A Wish For Love Read online

  He nodded, looking only partially mollified. “We’ll be thorough, Ms. Gates. We’ll catch the guy.”

  “Whew,” Mark said a few minutes later, when the prickly officer had made his exit. “You and your brother are determined to stay off the Peavy family’s Christmascard list, aren’t you?”

  Mae didn’t smile. She was looking at Bailey in concern. “Bailey, why did you ask Chief Peavy those questions? You don’t really think the accident was intentional, do you? Is there any chance this has anything to do with that man in Chicago?”

  “Larry?” He’d crossed her mind a few times, but she’d come to the conclusion that she was just being paranoid. She wrinkled her nose and shook her head. “He was a real nuisance to me there, but he wouldn’t go to the trouble of following me all the way here. I made it clear to him before I left that I wanted him to leave me alone. I’m sure he got the message. And besides, he has a business to run.”

  Bailey turned her attention to Cara. The housekeeper was still pale, sitting stiffly beside Mark, her eyes locked on her hands.

  Bailey didn’t want to badger Cara about her past, but if any of them were in danger because of it, she thought they had a right to know. She couldn’t forget that moment when those lights had borne down on them, so steadily, so inexorably.

  “Cara?” she asked gently. “What about you Can you think of anyone who wants to harm you? Someone ruthless enough to have caused that accident last evening?”

  What little color was left in Cara’s face drained. “Why do you ask that?” she asked hoarsely. “Why would you think this had anything to do with me?”

  “Cara, as far as I know, it really was just a truckload of stoned teenagers,” Bailey answered frankly. “But until we know for sure, I think we should look at all the possibilities, don’t you?”

  Cara bit her lip, her gaze locked with Bailey’s. She looked scared, uncertain, on the verge of tears. She drew a deep breath, and Bailey held hers, hopeful that Cara was finally going to level with them.

  And then Mark inadvertently ruined the moment. “We want to help you, Cara,” he said, leaning closer to her. “Tell us what happened to you before you came here.”

  It was as though she suddenly slammed a mental door between her and the rest of them.

  She rose abruptly, putting physical, as well as emotional, distance between herself and Mark. “I’d better go check on Casey,” she said. “It’s time for her medication.”

  “Cara, please,” Mark said, his hand rising as though to reach for her. “Talk to us.”

  Cara raked him with eyes so cold that Bailey shivered in reaction. She could only imagine how Mark must have felt, being on the receiving end of that stare.

  “If you’re angling for a juicy story for your newspaper, I’m afraid you’ll have to look elsewhere,” Cara said, her tone uncharacteristically hard. “I really have nothing to say to the press.”

  Bailey was stunned by the unfairness of the attack. Mae murmured an incoherent protest.

  Mark looked devastated. His hand fell heavily to his side.

  “I wasn’t asking as a reporter,” he said, his voice husky. “Surely you know me well enough to trust me that much.”

  “I don’t trust anyone who makes a living exposing other people’s secrets,” she muttered.

  His face hardened. “If I was only interested in exposing secrets, I’d have plenty to tell about this place,” he snapped. “Dean and Anna trust me. What have I done to make you think so badly of me?”

  Bailey wondered what he meant. Mae looked troubled by his words. Cara’s only reaction seemed to be weary regret.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, apparently speaking to all of them. “I—I really must go see about Casey now.”

  She all but bolted from the lobby, leaving a taut silence in her wake.

  “Well,” Mark said after a moment, his green eyes bleak. “I guess she made that clear enough.”

  Bailey ached in sympathy for him. “She’s frightened, Mark. I don’t know why, but she’s terrified of something. And obviously, she’s had a bad experience with the press.”

  “I’m not ‘the press,’ damn it,” he growled. “I’m the guy who was stupid enough to fall in love with her.”

  He rubbed his forehead with a visibly unsteady hand. “I need to get out of here for a while. You’ll call if you need me, won’t you?”

  “Of course we will.” Mae rose as Mark did. She tugged at his hand, pulling him downward so that she could kiss his cheek.

