He had made coffee. She thought about going back down; coffee never kept her awake.

And now she was embarrassed. She’d made assumptions when he’d spoken, and it had really been idiotic. She’d just been so nervous.

She was, in truth, glad he had insisted on staying, she admitted to herself once she’d showered and curled into her bed. The dogs didn’t seem to be out.

Her house might well be full of holes.

She’d never learned to shoot and didn’t own a gun. Living in Jeremy’s house until she’d gone into a dorm at college, she had always felt safe.

Jeremy did have a shotgun, and locks and a high-tech alarm system.

She wondered as she lay awake why—after what she had witnessed—she hadn’t headed straight out to a shooting range. She should have learned to defend herself. Maybe she’d resolve now that she would do so.

Jeremy had even suggested it after college. But she had decided to buy the house next to the stables, and Monty was there, and the dogs were there...and it was easier to lose herself in the busyness of working the stables, of talking to new and different people every day.

She’d got caught up in building this life, and she was proud of her tours, that she knew how to make her stories both accurate and fun. Even her weird ability to see the dead had worked out for her because she could add bits and pieces of lore she had learned from the ghosts she sometimes found wandering through the city.

“Why aren’t you being more helpful now?” she whispered aloud, to no spirit in particular.

She didn’t know. But as she lay there, she realized she would have been awake all night if Dan hadn’t stayed.

She heard when he checked the front door, and she knew he checked the rear door, too.

And she heard him when he came up the stairs and softly closed the door to the guest room.

She was tired, so tired. And now she had showered, and the hot water had been delicious, and she felt wonderfully comfortable, and while her thoughts raced, she was relaxed.

And she even wondered at herself.

He’d made her laugh a few times. He’d made her feel competent and important...

She let out an oath of aggravation with herself, slammed her pillow and curled around again to get comfortable.

She wished she had more experience with men. After moving to New Orleans, she’d dated a boy named Len Trotsky in high school, but that had faded away her first year of college; she’d been a dedicated student. And Jeremy had been like a watchdog, and maybe people even thought she was strange, if they knew her history.