Chapter 9

9

Early the next morning, Kendra slipped from the Laughing Gull Inn as unobtrusively as possible. She closed the door with even greater caution, keenly aware of the clatter of pots and pans coming from the inn’s kitchen. Iain, and most likely Janet, as well, was clearly readying for the breakfast rush. The last thing she needed was for either of them to hear her and come asking why she was stepping outside at such an ungodly hour.

She could say she’d slept poorly and wanted a walk before breakfast.

That was even true.

She’d had the strangest dream. A vivid one in which Graeme had approached her bed, looking down at her with such desire, only to vanish into thin air even as his appreciative gaze moved along the length of her sleep-bared body. He’d been so real, her own longings had stirred inside her, her heart beating wildly long after he’d gone.

She’d been unable to reclaim the dream.

But the impact of his devilish good looks had stayed with her, haunting her. Remembering the heat in his eyes, she could feel a flush spreading across her cheeks. How sure she’d been that she could’ve reached out and touched his arm, the rest of him. She’d wanted him, her body catching fire. She still burned for him now.

But she pushed him from her mind, summoning the focus her career required of her. Her assignment was the real reason she stood outside the inn, scanning the road and waterfront before more than a faint hint of gray edged the horizon. Pennard at this hour was dark, cold, and silent.

And she was about to go to work.

So she took a deep breath and lifted her head, closing her eyes as she drew on the powerful white-light energy that would shield her from any lesser energies she might encounter at the empty house she wished to explore. She opened her eyes only when the familiar, tingly warmth of her psychic defenses rose around her.

She never faced spirits, or other supernatural beings, without such a safeguard. Those unseen could cause her great harm.

Although, as she made her way down Harbour Street toward the derelict house and its scaffold-covered walls, her instincts told her that whatever Otherworldly vibrations she’d noticed there had all but dissipated. Only a trace remained, rippling the air with its sad, unknown energy when she stopped at the cottage door.

She sensed a presence, too. The spirit’s anger and resentment felt steeped in the walls, as if the ghost and the cottage were inseparable.

Glancing around, she expected the spirit to appear any moment. But the only thing that moved was the large DO NOT TRESPASS—PROJECT PENNARD sign taped to the door. One corner of the sign had come loose, the edges lifting in the brisk morning wind.

Nothing else stirred.

And she was going inside. As a quasi-Scotland’s Past employee, she surely wasn’t bending the rules too badly by ignoring the no-entry sign. Besides, if the preservation society was so bent on keeping out intruders, they’d have locked the door. A quick jiggle of the latch proved anyone who wished could enter.

So she did.

And stepping inside the house felt like pushing through a thick cloud of negative energy, the antagonism almost a palpable force in the cottage’s empty front room. Dim light was beginning to filter through the windows, revealing the mold growing up the walls. And the stone-flagged floor was cracked and dirty, giving the house an air of resentful reproach. Only a hint of residual menace remained, confirming her guess that the lesser entity she’d felt here on arrival had left. The spirit she’d sensed on approaching the house also seemed to have vanished, leaving only an echo of his or her anger.

Kendra frowned and moved deeper into the house, edging around a pile of empty buckets, broken boards, and tarpaulin. The ghost and lesser energy might have fled, but her gift’s heightened awareness warned her that something else was here, or approaching.

And it felt strong, very intense

Its sense of positive force was also more than a little familiar.

Kendra took a deep breath, readying herself to deal with the powerful entity she knew would manifest any moment. She seldom reached out to him. The fact that he now showed proved the severity of Pennard’s problems.

“Raziel.” She turned to face a whirling vortex forming in a darkened corner. “I’d hoped I wouldn’t need your help.”

“So appreciative?” A tall man stepped out of the shimmering light column, his flowing blue robe and long, silvery hair shining with the same brilliance as his vortex. “You offend my heart, though I applaud your courage. No, you do not need me. Instinct will guide you, as always. Even so”—he came forward on a swirl of energy—“you should know the danger here comes from above and below.”

“Gee, thanks.” Kendra tucked her hair behind an ear, doing her best not to flinch beneath her main spirit guide’s piercing gaze. “I suppose you mean this village is troubled by hellish and heavenly beings?”

Raziel folded his arms, saying no more.

He did lift a brow, letting her know she’d given the wrong answer.

“Must you always be so cryptic?”

“Stretching your mind to find the answers deepens your wisdom.”

“You’re my spirit guide. That means you’re supposed to guide, not confuse me.”

