A Wish For Love (Gates-Cameron 2)

Anna shivered. “I still can’t believe I agreed to actually get on one of those things.”

Bailey was puzzled. Anna made it sound as though she’d never flown before. How had she gotten from London, where she said she’d been raised, to central Arkansas? Bailey still thought it odd that Anna’s only faintly British accent was notably stronger at some times more than others.

There seemed to be a lot of unanswered questions about Bailey’s charming sister-in-law.

Anna and Dean paused in the doorway. Anna looked around the lobby, her expression so torn that Bailey’s heart twisted in sympathy, even though she didn’t understand what was behind her sister-in-law’s distress.

“We’ll be back soon,” Anna said, apparently speaking to the inn, itself. “I’ll miss you every day.”

She turned abruptly, her voice thickening. “Letis go,” she said to Dean.

Dean wrapped an arm around his wife’s shoulders and led her outside, leaving Bailey staring thoughtfully at the door they closed behind them.

She thought of the love she’d sensed between them, the almost palpable bond connecting them. And her heart twinged with longing. Again, she wished she could find someone with whom she could share that special closeness.

With little hope, she wished…

IN A FAR CORNER of the lobby, Ian stood with his hands in his pockets, his attention also focused on the front door. “Have a wonderful time, Anna,” he murmured, unheard. “I’ll miss you, too.”

He glanced at Bailey, who still stood in the center of the lobby, looking so sad and wistful. So alone.

He understood loneliness, all too well. And now, he was painfully aware of the uselessness and meaninglessness of his present existence.

If only there was something worthwhile he could do. Anything that would relieve the boredom. The grayness. The soul-numbing solitude.

Though he hadn’t been known as a particularly empathetic or sensitive man during his lifetime, Ian suddenly wished he could somehow ease this woman’s obvious pain. Make her smile. Preferably at him.

He desperately needed something to make him remember how it had felt to be alive.

Seething with frustration and futility, he wished…

ON THE THIRD AFTERNOON after Dean and Anna’s departure, Bailey went out to the gazebo with her book, as had become her habit after lunch. It wasn’t that she didn’t enjoy being inside the beautifully restored old inn with its comfortable antique and reproduction furnishings, many of which she’d located for her brother through the shop she’d worked for in Chicago. And she’d certainly been made welcome by everyone. It was just that she still felt like an outsider, particularly at this time of day, when everyone was busy with chores and routine responsibilities.

The few other guests were off sightseeing or shopping. The kitchen staff was cleaning up after lunch and preparing for the evening meal, when the dining room would again open for local business. Cara and the part-time maid were cleaning, Aunt Mae was busy with paperwork, little Casey was in school. Everyone seemed to have something productive to do. Everyone but Bailey.

She’d offered to help—cleaning, cooking, bookkeeping. She’d been politely refused. She wasn’t really needed, she thought. Here—or anywhere. But she was getting maudlin. Again.

Just because her career had fallen to pieces and her latest romance had seemed more like the movie Fatal Attraction, there was no reason to sit around moping, feeling sorry for herself. She had more spirit than that. Or at least, she’d always believed she did.

With her book unopened in her lap, she leaned her head wearily against the back of the built-in bench and wondered if she would ever get her life back together.

When she opened her eyes again, there was a man standing in one corner of the gazebo, watching her.

Catching her breath in surprise, she cocked her head to study him. She didn’t remember seeing him around the inn before—and if she’d seen him, she certainly would have remembered. The man was extraordinary. Dark hair, worn a bit long on top and in the back, with neat sideburns. Glittering dark eyes, framed with black lashes. Strong face, lean build. Age—somewhere between twenty-five and thirty, she’d guess. Gorgeous.

He could have stepped straight from her fantasies.

“Hello,” she said, feeling ridiculously shy as she tried to conceal her startled reaction to him. “Where did you come from?”

2

February 14, 1898

Today is the children’s second birthday. Quite an occasion, with all the staff helping us celebrate. Cook made Ian’s favorite dish—baked chicken with rice—and a chocolate cake for dessert. The children were covered with chocolate when they’d finished!

Two years old. They grow so quickly. They are good children, though spirited. Ian will be a heartbreaker someday, with his large dark eyes and his rare, mischievous smiles. So like his father. He is very affectionate with me, a bit serious in nature and already quite protective of his sister. We shall have to watch that temper of his, though.

Mary Anna is the impulsive one. She dashes in without fear of consequence. I hope she will outgrow that reckless trait. So stubborn. So sweet. We all adore her—and she knows it, the little imp.