Anything’s Possible!
Judith McWilliams

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Contents

Prologue

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Prologue

“Now, Millicent...”

“Don’t you ‘now Millicent’ me, Jonas Middlebury!”

“But, Millicent—”

“No!” Millicent determinedly shook her head, sending wisps of golden hair flying around her pale face. “I have been listening to your excuses for one hundred and fifty years, and enough is enough.”

“Not really, sweetlings,” Jonas began placatingly. “I mean, I may have died a hundred and fifty years ago, but you’ve only been dead for fifty years or so.”

“Eighty-one years,” she corrected. “Eighty-one years, four months and seventeen days, and in all that time have you made the slightest effort to get into heaven? No,” she rushed on when he opened his mouth. “And all you have to do is a good deed. Just one good deed.”

“Done lots of good deeds in my time,” Jonas muttered.

“Ha!” Millicent gave a ladylike sniff. “If you had done lots of good deeds when you were alive, Jonas Middlebury, you wouldn’t be in this predicament now that you’re dead!”

“It’s not the good deed I object to,” he continued doggedly. “It’s the way that sanctimonious old puffguts at the gate told me I had to do it.”

Millicent gasped. “Jonas Middlebury, you mind your tongue! That’s an angel you’re talking about, which is more than you’re likely to ever be.”

“I’ll do the good deed, but in my own time,” Jonas insisted. “I’m not about to be forced by no pen-pushing—”

“When?” Millicent demanded.

Jonas blinked. “When what?”

“When are you intending to do your good deed and get into heaven? At the rate you’re going, the final judgment is a surer thing!”

“Now, sweetlings, you just don’t understand how it goes against the grain for a man to be told what to do.”

“I understand that I’m lonely.” Millicent’s lower lip trembled and her pale blue eyes looked huge through the tears that welled in them. “I understand that thanks to your selfishness I was cheated out of having a family and children.”

“My selfishness!” Jonas’ bushy black beard stiffened in outrage. “And was it my fault that I was drowned trying to earn a living for you in the only way I know how—whaling?”

“If you hadn’t been drunk, you wouldn’t have fallen overboard in the middle of the Atlantic,” Millicent pointed out. “And if you hadn’t fallen into the water, then poor Elias Simpson wouldn’t have drowned himself trying to rescue you.”

“Didn’t ask the fool to come in after me,” Jonas muttered. “Elias was always sticking his nose in where it wasn’t wanted. He only did it because he wanted to hold it over my head afterward.”

“I don’t know about that, but I do know that Elias got into heaven the minute he died, while you are still wandering about trapped between heaven and earth. Or worse,” she added ominously.

“Ain’t never heard no talk about them wanting to send me to the other place,” Jonas said testily.

Millicent stared into his beloved black eyes and felt a confusing mixture of anger, exasperation and love swirl through her. Jonas had been stalling for eighty-one years, and if she didn’t force the issue, he’d probably stall for another eighty-one.

But if Jonas refused... Millicent felt a flash of blind panic. She might lose him altogether. She wouldn’t even have these snatched bits of time to cherish. She drew a deep, steadying breath. It was a risk she was going to have to take. She simply couldn’t go on like this. Jonas was no closer today to doing a good deed than he’d been when he’d died, a hundred and fifty years ago. He needed a shove. And it was up to her to give it to him.

Millicent took another deep breath and asked, “Do you love me?”

Jonas turned a bright red under his deep tan and tugged ineffectively at the collar of his rumpled white shirt. “Asked you to marry me, didn’t I?”

“Yes, and drowned yourself before you could. And now you refuse to do a simple good deed so you can be with me. Do you know what I think?”

“Don’t need to think,” Jonas mumbled. “No good ever came of a woman thinking. It’s not natural.”

“I think you don’t love me at all.” Her voice broke at the pain of the thought. “I think I’m just a habit. A hundred-and-fifty-year-old habit.”

“Millie, that’s not true!” Jonas looked horrified at the charge. “I do! You know I do.”

“Do what?” Millicent demanded.

“Love you, dammit!” he blurted out, then blushed a fiery red. “But there’s no call for you to make me say it. Words aren’t important. It’s how a man acts that counts.”

“Precisely!” Millicent nodded decisively. “And you consistently refused to act so that you can be with me.”

“I told you, Millie, that’s not it. I just don’t like them letting Elias right into heaven when he was always such a meddling do-gooder and then telling me I wasn’t quite the thing.”

“If they haven’t taken your point after a hundred and fifty years, they never will,” she said with uncharacteristic tartness. “I’m telling you, Jonas, that you must either do your good deed and get into heaven or—”

“Or what?” Jonas demanded aggressively.

Millicent’s lower lip trembled again and a tear trickled down her soft, pink cheek as a feeling of hopelessness washed over her. “Or I’ll have to finally face the fact that I’m not important enough for you to make the effort.” She forced the words out past her constricted throat muscles.

“Millie, no! Don’t say that.”

“I should have said it years ago,” she murmured sadly.

Jonas stared for a long moment, her tormented expression tearing at him.

“All right,” he said at last, capitulating. “I’ll do it, but only because it means so much to you.”

“Jonas!” She flung her arms around him in sudden, overwhelming joy. “You won’t be sorry!”

“There, there.” He patted her awkwardly on the shoulder, but made no effort to escape from her enthusiastic embrace. “No need to go overboard. That’s how this whole mess started.”

To his intense disappointment, she jumped to her feet and, moving to the edge of the cloud bank where they were sitting, peered down at the New Hampshire coastline below. “Are there any restrictions on your good deed?” she asked.

Jonas frowned, trying to remember what he’d been told. “No,” he finally said. “It just has to be significant in the life of someone.”

“That might present a problem,” she said slowly. “What about the old lady who lives in our house now? Didn’t you mention that she was having some troubles?”

Jonas nodded. “Since they built that new resort up the coast aways, she hasn’t been able to rent out any of her rooms.”

“Sounds to me like there’s a good deed there,” Millicent said.

Jonas absently scratched his beard. “Only way I can think to help her is to burn down the new resort so her clients’ll come back, and I doubt if that sactimonious old pen pusher at the gate would accept that.”

“No,” Millicent agreed. “But there has to be another way.”

Jonas frowned. “I could get her some money so that she doesn’t need the income from the inn, but the only way to do that is to steal it, and while that might help her, it won’t help me.”

“There appears to be more to this good-deed business than first meets the eye,” she said uncertainly.

“I could have told you that eighty-one years ago,” Jonas said acerbically. “In fact, I rather think I did!”

“You promised,” Millicent reminded him.

“And I’ll do it. I just got to figure out what it is I’m doing.”

“You’ll think of something.” Millicent smiled at him with a confidence that Jonas wished he could share. Now that he’d finally given in, he wanted to do his good deed and marry his Millicent. He watched with a nagging sense of loss as she slowly faded away.

Jonas got to his feet and absently brushed at the wisps of cloud clinging to his pants. He’d better get down to earth and see what he could work out. He heaved a disheartened sigh. If people thought living was hard, they ought to try dying!

One

“What you need is a gimmick, Aunt Hannah.” Cassie Whitney absently scooped up a handful of fresh, red raspberries from the bowl on the kitchen table and began to munch them.

“No, dear, what I need are paying guests. Even one or two would be nice.”

Hannah sighed despondently as she began to expertly shape the pastry for the raspberry tarts. “I feel so bad about Gertie. She depends on the money I pay her for cleaning the guests’ rooms to supplement her social security, and if there’re no guests...”

Cassie eyed her aunt worriedly, beginning to fear that the situation was even worse than she’d originally thought when she’d arrived last night to find the normally bustling inn silent. It wasn’t like Hannah to sound so discouraged. She had always been one of the most positive people Cassie had ever known. In fact, Cassie’s father claimed that after forty-four years of reading The Little Engine that Could to her kindergarten classes, Hannah had been brainwashed into believing that anything was possible.