“I watch over you.” His deep voice filled the little room. “Spirit guide is your term. I never called myself anything but my name. I am Raziel.”

Kendra drew a breath, knowing the pointlessness of arguing with him.

Striking in a strange, otherworldly way, Raziel had the bluest eyes she’d ever seen. They reminded her of living sapphires, at turns looking like frosted chips of Arctic ice, and other times snapping with such blue fire she’d swear he could scorch with a glance.

Just now the glimmer of a smile lurked in his eyes, showing he knew he’d gotten the best of her.

“Okay, I’ll think on your message.” She let a slow smile spread across her own face. “Anything else you might want to relate?”

Raziel turned his head, sending a meaningful look at the darkened entry to a hallway. “You might ask her about books,” he said, the energy around him turning brighter.

Kendra blinked—his aura could be blinding at times—and then he was gone, nothing but a few dazzling sparkles remaining. Then they vanished, as well, fizzing slowly from sight. But a movement caught her attention and she turned, not surprised to see Saami watching her from the shadowed corridor.

Her only female spirit guide, Saami stood right where Raziel had just cast his glance. Dressed as flamboyantly sixtyish as always in a colorful gypsy skirt and low-cut peasant blouse, Saami wore her curling dark hair hidden beneath an intricately knotted red scarf and had hooked large golden rings in her ears. Though short and plump in stature, the style suited her, matching her pretty face and flashing black eyes. She also smelled strongly of patchouli.

Kendra angled her head, studying her.

Saami favored citrus scents. She switched between orange blossom and lemon, depending on her mood.

As Kendra stared, the spirit guide set her hands on her hips. “You can see me.”

Kendra blinked. The voice wasn’t Saami’s. The entity wasn’t Saami, she saw now, though the resemblance was startling.

“Yes, I can.” Kendra stepped closer to the ghost and found herself looking into a face pinched with distrust. Now she knew the source of the house’s anger. Its stones were saturated by this woman’s resentment. “And I understand why you’re upset.” Kendra looked around, letting her gaze flit over the workmen’s clutter. “It’s hard to see other people move into a place you love.”

“I hate this house.” The ghost’s sharp tone belied her words.

The brightness of her eyes said more.

“They’re tearing down the walls.” The spirit shimmered, whoosing into the room. “Every day they come, scraping and hammering, ripping away my shelves”—she glanced at the broken boards on the floor—“just like he always threatened to do, the two-timing bastard.”

“Your husband?” Kendra knew she’d tipped right when the ghost’s hands curled into fists.

“Who else?” The ghost leaned in, her eyes narrowing. “He hated my books, threatened to toss them into the sea if I didn’t stop reading so much. But”—she straightened, her aura red with her grievances—“what was I supposed to do when he aye ignored me, going off to Aberdeen to carry on with the girls there?”

“When he ruined one, he left me to marry her!” She spoke in a rush, the air around her crackling, ripping with the strength of her fury. “When I found out, I…” She clamped her lips, the unspoken words darkening her aura.

“She drove off in a rage.” A soft voice whispered the explanation in Kendra’s ear. She didn’t need to catch the whiff of orange blossom to know the real Saami stood at her shoulder, shielding herself so the ghost wouldn’t see her. “She had an accident, her car flipping when she swerved to avoid a deer. Her name is Lora Finney.”

“She was a great beauty before bitterness marked her.” An increase in the scent of orange blossoms showed Saami’s empathy. “This village celebrated her as a hobby baker. She often won local scone-baking competitions. Now”—Saami lowered her voice—“she’s spending her time terrorizing the work crews. Yesterday she sent a ladder dancing across the floor, and she’s planning to toss that tarpaulin over their heads when they return this afternoon. Several of the men have quit, refusing to come back again.

“Lora, the men here are cleaning mold off your walls.” Kendra used her gentlest voice and the best logic she could think to employ. “They aren’t here to tear down your home. They’re fixing it.”

It wasn’t the whole truth. But soothing the spirit’s upset mattered more.

“Fixing it for whom?” Lora Finney jammed her hands against her hips again. “The rat”—Kendra assumed she meant her husband—“married his Australian student lover and moved halfway around the world.”

“I’m not sure.” Kendra didn’t lie. But she did cast a glance over her shoulder, hoping Saami would volunteer a suggestion.

Unfortunately, the citrus-free air greeting her indicated her friend had gone.

