accurately. A powerful field of energy surrounded very strong psychics when they did their work, often affecting watches and even clocks nearby.

  He forced himself to quit concentrating on Ellen and drew his attention back to his hostess.

  Melanie pulled out a chair, gesturing for him to take a seat. “I’m so glad you could join us,” she said. “I, that is we, were just discussing the situation I told you about earlier. Ellen is an old friend who has some experience in dealing with… um… this sort of thing. She arrived this morning, just dropped everything and flew in from North Carolina when I contacted her. I was starting to tell her about the kids and the crying woman and the horrible…”

  Her voice trailed off and he could see tears brimming in her eyes. She turned to her friend, hands gripping her coffee cup as though it would anchor her to the table. “El, maybe you can try to explain. I… I don’t have any experience with this stuff and I’m afraid it will just sound crazy.”

  Ellen turned to him with a faint smile. Her voice was low and pleasant, but he could sense that it was a strain for her to act as if what she was about to say was a normal conversation between two people who had just met. She had her barriers firmly in place. He couldn’t read her, couldn’t tell whether it was because she, too, felt a potent connection between them—or whether it was simply due to the bizarre circumstances she was about to divulge.

  “Hi, Rafe. I’m Ellen. Ellen Jacobs. Melanie tells me you were referred to her by some friends from church. I don’t know your background, but to summarize, the house she moved into a few months ago seems to be harboring at least two entities I’ve come in contact with so far—one a dark force and the other a soul in obvious distress. Melanie’s two children can sense both presences and it’s disrupting their lives. I’m a psychic with some experience in medium-ship and I’ve felt their presence as well. But as she said, I just arrived this morning and that’s about all I know right now.”

  Rafe leaned back in his chair. He didn’t need psychic powers to see that both of these women were in desperate need of a calming influence. This close, the stress emanating off the blonde was almost palpable.

  “Well, ma’am, this ‘ere cowboy is at yer service,” he replied with a casual grin. His drawl was even more pronounced than usual. The total effect was made comical by the way he tipped his hat when he said it.

  Melanie melted instantly, giggling. Obviously, she was a sucker for the Southern gentleman routine. He could feel her relief at having some big, strong man step in and offer to take over the fight against this unseen foe. But her dark-haired friend’s reply was cool and slightly aloof.

  “I’m not sure a cowboy is what we need here,” she responded with a tiny frown. “Would you mind telling us a little about your background before we go any further?”

  Rafe bristled slightly at her tone. Ellen sounded as if she thought he might be trying to weasel his way into their lives for some nefarious purpose. The only reason he was here was because the blonde had practically begged him to drop everything and meet her right away. His annoyance had nothing to do with Ellen challenging his masculine pride, he assured himself. After all, he’d had to put this headstrong filly in her place many times before, show her who was really in charge.

  Now where did that thought come from, he asked himself, struggling with the image that popped into his mind to accompany the thought—the picture of this outspoken woman he’d just met sprawled buck-naked across his lap, his hand
print glowing bright red on her wiggling ass. He tried to will away the instant erection the image conjured up, bringing his attention reluctantly back to the matter at hand.

  “Shore ‘nuff, ma’am,” he replied easily. “I’d be happy to talk about me. It’s one ‘a my favorite topics of conversation.”

  If his drawl was a little more exaggerated, his manner a little more ‘country,’ it was only because he’d learned long ago that people who discounted him as a dumb cowboy tended to be less careful of what they said around him. He might get to the bottom of this supposed haunting and demonic visitation a whole lot faster if these women didn’t see him as a well-educated man who was also a competent practitioner of psychic skills.

  Rafe wasn’t about to share all the details of his background with Melanie and her friend. Truth is, he debunked more of these so-called ‘psychic phenomena’ than he ever actually confirmed. Too often, he found that people reporting these events were simply attention-seekers, creating uproar to make their boring lives more interesting or to garner sympathy, media attention, or even financial gain. He’d been called in several times by TV stations and newspaper reporters wanting verification of the presence of ‘spirits,’ only to prove that the phenomena were either totally imaginary or elaborate hoaxes perpetrated by the property owners themselves.

