A Wish For Love (Gates-Cameron 2)

Bailey sank wearily onto the couch, suddenly feeling very much alone.

THE SILENCE was absolute. Not even the faintest whisper of sound disturbed it.

The grayness was cold. Sterile. Empty.

Ian stood alone in the middle of nowhere, his hands in his pockets, his shoulders hunched in misery.

The isolation was the worst part of his existence. The constant uncertainty of when—if ever—he would leave this place again.

When—if ever—he would see Bailey again.

After her first encounter with Dean, Anna had learned to come and go from this place almost at will. Ian had been trying ever since to duplicate that feat, with no success. He seemed to be whisked back and forth by some unseen force with a purpose of its own. One moment he would be here, the next there. Sometimes Bailey could see him, other times she couldn’t.

He hated it.

If he closed his eyes, he could picture her, looking at him with such lively curiosity and honest compassion, and an attraction she probably thought she concealed. He could still see her hand, reaching out to touch him. He’d been so tempted to let her…

How would she feel if she knew she had almost touched a dead man?

He opened his eyes and slammed his right fist into his left palm, wishing there was something more solid upon which to take out his frustrations.

The silence was unbroken.

5

December 23, 1902

Two days until Christmas. The children are so excited. The decorations we’ve hung around the inn are lovely. I must confess, the holiday spirit has overtaken me, as well.

I hope the twins will like their gifts. I bought Ian a set of toy soldiers and a bag of marbles. I found Mary Anna the most beautiful dark-haired doll, which has two dresses and a little crib. Mary Anna so loves playing with her “babies.” She will adore this one.

My favorite of their gifts is the storybook I discovered in a bookstore in Hot Springs. It is a book of bedtime stories, some of the same ones my own mother read to me. It includes the story of Prince Bran, my childhood hero. I think Ian will like it.

Gaylon has become more persistent m his courting. He seems to be genuinely fond of me. He wants a wife and a mother for young Charles. He shows great interest in the inn. He says he has grown tired of farming and would like the challenge of running a business. There are many days when I would not mind turning over the responsibilities to him.

He kissed me quite passionately last evening. I didn’t try to stop him. His embraces were not unpleasant, though I could not respond with the same enthusiasm I once felt for such things. The thought of being intimate with Gaylon embarrasses me, but it doesn’t repulse me. He doesn’t seem to mind that I am not the intensely passionate type—at least, not with him. He cannot know, of course, how different it once was for me.

I worry so about Ian. He’s such a complex child. He’s still very loving to me and to Mary Anna, but he’s becoming so mistrustful of people outside our family. Gaylon, for instance. How I wish Ian would give poor Gaylon a chance.

Ian is being difficult. He refuses to accept GayIon’s presence in our lives. He doesn’t like Charles. He won’t even talk about the situation. I’m trying to be patient with him. I know this must be confusing for a six-year-old boy. But he will simply have to accept that I know what is best for us. Gaylon is being very tolerant. He says Ian will come around, given time. I hope that he is right.

I am doing the best that I can, for all of us.

BAILEY FOUND MARK sitting in one of the rockers lining the inn’s front porch late the next afternoon. He looked perfectly at home there, rocking and humming and waving at the early arrivals for dinner as though he were the official host of the place.

Smiling, Bailey took a seat in the rocker next to him. “Hanging out?” she asked.

“Yeah. I like sitting here. I was the one who told Dean he should line the porch with rockers for his guests. They’ve had a lot of use. It’s rare that I find them empty like this.”

“I know. There’s almost always someone out here, rocking. Good idea, Mark.”

He shrugged. “Dean would have thought of it on his own, eventually. I really just wanted a place to sit and rock, myself. My apartment doesn’t have a front porch.”

Bailey drew a deep breath of crisp late-October air. “It’s cool this afternoon, isn’t it? Hard to believe it wi

ll be winter soon.”

“Yeah. It doesn’t usually get really cold here until late December or January, but it can get pretty nippy in November.”