But inspiration struck as she turned back to the angry ghost. “Did you know it’s said that success is the best revenge? What would you say if I arrange for your house to be made into a library? A special place where locals can read the books you loved? And”—she hoped she could swing this—“perhaps there could be a few corner tables so tea and scones made to your recipes could be served each afternoon. It could be called Lora’s Literary Café.”

Lora Finney stared at her.

Kendra felt a bead of sweat trickle between her breasts. She’d never made such an outrageous, difficult-to-keep promise to a ghost before.

But Lora’s fate touched her.

“You do have a special recipe book somewhere here, don’t you?” Kendra’s instinct urged her to ask. When she caught a glimpse of Raziel and Saami watching her from across the room, each spirit guide nodding approval, she knew she was on the right track.

“I do.” Lora’s chin came up, the pride in her voice proving Kendra’s guess. “It’s in an old box in the kitchen. The workmen have buried the box under empty pails and tarpaulin, but it’s clearly marked BOOKS. My recipe book has a red cloth cover and my name on the inside.”

“Then I’ll see it’s found—I promise.” Kendra wasn’t worried about locating the book. She did fret about her assurance that the house would be transformed into a reading and scone-serving refuge.

“You will do that?” Lora blinked, her stance relaxing as the last of her belligerence faded. “And see my bookshelves rebuilt? Do everything you’ve promised?”

“I will, and gladly.” Kendra hoped she could. Her influence with Scotland’s Past wasn’t great enough to work miracles.

But she meant to try.

The lightening of the atmosphere in the empty house encouraged her. And the barely there “thank you” that Lora Finney gave her as she faded back into the shadows made her determined to succeed.

A short while later, Kendra sat again at the corner table by the window in the pub restaurant of the Laughing Gull Inn and decided that a “full Scottish breakfast” ranked almost as high as a Scottish accent on her fast-growing list of everything to love about Scotland.

A person could get by all day on such a feast.

Everything tasted so good.

It was just a shame that her visit to Lora Finney’s house and her wish to enjoy the Laughing Gull’s delicious breakfast offerings meant rising at an ungodly hour when she usually slept her deepest. Of course, her nine o’clock date with Graeme also came at a time she preferred burrowing beneath the covers.

Not that she’d minded crawling out of bed to help a needy ghost. The chance to spend the day with Graeme was also worth getting up early.

She’d done so gladly.

She just couldn’t deny the powerful attraction she felt for him.

Now that her work had gone so well, her mind snapped back to the dream she’d had of Graeme in the night. Too bad the heated dream had been so brief, ending almost before it’d started. She could still see him in the shadows of her room, his dark gaze locked on hers as he started toward her. She’d sat up in bed, the covers slipping down to reveal her naked breasts. He noticed at once, lowering his gaze, his expression turning darker, so charged with desire, as he looked at her.

In the dream, she knew he was going to reach for her, pulling her into his arms, and then…

It was over.

Her heart began to race, a whirl of emotion flaring inside her.

Even if it was a dream, no man had ever looked at her so hungrily. Graeme wasn’t just devastatingly attractive, able to captivate a woman with one look from his compelling gaze; he also loved dogs.

That meant something to her.

She toyed with her napkin, biting back a smile. It would surely strain her face muscles if she attempted levity before she’d had her second cup of coffee. And taking another sip of the weak instant brew reminded her to try the Scottish Breakfast tea the next morning.

Apparently, Scots couldn’t make good coffee.

Grimacing, she set down her cup.

An older couple—West Highlanders on a touring holiday, from their conversation—had claimed the table next to hers, and just listening to their soft, lilting accents made suffering bad coffee as insignificant as a dust mote. A country that spoke so beautifully could be allowed the minor failing of less-than-palatable java.

Not wanting to be caught eavesdropping, Kendra pretended to study the breakfast menu.

Porridge

Cereal

Homemade muesli with fresh fruit and yogurt

Grilled kippers

Smoked salmon with poached or scrambled eggs

Sausage, bacon, and eggs

Haggis and eggs

Grilled tomatoes, mushrooms, and pan-fried potatoes

Toast, scones, soda farls, and homemade preserves

Tea, coffee, and fruit juice

Setting aside the tartan-edged menu card, she eyed her almost-empty plate. She’d chosen a large soda farl, which she’d learned was a huge and thick triangle of griddle bread served warm and filled with lots of crispy bacon and a poached egg. Rarely had she eaten anything more delicious.

She could get used to breakfast in Scotland.

