Captain Blackwood stood a few yards away, doing his best to ignore the three fluttering females buzzing around Wren like exasperated bees trying to force their way into a hive. Three women, three viewpoints, all completely wrapped up in the story playing out on the other side of the veil.
He didn’t understand their confusion. Of course, the man should have hesitated. Of course he should have backed down. A public display of affection was distasteful, not to mention crass. That sort of behavior belonged behind closed doors—and preferably in the dark.
More importantly, Dr. Trafford should not be thinking about romance at all.
What he should be doing is concentrating on getting back to work. On doing what mattered. On saving lives.
The man was obviously clever. He’d spent years honing skills Blackwood didn’t understand and performing extraordinary medical feats. What he did was borderline magical, definitely marvelous, and could be considered miraculous. Yet here he was, hovering around a woman instead of serving the world that needed him.
He had better places to be. Patients to treat. Lives to save. Didn’t he understand what an honor it was to give yourself in service to others?
Yes, Blackwood understood that the doctor’s father, a general, did not approve of his son’s profession. Military fathers often wanted their sons to follow them into uniform. But in Silas Blackwood’s eyes, saving lives was service of the highest order. A calling filled with honor. And Dr. Trafford had no right—no right—with his education and skill, to turn his back on it.
If Silas could go back, if he could save one more life, comfort one more soldier, cut away one more ruined limb to give a young man a future, he would do it. Without hesitation. His own wounds—physical or otherwise—had never mattered.
Only service mattered.
Silas straightened as Madame Calliope approached their group, Miss Effie—looking magnificent—at her side. Madamestopped, tipped her head and looked at him. “Problem?” she asked.
Madame was one of a handful of Solstice Springs residents who could directly see and interact with his community. Silas doffed his hat, greeted her and Miss Effie, blushing a little. Miss Effie was, after all, Solstice Springs royalty.
“The doctor almost kissed the dancer and now we have to dissect and discuss it,” Silas answered, gesturing to where Wren stood, the three female ghosts lined up in front of her, their expressions deeply concerned. It always struck him—the immediacy of women’s care for one of their own.Is she all right? What can we do? Who do we punish?
Effie clapped her hands together but made no noise. “What fun!”
Madame Calliope’s gaze sharpened. “The girl who’s been chasing the wind and the wild. Is he her harbor?”
Another woman, another time, and yet again Silas didn’t know what she was talking about. Clearing his throat, he called out to his friends, drawing their attention to Madame and Effie’s presence. As they drifted over, Hadley Wellington, passing by with a friend, stopped, turned, and frowned. Then she walked back and slipped into the space between Madame and Effie. “Morning Madame, Miss Effie. Okay, but like … what’s the tea? This looks juicy.”
“Does it look like we are drinking tea?” Effie demanded.
“By tea, I mean gossip,” the young girl replied smiling. This child, the spectral community had decided years ago, was one they needed to keep an eye on.
Madame lifted her winged, black eyebrows. “You can see them?” she asked, with remarkably little surprise.
Young Hadley rocked her hand. “Miss Effie I can—and the soldier. I can see most of the showgirl. The others not so much.”
“Huh,” Ruby muttered, unimpressed.
“But I get the impression of vintage, kickass biker boots,” Hadley said. “Super way cool.”
Ruby stuck out her foot covered by a very ugly, very masculine boot, and wiggled it, obviously pleased by the compliment.
“So, what gives?” young Hadley asked. At that moment, her friend bounded up, grabbed her arm, sent Madame a nervous look and pulled her away.
“Ugh, I was literally going to get the goss… Wren! Why are you simply vibing there, looking hot and bothered?”
All the ghosts turned their attention back to Wren, who did look flustered. Her breathing was uneven, and she kept touching her chest as if checking that her heart was still beating. She rocked on her heels, then locked her knees, steadying herself. Her gaze still followed Dane, who was now quite a distance away, and her brow furrowed—not wounded so much as puzzled.
Hadley linked arms with Wren. “This is my friend, Emma.” Emma and Wren greeted each other and Hadley spoke again. “Why do you look like you are doing some big-brain calculus math or something?”
Wren grimaced. “I’m trying to solve a man problem, which might be harder than calculus.”
“Look,” Ruby said sharply, pointing. “She’s doubting herself. Wondering what she did wrong. Asking herself why he didn’t go through with the kiss.”
“I thought you were going full man-free this summer,” Hadley stated. “So … who’s the hottie? Can I tell Poppy you’re crushing? Is it Dane?”
Wren mocked slapped Hadley, and as they walked away, Wren played with the hem of her shirt and bit down on her bottom lip.
