They seem happy, and secure. Though the inn keeps me busy, I spend as much time with them as I can, and the staff is good to help me with them. Still, it isn’t easy raising them on my own, with all the responsibilities of the inn in addition to their needs. If only James—
I mustn’t think that way. I have the children’s future to consider, and dreaming
of the past is no help to them. I have had several gentleman callers during the past months. Mr. Carpenter, the owner of the Destiny Diner, is among the more persistent. I do not attribute my popularity to my personal charms, whatever they might be. I’m afraid the inn is my most seductive asset. Mr. Carpenter makes little secret of his interest in the business. He tells me that I shouldn’t be bothering myself with the details of running an inn, that under his guidance, the establishment could become quite successful. He must think I am not at all bright. The Cameron Inn is quite successful now, without benefit of his assistance. My James taught me well.
Oh, James. It is difficult to consider giving even a small part of myself to another man. But I am only twenty-five. And our children need a father.
If only you could have stayed with us.
CAUGHT OFF GUARD by Bailey’s-friendly greeting, Ian blinked, then looked over his shoulder. No one stood behind him. She was looking directly at him. Could it be?
“Were you talking to me?” he asked warily, almost certain she wouldn’t be able to hear him.
Her soft mouth curved into a smile. “Of course. You’re the only one here, aren’t you?”
She could see him.
Ian sagged against the gazebo post behind him. He didn’t feel it, but he needed the symbolic support. “I, er—”
“I haven’t seen you at the inn before. You must have just arrived.”
He nodded, wondering what, exactly, he should say. Wondering what the hell was going on.
She chuckled. “You really startled me. I closed my eyes for a moment, and when I opened them, there you were. Almost as if you appeared out of thin air.”
His answering smile felt strained. “Not likely.”
Her too-perceptive blue eyes searched his face. He wondered exactly what she saw. Could she tell that he was… different? When her eyes suddenly narrowed, he tensed, prepared to try to explain what defied explanation.
“Have we met before?” she asked unexpectedly.
“No. We haven’t met.”
“Oh. My mistake. It’s just that there’s something about you that seems so familiar, and yet—not exactly. Something about your eyes and your… Oh, I’m sorry. I’m babbling. I do that sometimes,” she said a bit ruefully.
He remembered wishing that she would smile at him. She was doing so now, and he was standing there like a tongue-tied idiot.
He didn’t understand why she could suddenly see him when she couldn’t before. Or what he should do or say now that she could.
“Have you checked in yet?” she asked.
“Checked in? Er, no.”
“I know there are rooms available for tonight.” she said, obviously trying to make conversation. “It’s a lovely hotel. My brother is the owner,” she added with a faint touch of pride.
“Is he?” He tried to remember how to make small talk. It had been so damn long since he’d needed to. “It looks very nice. Old.”
“It was built in the mid-1800s. Dean, my brother, recently restored it. He and his wife are away for a short vacation now, but the inn is fully staffed and very efficiently managed.”
His smile deepened. “You make it sound very inviting.”
“Did I sound like an advertisement? Sorry.” An attractive pink hue rose in her cheeks. Then, she said, “Oh, we haven’t even introduced ourselves, have we? I’m Bailey Gates.” She looked at him expectantly.
I’m Ian Cameron, And by the way, I’ve been dead for over seventy-five years.
He couldn’t tell her that, of course. Obviously—and quite surprisingly—she saw nothing about him to make her think he was any different from the men of her time. He found himself unwilling to turn her friendly smile into a look of shock or disbelief. Or worse, fear.
“Call me Bran,” he said.