And she was about to fork her last bit of bacon when a shadow fell across her table. Looking up, she met Graeme’s smiling eyes, and her heart nearly threatened to burst from her chest.

“Iain serves up the best breakfast on the coast.” His deep, buttery-rich burr quickened her pulse, pouring over her like molten honey.

The look in his eyes made her prickle with awareness.

She blinked, sure her face was heating. “Yes, he does.” It was all she could think to say. He looked so good in his jeans and cream-colored, cable-knit Aran sweater. “I’ve never had a better breakfast.”

That was true.

Her words deepened his smile. The attractive way his eyes crinkled did dangerous things to her emotions. She could so easily fall in love with this man. She feared she was already halfway there.

“It is a lot of food…” She put down her fork, hoping to hide her feelings by looking at her plate. “I’m not sure I can finish.”

“You’ll hurt Iain’s feelings if you don’t.” He set a hand on her shoulder, squeezing lightly. His touch sent delicious shivers along her nerves. “Dinnae worry yourself. Even if you’re feeling full now, you’ll be glad for the energy when we’re out on the open water. A good Scottish breakfast will keep you warm.”

Kendra almost laughed.

If her personal heat index rose any higher, Scotland would feel as balmy as Florida.

And not because of a soda farl stuffed with egg and bacon.

It was Graeme.

He affected her as no man had ever done. And she was pretty sure that agreeing to go seal watching with him had been a bad decision.

He looked more than pleased to see her.

“The Sea Wyfe is ready for us.” His tone proved he was also eager. “It’s a fine morning.” He glanced at the window behind her, his dimple flashing when he smiled again. “There’s only a light mist and the water’s mirror calm. The swells might get a bit choppy later, but?—”

“Where’s Jock?” Kendra didn’t see Graeme’s companion anywhere.

“Och, he’s home sleeping on his hearth rug.” Graeme stepped back, making room for her as she got to her feet. “Jock doesn’t like the water. He aye finds excuses not to accompany me on the Sea Wyfe. This time he played his favorite trick: pretending not to hear me leave.”

“He’s a clever boy.” Kendra reached for her jacket, her breath catching when, just in that moment, the phone box ghost appeared in the middle of the road. She blinked, looking out the window at the ghost, but he vanished again almost as quickly as he’d manifested.

Kendra straightened, letting Graeme help her into her jacket.

Guilt sluiced her.

She had no business going out for a sightseeing boat ride when one of Pennard’s disgruntled spirits wanted to make contact with her.

Although if this particular ghost kept vanishing rather than speaking to her, there wasn’t much she could do to help him. Spirits, like living people, had their own free will. Nor was it her policy to press her attentions on discarnates who didn’t want to communicate.

Manners counted in the Otherworld, as anywhere.

But she did risk another quick glance at the street. Not surprisingly, it was empty. And nothing moved near the red phone box except a seagull pecking at something on the damp-glistening pavement.

Kendra frowned, sensing the ghost’s essence lingering in the road.

“Are you unwell, lass?” Graeme was already opening the inn door for her, guiding her out into the brisk morning air. “Maybe you did eat too much? Iain’s soda farls can be a bit heavy in the stomach.”

“No, no.” Kendra shook her head, her heart flipping when he tucked her arm into his as they crossed the road, heading for the marina. “I’m fine, really. I’m only a bit nervous about going out on a boat.”

She’d improvised the excuse, but it wasn’t wholly untrue.

Pennard Bay did look still as glass, just as Graeme had said. But far out to sea, she could see the long North Sea swells rolling steadily toward them. Huge and white-crested from here, she was sure they’d appear even larger once Graeme took them out of Pennard’s sheltered bay. The waves already looked much more daunting than the light chop Graeme had so casually suggested.

But it was too late to back out now.

He’d stopped beside the little stone slipway and rested his hands on her shoulders. “I could handle the Sea Wyfe in my sleep, lass.” He leaned in, dropped a kiss on her brow. “You’ve no reason to worry.”

But she did.

Especially when his face hardened as he straightened. “I’ll no’ let anything happen to you.”

“I know that.” She did, just as she knew something else was bothering him.

Before she could ask, he tightened his grip on her and lowered his head again, this time kissing her full on the lips. It was a slow, deep kiss, shockingly intimate. And so potent she felt excitement rush through her entire body. Without thinking, she slipped her arms around him, leaning into the hard, strong length of him.