“And if the truth were told, dear, I feel sorry for myself, too.” She gave Cassie a rueful smile. “I need the money the guests bring in. My pension is more than adequate for normal living expenses, but...” She glanced around the spacious, old-fashioned kitchen with affectionate resignation. “There’s no denying China View is very expensive. The heating bills alone are horrendous, and something always seems to need fixing or painting or replacing. And the taxes...” Hannah shuddered.

“Are the taxes in arrears?” Cassie cut to the heart of the matter.

“Not exactly,” Hannah hedged.

Cassie frowned as she considered the matter. “I would have thought you were either in arrears or you weren’t.”

“Well, you see, property taxes are paid in two installments. The first installment was due June first.”

“And this is June twenty-second. So you’re late.”

“Technically, but the tax office always gives you a ninety-day grace period before they take any action. And I was able to make a partial payment,” Hannah added.

“How much do we owe?”

“No, dear.” Hannah shook her gray head emphatically. “How much do I owe. China View is my white elephant, not yours.”

“It’s the family’s white elephant,” Cassie insisted. “Whitneys have been living here forever.”

“Only since 1844, when Jonas Middlebury died and left it to his fiancée, who was a distant relative of ours.”

“How romantic.” Cassie’s blue-gray eyes softened dreamily. “To die tragically and leave the love of your life all your possessions.”

“From all accounts, demon rum was the love of his life,” Hannah said tartly. “He’d have made poor Millicent a terrible husband.”

Cassie jumped at the sound of a thump coming from the pantry behind them. She turned and looked across the kitchen at the closed pantry door. “What was that?”

“Probably the wind blowing through the open window knocked something over,” Hannah replied, dismissing the noise. “You’ve been living in New York City too long. You’re nervous of your own shadow. Not only that, but you’ve lost weight.” She frowned at Cassie’s cheekbones, which were a shade too prominent beneath her creamy ivory skin. “You need fattening up.”

“It’s been a long, stressful winter in the advertising business.” Cassie massively understated the case. “But also a very successful one. You are looking at Welton and Mitchell’s newest vice president.”

“Congratulations, dear.” Hannah beamed with pride at Cassie’s achievement.

“Thank you. And, since I got that promotion because I’m very good at selling things, why don’t I use my expertise to sell China View to prospective guests? A month from now, when my vacation is over, you’ll need my room for the surplus guests.”

“Wouldn’t it be a comfort to be booked full?” Hannah popped the tray of tarts into the oven. “But this is your vacation, dear. You’re supposed to be resting.”

“And I will,” Cassie assured her. “But lying around doing nothing palls very quickly. I much prefer to have a project percolating in the back of my mind. It keeps me from getting bored.

“Now then,” she went on briskly, “I think our first order of business had better be the taxes. I’ll give you a check, and you can pay them.”

“I just don’t feel right taking money from you,” Hannah said worriedly.

“Think of it as a temporary loan. I do earn an excellent salary.”

“But I’m the adult and—”

Cassie laughed. “Aunt Hannah, it may have slipped your mind, but I’m thirty-four years old.”

Hannah shook her head in disbelief. “It doesn’t seem possible, but I guess you are. But even so...”

“Think of it as allowing me to invest in a piece of the family’s history. Now, what we need is a plan of action.” Cassie changed the subject before her aunt could think of any more objections. “Your business has dropped off because...?” She looked at her expectantly.

“Business has disappeared,” Hannah corrected. “And it’s because of that new resort they built four miles up the coast. I hear it’s the last word in luxury. They have a swimming pool, plus the ocean at their doorstep and a fancy French chef.”

Cassie munched on more raspberries as she considered the situation. “We don’t want to compete with their strengths.”

“We can’t compete with their strengths!”

Cassie ignored the home truth. “They’re offering an anonymous luxury that could be found anywhere. What we need to do is to push the local flavor of China View. This place is the essence of New Hampshire’s whaling past, from the collection of scrimshaw in the living room to the widow’s walk on the roof.

“Which brings us back to a gimmick.” Cassie absently tucked a stray reddish brown curl behind her ear. “We need something to make China View stand out from the resort. Something to make it unique.”

“Unique?” Hannah washed the flour off her hands as she considered the idea. “We could claim that the original owner brought back a treasure from one of his trips to the Orient and buried it on the grounds, and then drowned before he could retrieve it.”

Cassie shook her head. “We’d have guests digging up every flower bed on the place.”

“We could tell them that digging wasn’t allowed?”

Cassie eyed her aunt with affectionate amusement. “That tactic may have been successful in your kindergarten classes, but I guarantee it doesn’t work with adult greed. Anytime there’s money to be had, and free money at that, the rules of civilized society seem to go by the board. No, we need an attraction that appeals to something safer than people’s greed.”

“You mean like their intellectual curiosity? They...” Hannah frowned at what sounded like a pan falling off a shelf in the pantry. “Oh, dear,” she muttered. “I hope I haven’t gotten mice again. I do so hate to kill the poor little things.”

“That’s it!” Cassie exclaimed, her eyes gleaming with sudden excitement. “It’s perfect. It’s even timely.”

Hannah frowned in confusion. “Mice?”

“No, ghosts! Don’t you see, Aunt Hannah? It’s the perfect gimmick. We’ll say that China View is haunted!”

“But that’ll drive people away,” Hannah protested.

“No, it won’t,” Cassie said with absolute conviction. “People love ghosts. I’ll bet we’ll be filled to capacity as soon as the news gets out.”

“But how’s it going to get out?”

“We’re going to help it, of course.” Cassie’s soft pink lips lifted in a mischievous smile. “All we have to do is tell a few people that we saw what looked like a ghost, and the story’ll be all over the coast by week’s end. Maybe I can get Ed Veach at the newspaper to do a feature story on the sighting.” Her eyes narrowed thoughtfully.

“Isn’t that false advertising?” Hannah asked worriedly.

“Only if we actually claim that the inn has a ghost. And all I’m going to do is imply like crazy.”

“But...”

“If you don’t like the idea, Aunt Hannah, then of course I won’t use it. But I really don’t think it’s wrong. It’s not like we’re charging more and promising a ghost.”

“Our customers do get good value for their money,” Hannah said slowly.

“And they’ll have a great time trying to contact our ghost,” Cassie added. “Do you know if there’s ever been a hint of a ghost here at China View?”

“Not a murmur. I think ghosts are supposed to haunt places where violent deeds occurred, and nothing like that ever happened here.”

“What did happen here?” Cassie asked.

“Not much. Jonas Middlebury built China View for his fiancée, Millicent Whitney, and drowned at sea right afterward. He left the house to Millicent, and she lived here until she died, shortly before the First World War. She willed it to her nephew, who was your grandfather, and when he died, he left it to me, since your papa had already moved to Boston. Nobody has ever even died here.”

“Hmm, not much to work with.” Cassie wrinkled her small, straight nose in disappointment. “Too bad we didn’t have a more adventurous set of relatives. Jonas sounds the most interesting of the lot. How about if we claim that he’s our specter?”

Hannah pushed her glasses back on her nose as she considered the idea. “He’s probably our best choice. But what happens when no one ever sees him? People will stop coming, and I’ll be right back where I was.”

“What makes you think that they aren’t going to see him?” The twinkle in Cassie’s eyes deepened perceptively.

Hannah stared at her uncertainly. “Are they?”

“Yes,” Cassie said slowly. “Not indiscriminate sightings, of course. Just an occasional glimpse.”

“Moira Featheringham,” Hannah unexpectedly said.

Cassie blinked. “Who?”

