A Valentine Wish (Gates-Cameron 1)

Dean didn’t want to think about how he might feel if she never came back.

She smiled. “Poor Dean. You didn’t know what you were getting into when you bought our inn, did you?”

His own smile felt rueful. “No. Not exactly.”

“You must be sorry you ever met me.”

His smile faded. “No,” he said quietly. “I’m not.”

Her eyes locked on his face for a moment. Her fingertips brushed his lower lip. “I’m glad,” she whispered.

And she was gone.

Dean drew a long breath, then raised a hand to his mouth. He felt strangely as though he’d just been kissed.

It was quiet in his bedroom now. Lonely.

Still wearing his slacks, he lay back on his bed and stared at the ceiling, fantasizing about things that could never be.

Maybe he’d been too long without a woman, he mused. He was finding himself more and more obsessed with a beautiful, dark-eyed ghost.

6

I’d like to get away from earth awhile

And then come back to it and begin over...

Earth’s the right place for love.

—Robert Frost

DEAN WAS WORKING outside the next morning, starting the massive task of clearing away some of the deadwood around the garden path. He already had a sizable pile stacked at one corner of the grounds; he would burn it later. Though it was a cold day, he was sweating beneath his flannel shirt and work gloves. He hadn’t done hard manual labor in a while, and his muscles were letting him know it.

“Excuse me.”

The woman’s voice, coming from behind him, made him whirl, his pulse already racing in anticipation. He refused to acknowledge his private disappointment when the woman standing behind him wasn’t Anna Cameron, but a rather fragile-looking honey-blonde of about thirty. A little girl of about ten, her own hair so blond it was almost white, stood half-hidden behind the woman, peeking shyly out at Dean.

“Are you Dean Gates?” the woman asked.

“Yes, I am. May I help you?”

“I’m Cara McAlister. This is my daughter, Casey. Mrs. Harper told me we could find you back here.”

Dean nodded, waiting for her to get to the point. She looked very nervous, her wide blue eyes darting as though she expected to see danger behind every overgrown bush. Dean hoped heartily that her visit had nothing to do with ghost legends.

She drew a deep breath, as though for courage, and then spoke in a rush of words. “I’m looking for a job,” she said. “I’ve been told you’re restoring the inn and hope to open soon. I can help you with the restorations—I’ve had some experience with decorating. I work very hard, and I’m willing to do anything—painting, cooking, cleaning. All I ask for payment is room and board for myself and my daughter.”

Dean was taken completely off guard by the request. Surely the woman could see he was far from ready to hire staff for the inn. He had contractors and subcontractors doing the actual repairwork and he’d already engaged a reputable decorator, his opinion of Ms. Buchanan notwithstanding. As for room and board, he and his aunt occupied the only completed bedrooms. The other two private rooms weren’t even furnished.

He opened his mouth to politely tell her he was sorry, he couldn’t help her.

But he wasn’t given the chance.

“Hire her, Dean.” Anna materialized by his side, her attention riveted on the woman and the little girl.

He cleared his throat. “I’m afraid I can’t—”

“You can’t send her away. Look at her. She looks so tired and so sad. And that precious little girl! They need you.”