“I thought you weren’t going to kiss me again,” she pressed him the instant he released her. “You swore?—”

“Keeping you safe matters more than a wee kiss.” His words dashed her giddiness.

Along with the wild burst of totally unfounded hope that she meant something to him.

“I wouldn’t call that a wee kiss.” She tried to jerk free, but he’d slid an arm around her, holding her in a viselike grip.

“It wasn’t meant to be.” He looked past her again, and this time she followed his gaze.

“Oh.” She saw at once why he’d broken his vow not to kiss her again.

Gavin Ramsay stood outside his house, looking right down at them. And even though the Spindrift sat on a ledge halfway up the cliff, the distance wasn’t great enough to hide his narrow-eyed stare.

He was majorly annoyed.

Kendra could see the sparks of angry green and black glimmering in his aura. She looked back to Graeme, not liking the vibes coming down the bluff from the Spindrift. “You kissed me because he’s watching, right?”

“Aye, well…” He looked uncomfortable. “That is what we’re about, see you. The kiss in the Laughing Gull, this boat trip—everything. No woman is safe from Ramsay, and I’m only trying to?—”

“Protect me,” Kendra finished for him.

“That was my plan.”

“I’m a big girl, you know.”

“So you are.” He touched her face, smoothing a few strands of hair from her cheek. “You’re bonnie, too. And that’s all the more reason Ramsay can’t be allowed to get his grasping hands on you.”

“Are Scots always so territorial?” Kendra’s nerves still trembled from his kiss, and she tried not to want more. “American women are independent. We’re not used to men fighting over us.”

“I’ve told you why I watch Ramsay.” A breeze lifted Graeme’s dark hair, the morning sun highlighting his proud, chiseled features.

He was so handsome.

But just now she could feel his annoyance, the force of his anger at the other man.

And the look in his eye when he shot another glance at his rival revealed that his reasons for disliking Ramsay went deeper than keeping pretty tourists out of reach of the local Romeo. Bad blood simmered between the two men, and she determined to find out why.

“He’s already going back inside.” She could feel the air lighten with his departure.

“He’ll only be fetching binoculars.” Graeme released her and turned to face the Spindrift. “Thon bastard doesn’t give up easily. He’ll keep an eye on us until we round Pennard Head.”

Kendra started to press him, remembering the look she’d seen on Ramsay’s face when he’d stood in the shadows of the alley between the two tiny cottages. His gaze had been directed at the Keel, she’d been certain. And enough anger had blazed in his eyes to set the entire village on fire. She’d known then she had to warn Graeme.

Although…

She glanced at him, not missing his fisted hands as he stared after Gavin Ramsay. Graeme was definitely aware of the animosity between them. And it mattered enough for him to cast aside promises and kiss her in full view of anyone looking on. The kiss hadn’t meant anything to him, but it had taken her breath and unleashed a wave of yearning deep inside her.

Something told her there would be no turning back now.

Yet that was what she should do.

But before she could make up an excuse and head back to the inn, Graeme took her hand and led her from the slipway and toward the marina’s curving stone jetty. He strode almost to the end, taking her past a few small leisure craft and several fishing boats. One of the fishing vessels had just pulled in and was piled high with crates of prawns and bulging sacks of mussels. Seabirds wheeled and screeched above the boat, hoping for an easy meal.

Alongside the fishing boat, named Gannet, according to the black lettering on her side, men worked the lines and shouted greetings to another craft just chugging into the marina.

The second boat looked to have had as much success as the Gannet.

Even more gulls swooped in with the arrival of the new vessel. The cold morning air filled with the strong scent of fish and brine, a bracing mix laced with a good dose of salt, seaweed, and oily tar.

Kendra took a deep breath, appreciative. She’d never smelled anything so invigorating.

Sure, she knew women back in Bucks County who’d roll their eyes at her for finding such a smell heady. They were the kind of immaculately groomed, super-polished females who forked over a small fortune on expensive perfumes and cosmetics. She knew some who seemed to spend more on makeup than she did on rent. Point was, she knew many people wouldn’t get the appeal of brine-filled air, the sharp bite of dripping bags of scallops, or the seaweedy tang of fishnets drying by the harbor wall.

She did get it.

She loved such places. And she couldn’t imagine the world without them. A notion that pinched her heart when her gaze fell on a NO PENNARD PROJECT poster affixed to the base of one of the pier lights.

The fishing village was perfect as is.