  Despite the undeniable flashes of possible shared past-life experiences he’d gotten from the woman calling herself Ellen, he planned to do his homework before buying into their story. That included Googling her. She was definitely a psychic. He’d picked up strong vibes from her the moment he’d walked into Starbucks. But her gifts might include the rare ability to project false images into his head. Rafe was a receiver. His mind was fine-tuned to take in thoughts and sensations all around him. True, he’d never met anyone good enough to inject fake memories of a past life into his mind. But there was always a first time—and despite, or perhaps because of, being a world-class psychic medium, he was also a hardened skeptic. He wasn’t biting until he checked out both them and their so-called haunted house.

  Both women were waiting for his response. “Well, ah’ve been blessed with this gift since ah was a child,” he began. “I can sense the presence of beings that are not of this world—those who have passed over and those who have never been a part of our human existence—and I can communicate with them.” Without realizing it, his Southern drawl gradually dissipated as he spoke.

  “My mamma was a good God-fearin’ woman and she dragged me from church to church and even to faith healers at revival meetings, looking for someone who could drive out what she saw as evil inside me. She was certain that I was possessed by Satan. But I could tell the good ministers from the bad. I could see into the minds and hearts of charlatans who claimed to preach the word of the Lord while focusing only on their own financial gain. After I got up and spilled all the secrets of one of them at a Sunday night service, he took to the pulpit and branded me ‘the Devil’s Cowboy.’

  “The name kinda stuck,” he said with a grin. “‘Course I helped it along a little. Now I’ve got the reputation of being able to deal with these situations—either proving them false or using my skills to send the trapped soul or the demon off where they belong. I get called in all over the south by church groups like yours, Melanie, or by investigators of psychic phenomena. Even had one ‘a them reality TV shows approach me a couple of years ago. I turned ‘em down. They ended up going with some housewife who talks to dead people everywhere she goes. Lives back east—New Jersey or somewhere like that. Hear she’s makin’ a ton of money.

  “Now here’s what I suggest,” he continued. “Let’s meet up at your place later this afternoon. Melanie, maybe you can take your kids to the park or somethin’ when I get there. Then I’ll take a walk through your place with Miss Ellen here. We’ll put our heads together and see what we can come up with to make this problem of yours go away.”

  Melanie nodded gratefully. “That would be wonderful,” she gushed. “I’d love to have your input on what is really happening and what’s more important, how to make it stop. Ellen, does that sound okay to you?” she added, turning to her friend as though she suddenly realized she’d once again left her out.

  “Later on today? Yes, that sounds fine,” Ellen replied, her voice showing no trace of Melanie’s exuberance. Rafe didn’t need to call on his psychic powers to know that Ellen planned to check him out on the Internet just like he was planning to do with her the minute he left.

  He stood as they left the table, then slouched back down in the chair to study them as they walked away. Melanie was tall and slim. Despite the stress she was under, she’d taken the time to dress stylishly, like a typical Dallas mom in this upscale neighborhood—sleeveless pink top and a short tennis skirt covering long tanned legs, with her carefully highlighted blond hair caught in a casual French braid that flowed down her back. He’d been around her type often enough to know that her simple outfit probably cost more than the monthly payment on his truck.

  Ellen on the other hand looked uncomfortable. She was shorter than Melanie and fuller in form, just the way he liked. But loose khaki pants and a flowing top in a turquoise paisley print covered any trace of the lush body Rafe sensed was hiding underneath. She glanced around the room as she left, careful not to meet anyone’s eyes. He could tell that she felt out of place here, surrounded by glamorous women who spent their mornings getting their nails touched up before they headed for lunch at the country club. This woman can see into the past, the future, he told himself. Too bad she can’t see that she’s the most beautiful woman in the room.

