“No, it’s all right. I don’t expect you to understand. I can’t understand myself anymore.” Relieved that he’d stepped back, she turned to the cookie jar and filled the plate with chocolate chip and oatmeal cookies she’d baked that morning. “It doesn’t seem to matter that I’m happy, that the kids are happy. It doesn’t matter that the law says what Joe did to me was wrong. That he attacked Regan. It only matters that I broke my vows and divorced him.”
“Are you happy, Cassie?”
“I’d stopped believing I could be, or even that I should be.” She set the plate on the table, went to pour him coffee. “Yes, I am happy.”
“Are you going to make me drink this coffee by myself?”
She stared at him a minute. It was still such a novel concept, the idea that she could sit down in the middle of the day with a friend. Taking matters into his own hands, he got out a second cup.
“So tell me…” After pouring her coffee, he held out a chair for her. “How do the tourists feel about spending the night in a haunted house?”
“Some of them are disappointed when they don’t see or hear anything.” Cassie lifted her cup and tried not to feel guilty that she wasn’t doing some chore. “Rafe was clever to publicize the inn as haunted.”
“He’s always been clever.”
“Yes, he has. A few people are nervous when they come down for breakfast, but most of them are…well, excited, I guess. They’ll have heard doors slamming or voices, or have heard her crying.”
“Abigail Barlow. The tragic mistress of the house, the compassionate Southern belle married to the Yankee murderer.”
“Yes. They’ll hear her, or smell her roses, or just feel something. We’ve only had one couple leave in the middle of the night.” For once, her smile was quick, and just a little wicked. “They were both terrified.”
“But you’re not. It doesn’t bother you to have ghosts wandering?”
“No.”
He cocked his head. “Have you heard her? Abigail?”
“Oh, yes, often. Not just at night. Sometimes when I’m alone here, making beds or tidying up, I’ll hear her. Or feel her.”
“And it doesn’t spook you?”
“No, I feel…” She started to say “connected,” but thought it would sound foolish. “Sorry for her. She was trapped and unhappy, married to a man who despised her, in love with someone else—”
“In love with someone else?” Devin asked, interrupting her. “I’ve never heard that.”
Baffled, Cassie set her cup down with a little clink. “I haven’t, either. I just—” Know it, she realized. “I suppose I added it in. It’s more romantic. Emma calls her the lady. She likes to go into the bridal suite.”
“And Connor?”
“It’s a big adventure for him. All of it. They love it here. Once when Bryan was spending the night, I caught the three of them sneaking down to the guest floor. They wanted to go ghost-hunting.”
“My brothers and I spent the night here when we were kids.”
“Did you? Of course you did,” she said before he could comment. “The MacKades and an empty, derelict, haunted house. They belong together. Did you go ghost-hunting?”
“I didn’t have to. I saw her. I saw Abigail.”
Cassie’s smile faded. “You did?”
“I never told the guys. They’d have ragged on me for the rest of my life. But I saw her, sitting in the parlor, by the fire. There was a fire, I could smell it, feel the heat from the flames, smell the roses that were in a vase on the table beside her. She was beautiful,” Devin said quietly. “Blond hair and porcelain skin, eyes the color of the smoke going up the flue. She wore a blue dress. I could hear the silk rustle as she moved. She was embroidering something, and her hands were small and delicate. She looked right at me, and she smiled. She smiled, but there were tears in her eyes. She spoke to me.”
“She spoke to you,” Cassie repeated, as chills raced up and down her back like icy fingers. “What did she say?”
“‘If only.’” Devin brought himself back, shook himself. “That was it. ‘If only.’ Then she was gone, and I told myself I’d been dreaming. But I knew I hadn’t. I always hoped I’d see her again.”
“But you haven’t?”
“No, but I’ve heard her weeping. It breaks my heart.”
“I know.”
“I’d, ah, appreciate it if you wouldn’t mention that to Rafe. He’d still rag on me.”
“I won’t.” She smiled as he bit into a cookie. “Is that why you come here, hoping to see her again?”
“I come to see you.” The minute he’d said it, he recognized his mistake. Her face went from relaxed to wary in the blink of an eye. “And the kids,” he added quickly. “And for the cookies.”
She relaxed again. “I’ll put some in a bag for you to take with you.” But even as she rose to do so, he covered her hand with his. She froze, not in fear so much as from the shock of the contact. Speechless, she stared down at the way his hand swallowed hers.
“Cassie…” He strained against the urge to gather her up, just to hold her, to stroke those flyaway curls, to taste, finally to taste, that small, serious mouth.
There was a hitch in her breathing that she was afraid to analyze. But she made herself shift her gaze, ordered herself not to be so much a coward that she couldn’t look into his eyes. She wished she knew what she was looking at, or looking for. All she knew was that it was more than the patience and pity she’d expected to see there, that it was different.
“Devin—” She broke off, jerked back at the sound of giggles and stomping feet. “The kids are home,” she finished quickly, breathlessly, and hurried to the door. “I’m down here!” she called out, knowing that they would do as they’d been told and go directly to the apartment unless she stopped them.
“Mama, I got a gold star on my homework.” Emma came in, a blond pixie in a red playsuit. She set her lunch box on the counter and smiled shyly at Devin. “Hello.”
“There’s my best girl. Let’s see that star.”
Clutching the lined paper in her hand, she walked to him. “You have a star.”
“Not as pretty as this one.” Devin traced a finger over the gold foil stuck to the top of the paper. “Did you do this by yourself?”
“Almost all. Can I sit in your lap?”
“You bet.” He plucked her up, cradled her there. He quite simply adored her. After brushing his cheek against her hair, he grinned over at Connor. “How’s it going, champ?”