And the mist-chilled morning, the busy marina, and the way Harbour Street glistened from the night’s rain, filled her with a sense of longing such as she’d never known. There was something about wet stone and threads of blue peat smoke rising from Pennard’s row of whitewashed cottages. Her heart thumped, her chest tightening. Closing her eyes, she took another appreciative breath. She released it slowly, savoring a world she knew she’d always carry in her heart, even long after she’d left.

No other place had ever affected her so strongly.

She felt a powerful pull, definitely.

And Graeme was looking at her as if he knew.

Kendra gave herself a shake, hoping the ache to stay here would fade away.

It didn’t.

Graeme smiled. “You like it here, aye?”

“I do.” She flicked at her jacket, embarrassed. “The village is special. The whole coast, really.”

“There’s nowhere else like it.” His tone held pride. “Pennard is another world, and we owe it to coming generations to keep it that way.” His face hardened, his gaze flicking again to Ramsay’s Spindrift. “Scotland’s Past and their fool plans must be stopped.”

Guilt hit Kendra like a kick to the shins.

Scotland’s Past was almost her employer. She was here at their behest.

“I’ve heard a lot of dissent from the locals.” She had, and she did sympathize.

She waited for Graeme to agree.

“There’s no’ enough.” His rich Scottish accent deepened, and he stopped for a moment. “See thon man sweeping the pavement before the Mermaid?” He tipped his head toward the seen-better-days pub, silent now in the early morning.

Kendra looked across the water, her gaze going right to the bar. Without the low beat of hard-rock music pouring from its door and no spike-haired, black-jacketed youths lurching in the street outside, the Mermaid looked only slightly neglected and tons sad.

The man Graeme meant was now attacking the door stoop with his broom. He had a thick, somewhat wild-looking mane of red-brown hair that caught the morning sun and was pulled back in a ponytail much like Graeme’s. Tall and broad-shouldered, he wore jeans well, though he couldn’t compare with Graeme. He’d tied a butcher’s apron tied around his waist, showing he belonged to the Mermaid, so Kendra assumed he was the boyfriend of Janet’s niece, Maili.

“He’s Roan Wylie, the bar’s owner.” Graeme followed her gaze, confirming her guess. “He’s a nice enough mate, but he’s also one of the locals keen to let Scotland’s Past grease his palm. The Mermaid hasn’t fared too well in recent years and he’s let their blether get to him. He thinks he’ll make a fortune, selling out.

“Truth is”—he glanced at her—“he wouldn’t be relieving himself of a bar that’s fallen on rough times. He’d be selling his soul. He just doesn’t realize it.”

Kendra looked away, guilt pinching her again.

Indirectly, she was aiding the desecration Graeme hoped to avert.

“Heritage doesn’t have a price, does it?” It was all she could think to say.

She did mean it.

And the way her throat thickened at the thought of Pennard being turned into a theme park let her know she was already in deeper than was wise.

She cared too much this time.

And not allowing sentiment to creep into the work was another of Zack’s and Ghostcatchers International’s never-to-be-broken rules.

Yet…

How could anyone come here and not care?

She couldn’t.

Especially when Graeme took hold of her hands, lacing their fingers, as he looked down into her eyes. “You’re a fine lass, Kendra.” He leaned close, kissing her brow lightly. “If it weren’t for your American accent, I’d think you’d been born and bred in Pennard.”

Kendra wished she had been.

She’d make the village’s fight her own.

Most of all, she’d do something about the way Graeme made her knees go weak and her heart pound madly. If she were local, the path would’ve been clear. But whoever said life was fair? She knew from her work that it was often just the opposite. And trying to wrench things in one’s own favor often ended in disaster.

But she could dream.

She wouldn’t wish.

She knew too well how often one’s words came out wrong, giving the Cosmos a free hand to create havoc. She cast a yearning look along Pennard’s waterfront. The soft morning light could only be called magical and luminous. Even Pennard’s cliffs glowed, and the horrid, thread-thin road snaking down the bluff shone like a ribbon of gold. It was a scene wrapped in romantic seclusion. And anything that shattered such tranquility and peace was a travesty.

Meeting Graeme’s gaze, she vowed to do everything in her power to help him avoid such a tragedy. Keeping her promise to Lora Finney was a start.

As for the rest…

She bit her lip. His hands grasping hers so firmly and the intense look in his eyes made her pulse race and her heart beat faster.

Perhaps she could do a tiny bit of carefully formulated wishing.

Sometimes miracles did happen.