  He watched her hips swaying as she walked away. The vision—or was it a memory?—of that ass bent over his lap, bared and reddened, popped unbidden into his head once again and he felt himself getting hard. Down, boy, he told his cock sternly. We’ve got a job to do first.

  * * *

  “There’s something about that guy.” They’d barely left the coffee shop when Ellen began.

  “What do you mean?” Melanie asked. “Are you getting some kind of bad vibe about him?”

  “I don’t know. I have a feeling I’ve run into him somewhere before—I just can’t place where or when. I need to look him up, maybe make a few calls. I want to know exactly who we’re dealing with before we let him into your house.”

  Melanie looked worried. “Oh, gosh, El! It’s bad enough having ghosts and dark angels or whatever in my house. Do I have to deal with some crazy fake psychic too?”

  “Oh, he’s no fake.” Ellen’s voice was firm. “I felt his aura, his abilities, the minute he walked into Starbucks. He’s the real deal, all right. It just feels like he may have some other agenda in mind than simply ridding your house of unwanted ‘guests.’ Did you notice he never mentioned wanting any kind of payment for his services? Maybe he’s planning to use your case to get back in front of those TV producers.”

  She didn’t dare tell Melanie about all the images that filled her head the minute she felt Rafe enter the coffee shop. The visions of him, of them, coming together over and over again. He was naked, with a sheen of sweat glistening on the hard muscles of his torso from the heat that poured off their bodies, fusing in the timeless dance of passion. It had taken every bit of her skill to erect a mental boundary strong enough to keep him from reading her X-rated jumble of thoughts.

  She’d never felt such a compelling sexual response to anyone before. It wasn’t just his aura, though that in itself was incredibly alluring. It felt as though they’d already done all of the wild, even kinky, things that popped into her mind. She swore she could remember how his cock tasted, just how and where he liked to be stroked. When he looked into her eyes for the first time, the visions suddenly shifted. Now she could feel his big hands roaming over her, the way he slid down her body, nestling his head between her legs and teasing her with his tongue until she buried her hands in his hair, grinding herself against his mouth, screaming… Ellen groaned.

  “What’s wrong, El? Are
you feeling sick?”

  “Just a little headache, probably jet lag,” she lied, feeling guilty now as well as hornier than she’d been in ages. I’ve got to be careful, she lectured herself. I’m here to help my friend. I can’t be falling apart, losing focus because I finally found a guy who turns me on as much as the ones I write about. He flipped some switch inside me, but he’s not my type. I don’t like arrogant men. Look at the way he swaggered in there, acting like he’s God’s gift to women. He’s used to getting whatever and whoever he wants. Let’s face it, practically every female in the place would have come running if he snapped his fingers.

  Her unwilling attraction to the cocky cowboy put Ellen in a foul mood all the way back to Melanie’s place. She lost no time unpacking her laptop when they got there, setting it up on Melanie’s dining room table, since that room seemed to be the least affected by the dark presence in the house. To her surprise, several different men named Rafe Cummings popped up. It must be a common Southern name around here, she decided, as she went through them, trying to narrow her search down to the right one. She skipped the obituary and the article about the middle-school student who won a science competition. When she narrowed her search, typing ‘Devil’s Cowboy’ along with the name, she immediately got a whole string of hits about her quarry. Apparently he was better known by his nickname.

  ‘Devil’s Cowboy Performs Exorcism on Local Child’ read the first. The story appeared in a weekly scandal rag a couple of years ago. Rafe was called in by a preacher in a small town in Missouri to rid a little boy of ‘demons’ that were making his life unbearable. The article sensationalized the entire situation. Ellen had a feeling the reporter’s research consisted of watching The Exorcist, that old Linda Blair movie about satanic possession. Rafe was never interviewed or quoted directly. All the comments were attributed to ‘a close friend’ or unnamed ‘inside sources.’