“An old friend of mine, dear. Moira is very active in our local theatrical group. She might know where we could hire someone to play the part of Jonas.”

“Aunt Hannah, that’s perfect!” Cassie beamed approvingly at her.

“Thank you, dear. I’ll call Moira right now. Would you check the pantry for signs of mice and then keep an eye on the front desk for me? The only reservation I’ve had in weeks is supposed to arrive sometime late this morning.”

“Glad to.”

“And if you should need me for anything, dear, I’ll be up in the attic. I want to make a start on going through the old trunks up there for the church rummage sale.” With a preoccupied smile, Hannah disappeared up the back stairs.

Cassie finished off the last of the raspberries and then went to check the pantry. Opening the door, she stuck her head inside and glanced around. The window was closed, which left a mouse as the culprit. Stepping inside, she moved a few pans, looking for telltale droppings, but there was nothing to be seen.

Cassie frowned as she picked up an aluminum pie plate lying on the floor. It must have been stacked off balance and finally fallen, she decided as she carried it back to the kitchen. She set it down on the counter to be washed and then poured herself a mug of coffee, bringing it out to the tiny room off the lobby that served as an office. While she had the chance, she intended to go over the inn’s books to try to get some idea of how her aunt stood financially.

Two hours later, Cassie had a much clearer picture of the situation, as well as a more optimistic view of the future. While it was true that China View was expensive to run, Hannah had resisted the impulse to borrow. With the exception of the taxes, she had no outstanding debts. If they could just lure some of her guests back, Hannah and Gertie would be fine.

Cassie looked up as she heard the sound of a car engine straining up the steep incline of the inn’s driveway. Aunt Hannah’s lone reservation? she wondered as she got to her feet. She straightened the front of her copper silk camp shirt and adjusted the thin leather belt on her white linen slacks before going to greet what she hoped was a paying customer.

She hurried through the inn’s small lobby to the large window that faced the parking area in front. She peered out, but in the bright sunlight all she could see was a dark shape inside a white car. A rental car, she discovered, recognizing the sticker on the bumper.

Cassie instinctively leaned forward as the car door opened, curious as to what kind of guest they were about to get. Not the senior-citizen type China View normally attracted, she realized with sudden interest as a man slowly emerged from the car. This man was younger. Much younger. She studied the long, lean length of his legs, which were covered by a pair of tan cotton-twill pants, for an appreciative moment. Then her gaze skimmed upward over his flat stomach to linger speculatively on the width of his broad shoulders. Shoulders made even broader by the thick white cotton sweater he was wearing.

As she watched, he turned and, keeping one hand on the car door as if for support, studied the inn. The bright June sunlight poured over him, gilding his tanned skin to a shade of deep amber and adding a golden sheen to his honey brown hair. He looked aloof, remote and untouchable. As if he were a Greek god suddenly transported to earth.

Cassie shook her head in an effort to break the strange spell that the stranger’s presence had enmeshed her in. It wasn’t like her to react so fancifully to a man, she thought uneasily. Her years in advertising had long since taught her that physical looks counted for very little. They could be altered to create almost any image a person desired, just as they could mask virtually anything. It was the personality behind the looks that counted.

She watched as the man reached into the back seat of his car and pulled out a battered leather suitcase. He had a nice tush. In fact, he had a nice everything. Did everything include a wife? Her eyes narrowed consideringly. Somehow he didn’t look like anybody’s husband. He looked too... Cassie struggled to put a name to her impression. Unrestrained, she finally decided. He had an aura of being free and accountable to no one.

The sound of his footsteps on the weathered wooden boards of the front porch interrupted her speculations, and she retreated behind the reception desk.

The string of small bells above the front door gave off a silvery tinkle as the man pushed it open and stepped inside. His gaze swept around the small lobby assessingly, coming to an abrupt halt as he caught sight of Cassie. Leaving his suitcase just inside the door, he walked over to the reception desk and gave her a warm smile.

Even though Cassie was well used to the orthodontically perfect, gleaming white smiles of the male models she worked with, she was still taken aback. It wasn’t that this man’s smile was whiter or wider. It was that it was real, she realized. There was honest amusement in it. An amusement that was reflected in the tiny golden flecks that seemed to float in his dark brown eyes.

She swallowed against the sudden dryness in her mouth. She didn’t know what this man had that was so potent, but whatever it was, she was certainly susceptible to it!

“This is China View, isn’t it?” His deep voice vibrated through her confused thoughts. It fitted him exactly, she thought distractedly. Powerful, darkly intriguing and sexy as hell.

“Um, yes.” She made a supreme effort to respond with her normal competence. “And you are...?”

“Dan Travis. I have a reservation.”

Cassie checked her aunt’s notation on the reservation sheet. “You’re in Room Fourteen.” She pushed the registration book toward him. “How long do you expect to be staying with us, Mr. Travis?”

“Dan, please.” He scrawled his signature across the blank sheet. “And it rather depends.”

“On what?” Cassie decided that the question wouldn’t be out of line from an innkeeper.

Dan stared into her bright, curious eyes and wondered what she’d say if he told her the truth. The gleam of interest he was almost sure was flickering in her eyes would probably die, and she would avoid him like the plague. Or tell him to leave.

And he didn’t want to leave. Not quite yet. His eyes swept over the mass of reddish brown curls that provided a vibrant frame for her classic features and lingered on the enticing curve of her lips. They looked so soft and velvety. What would they taste like? he wondered. Soft and sweet or tart and tantalizing?

She’d asked him a question; he pulled his wayward thoughts up short. If he didn’t want to make her suspicious, he’d better say something.

His best bet would undoubtedly be to keep his answers as close to the truth as possible, he decided. That way he wouldn’t have to remember a lot of lies.

“Business. I’m in insurance and, if something comes up that the office can’t handle, I may have to leave. For the moment, I’m supposed to be taking it easy. I was in an accident.” Bitter memory gave a painfully authentic edge to his voice. He’d never forget the whine of bullets whistling through the air. Or the dull thud they’d made as they’d slammed into the truck he’d been riding in. Or the terrified screams of the refugees in the back of that truck as the bullets had ripped through them. He clenched his teeth, trying to block out the memories.

Cassie glanced away from the raw pain burning in his eyes, feeling as if she had inadvertently intruded into something intensely personal. Had he lost someone he’d loved in the accident?

“So I decided to follow my doctor’s advice and spend a few weeks lying around in the sun.” Dan fought for an even tone.

“Doctors usually know best.” Cassie heard her pronouncement with a feeling of disgust. How could she have just uttered such trite drivel, when what she’d really wanted was to say something to banish the pain that seemed to radiate from him? But he might well resent any personal comments from her, she conceded. And even if he didn’t she still wouldn’t know what to say. Somehow words seemed a scant defense against such palatable anguish. This was probably a classic example of Least Said, Soonest Mended, she told herself.

“My aunt may have explained when she took your reservation that the inn serves breakfast and dinner, but not lunch. Though if you ask in advance, a picnic lunch can be prepared for you. And we request a deposit of one night’s stay,” Cassie said, giving him her usual spiel.

“Certainly.” He pulled an envelope out of his pants pocket and took out six one-hundred-dollar bills, dropping them on the counter. “Put that on my account.”

Cassie stared blankly at the small pile of bills. No one paid for anything with cash these days. For one thing, it wasn’t safe to be carrying that much money. There were too many people in the world only too eager to try to take it away from you....

She looked up, her eyes lingering speculatively on the hard thrust of his jaw. Dan Travis didn’t look like he’d be an easy man to take advantage of. Unexpectedly, she shivered. Her gut reaction was that he’d deal with threats in a ruthless fashion.

“We do take credit cards,” she offered.

He shrugged. “I’ve found that credit cards cause credit problems. I never use them.”

