A Valentine Wish (Gates-Cameron 1)

He made a face. “I was going to say I don’t believe in that sort of love.”

She chuckled. “The way you didn’t believe in ghosts?”

“Yeah,” he said wryly. “I’m getting tired of eating my words.”

“My mother certainly believed in that sort of love. She told us she made a wish the night we were born, a very special, Valentine wish. She wished that neither Ian nor I would leave this earth until we’d found a love like she’d known with our father, and were loved that way in return.”

Anna’s eyes seemed to darken, with sadness or regret, perhaps. “Obviously, her wish went unfilled. It’s too late for that now. If only we can clear our names, then we’ll be free to go.”

“You seem so sure of that.”

“It’s the only thing that makes sense to us.”

Intensely aware of her nearness, and of the throbbing response of his long-denied body, Dean spoke gruffly. “You’re making me reluctant to help you.”

Her eyes widened. “Why?”

Very slowly, he touched her face, stroked the marble-cool, unearthly surface of her cheek. “If clearing your name means I’ll never see you again, I find it hard to work up enthusiasm for the task.”

“That’s a very sweet thing to say,” she murmured, standing very still beneath his touch.

He shook his head. “Unfortunately, it’s the truth. You ... haunt me, Anna. Even when I can’t see you.”

She covered his hand with hers, enveloping his warmth in her coolness, emphasizing the differences between them. “Don’t,” she whispered. “We can’t—”

“I know,” he muttered, his mouth hovering only inches above hers. “Damn it, I know. But—”

A moment later, she was across the room, her back turned to him. “Have you made any headway in your investigation?” she asked, her voice sounding slightly shaky.

He scrubbed a hand over his face to clear his mind. “No,” he answered after a moment. “Not yet. But I am still trying, Anna. As much as I can. I’ve been asking questions, looking up records, articles... I’m trying.”

“I believe you.”

“I’ll talk to the chief of police tomorrow. He’s one of Charles Peavy’s grandsons. And I still haven’t had a chance to talk to Charles’s daughter, Margaret, though I don’t expect her to be much help.”

She nodded briskly. “Sounds like a good plan. I wish—”

“What?”

She looked over her shoulder at him. “I wish I could go with you.”

“So do I,” he assured her.

“I have to leave now.”

He started to reach out for her. He clenched his fist at his side, instead. “You’ll be back?”

“I’ll be back.”

He wished she sounded—and looked—more confident. He wished he knew why she looked so sad tonight. So...lost.

Before he could ask her, she was gone.

He lay awake for a long time that night. Hard. Hungry. Hurting.

Knowing he was a fool to even wish things were different.

“YOU’RE BEING very quiet,” Ian commented to his sister, breaking the gray silence surrounding them. “Is something bothering you?”