Haunting of Rory Campbell by Katriena Knights

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Rory Campbell is a professional ghost hunter. Her special ability puts ghosts at ease, making it easier for them to communicate with the living. But when she investigates the haunted MacGregor house, she encounters a ghost unlike any other. Lachlan MacGregor died 250 years ago, killed by his wife's lover. Since then he's been cursed to remain a ghost, wallowing in guilt over his wife's death. Can Rory's special powers help him overcome both the curse and his own self-hatred? Either way, both lose, because they've fallen in love,and whether Lachlan remains a ghost or goes on to his just reward, they can never be together.

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She drove to Fayetteville to take her mind off the letter, bought a TV, a coffeemaker and a small microwave. It was growing dark by the time she got home. She zapped a bowl of soup for supper, then returned to the parlor.

Just walking into the room, she was almost certain something would happen. The air felt charged with presence, making her certain she wasn't alone. The hairs on the back of her neck rose, and the hairs on her arms. Unconsciously, she rubbed her forearms.

She walked to the window and looked out. Her own reflection looked back at her, but the rest of the room was reflected only muddily. Behind her she sensed the movement of the air. Something grew back there, something which might have frightened her once.

"Mr. MacGregor," she said quietly. "I'm glad you've decided to come."

Silence. Rory let her head fall gently against the window. The glass was cold against her forehead.

"I know this is hard for you. It's always hard. But I think I can help you. Let me help you."

Still nothing. But she could feel the presence, tangible within the room behind her. She didn't want to turn around, for fear the movement would disturb the process. She closed her eyes.

She'd done it before, but she still couldn't explain how or why it worked. When the presence exerted itself this strongly, she could close her eyes and sense the threads of power, and somehow she could weave them together to form a line of strength.

"Please, Mr. MacGregor," she said, so softly she could hardly hear her own voice. A soft trace of vapor on the window marked its presence. "No one will hurt you. No one will try to send you back. I only want to talk to you. Will you talk tome, Mr. MacGregor?"

She held her breath. It was happening. She could feel the shifting within the presence as her own power--whatever it was--gave him that small surge of strength.

Then she heard the voice, and she smiled.

"Aye, lass," it said, a soft music behind her. "And I'll thank you to call me Lachlan."