A Valentine Wish (Gates-Cameron 1)

He forced a smile. “I do have someone special. You.”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it. I’m talking about a significant other, or whatever they call them these days. Just because your marriage didn’t work out is no reason to cut yourself off from all romantic possibilities in the future. You’re only thirty-five. There’s still plenty of time for you to fall in love and have

a family.”

“We’ve had this conversation before. Many times. Don’t start it again, please.”

She sighed again. “I can’t help it. I’ve always loved Valentine’s Day. My Walter never let one pass without fanfare.”

“My ex-wife never let one pass without fanfare, either,” Dean said dryly. “The occasion always cost me a fortune in roses and diamonds, not because I particularly wanted to buy them, but because I knew she’d sulk for at least a month if I didn’t. The whole charade is just a bunch of bull, as far as I’m concerned, dreamed up by jewelers, florists and greeting-card companies.”

“So cynical,” Mae murmured sadly, watching him with eyes as blue and perceptive as his own. “Gloria burned you very badly, didn’t she? I wonder at times if the scars will ever heal.”

Dean was relieved when the waitress reappeared to take their orders. As much as he loved his aunt, her unabashed romanticism sometimes made him uncomfortable. He was the practical, pragmatic type, himself. The most audacious and quixotic thing Dean had ever done was to leave a six-figure-a-year marketing career to buy a picturesque old run-down inn in central Arkansas.

He’d told himself it hadn’t been as capricious as it had sounded. Dean’s grandfather—Mae’s father—had been a hotelier, operating a moderately successful small chain that he’d eventually sold to a national conglomerate. Dean had always been fascinated by his grandfather’s career, and had thought it was something he might like to do himself. He’d drifted into marketing almost by accident, but the hotel business had always intrigued him.

He’d seen the Cameron Inn pictured in a real-estate ad in a business magazine he’d been reading during a particularly long, boring airplane trip after a particularly long, boring business trip. Something about the photo had captured his attention—and then hadn’t released it. Within a week after seeing the ad, he’d found himself on another airplane, this one headed to Arkansas. He’d told himself that he only wanted to look the place over, with an eye for a possible investment opportunity.

Six months later, the inn was his. Any excuses he might make for his actions notwithstanding, the truth was, he’d taken one look at the place and had known he had to have it.

Even then, he’d tried to convince himself that the decision hadn’t been totally impulsive and impractical.

Tourism was growing in this area, located in the naturally beautiful hill country only a few miles north of Hot Springs National Park, and the inn should do well, once Dean restored it to its former elegance and established a reputation for fine cuisine and restful accommodations. Despite what some people were saying about him lately, he hadn’t completely lost his mind when he’d made the decision to pursue a new direction in life.

He couldn’t even imagine what those same people would say if they learned that he’d seen a ghost on the very first day of his new career. The thought made him wince.

“Dean? Is something wrong with your food?” his aunt asked as the waitress walked away after bringing them their meals.

He cleared his expression and shook his head. “No, it’s fine. Quite good, actually,” he assured her, taking a bite of chicken-fried steak smothered in cream gravy, and ignoring the twinges of his nutritional conscience.

A tall, lanky man with sandy brown hair and smiling green eyes stopped by their table on his way out of the diner. “You must be the new owners of the Cameron Inn.”

“My nephew is the new owner,” Mae replied. “This is Dean Gates. And I’m Mae Harper, his first official employee.”

The man smiled. “Nice to meet you both. I’m Mark Winter, owner and publisher of the local newspaper, the Destiny Daily. Welcome to town.”

“Thanks,” Dean said. “Sign me up for a subscription to your paper. I’ll want to keep up with the town news.”

Winter’s mouth kicked up in a lazy, rueful smile. “Oh, we cover all the big events. Just this morning, I received an invitation to cover the Destiny Elementary School’s annual St. Valentine’s Day Pageant next weekend. A hundred of our youngest and finest citizens plan to recite poems by Elizabeth Barrett Browning and Rod McKuen and mangle—er—perform pop love songs. It should be inspirational. You have to experience it to truly appreciate it. Why don’t you plan to attend?”

Dean managed not to shudder. “Sounds ... enthralling. I’ll have to check my calendar.”

Winter chuckled. “Do you have children to add to our local talent pool?”

“No. I’m not married.”

“Me, neither,” Winter admitted. “Things like this always remind me why.”

Dean grinned.

Aunt Mae sighed and muttered something about “bachelors.”

“Say, would you mind if I interview you once you’ve had a chance to settle in?” Winter asked Dean. “The townsfolk are always interested in new residents. And they’ll be particularly curious since you’ll be restoring the old Cameron place.”

“I’m not sure there’s that much of interest to tell them.”

“Of course there is. Your plans for the place. What made you decide to move here. Anything you’d like to tell us about your background.” His smile turned mischievous. “How you feel about ghosts.”