“I don’t throw tantrums,” he protested, sounding a bit stung by the gentle criticism.
She chuckled. “Of course you do, darling. Why, Jeffrey is half-terrified of you.”
Ian’s snort effectively expressed his opinion of her somewhat timid fiancé, an opinion he’d never made much effort to conceal. Anna knew Ian thought she could do better than Jeffrey Parker, a mild-mannered young banker with soft hands and a nervous habit of clearing his throat. But Anna was fond of Jeffrey, and thought he would make a loyal, biddable husband and a doting father.
She had informed Ian that she’d grown tired of waiting for that mythical, passionate love their mother had spoken of so often. Anna was twenty-five years old now, and she’d had few other offers to choose from. She loved children, and wanted several of them. She couldn’t afford to wait any longer.
Besides, she had added tersely, she wasn’t sure she wanted to be desperately in love with anyone. Their mother had apparently loved their father that way, and she’d never truly recovered from his untimely death. She’d married again, several years after James Cameron died, but though she’d been a good wife to Gaylon Peavy, she’d never gotten over her grief for her first husband.
Anna was much too independent to allow herself to become that attached to anyone—except, perhaps, her beloved twin.
The inn was well behind them now, the sounds of the party muted. The two were content to be alone, strolling the grounds where they’d spent so many happy hours as children. This was their home, their legacy from the father they’d never known and the mother they’d adored. From the day they’d been born, it had been theirs, though only now could they fully claim it.
Ian’s dark suit blended into the shadows around them, but Anna thought her own long, straight white dress made her look like a ghost gliding down the pathway. The image amused her, and she smiled.
“It’s you Jeffrey should truly worry about,” Ian said after a moment, interrupting Anna’s fanciful thoughts. “You’re much too strong-willed for him. You’ll order him about and manipulate him for the rest of his life.”
“I am not a shrew!”
“No,” he admitted with a hint of humor. “You’ll do it so nicely, he’ll probably never know just how tightly you hold the reins. There’s a good chance that he’ll actually be quite happy, blithely assuming he’s the head of his household.”
“Of course he’ll be happy. I’ll be a good wife to him, Ian.”
“Yes. I only hope that you will be happy, as well. You’re absolutely sure you want to commit yourself to this man?”
“I’m sure,” she said gently, resting her head against his shoulder as they walked. “But thank you for caring.”
“I do care.”
She smiled mistily. “Because you love me.”
“Yes.” His voice was gruff, as it always was when he attempted to verbalize his inner feelings. “You’re the only one in this world I do love, Anna. Nothing is more important to me than your happiness. Not even the inn.”
She blinked back tears. It was so rare for her brother to express himself that way. The words were all the more precious to her because she knew they’d been difficult for him to say. “I love you, too, Ian. I—”
He shushed her suddenly, coming to an abrupt halt, his attention focused on something ahead of them.
“What is it?” she asked, keeping her voice low.
“There’s a light in the old caretaker’s cottage. Someone’s in there.”
Startled, Anna peered through the shadows. After a moment, she saw a flicker of light in the direction Ian indicated. A lantern, perhaps. There was no electricity in the old cottage at the edge of the woods. The cottage was at the back of the inn’s grounds and had been unoccupied for the past ten years or more. No one should be there now.
“A hobo, do you think?” she asked in a whisper.
“Maybe,” Ian muttered. “Whoever it is, he has no business being here. You go back to the inn. I’ll run him off.”
Her grasp tightened on his arm. “No. It could be dangerous for you alone. Go back and find Gaylon and some of the others to help you.”
He shook off her hand and started toward the cottage. “I don’t need Gaylon. I can handle this.”
“Ian.” She hurried after him, stumbling a bit without his support. “Wait.”
Both of them saw the three men who emerged suddenly from the cottage. One of them held a lantern, his face clearly illuminated. Anna gasped in relief when she recognized Stanley Tagert, a local police officer. She couldn’t yet identify the other two men, who stood in the shadows behind Tagert, but she was glad to know that Ian wouldn’t be facing a potentially dangerous stranger.
She didn’t particularly like Stanley—she’d never cared for the way he looked at her—but he was an officer of the law, and surely quite capable of taking care of trespassers on Cameron property.
“Stanley,” she said, stepping forward. “What are you—”