“I see.” Cassie picked up the bills, wondering why he was lying to her. That was a rental car he’d driven up in, and you couldn’t rent a car without a credit card. So why would he use a credit card for his rental car and then pay cash for his room? It made no sense. Unless he didn’t want whoever paid his bills to know that he’d been here. But why not? China View was about as innocuous a place as one could find. An eighteenth-century Puritan minister wouldn’t find anything to complain about.

“Is cash a problem?” Dan asked.

“Umm, no,” Cassie hastily disclaimed. “No, not at all.” She scooped the bills up and shoved them into her pocket. “I was intending to go into town this afternoon anyway. I’ll deposit it in the bank then.”

“Is there a restaurant in town?”

“Uh-huh,” Cassie murmured, debating whether to invite him along with her. He was definitely the most interesting thing that had happened on her vacation so far. And if past visits to China View were any indication, he was the most interesting thing that was likely to happen. On the other hand, she didn’t want to give him the impression that she was in the habit of making a play for every personable male who appeared at the inn.

“I’ll have to get directions from you,” he said. “I missed breakfast, and I’ll never last till dinner.”

A hint to be asked along? Possibly. She would invite him to go with her, she finally decided. The worst thing that could happen would be for him to refuse. She’d survived men refusing her invitations in the past and undoubtedly would in the future.

“You’re welcome to ride along with me if you like,” she said casually. “I have an errand to run, but I always finish up by having coffee at the café.”

“I’d love to.” He gave her a sudden smile that sent a sparkle of anticipation through her. “If you can wait until I put my case in my room and make a phone call?”

“Sure. Just push nine for an outside line.” Cassie handed him his key. “Number fourteen is at the top of the stairs, second door on the right. I’ll meet you out front in half an hour.”

She watched him out of the corner of her eye as he picked up his suitcase and began to slowly climb the stairs, obviously favoring his right leg.

Who did he want to call the minute he arrived? Cassie wondered as she went in search of her aunt, to tell her that her reservation had arrived and she was taking him into town with her.

She found Hannah in the attic, happily reliving the past as she sorted through the trunks that lined the walls. As Cassie had expected, she had no objections to her borrowing the car to go into town.

Cassie had just located her aunt’s car keys on the kitchen counter when she heard a thump at the back door. She pocketed the keys and cautiously peered out the window over the kitchen sink. After twelve years of living in New York, being careful was second nature. Spying a man outside, she observed him carefully. Because of the way he was standing, she couldn’t get a clear view of his face. All she could tell for certain was that he wasn’t all that tall. Not much more than her own five-four.

Curious as to why he would have come to the back of the inn instead of the front, she opened the door. Her eyes widened as she studied the man standing on the stoop. He was wearing a rusty black suit of an antiquated design. Clutched in one of his large hands was a battered, black felt hat. Dusty boots covered his oversize feet, but it was his face that Cassie found fascinating. He had a full, black, bushy beard that almost totally obscured his features and piercing black eyes that snapped with some emotion.

“Well?” he demanded.

Impatience. Cassie identified the emotion with an inward sigh. She saw a lot of it in her line of work.

“Well what?” she shot back, refusing to be intimidated by someone who looked like he’d wandered out of a Broadway rehearsal. Broadway rehearsal? She examined the man more closely. He looked exactly like one of those old paintings of whaling captains hanging in the town library. She grinned happily at him. He was perfect. Absolutely perfect. Aunt Hannah’s friend at the amateur theater group had done them proud. And on such short notice, too. Now, if only his command of acting was as good as his knowledge of period costumes, and he didn’t demand a fortune for the impersonation. She hastily wiped the eager expression off her face.

“Won’t you come in?” She moved aside.

“Thank ‘ee.” Jonas stepped into the kitchen. “I’ve come about the haunting job. I want it.”

“You certainly look the part.” Cassie gave credit where it was due. “Did Aunt Hannah’s friend explain what we want?”

“Someone to scare the bejammers out of your guests.”

“I think it would be better if you were just to shake their bejammers a little. I don’t want to send anyone into shock.”

Jonas shook his head in bemusement. “Beats me why anyone would want to be scared, even a little. But then there’s no accounting for tastes and that’s a fact.”

“It’s also one of the first premises of any advertising campaign. Now then, Mr.... What did you say your name was?”

“Didn’t. You can just call me Jonas. Captain Jonas Middlebury.”

Role immersion, Cassie thought in approval. “What we need, Jonas, is for you to put in an appearance most days for a few hours and judiciously allow yourself to be seen once. At most, twice. We don’t want to saturate the market and destroy our credibility.”

“Do you speak English, gal?” Jonas frowned at her. “Didn’t understand a blamed thing you said. Ain’t natural for a woman to talk like that.”

“Don’t get too far into the nineteenth century,” Cassie said dryly. “Some modern woman is liable to strangle you. What I meant was that I don’t want you to show yourself too often because people won’t believe it.”

“They’ll believe in me,” Jonas stated with a conviction Cassie found heartening. “I’ll give you good value.”

“What do you charge?”

“Hadn’t thought about it.” Jonas scratched his beard reflectively. “Haven’t got much use for money, being a ghost and all.” He shot a covetous glance at the freshly baked raspberry tarts sitting on the counter. “But now food, that’s another matter.”

“Ghosts don’t eat.” Cassie couldn’t resist pointing out the flaw in his logic.

“Don’t know about ghosts in general, but this ghost eats.” He inched a little closer to the tarts.

Cassie found herself smiling at him. He was such an interesting mixture of belligerence and charm. “How about if we say five dollars an hour and all the food you can eat?”

“Deal.” He sat down at the kitchen table, still staring at the pastries. “Starting now.”

“Starting now,” Cassie agreed, well pleased with their bargain. Jonas was absolutely perfect for the role. She couldn’t have done better if the real Jonas Middlebury himself had materialized. She scooped a tart onto a plate and then, at his hopeful expression, added a second.

Yes. Things were definitely shaping up. This was going to be a very interesting vacation, she thought happily. Anything was possible with a ghost in the kitchen and Dan Travis in an upstairs bedroom.

Two

Dan unlocked the door to Room Fourteen and pushed his bag through with his foot, wincing when his leg protested the jerky movement.

He absently rubbed the healing flesh of his abused thigh as he looked around for the phone. He located it on the maple nightstand beside the king-size, white iron bedstead.

Gingerly, he sank down on the antique blue-and-white Irish-chain quilt, sighing when the pain in his leg eased. He wiggled slightly, finding the most comfortable position on the firm mattress and then reached for the phone. The sooner he let Harry know he’d arrived, the sooner he could find out exactly what his assignment in this godforsaken corner of the New Hampshire coast was.

To his surprise, Harry himself answered, and on the first ring. It was almost as if he’d been sitting at his desk waiting for the call.

“You all right, Travis?” Harry demanded.

Dan smiled at the impatient tone. He could almost see the man’s bushy mustache quivering.

“Careful, you’re starting to sound more like a mother hen than a hard-boiled newspaper editor,” Dan said.

“I asked you if you were all right?” The volume of Harry’s voice went up considerably. Dan shifted the phone to his other ear.

“Of course I’m all right. New York to New Hampshire is hardly a suicide run.”

“I know, but...”

“But what?” Dan asked curiously. “Suppose you tell me exactly what this earth-shattering news story that only I could cover is?”

“Well...actually, I sent you to New Hampshire to avoid a story.”

Dan frowned at the delicate floral prints hanging on the wall above the bed. “Harry, have you been drinking?”

“No, dammit! I’ve been thinking.”

“Which might turn out to be every bit as dangerous in the long run,” Dan said dryly.

“This is serious,” Harry replied slowly. “You remember those articles you wrote on Buczek last month while you were still in the hospital?”

