A Valentine Wish (Gates-Cameron 1)

Nothing either Dean or Mae could say would change her mind. They finally conceded when it looked as though Cara was becoming upset with them.

Mark arrived promptly, carrying a thick manila envelope, which he handed to Dean. “I made you a copy of everything I had about the Cameron twins,” he explained. “It’s not much, I’m afraid, but it’s a start.”

“Thanks, Mark. I’ll go through it later.”

“Sure.” Having already greeted Mae, Mark turned back to her with a smile. “It’s very nice of you to go to the trouble of having me for dinner, Mrs. Harper. It’s been a coon’s age since I had a home-cooked meal. I’ve been looking forward to it all day.”

Her multiple bracelets tingling merry, Mae patted him on the arm in a naturally maternal gesture. “We’re delighted to have you. As for the meal, it’s been no trouble for me at all. Dean’s new housekeeper prepared it.”

Mark lifted an eyebrow. “You’ve hired a housekeeper already?” he asked, looking pointedly around at the unfinished lobby.

Dean shrugged. “She showed up on the doorstep, asking for a job. My, er, conscience insisted that I hire her.”

Across the room, Mary Anna Cameron laughed softly. Glancing at her warningly, Dean wondered how long she’d been there.

If she did anything to make him look foolish this evening, he would—he would—well, therewasn’t a hell of a lot he could do about it. But he’d damned well let her know it if she made him mad.

“Is the new housekeeper someone from town?” Mark asked.

Dean shook his head. “She said she’s new in these parts. She looked for a job in Destiny, but couldn’t find anything. Someone at the diner sent her here.”

“There aren’t many jobs in Destiny these days,” Mark commiserated. “Unless you’re related to the Peavys, of course.”

Dean and his aunt led their guest to the dining room, explaining that they would eat first and then move to the sitting room for an after-dinner visit. Mark heartily concurred with the plan.

Cara was just putting the finishing touches to the table setting when they walked into the small, private dining room. Dean noted immediately that the table looked beautiful; Aunt Mae’s best silver, china, linen napkins and lace tablecloth, burning tapers, fresh flowers in a heavy crystal bowl. Since he and his aunt had been dining very casually—paper-plate casually—the past few weeks, it was a pleasant change.

Mark looked suitably impressed. “Hey, you’ve got this room looking really nice,” he said. “If this is a sample of what you’ll be doing in the rest of the inn, you'll...?

His voice suddenly faded away.

Dean realized that in response to Mark’s voice, Cara had straightened and turned toward him. Mark seemed to have forgotten what he was saying.

Dean.smothered a smile. It was apparent that Mark had been startled by Cara’s delicate blond beauty. No surprise. Dean might have been struck speechless, himself, had he

not become recently obsessed with a dark-haired, dark-eyed vision.

“Isn’t that sweet?” the vision in question murmured from close to Dean’s side. “He looks as though someone just hit him over the head with a club.”

Ignoring Anna, Dean stepped forward to make the introductions. “Cara McAlister, this is Mark Winter, the owner and editor of the local newspaper.”

Cara had smiled politely when the others had entered the room. Her smile suddenly faded, leaving an expression that Dean thought was a mixture of consternation and distaste. “You're a journalist?” she asked.

Mark nodded with a wry smile. “‘Fraid so. It’s a dirty job, but someone’s gotta do it.”

She didn’t return the smile. “Dinner is ready if you’d like to be seated now,” she said to the room at large. And then she turned and disappeared into the kitchen.

“Oh, my,” Anna murmured. “I don’t think she cares for journalists.”

“No kidding,” Dean muttered, having already reached that inevitable conclusion.

Mark closed his mouth and looked at Dean. “Er, was it something I said?”

Dean shrugged and motioned toward the table. “Have a seat,” he said without answering Mark’s rueful question.

Dean held a chair for his aunt, then took his own place.

“Well?” Anna demanded in teasingly feigned outrage. “Aren’t you going to hold a seat for me?”