A Wish For Love (Gates-Cameron 2)

“Hey, how about if you and I take Casey out for ice cream or something after the program?” Mark suggested, as though on impulse.

Cara shook her head. “Tomorrow’s a school day. She has to be in bed early.”

“Another time, then,” Mark said, seemingly unfazed.

“Perhaps,” Cara murmured, then turned and walked away, leaving Mark staring wistfully after her.

Bailey slipped a hand beneath Mark’s arm, her heart twisting in sympathy at the hopeless look in his eyes. She wished there was something she could do to help him— and Cara, for that matter. Both of them were obviously in a great deal of pain. Unfortunately, Bailey didn’t seem to have any answers these days. For her friends—or for herself.

IAN STOOD UNSEEN at one end of the porch, his fists clenched at his sides. He hated the way Bailey smiled at Winter, hated the easy way she touched him. It was made even worse because he wanted so desperately to be touched by her, himself.

He glowered at the smiling couple, despising Mark Winter with an intensity of emotion he hadn’t felt in a very long time. And knowing full well that his hostility was based on nothing more than deep, aching, burning jealousy.

As far as he knew, Winter was a decent man. And he was a good friend to Dean and Anna. He had helped prove the truth about that long-ago tragedy, even at the risk of his own career and local reputation. There had been a time when Ian had been grateful to him for what he’d done.

Now all he wanted was to make him disappear. Permanently.

Mark Winter could be with Bailey in a way that Ian could not. He could laugh with her, dine with her, be seen with her. Touch her. Hold her.

Ian closed his eyes and tilted his head backward, cursing himself for wanting what he couldn’t have. Hadn’t he wished for Bailey to be happy? Hadn’t he wanted to see her smile? Hadn’t he hoped to encourage her to go on with her life, despite her recent setbacks? Was he truly so selfish that he would begrudge her a chance to spend time with a suitable, respectable man?

Ian had nothing to offer her.

Not even himself.

How long could he go on this way? What did he have to do to bring an end to it?

Even oblivion would be preferable to this.

“ELVA DEFINITELY MAKES the best gravy I’ve ever eaten,” Mark said in satisfaction a while later, pushing away his thoroughly emptied plate. “It’s no wonder the inn is becoming the most popular place to eat around here. Before long, it’s going to be necessary to make a reservation.”

Mae smiled. “I’ll be sure and pass your compliments on to Elva.”

“You do that.”

Bailey was just finishing her own dinner of grilled chicken and steamed fresh vegetables. The menu of the Cameron Inn’s twenty-table dining room was limited but excellent. The selections rotated so that neither the guests nor the local diners would grow tired of the choices, and Elva was always on the lookout for a new recipe. She was particularly renowned for her desserts, especially her pies, with their “mile-high meringues.”

Dean had chosen well when he’d hired his head cook. As he had with his other staff, Bailey thought in approval. She’d always known her brother would be a success at anything he put his mind to. She had no doubt that he would be as good at being a father as he was at innkeeping.

“I can’t help envying Dean,” she mused, hardly aware that she’d spoken aloud, her voice just audible over the cheerful clatter of the dining room.

“Why is that, dear?” Mae asked gently.

Bailey shrugged, slightly embarrassed. “Well, he’s found a place for himself. A business he enjoys, a permanent home, a wife he adores. Now they’re going to start a family. He’s a very lucky man.”

“He is that,” Mark agreed, a bemused expression crossing his face. “I would say that destiny played a major role in his good fortune.”

“The town, or the philosophy?” Bailey asked with a smile.

“Both,” Mark replied cryptically.

“How did you end up here, Mark?” she asked.

“I worked as a political reporter in Little Rock for a few years. Then I burned out. The Destiny Daily was owned by a friend of my father’s. When Harold decided to sell, he called me to see if I was interested. I was. My associates in Little Rock thought I’d lost my mind. They pointed out how risky it was to buy a small-town daily at a time when newspapers were folding all over the country due to heavy competition from cable-TV news. I knew a small-town daily could offer something CNN couldn’t provide—local gossip. If I was to put photos of the local kids in the pages, along with stories of their accomplishments, their parents and grandparents would keep me in business.”

“I’ve read your paper,” Bailey reminded him, chiding him for his self-deprecation. “It’s an excellent small-town daily. You have just the right mix of local color and national news. And your feature stories are particularly well done.”

“Mark won a state press award for his article on the Cameron twins,” Mae bragged.