“Termite Buczek is not the kind of vermin one is likely to forget.”

“Yeah, well, he’s about to become even more memorable. The district attorney has decided to ask a federal grand jury for an indictment against him on racketeering charges. Directly as a result of your articles.”

“Score one for our side.”

Harry’s sigh sounded across the phone line. “As long as that score doesn’t come with a body count.”

Dan’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “Meaning exactly what?”

“Meaning that Buczek has aspirations. Aspirations that you have just put a nasty crimp in, and he is not a forgiving man. The word on the street is that he’s put out a contract on you.” Harry finally got to the point.

Dan sagged back against the mound of pillows at the head of the bed as a feeling of utter exhaustion washed over him. Ten years ago, even five, he’d have found the news that his articles had upset a crook to that extent exhilarating. He’d have relished the challenge of pitting his wits against a hired assassin. But now...

He shifted restlessly, wincing as a sharp pain shot up his thigh.

“Hell!” Harry exploded in frustration. “You haven’t even healed from the last attempt on your life.”

Dan’s lips lifted in a grim caricature of a smile. “Ah, but there was nothing personal in that attack. They were simply firing at the UN convoy, and I just happened to be in the truck that took a direct hit.” He snorted. “Nothing personal at all. I was just caught up in the generalized hatred that mankind spreads around.”

“Careful, my friend. You’re beginning to sound like a cynic.”

He was beginning to feel like one, too, Dan thought uneasily. Somehow he was finding it increasingly difficult to care very much about the corruption and graft that he was continually uncovering. Exposing it didn’t seem to help. It simply went on and on. Only the names and nationalities of the victims changed.

“Thanks for the warning, Harry,” he finally said. “But as for hiding out up here, I have never run from a two-bit thug before, and I don’t intend to start now.”

“Think, man. The stories you normally write are about international upheavals. The people you expose can’t get to you because by the time your stories appear in print you’re out of their country. This is one of the few times you’ve done a story about corruption in the States.”

“Yes, but—”

“No, dammit!” Harry interrupted harshly. “Last year I let Addison talk me out of his going into hiding until we could find out who was behind those death threats he was receiving. He swore he could take care of himself. They fished his body out of the East River two days later. I had to sit there at his funeral and listen while his wife and kids sobbed hysterically. Not again!” He was yelling. “Not ever again.”

But that wouldn’t be the case again. The unpalatable truth hit Dan with the force of a blow. There wasn’t anyone Harry would have to comfort if Buczek killed him. There wasn’t anyone who would weep hysterically over his coffin. A hard knot twisted painfully in his chest. There was not one single person in the whole world who would feel that his life had been shattered because he was dead. A numbing sensation began to spread through him. He had friends. Lots of friends who would be sad to think that he was no longer alive. But they would continue their own lives with barely an interruption and he would disappear into a void. As if he’d never lived. He felt stiff and chilled at the thought.

“This time we’ll do what I think is right,” Harry ordered. “China View is a perfect place for you to lie low while we try to find out whether Buczek is serious about hiring a hit man or merely bluffing to try to save face. Thank God you use your first name in your byline instead of the one everyone knows you by.”

“God had nothing to do with it. It was my youthful sense of self-importance. Leland sounded so much more worthy of a Pulitzer Prize than just plain Dan.” Dan grimaced at the memory. Seventeen years separated him from the young, idealistic college graduate he’d been then. Seventeen years filled with covering man’s inhumanities to man. A lifetime of seeing things that no one should ever have to know even existed, let alone deal with. He swallowed at the metallic taste of hopelessness that coated his mouth.

Maybe it was time for a long vacation away from it all. And this place did have its compensations. An image of Cassie’s bright face popped into his mind.

“You did remember to use cash, didn’t you?” Harry demanded.

“Yes, Harry,” Dan said soothingly. “I know all about tracing people through their credit-card purchases. And your contact was waiting at the airport in Portsmouth with the rental car just like you said he’d be.”

“You be careful, you hear?” Harry thundered. “Get yourself killed and, by God, you’re fired!”

Dan unexpectedly laughed. “I think firing me under those circumstances would come under the heading of the absolute, final straw. Call the minute you hear anything. Goodbye, Harry,” he said and then hung up.

“Goodbye, Harry,” Dan repeated as he got to his feet and walked over to the window. “Goodbye, New York. Goodbye, murder and mayhem.” He took a deep breath of the salt-laden air drifting through the sheer white curtains. “And hello possibilities.”

A smile unconsciously lifted his lips. The most intriguing possibility he’d seen so far was meeting him downstairs in—he glanced at his watch—right about now. He hurried toward the door, his movements awkward in his haste. She might think he’d changed his mind and not wait for him if he were late.

He found her sitting in a gorgeous vintage car in front of the inn.

“Where did you get a Packard in mint condition?” Dan asked reverently as he slowly circled the car, admiring it from every angle.

“My aunt bought it back in 1939.”

“And she still has it?”

Cassie grinned at him. “It still works.”

“I’m looking forward to meeting your aunt,” he said as he got into the passenger seat.

Cassie shifted gears and accelerated down the steep driveway with the casualness of long practice. “Forget it,” she said, having no trouble interpreting the covetous gleam in his eye. “My father has been trying to get his hands on this car for as long as I can remember, with absolutely no success. Although she did threaten to sell it to a collector in Portsmouth last year when they raised her collision rates again. What does your insurance company charge for vintage cars?”

Dan blinked. “What?”

“You said you were in insurance. What do you charge?”

“Um, we don’t handle car insurance. We mostly do large commercial buildings and the like,” he answered, improvising hastily. He should have claimed to be an author, he realized with the wisdom of hindsight. Something that didn’t have a body of knowledge that he should know.

“I see,” Cassie murmured, wondering whether to believe him or not. He could be telling the truth. Large commercial buildings did have insurance, so someone had to sell it to them. And it was possible that he wouldn’t know much about the rest of the industry. So why did she have the nagging feeling that she was being lied to? And what would be his purpose? He didn’t even know her. Maybe he was just an inept insurance man, she decided, glancing at him sideways as she turned onto the rugged coast road.

He was surreptitiously rubbing his palm over his right thigh, as if trying to massage a pain that was bone deep. A pain that he refused to give in to. Instead, he’d come with her. She would have expected a man with that kind of dogged determination to be a very knowledgeable insurance agent who knew all the ins and outs of the business.

But then, she didn’t really know him, she reminded herself. Despite the inexplicable sense of recognition she’d felt when she’d first seen him, she didn’t really know him. But perhaps she would by the time her vacation was over. The possibility lent a happy sense of anticipation to her thoughts.

The ride into Levington took only twenty minutes, despite the abysmal condition of the road.

“My God, don’t they ever fix the potholes?” Dan gasped as she swerved perilously near the side of the road to avoid a particularly bad one. He peered out the window, his eyes widening as he calculated the sheer drop off the cliff to the shore below. “You were right to be concerned about insurance,” he muttered. “Sooner or later you’re going to need it. Or your survivors will.”

“It’s not that bad. No one’s ever tumbled off that drop yet. At least, not sober they haven’t,” she amended. “One can’t eliminate all of the dangers in life.”

“No.” The curtly spoken word held a bitterness out of all proportion to her casual comment. “And that, I take it, is the town of Levington?” Dan gestured toward the buildings that had came into view.

“Uh-huh. We’ll stop by the newspaper office first.” Cassie decided to start her rumors of ghost sightings there.

“Newspaper?” Dan frowned as she parked in front of a small, redbrick building, trying to decide what the chances of his being recognized by the staff were. Slim, he finally concluded. He had never used a picture with his stories and they’d be highly unlikely to connect Dan Travis who walked in off the street with Leland Travis, Pulitzer Prize winner. Besides, for him to suddenly refuse to go into the newspaper office would be bound to make Cassie suspicious of him. Something he didn’t want to do.

