She groaned and leaned her head back against the hard wooden door.
Ghost. She’d never really thought about them, beyond the realms of fiction and fantasy. Had she been asked, she probably would have said she didn’t truly believe in them.
She would have laughed if anyone had suggested she would fall m love with one.
She wasn’t laughing now.
Still sitting on the floor, she buried her face in the crook of her arms and tried to make sense of a reality that had just taken a dramatic shift. Bran had stood right beside her, spoken to her, and Elva had neither seen nor heard him: Assuming that Bailey was still in her right mind— and she wouldn’t want to bet her life savings on that at the moment—that meant Bran wasn’t of her world. Which left her with two options—angel or ghost.
The latter seemed the inevitable deduction.
Okay, she thought as her heart raced in acceptance of the awesome truth. She had to be logical about this. As much as possible, anyway.
The only ghost stories she’d heard in connection with the inn had to do with the murdered Cameron twins. Could Bran possibly be the spirit of Ian Cameron? And if he was, did that mean—
Bailey lifted her head abruptly as several other realizations occurred to her almost simultaneously. Bran had claimed that Anna was his sister. No one knew exactly how Dean and Anna had met. Dean and Anna refused to discuss the legend, making it very clear that they wanted the stories to fade from public memory.
Anna’s voice rang clearly in Bailey’s thoughts, echoing words Bailey had overheard, but hadn’t entirely understood.
“I can’t bear to think that he might still be just drifting, all alone. I suppose I’m afraid to leave because I cling to the hope that hell come back to me someday. Somehow. What if I’m not here when he tries to reach me?”
“No,” Bailey murmured aloud. “Anna is alive. She’s pregnant, for heaven’s sake. She couldn’t be—”
Was it possible—was there any way that Anna Cameron Gates was Mary Anna Cameron, murdered in 1921, miraculously brought back to life seventy-five years later?
Bailey pushed herself to her feet. She pressed a hand to the door when the room seemed to tilt for a moment. She was still half in shock.
She needed answers. Since Bran hadn’t stayed around to provide them, she went looking for the one person who had always been there when Bailey needed help.
MAE WAS in the sitting room, her feet propped up, her “needlework in her lap. She was still a bit pale from the ordeal of the night before, but was obviously well on the road to recovery.
She looked up with a smile when Bailey came into the room. “Hello, dear. Did you have a nice nap?” And then her smile faded. “What is it, darling? Is your head hurting? Have you taken one of your pills?”
Her head did ache, Bailey realized, but she brushed the observation aside. She had more important things to worry about now than a bump on her forehead.
She took a seat in the chair closest to her aunt’s. She wanted to co
me right out and demand to know everything Mae knew, or even suspected, about the Cameron ghosts, but she had a feeling she wouldn’t get very far with that tactic. Mae had proven very loyal to Dean and Anna, and very protective of their privacy, even with Bailey.
Bailey certainly couldn’t fault her for that, but she needed to know the truth. And she wasn’t ready to explain yet, even to Aunt Mae, why it had become so terribly important to her.
“My head is hurting a little,” she admitted, deciding to start with a bid for sympathy. “I couldn’t seem to relax.”
“I’m sorry, dear. Should we call the doctor? Is there anything I can do?”
“I don’t need a doctor,” Bailey said, rather ashamed of herself. “I suppose I’m still just keyed up over everything.”
“And no wonder,” Mae said, clucking sympathetically. “It must have been terrible for you to have been driving when the accident happened. You must have been so frightened, and so concerned about your passengers.”
“Yes,” Bailey said with complete honesty. “It was a harrowing experience. I was so afraid I couldn’t react quickly enough and you and Cara and Casey would suffer because of it.”
“I’m very proud of you for the way you handled it, Bailey. It’s probably because of your driving that no one was more seriously injured. We’re all grateful to you.”
Bailey flushed and squirmed in her seat. Now she really felt guilty. Nevertheless, she determinedly eased the conversation into the direction she wanted it to go.
“I was sitting out in the cottage, trying to take my mind off the wreck, and I started thinking about the history of the inn,” she said, hoping her voice didn’t sound as odd to her aunt as it did to her. “You kept copies of Mark’s article, didn’t you?”
“Why, yes. There are copies in Dean’s office. Er, what made you think of them?”