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something.”
    Jane laughed. It was the first good laugh she’d had in a very long while. She led him down the path to the well. She turned when she heard Olive barking. By the time she realized the dog’s intentions, Olive already had a hold on Mike’s ankle.
    “Get her off of me,” he yelled.
    “Ollie. Let go, Ollie,” Jane commanded. But Olive was determined and refused to let go. Jane did the only thing she could think of and struggled to pick up the springer. “I’m sorry,” she said, grimacing. “She’s become very territorial where the well is concerned.”
    Mike pulled up his trouser leg. “I think she took a chunk out of my leg.” Blood was oozing through his gray sock. “Look, I’m bleeding.”
    “Oh, it’s just a little nip,” Jane said, purposely making light of it. For a big man he was certainly acting like a wuss. She pulled a tissue out of her pocket, tore off a piece, spit on it, and started toward him. “Here, let me just—”
    He dropped his trouser leg. “No! You are not going to stick that on me,” he said, backing up a couple of feet.
    “It’ll stop the bleeding.” She continued toward him.
    “It’ll stop by itself, thank you anyway,” he said, holding up his hands to stay her.
    Jane repocketed the tissue. “Okay, if that’s what you want. But you’d better not sue me.”
    “I’m not going to sue you, for God’s sake. What kind of guy do you think I am?”
    “I don’t know. I only know the old Mike Sorenson, the one who smoked pot under the bleachers at the homecoming game and who—”
    “Never mind,” he cut in. “I guess I’ll just have to prove to you that I’ve changed.”
    “And just how do you intend to do that?”
    “I don’t know. I’ll think on it,” he said, hobbling along behind her.
     
     
    Jane could think of a couple of ways he could show her how he’d changed, but she wasn’t about to offer any suggestions. She was still an old-fashioned girl and preferred the man to do the asking. That didn’t mean that she couldn’t hope. Admittedly, after today’s luncheon, she had been hoping that something might spark between them. But as soon as he opened the front door and caught her playing with Olive, her hope died. After that, she figured there was nothing to lose, so she just acted her normal self.
    Past experience had shown Jane that her “normal” self wasn’t what most men were looking for. But was Mike Sorenson like most men?
    Jane grinned as she continued on to the well. If nothing else, she had finally made him notice her where before—in high school—she doubted he’d even known she existed.
    That was then, this is now, she thought smugly.

2
    The well sat in the corner of the backyard, a good three hundred feet away from Jane’s perennial garden. Jane smiled as Mike trudged behind her through the dry twigs and crackly leaves. She wondered how this learned colleague of hers could be so interested in something as nebulous as ghosts.
    “Here it is,” she said, waving him past her. The well had become the focal point of her backyard, not because of the ghostly legend but because it was so Snow Whitish in design, a real storybook wishing well with a waist-high stone wall and a wooden, V-shaped roof that dripped with ivy.
    Mike’s expression was eager as he made for the well. She watched him rub his hands together, touch the stone rim, then close his eyes.
    Olive howled. Olive never howled.
    The fine hairs on the back of Jane’s neck stood on end at the mournful sound. “Olive, what’s the matter with you, girl?” She leaned down and rubbed the dog’s neck to soothe her.
    “What’s all this stuff clogging up the hole?” Mike asked, looking over the edge.
    “Rocks. I didn’t want history to repeat itself, so I had the guy at the nursery dump a couple of loads of rock into it.” Olive inched closer to Jane’s leg and howled again. “Honest to God, I don’t know what’s gotten into her,” Jane said, staring down at the