“It’s a pretty good little paper, even if it is only a weekly.” Cassie climbed out of the car. “Ed Veach has run it for as long as I can remember.”

“It must be nice to publish a weekly.” Dan looked around curiously as he followed her into the building. “Just local news, with a minimum of carnage.”

Cassie shot him a curious glance, wondering at the wistful tone in his voice, but before she could think of a way to phrase a question, she caught sight of Ed coming out of the storeroom in the back and hurried over to him.

“Ed, I have something I want to talk to you about,” she said.

He eyed her suspiciously. “Whatever good cause you’re selling raffle tickets for, I don’t want any.”

“I’m not selling anything,” she told him.

Ed opened his eyes in mock surprise. “Will wonders never cease! You’ve actually come to buy some advertising?”

“No, not that either. Ed, this is Dan Travis, who’s a guest at the inn. Dan, this cynic is Ed Veach.”

Ed automatically shook the hand Dan held out. He stared intently into Dan’s face for a long, puzzled moment, and then his mouth fell open. “Say, aren’t you—”

“I’m Dan Travis, an insurance agent from New York City.”

Cassie blinked, taken aback at the tone of Dan’s voice. It had gone from casual pleasantness to... She peered uncertainly at him. For a moment he had sounded capable of... Of what? She scoffed at her imagination.

“Certainly, certainly. My mistake. Insurance, you say?” Ed continued with a knowing smile that made Cassie feel as if she’d missed something. “I’ll bet you use lots of computers in the insurance business, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Dan said cautiously. “I would imagine most businesses these days are heavily into computers one way or another.”

“You may not know this, Cassie—” Ed turned to her “—but we have a school bond issue coming up next month to raise money to buy computers for the kids.”

“That’s nice,” Cassie murmured, having no interest whatsoever in it. She had more than enough to worry about with her aunt’s vacancy problem.

“It occurs to me, Dan, that you might be willing to write a guest editorial for me,” Ed said blandly. “Something along the lines of a businessman telling the voters why it would be a good idea to educate their children to compete in the twenty-first-century job market.”

Cassie blinked, surprised at Ed’s request. Her surprise grew at Dan’s response. Instead of politely declining, as she would have expected, he gave Ed a rueful grin and muttered, “I’d love to.”

“Good. Good.” Ed rubbed his hands together in gleeful enthusiasm. “Now then—” he turned again to Cassie “—if you aren’t selling and you aren’t buying, why are you here?”

“I want your opinion.” She tried to inject an uncertain note into her voice. “Being a newspaperman for as long as you have, I imagine you’ve seen it all, and the most extraordinary thing happened yesterday. I saw something on the back stairs, and then again in the attic.” She shuddered and paused, giving the tension time to build.

“Spit it out, woman,” Ed ordered.

“If I believed in ghosts,” Cassie said hoarsely, “I’d say I saw the ghost of Jonas Middlebury.”

“The ghost of—” Ed sputtered to a halt. “How do you know it was him?”

“Whatever I saw looked exactly like Jonas Middlebury was supposed to have looked, and since he died a hundred and fifty years ago...” Cassie allowed her voice to trail away suggestively.

“Sounds like a ghost to me,” Dan stated calmly.

Ed gave him a scathing look and turned to Cassie. “And if the old geezer died a hundred and fifty years ago, then how do you know what he looked like?”

“They did have writing back then,” Cassie said, hastily improvising. “And old Jonas wrote to his fiancée.”

“You’re saying the inn is haunted?” Ed demanded.

“Nope.” Cassie was very careful not to make any false claims. “I’m merely saying that I saw something very strange that promptly disappeared. Since I don’t believe in ghosts, I’m hoping that you have another explanation.”

Dan studied Cassie’s earnest expression, wondering what this was all about. She didn’t seem to be the kind of nut who believed in the supernatural. His first impression of her—other than the fact that she was one very sexy lady—was that she was intelligent. But claiming to have seen ghosts was not exactly the hallmark of intelligence.

“Could you do a story on it and see if any of your readers have any ideas?” Cassie suggested with a hopeful look at Ed.

“You bring me a picture of your ghost, and I’ll run it on the front page,” Ed countered.

“If I can manage to get a photo, Ed Veach, I’ll sell it to the highest bidder,” Cassie shot back.

The editor chuckled. “That’ll teach me, huh?” He turned to Dan. “You won’t forget that editorial, will you?”

“No, I won’t forget,” Dan threw over his shoulder as he followed Cassie out of the newspaper office. “Is there really a ghost at China View?” he asked as he fell into step beside her.

“I saw something on the stairs.” Cassie stopped in front of the bank. Pulling the deposit envelope out of her purse, she carefully stuffed it into the automatic deposit slot, cautiously checked to make sure it had gone down and then headed across the street to the café, intent on spreading the rumor further.

“And you think it was a ghost?” Dan persisted as he held the door for her.

“I have never believed in ghosts,” she said honestly. “And I see no reason to change my mind simply because I saw something or someone who seemed to be able to disappear at will.”

“Who disappeared?” Annie, the waitress, looked up from the cherry pie she was cutting. “Don’t tell me we got us a little excitement in this place?”

“I don’t think so.” Cassie slipped onto one of the stools at the counter, figuring it would be easier to spread rumors from there than from one of the more-isolated booths in the back. “I’m sure it must have been my imagination.”

“You?” Annie scoffed. “You’re disgustingly levelheaded.”

“Her whole family is,” Bill, seated farther down the counter, offered. “When I was in school with your father, Cassie, he had no more imagination than a garden slug.”

“And your aunt Hannah has an explanation for everything,” Jim, his elderly coffee-drinking crony added.

“Ain’t that the truth,” Annie muttered. “I still remember being in her kindergarten class.”

“You and most of the town,” Jim said. “What does Hannah have to say about what you saw?”

“Aunt Hannah doesn’t believe in ghosts, either,” Cassie said truthfully.

“What makes you think it was a ghost?” Annie demanded.

“I didn’t say it was a ghost,” Cassie said. “Just because I saw something on the stairs...”

“Something?” Jim peered at her. “This ain’t no joke you’re playing on us, is it, Cassie?”

“Absolutely not!” The conviction in Cassie’s voice was unmistakable. It was certainly no game, she told herself, quieting her conscience. Her aunt’s livelihood depended on this charade.

“What about you?” Bill asked Dan. “Have you seen this ghost she’s talking about?”

Dan looked into Cassie’s hopeful eyes and felt a curious twisting sensation in his chest. Despite his horror of manufacturing news, he couldn’t quite divorce himself from whatever fantasy she was so carefully creating. And it wasn’t as if it were really news, he decided, appeasing his conscience.

“Well, I’m not sure I actually saw anything. Not exactly,” Dan said slowly.

“Well, what exactly?” Annie leaned over the counter.

“I heard something outside my room, but when I opened the door...” Dan paused.

“Yeah?” Jim demanded.

“I caught a glimpse of something out of the corner of my eye, and when I turned, it had disappeared. And there was this smell.”

“What kind of smell?” Annie’s faded blue eyes widened in delighted horror. “Like something out of the grave?”

Cassie blinked. This was getting out of hand. She certainly didn’t want anyone associating China View with corpses.

Dan lowered his voice conspiratorially. “Of ambergris.”

“Ambergris is what those whalers were after, isn’t it?” Jim turned to Cassie in excitement. “And wasn’t the man who built China View a whaling captain?”

“Yes, Jonas Middlebury was his name,” she admitted. “But I’m sure there’s a perfectly normal explanation for it. Like...” She purposefully looked uncertain.

“Cleaning supplies?” Dan offered.

