A Valentine Wish (Gates-Cameron 1)

“What next? Going to force the senator into a press conference to ask about his granddaddy’s alleged shady dealings?”

Sighing, Dean ran a hand through his hair. “Of course not. Though I thought I might ask the senator a few questions. Maybe he could lead me to legal records of the bootlegging investigation. Surely somestill exist, somewhere.”

“Trust me, Dean, Senator Gaylon Peavy isn’t goin

g to help you look into his family history, no more than Margaret or Charles or Roy are likely to. He’s got his political future to protect, you remember. Even a hint of scandal—current or seventy-five years in the past—is more than a career politician is willing to risk.”

“Well, hell, what am I supposed to do, then? How can I prove anything if no one’s willing to cooperate?” Dean directed the question as much at the empty room as to the man on the other end of the telephone line—just in case Anna was listening.

“I wish you’d tell me why this is so important to you, Dean,” Mark said, sounding suddenly serious.

Dean sighed. “I wish I could.” But you’d never believe me.

“You have to know it seems a little strange, your trying to reopen a seventy-five-year-old local police case.”

“I know.” And you’d think it even stranger if you knew the real reason I’ve become involved in this.

“And you’re not saying another word, are you?”

“No. I’m sorry, there’s nothing else to say right now.”

Mark conceded, if not graciously, at least resignedly. “You’ll call me if you find out anything interesting?”

“You’ll be the first.”

“Thanks. I guess.”

Smiling at Mark’s grudging tone, Dean hung up the phone.

He looked around the sitting room. “I hope you’re satisfied,” he remarked to empty air. “Thanks to you, I’m not exactly scoring popularity points in my new hometown. I’m more likely to get run out of town on a rail.”

He turned to find Cara McAlister standing in the doorway, watching him oddly. He cleared his throat. “Er, talking to myself,” he muttered.

She nodded. “I was just going to ask if you like baked pork chops,” she explained. “I thought I’d make that for dinner this evening.”

“Sounds good. I, uh, have to go work outside now.”

“I’ll call you when dinner’s ready.”

“Thanks.” He didn’t quite meet her eyes as he passed her on his way out.

He wondered how Anna would feel when he was dragged out of the inn in a straitjacket, which wasn’t such a farfetched image, the way things had been going lately.

ANNA WATCHED Dean leave the sitting room. She’d been watching him for a while, but she’d made no attempt to communicate with him. He looked so tired. She knew he’d been working very hard restoring the inn, and trying to find out the truth for her. He was risking his health, his business, his standing in his adopted community, everything...for her.

And he’d asked nothing in return.

Was it any wonder she had fallen in love with him?

He probably wished he had never met her. Would there come a day when he’d throw up his hands and tell her so? If he did, she would have to tell him goodbye. She would have to set him free soon, whether he succeeded in finding out the truth or not. He didn’t deserve what she’d put him through these past weeks.

It had never occurred to her that a heart no longer beating could still be broken. Now she realized that it could, indeed.

Her own broke a little more each time she forced herself to leave Dean Gates. It would shatter completely the day she had to tell him goodbye forever.

9

Not Death, but Love.