  “Cara isn’t a deliberately cruel woman,” she murmured reassuringly. “She’s probably already very sorry that she spoke the way she did. I’m sure if you give her time…”

  “Thanks for the encouragement, Mae, but I just don’t know how much more time I can give her,” Mark muttered. “A man can only take so much rejection.”

  Mae sighed “I understand.”

  “Maybe I could talk to her for you,” Bailey offered.

  Mark patted her cheek. “I know you mean well, but stay out of it, Bailey. This is between Cara and me. One way or another, it’s going to have to be up to us to settle it.”

  She nodded. “You’re right, of course.”

  She wanted very badly to ask what he’d meant when he’d referred to the secrets he could expose about the inn and its inhabitants, and why he’d made it sound so significant that Dean and Anna trusted him. But she knew this wasn’t the right time.

  He left without saying anything more.

  “Poor Mark,” Mae said with a sigh. “And poor Cara. I hate to see them both suffering so.”

  Bailey touched a hand to the sore lump on her forehead, and felt a pounding headache starting to develop behind it. “It seems like everyone around here has secrets,” she muttered. “Cara, Mark, Dean, Anna, Bran. Even you. I feel like an outsider.”

  “Oh, sweetheart, I’m sorry you feel that way,” Mae said, turning immediately to her niece. “I’m sure none of us are deliberately trying to exclude you. As for me, I don’t have any dark secrets I’m keeping from you. Only—only suspicions that aren’t really mine to share.”

  Bailey wished she’d kept quiet. Now Mae was upset, worried that she’d somehow hurt her beloved niece’s feelings. “I know, Aunt Mae. I’m sorry. I guess we’re all still perturbed about last night.”

  “Yes,” Mae agreed, continuing to look troubled. “It has been a tense day.”

  “I think I’ll go rest for a while. Why don’t you do the same?”

  “I believe I will. Thank goodness, we only have four rooms occupied right now. Elva and Millie can handle the inn until we’re back to normal. I hope Dean and Anna are having a lovely time, but I will certainly be glad to turn everything over to them again when they return.”

  “I haven’t been helping very much, have I? Is there anything I can do this afternoon? Paperwork, or errands, or—well, anything?”

  Mae smiled and shook her head. “Thank you, dear, but everything is under control for now. I promise I’ll let you know if there’s anything you can do.”

  “I’ll hold you to that.”

  Bailey was on her way out, when her aunt stopped her.

  “Bailey?”

  “Yes, Aunt Mae?”

  “Who is Bran?”

  Bailey froze. Had she really said his name aloud?

  She swallowed, thinking how unfair she’d been to complain of the others’ secrets when she was keeping a rather sizable one of her own. “I’ll—I’ll tell you later, okay, Aunt Mae?”

  Her aunt cocked her head in curiosity, but didn’t press. “Whenever you’re ready.”

  Bailey swallowed a groan. And to think she’d come to Arkansas to escape from her problems!

  Had she known that within two weeks of her arrival she would be falling in love with a man who was probably going to break her heart, that she would barely escape a tragic car accident and would get caught in the middle of a stormy romance between her brother’s friends, she probably would have stayed in Chicago.


  SHE HADN’T BEEN KILLED. Not even seriously injured, from what he could tell.

  He doubled his fist and slammed it against his thigh. He thought he’d been so clever. Thought it would have looked like an unsolved hit-and-run accident, probably blamed on kids. His name would never have come up. No one around this hick town had ever heard of him. No one would have guessed that only one person out of the carful of females had been targeted for retaliation.

  It looked as if he was going to have to take care of this the old-fashioned way, he thought as he ripped open a packet of powder with his teeth. Close up and in person.

  There’d be more satisfaction that way, anyway.

  It no longer mattered to him if he was caught. What more did he have to lose?

  She was going to pay for the humiliation she’d caused him.

  BRAN WAS WAITING outside the cottage when Bailey arrived.