“Yes, cleaning supplies.” Cassie gave him a beaming smile that seemed to wrap around his chest and constrict his breathing.

“You were right.” Dan nodded decisively. “There was a rational explanation.”

“Ha!” Annie gave him a pitying look. “I’ve been cleaning more years than you been alive, and I tell you, there ain’t no cleaning supply that smells like ambergris.”

“Well, I, for one, prefer his explanation to ghosts,” Cassie said.

Annie shivered happily. “Was he handsome?”

Cassie instinctively looked at Dan, and then realized Annie was referring to the supposed ghost. “Well, I didn’t get a clear look at him, but he seemed to have a bushy black beard.”

“Sailing captains all had bushy beards,” Bill offered.

Jim nodded in agreement. “Every picture I ever saw, they did. Cassie, you got yourself a ghost.” He tossed some money down beside his empty plate and headed toward the door, with Bill hot on his heels. No doubt to spread the story, Cassie thought in satisfaction.

“Annie, I’ll have a cup of coffee and a piece of that pie you’re cutting, please,” she said.

“Same for me, plus a hamburger,” Dan ordered, rather surprised to realize he was hungry. It seemed so long since he’d thought about such mundane things as food.

“How can you be thinking about eating with a ghost haunting the inn?” Annie demanded.

“Nonsense,” Cassie said. “Dan just gave us a perfectly adequate explanation for what he smelled, and I probably just saw...” She waved her hand vaguely.

“Ha!” Annie muttered as she poured the coffee, shoved a piece of pie in front of each of them and then hurried back to the kitchen to get the hamburger.

Cassie surreptitiously studied Dan out of the corner of her eye as she added cream and sugar to her coffee. He was meticulously eating the cherries out of his pie. Why had he backed up her story about a ghost? she wondered. He couldn’t have really heard anything. She’d only just hired Jonas. The actor wouldn’t have had time to get upstairs and be seen. Although adding the smell of ambergris was certainly a nice touch, she conceded.

“What does ambergris smell like?” she asked him curiously.

Dan gave her a wide grin. “Cleaning supplies?”

Annie bustled through the swinging doors from the kitchen, plopped a steaming hamburger and a gargantuan pile of fries in front of Dan and then turned to Cassie. “Eppie says she don’t believe in ghosts, and she wants to know if this is something to do with your job.”

“I don’t believe in ghosts, either, and I swear on a stack of Bibles that this has absolutely nothing to do with my job.” Cassie put her hand over her heart. “I’m on vacation for the next month while I recharge my mental batteries.”

“Ha! If you got a ghost out there at China View, it’s more than likely he’ll suck out all your mental energies.”

“I think it’s vampires who suck things out,” Cassie said. “And I would definitely recognize a vampire. They smell like basements and dress in black and have long fangs.”

Dan nodded in agreement. “That’s why they absolutely never smile. Their teeth are a dead giveaway.”

“You two can laugh now, but we’ll see who has the last laugh,” Annie said with ghoulish relish. “You let me know if anything else happens, promise?”

“Promise,” Cassie agreed promptly, well pleased with the results of her afternoon’s work. Unless she very much missed her guess, Jim and Bill were now over at the library spreading the story around the reading room, and Annie would tell everyone who came into the café. Probably with a few embellishments of her own.

“What job?” Dan asked curiously when Annie went to clean away Jim’s and Bill’s dirty dishes.

“What?” Cassie blinked in confusion.

“She wanted to know if the ghost sightings had something to do with your job. What job?”

“I’m in advertising,” Cassie said.

“Advertising?” Dan repeated. His eyes wandered over her impossibly innocent looking features, lingering on the suppressed laughter in the back of her eyes and the upward tilt of her soft lips. She looked like a mischievous sprite. His glance dropped to her small breasts, outlined against her silk shirt. No, she looked like a very sexy, mischievous sprite, he amended. One whose secrets he couldn’t wait to delve into.

“I’m at Welton and Mitchell in New York City. I’m a vice president,” she couldn’t resist adding at his skeptical expression.

He blinked in surprise at her disclosure. People, especially women, didn’t get to be vice presidents of old established firms at her age unless they were very competent as well as very sharp. And very competent, very sharp people didn’t spend their time spreading rumors about ghosts without a very good reason. So what was it? Finding out could be the most fun he’d had in years, he thought, feeling a stab of excitement ripple through him.

Three

“You’re sure you don’t mind seeing to our guest this evening, dear?” Aunt Hannah asked uncertainly.

Mind being left alone with the most intriguing man she’d ever encountered at China View? Cassie thought as she smiled affectionately at her aunt.

“I don’t like to leave you to cope all alone, but poor Jessie—you remember, she retired from teaching at the same time I did,” Hannah added at Cassie’s blank look. “She called while you were in town, and she sounded positively frantic. She got a registered letter this afternoon evicting her. It seems some developer from Portsmouth bought her apartment building and wants to tear it down, to build a fast-food restaurant of all things....” Hannah shook her graying hair in exasperation. “I’m helping Jessie organize a meeting of the other tenants tonight.”

“I don’t mind,” Cassie assured her. “Dinner’s all ready.” She gestured toward the pots gently simmering on the stove. “All I have to do is serve it to him.”

“Thank you, dear.” Aunt Hannah gave her a warm hug and, with a militant expression that sat uneasily on her elderly face, marched out the kitchen door.

Cassie checked to make sure she hadn’t spilled anything on the front of her jade silk shirtwaist dress and then went in search of Dan. She found him sitting in one of the white wicker rockers in the sun-room off the lobby. He was industriously rocking back and forth as he read the Wall Street Journal. It was as if he were too full of pent-up energy to sit quietly, Cassie thought as she studied him. He’d changed for dinner into a pale blue oxford shirt and a superbly cut Harristweed jacket that was slightly frayed at the cuffs.

“Would you like to eat now?” Cassie asked.

Dan looked up and his eyes met hers over the top of his paper. They seemed to gleam with all kinds of concealed emotions, emotions that lent an intoxicating promise to the evening.

“I’m starved.” His eyes lingered on her mouth, adding intriguing shades of meaning to the simple phrase. “You will join me, won’t you?” he asked as he got to his feet.

“Sure.” Cassie accepted promptly, seeing no reason to be coy about preferring his company to eating alone. “Have a seat in the dining room, and I’ll bring out dinner.”

She hurried back into the kitchen and carefully loaded the serving tray. With any luck, he’d be so mellow from Aunt Hannah’s delicious cooking—to say nothing of her own scintillating company—that by the time the evening was over, she’d know everything there was to know about him. Starting with why he hadn’t used a credit card to register and why he’d agreed to write Ed’s editorial.

Cassie paused, frowning at the sugar bowl as something suddenly occurred to her. How had Ed known that Dan could write anything, let alone a well-reasoned editorial? Writing was a finely honed skill—a skill that Ed had automatically assumed Dan possessed. Why?

Cassie thoughtfully added the creamer to the tray as she remembered the sly expression on Ed’s face when he’d asked Dan to do it. Ed knew something about Dan. Or thought he knew something. But what? As an editor, Ed read all the dispatches from the news services. Could he have run across Dan’s name or picture in a story?

She felt a momentary frisson of fear tighten the skin on her face before common sense doused it. If Ed knew something unsavory about Dan, he would have warned her. And he wouldn’t have extorted a free editorial. He’d have called the police.

Picking up the tray, she shouldered open the kitchen door and entered the dining room. She automatically glanced around, looking for Dan, and found him bent over the huge fieldstone fireplace. He had taken off his jacket and was in the process of scattering her carefully laid fire with the brass poker.

Maybe he was an escaped pyromaniac, she thought ruefully as a shower of sparks disappeared up the chimney. She set the tray down on the table, and Dan glanced up at the sound.

