A Valentine Wish (Gates-Cameron 1)

Mae’s attitude changed immediately from hurt to solicitous. “You aren’t coming down with anything, are you, dear?” she asked, placing a hand against his forehead, the way she had when he was just a boy. “You do feel warm. Maybe we should call a doctor.”

Feeling even worse about his behavior, Dean hugged her. “I don’t need a doctor,” he assured her. “Maybe I’ll just go to my room and lie down for a while. I’m sure I’ll be fine after a couple of hours’ rest.”

“That’s very good,” Mary Anna said approvingly. “I’ll meet you in your room.” As he watched, she vanished.

Dean lingered a few minutes making sure his aunt was fully mollified, assuring her again that there was really no need to summon a doctor, agreeing that yes, chicken soup would probably be a good thing to have for dinner.

And then he headed for his bedroom, grimly determined to have a long talk with a bothersome, muchtoo-beautiful ghost.

ANNA WAS WAITING when Dean stormed into his bedroom. She was sitting on the bed, her skirts folded neatly around her, and noted in amusement that he looked furious.

His anger didn’t bother her. She’d had enough experience with Ian not to be easily intimidated by a man’s temper. In fact, she was rather pleased that she’d managed to make Dean lose his.

He would have a hard time denying her existence if she had the ability to infuriate him.

“I thought that woman would never leave,” she commented.

He narrowed his eyes. His voice was very quiet, but his tone was that of a man accustomed to having his orders obeyed. “Don’t ever do that to me again.”

Anna had never cared for being at the receiving end of orders—as those who’d once known her could have told him. She cocked her head and smiled, her expression faintly challenging. “And just how do you plan to stop me?” she asked a bit too politely.

He hesitated. And then, since there wasn’t really anything he could say, he ignored the question. “What did you want to talk to me about?” he asked instead.

Satisfied that she’d made her point, Anna smiled once more. “I wanted to ask if you’ve made any progress in finding out the truth about what happened to Ian and me.”

Dean scowled again. She wished he would smile back at her. She’d seen him smile at his aunt, and had been struck by how it had transformed his face from ordinarily pleasant to heart-flutteringly attractive. She had a sudden, foolish urge to have him smile at her that way.

“It was only yesterday that you asked me to look into it,” he said, still frowning. “I haven’t had time to find out anything yet, even if there’s anything for me to discover.”

“Was it only yesterday?” She winced. “Sorry. I tend to lose track of time. It seems like longer to me.”

“Just, uh, where do you go when I can’t see you?” Dean asked curiously, taking a cautious step closer to the bed. “I mean, do you just sort of hang around, watching us?”

She wrinkled her nose. The new direction the conversation had taken made her uncomfortable. She didn’t like to think of herself as a ghost, when she felt so little different from the way she’d been before.

“Of course not. Oh, sometimes we can ‘hang around,’ as you call it, watching. But most of the time, we’re... somewhere else. A place that’s gray and cold and strange, where there’s no one but each other to talk to. Ian says it feels like a waiting room, in a way. We’ve always known it was only temporary. I think we’ll leave there—and here—once you’ve cleared our names, and proven once and for all that we were not criminals.”

“Is Ian here now?” Dean asked, looking suspiciously around his bedroom, ignoring—deliberately, she suspected—her confidence in his eventual success at solving the mystery.

She shook her head. “He’s there. Waiting for me.”

At first, Anna had been surprised to learn that it was becoming easier for her to return to the inn at will. And then she’d discovered that she could do so even without Ian’s company.

She’d persuaded him to stay behind this time, telling him that his presence distracted her when she was concentrating on talking to Dean. After all, she’d added with a laugh, it wasn’t as though her brother had to protect her virtue. What could happen between a living innkeeper and a ghost?

Ian hadn’t shared her amusement.

“How long can you stay?” Dean asked.

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “It’s different every time.”

Dean sat warily on the edge of the bed beside her, close enough to touch her if he reached out, which he didn’t.

“Mary Anna,” he began.

“Anna,” she corrected with a smile. “My friends call me Anna.”

“Anna,” he repeated huskily, his gaze locked with hers. “You really are beautiful.” The words seemed to startle him, as though he hadn’t intended to say them aloud.