  She tried to hide the rush of sheer relief she felt when she saw him, though she suspected she wasn’t overly successful. “I wasn’t sure you would come today.”

  His own expression was shuttered, though his eyes searched her face with an intensity that made her tremble. “I wasn’t sure I could. But I very much wanted the chance to make sure you’re all right.”

  “As you can see, I’m fine.” Forcing her hand to hold steady, she stuck her key in the lock. “Come in. I’ll make coffee or something.”

  “I can’t stay.”

  She tensed at the heaviness of his voice, sensing that he was turning down more than coffee.

  “Can’t? Or won’t?” she asked, staring fixedly at the doorknob to avoid his eyes.

  “Does it matter?”

  “Yes,” she whispered. The doorknob blurred through the film of tears in her eyes. “Yes, Bran. It matters.”

  “Bailey—”

  She shoved open the door. “Never mind. If you want to go, I won’t detain you.”

  “Bailey, you don’t understand.”

  “No, I don’t understand!” she snapped as she stepped into the cottage and spun to face him. “How can I? You won’t tell me anything. No one around here will tell me anything, damn it!”

  He stepped inside, leaving the door open behind him. “I didn’t want to hurt you,” he said, watching her with tormented eyes. “I only wanted to help.”

  She drew a deep breath, trying to regain her composure, clinging to what little pride she had left. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to embarrass you, or make you uncomfortable.”

  His mouth twisted. “You have no idea what it is you do to me. That’s why I thought it would be best if I stay away.”

  She froze, searched his face, then took a step closer to him, wondering if she imagined the undercurrents of desire in his voice. “Bran?”

  “I’m not leaving because I don’t want you, Bailey,” he said, his voice so low she barely heard him. “I’m leaving because I want you so badly it’s tearing me apart.”

  She felt her eyes widen, her heart begin to thud in a heavy, nervous rhythm. She twisted her hands in front of her, eager, uncertain, bewildered. “You—you do?”

  “I have from the first time I saw you. I knew even then that I couldn’t stay with you, didn’t have the right to even talk to you. But after you saw me that day in the gazebo, I—I couldn’t stay away.”

  “I didn’t want you to stay away,” she said quietly.

  “I didn’t expect—didn’t think you would—”

  “Fall for you?” Bailey asked simply. “Well, I have.”

  He winced. “I’d forgotten that tendency of yours to speak your mind so frankly.”

  “I don’t like dancing around the truth. It doesn’t accomplish anything.”

  “Bailey, we can’t do this,” he said, visibly torn. “I can’t be what you want. What you need.”

  She took some hope from the longing in his voice. She stepped closer to him, so close she almost touched him. She kept her hands at her sides, leaving that first move to him. “And how do you know what I want or what I need?” she challenged.

  His hand rose, as though to touch her face. He held it poised an inch away from her cheek. “I know you don’t need me.”

  “You’re wrong.”

  His eyelashes flickered, the only indication of his emotions. “There are… things about me that you don’t know.”

  “So tell me.”

  His hand still suspended in the air, he closed his eyes. His face convulsed in visible pain. “I was hoping I wouldn’t have to.”

  Her throat tightened. She could almost feel the waves of unhappiness radiating from him, and she ached in sympathy.

  She couldn’t wait any longer for him to close the distance between them. She reached out to touch her fingertips to his face. “Oh, Bran, please talk to me. Tell me what it is that’s hurting you so badly. Let me help.”

  His skin was cold beneath her fingers, almost icy. She wondered at that. Was this his reaction to extreme emotion? Was he ill? “Bran?”

  His eyes opened, locked with hers. The heat in them belied the coolness of his skin. He started to speak.

  She held her breath in anticipation.

  “Bailey?” The woman’s voice sounded from just beyond the open door, shattering the moment of intimacy.

  Bailey dropped her hand and turned quickly toward the sound, aware that Bran had gone tense beside her. Elva Tippin stood framed in the doorway, a covered plate in her hands, a puzzled expression on her face. “Were you talking to someone?” she asked.