“I love a fire,” he said slowly. “Somehow its light seems to hold the horrors of the world at bay.”

Cassie frowned at the bleak starkness of his expression. She wanted to erase it, but she didn’t know the right words. Nor did she know if he would resent her attempt. So she did the only other thing she could think of and pretended not to notice.

“There.” She finished unloading the tray and sat down, motioning him into the chair opposite her. “You have your choice of pot roast and veggies or veggies and pot roast.”

“In that case, madam, I choose pot roast and vegetables. And coffee.” He nodded toward the pot.

Cassie poured a cup and handed it to him. How could she direct the conversation along the lines she wanted? she wondered as she watched him stir cream and sugar into his coffee. A point-blank question would be worse than useless. Not only would he be unlikely to answer it, but it would put him on guard. It might even make him avoid her in the future.

The possibility sent a chill of loss through her. She didn’t want him to avoid her. She wanted... What did she want from this comparative stranger who seemed so tantalizingly familiar? she asked herself. Companionship? Her eyes traced over his firm lips. No, she wanted more than that, she admitted honestly. She wanted to touch him. To kiss him. She squarely faced the compulsion that had been growing from the first moment she’d seen him.

“Why?” Dan asked.

Cassie blinked, for one moment thinking that he was asking her why she wanted to kiss him. Common sense came to her rescue. Dan Travis might be a fascinating man, but he wasn’t clairvoyant.

“Why what?” she asked.

“Why is an advertising executive from New York City living in the wilds of New Hampshire spreading rumors about seeing ghosts?”

“I always spend my vacations with Aunt Hannah. And I happen to prefer the wilds of New Hampshire to the jungle of New York.”

“But that still doesn’t explain you telling people you’ve seen a ghost.”

“I did not,” Cassie insisted. “In fact, I quite clearly stated that not only did I not believe in ghosts, but that I was sure there was a reasonable explanation for what I saw.”

Dan eyed her through the steam rising from his coffee cup, his expression unreadable. “Tell me more about your nonghost,” he finally said.

Cassie frowned, wondering how it was that he was the one doing all the questioning when she’d been the one intending to. Maybe talking about Jonas would put Dan off guard, and she could slip in a few of her own questions, she decided.

“There’s very little to tell,” she said carefully. “I saw a man on the steps, and again in the attic, who looked like the description of Jonas Middlebury in Millicent’s diaries. Not believing in ghosts, I was hoping that someone in town might have a logical explanation for what I saw.”

“Maybe I’ll see him?” Dan gave her a slow grin that made her very wary. He would not be an easy man to con.

“I wouldn’t know. He didn’t give me an itinerary of his hauntings. Do you have a weak heart?” she suddenly asked. He didn’t look like he did, but then, looks could be deceptive.

“No, just a game leg.” Dan instinctively rubbed his hand over his right thigh. “I think I’d like some of that pot roast.” He purposefully changed the subject, and Cassie had no alternative but to go along with it.

She handed him the platter of pot roast, freezing as he reached for the plate and his rolled-up shirtsleeve stretched back over his forearm. Hastily she looked down at her own plate to hide her sense of shock. That was an almost-healed scar from a bullet wound on his arm! She was sure of it. Last fall she’d overseen an ad campaign to promote a violent cops-and-robbers film, and the makeup man had had a wall full of photos of various bullet scars as examples to help him create fake scars on the characters. Cassie had spent the better part of three days listening to the man expound on what bullets did to human flesh and the difficulty of recreating that impact with makeup. There was no way she could ever mistake a bullet scar.

So why did Dan have one? Surreptitiously, she studied him. He was pouring gravy into the hole he’d made in his mound of mashed potatoes with a concentration she found endearing.

Cassie unconsciously relaxed. She didn’t know why he’d been shot, but she would be willing to bet that he hadn’t been doing anything illegal at the time. Maybe he was simply a careless hunter with very bad aim.

“You still haven’t told me about your ghost,” Dan persisted.

“Yes, I have. You simply didn’t like what I told you. And since questions seem to be the order of the day—” she gave up on the subtle approach and opted for directness “—who did Ed think you were?”

“Beats me.” Dan’s shrug was a masterpiece of unconcern. “Ask him if you want to know.”

“Why did you agree to write his editorial for him?” she persisted.

He grimaced. “It seemed like the neighborly thing to do, and it’ll keep me from being bored. I’m not used to being idle.”

That was possible, Cassie conceded. Dan seemed to be surrounded by a force field of energy. He could well be a workaholic type who needed something to keep him occupied. Although she could think of far more interesting things for him to do than to spend his time writing Ed’s editorials, she thought dreamily.

“What are you thinking about?” he asked.

“About why people do things,” she said obliquely.

“Personally, I’ve long since come to the conclusion that most people don’t have any motivation. They simply react to events and then try to rationalize after the fact.”

“You’re oversimplifying,” Cassie argued. “Most people have a goal. Something that drives them toward a certain end.”

“Such as what made you tell Ed about the ghost?” He eyed her narrowly.

“Has anyone ever told you that persistence carried to extremes is no longer a virtue?” Cassie shot back.

Dan studied her for a long moment and then said, “What do you think is motivating me?”

Cassie stared at him. The skin around the corners of his bright eyes crinkled as if in humor. Or devilment, she thought with a spurt of excitement. Her gaze slipped lower to study the humorous quirk of his firm lips.

“Hunger for your dinner?” she asked.

“You’re partially correct.” He got to his feet and slowly walked around the table toward her. “Hunger is very definitely a major part of what is motivating me at the moment. But food isn’t the source. You are.”

“I are...am?” Her concentration faltered when he stopped scant inches from her. If she were to move ever so slightly, she would be touching him. She swallowed uneasily at the depth of the longing she felt to do exactly that. She tilted her head back and looked up at him. His mouth was curled in a sensuous smile that reflected her own longing, a fact that didn’t help her crumbling composure.

“I want to kiss you.” His voice deepened perceptibly. “Would you object if I did?”

Cassie stared at him, intrigued by his request. She was far more used to men who grabbed what they wanted—whether it was a thing or a person. To have a man actually ask for what he wanted was a novelty.

“No,” she said slowly, “I wouldn’t object.”

“In that case...” He leaned forward and ever so gently pressed his lips to hers. A sudden surge of reaction shot through her, sending a flush of heat racing under her skin. The faint scent of his cologne drifted down into her lungs and then seeped into her mind, intensifying her reaction. His lips felt warm and firm and ever so faintly rough as he slowly rubbed them back and forth.

Cassie shivered, unconsciously clutching him. Her fingers dug into the firm muscles of his shoulder. She leaned forward, wanting more, much more than she was getting. She wanted to find out what it would be like if he were to wrap his arms around her and pull her up against him. If he were to press her body against his lean, muscled one.

Cassie blinked as a ringing sound filled her head. The telephone. Her mind automatically put a name to the sound. The telephone was ringing. She lifted her heavy lids and watched as Dan stepped back, a scowl on his face. That was exactly how she felt—as if she had been interrupted on the brink of some momentous discovery. But maybe it was for the best, she thought, a slither of reality chilling her sense of euphoria. She was getting in too deep, too fast with this man. She didn’t know why she was so drawn to him. Or why he fascinated her so. And, more important, she didn’t know how much of her fascination was reciprocated.

“Are we going to answer it?” His rueful question brought her back to earth with a thud. Her pride rebelled at the thought that he might think she was one of those vapid females thrown into a dither by a kiss. Because that was all it had been, she assured herself. A simple kiss. What hadn’t been simple had been her reaction to it. That had been a masterpiece of complications.

“Excuse me,” she muttered as she brushed past him, the skin on her arm tingling where it touched him. Cassie hurried out to the lobby, snatching up the phone on its sixth ring.

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