“How’s Casey doing?” Bailey asked, secretly grateful for Mark’s supportive hand at her elbow.

“She’s looking better. She made me promise I would sign her cast tomorrow.”

“And Cara?”

Mark looked grim. “She hasn’t said two words since the accident. She looks as if a strong wind could blow her right over. She wasn’t hurt, physically, but she was badly frightened. And she won’t let me close enough to help her.”

Bailey thought of the way Cara had clung to Mark immediately after the accident. “Give her time, Mark,” she advised. “She’s still in shock. We all are, to an extent.”

“Tell me about it. When I saw that truck hit you, and watched your car go off the road—”

His voice broke. It wasn’t necessary for him to complete the sentence.

They walked out of the inn and down the path to the cottage in silence. They were almost to the door, when Mark spoke again. “Right after the accident, Cara said something that bothered me. It was almost as if she believed the crash was intentional.”

Bailey stiffened. “Why would she think that?” she asked, hearing the odd note in her own voice.

“It was just something she said. Something like ‘I knew this would happen.’ Maybe she thinks this is connected in some way to whatever she’s been here hiding from.”

“You think Cara believes the driver of the truck was after her?”

“Yeah, from what she said, I think the possibility might have crossed her mind. Damn, I wish I had some idea of what happened to her.”

“Whatever it is, she must be terrified.”

“I don’t know what to do, Bailey.” He made the statement reluctantly, as though he wasn’t accustomed to admitting defeat. “I don’t know how to help her.”

“Just be there for her. Let her know that you want to listen when she’s ready to talk.”

“Surely she knows that by now. I think I’ve made my feelings clear enough.”

“Maybe she needs to keep hearing it until she’s able to believe it. Don’t give up on her, Mark.”

“I won’t,” he said with a sigh. “I can’t.”

He took her key from her hand and unlocked the cottage door. “Do you need help with anything?” he asked.

Standing in the open doorway, she gingerly shook her head. “No, I’ll be fine. Thank you for walking with me.”

“Sure. I think I’ll go back to the inn for a while. Maybe Elva will give me a cup of coffee. And maybe Cara will feel like talking after Casey’s asleep.”

“Maybe she will,” Bailey said, though she didn’t expect Cara to leave her child’s side all night.

She stood in the open doorway until Mark had loped out of sight, with a final wave over his shoulder. She started to close the door, but froze when something moved at the very edge of her vision. Her fingers tightened convulsively on the doorknob, and she turned quickly, prepared to slam the door closed.

Bran stepped out of the shadows beside her porch. “Do you mind if I come in?” he asked quietly.

She sagged against the doorframe. “Someday you’re going to give me a heart attack, skulking around like that,” she muttered.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t want to interrupt you and your friend.”

Bailey was too weary and too troubled to dance around the truth tonight. “You mean you didn’t want Mark to see you. Fine, Bran. If you want to keep playing your shadow games, go ahead. I won’t reveal your secret identity.”

He frowned. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Neither do I,” she admitted, pressing a hand to her pounding head. “I don’t think I’d be very good company tonight, Bran. Maybe you’d better come back anoth—”

He moved forward so swiftly she blinked. “What happened to you?” he demanded, apparently just noticing the bandage on her forehead, as well as the sizable purplish lump it didn’t quite conceal. “Are you all right?”

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