  Bailey frowned, thinking the question strange. Obviously she’d been talking to Bran. She didn’t bother to answer, but asked instead, “Do you need something, Elva?”

  The woman walked through the doorway. “I brought you a snack. I made a chocolate-fudge cake for Casey and I took a piece up to your aunt. Thought I’d bring you a slice while I was at it.”

  “That was very thoughtful of you, Elva. Thank you,” Bailey forced herself to say politely.

  She wondered if she should introduce Bran, or if he would prefer to keep his identity private until his sister returned. She glanced at him in question, noting that his face was frozen, his mouth grim. Was he really that upset that someone else had finally seen him?

  “How’s your head? And your ankle?” Elva asked, setting the plate on the counter that separated the living room from the kitchenette.

  “Better, thank you.”

  “If you need anything, you call me, okay? I don’t like the thought of you being out here alone after that terrible accident last night. I told your aunt you should’ve stayed in the inn so I could keep an eye on you, but she said you’re the independent type.”

  “She’s right,” Bailey admitted with a slight smile. “And besides,” she added with a gesture toward Bran, “I’m not exactly alone.”

  Elva lifted a questioning eyebrow. “What do you mean?” she asked, looking straight at Bran. “Do you have company? Someone in the other room? I’d have brought two slices of cake if I’d known.”

  Bailey felt as though the world suddenly tilted. What in the world was going on? Elva was looking at Bran— looking through Bran, as though—

  As though she didn’t even see him.

  “Bailey?” Elva asked in concern. “Honey, you’ve gone pale. Are you sure you aren’t in pain? Maybe you’d better take one of those pills and lie down. I have to get ready for the dinner customers, but I can send Millie out to sit with you. Or better yet, come inside with me. “You don’t need to be out here by yourself when you’re feeling so poorly.”

  By yourself.

  Bailey stared helplessly at Bran, silently begging for an explanation.

  “She can’t see me,” he said quietly. “She won’t hear me, either.”

  Bailey swiveled her eyes toward the older woman. “You—you don’t hear anything?”

  Elva was beginning to look genuinely concerned. “Like what?”

  Bailey couldn’t answer.

  “I’d better call the doctor,” Elva said. “I think mayb
e you have a concussion, after all. Sit down, honey, and I’ll—”

  “No.” Bailey held up a shaking hand. “No, Elva, really. I’m fine. I don’t need a doctor.”

  “But—”

  “Please,” Bailey whispered. “I just need to be—to be alone for a few minutes, if you don’t mind. I don’t mean to worry you, and I appreciate your concern, but there are…things I need to do.”

  Elva looked torn between concern for Bailey and the need to go back to work. “You sure?”

  “I’m sure. I’ll be in later for dinner. If I need anything in the meantime, I only have to pick up the phone.”

  “Okay, then. Have it your way.” Elva glanced furtively in Bran’s direction, as though wondering what Bailey found so fascinating there. “Uh—enjoy your cake, Bailey.”

  “Thank you, Elva.” Bailey walked her to the door, resisting an impulse to put a hand on the woman’s arm to hurry her on her way. She closed the door behind Elva, and sagged bonelessly against it, needing just a moment to collect herself.

  She drew a deep breath for courage, and then turned to demand some answers.

  Only Bran wasn’t there.

  The room was empty.

  Hauntingly empty.

  “NO!”

  Bran threw out his hands, but his fingers closed around cold, barrenmist. The change had been so fast this time, so jarringly abrupt that he’d had no chance to prepare himself, no time to say goodbye. One moment he’d been with Bailey, seeing the blank, hurt confusion in her eyes, the next moment he’d been snatched back to the place he despised so vehemently.

  “No, damn it!” he shouted, his voice no more than a whisper in the gray emptiness surrounding him. “Not now. I can’t leave her like this! I have to explain.”

  No one answered his impassioned plea.

  No one was there to hear him.

  Bran buried his face in his hands and gave in to despair.

  9

  February 14, 1906