The little bird tried and tried to wake its companion, thrusting its beak under a broken wing, urging the female to fly.
Fast as he could, Heath rode home to get his mother. She’d climbed on her own bike and dutifully followed. But now, as an adult, Heath knew there was nothing she could have done.
By the time they’d returned, the male had exhausted himself and he sat alongside his mate shuddering with each breath.
Heath had started to cry, begging his mom to do something, and she’d held him close, smoothing his hair and telling him love wasn’t easy. She’d promised him that one day, like the bird, he’d find a special girl, and when he married her, there’d be no guaranteeing forever. He’d just have to savor each day for the jewel it was.
In meeting Tess, Heath had thought he’d found his jewel, only to discover, instead, cold, unyielding stone. Hardening his jaw, he glanced over his shoulder to an eight-paned window. He hated to think that the woman still held emotional power in his life.
“Aha!” The innkeeper had found a stack of forms and now she took one from the top, shoving the rest behind the counter. “Once you fill this out, I’ll take you to your room.”
Heath made quick work of his assignment, glad for the distraction from memories he’d just as soon forget.
When he’d finished, Sadie retrieved a brass key ring with the number nine engraved on it, then stepped from behind the desk. “Want me to get that?” She nodded toward his bag.
“No, thanks.” A chivalrous streak had him reaching for it himself.
“Okay, then,” she said, making a sweeping gesture toward the stairs. “Follow me and we’ll get you squared away so you can relax before lunch.”
Considering the caliber of the present view, Heath was pleased to oblige. The woman his brother had described as one of the premier hostesses in the country, well-rounded in all types of cooking and the genteel manners of the sort to instantly put the most disgruntled guest at ease, was also a serious looker. At least five-ten with an abundance of curves.
Heath had been so busy admiring her endless legs that it had barely registered how tough a time she’d had checking him in. Not that it mattered—it just seemed odd.
Up curved stairs and then down a wide hall lined with antique side tables and chairs and bucolic landscapes. His guide stopped before a door, easing the key into the lock.
“Here you go,” she said, turning the latch and door, then stepping back with a flourish. “This is the Mark Twain Suite and features whitewashed walls in honor of Huck Finn and memorabilia of the author’s life. One of our most prized acquisitions is this letter to his daughter, Clara, written in 1904.”
“Um, thanks,” Heath said. Not that he wasn’t impressed with the room’s overall ambience, but Sadie’s delivery style sounded rushed—as if she’d been up all night memorizing the description. “How long have you been running this place?”
“Five years.” She flashed him a smile. “This inn’s my pride and joy.”
He nodded, unsure of what to say. Something about her mannerisms struck him as off—especially for someone who’d been following the same routine for so long. But then, lord knew he’d had a few off days himself at the height of his Tess fiasco. Maybe Sadie had just argued with a member of her staff? The other half of her towel team?
“Anyway,” she said with an awkward flap of her hands, “lunch will be served in the dining room at one. I hope you enjoy your stay.”
“Thanks. I’m sure I will.”
“And don’t hesitate to tell me or one of the staff if you need more towels or a snack—or whatever.” She flashed another of her cute toothy grins and then she was off, shutting the door behind her.
IN THE HALL, RESTING her shoulders against Shane Peters’s door, tightly shutting her eyes, Sarah finally exhaled. What a mess that had been. She’d expected him to arrive with a girlfriend in tow. Sadie had warned her to be on the lookout for single guests who could possibly be from Zodor’s, but the way Shane had leaped to her aid with the towels hardly made him seem the snooty reviewer type. Besides which, he’d planned to arrive with a weekend date. It would hardly be professional for a reviewer to bring a date, now would it?
Pulling herself together, she hustled down the hall to the back stairs. In Sadie’s room, as Sarah should have done an hour earlier, Sarah exchanged her comfy clothes for sharply creased khakis and a white blouse. The bulk of the inn’s guests would be arriving within the hour, and now that she’d worked out the registration process with gorgeous Mr. Peters, she hoped that from here on out her check-in duties would be smooth as silk.
Sarah added a string of her sister’s pearls and matching earrings to her ensemble, then swirled her hair into a French twist. With a spritz of a light floral scent and fresh lip gloss, she was good to go.
Mmm…Mr. Peters. Truth be told, her quick change had more to do with that one new guest than with the other anticipated arrivals. Had she only imagined the electricity between them when they’d touched? It had been so sweet of him coming to her rescue in the lobby. Then he’d been so patient while she’d fumbled for the registration forms.
All in all, he seemed like a nice guy—a drastic departure from Greg. It was even a relief that her attraction meter still worked.
Her cell chirped out the Gilligan’s Island theme song.
She glanced at the caller ID, only to roll her eyes. “Hey, sis. What’s up?”
“Not much. Just checking in. Have any of our couples arrived?”
“Half of one.”
“What do you mean half?”
“On Peters-plus-guest, the guest backed out on him.”
“You don’t think he could be the reviewer, do you? Pulling something sneaky?”
“Not a chance. Too good-looking, laid-back and not at all uptight.”
“Sarah…” her sister warned, her voice nearly a growl.
“What?”
“Just in case…don’t even think about starting something with him.”
“Good grief. I’m barely over Greg. What makes you think I’m anywhere near ready to jump in the dating pool again?”
“I don’t know. Something in your tone of voice.”
“My tone?” Sarah laughed.
“It’s me, remember? I have a sixth sense about you and men.”
“Right. Like Helga claims to have her all-seeing man eye?”
“That’s exactly right. Don’t knock it. And even if he is hot, you won’t have time for romance. And another thing—I don’t want anyone thinking I’m fraternizing with the guests. Or, for that matter, cheating on Trevor.”
Sarah sighed. “Again, after the head trip Greg pulled on me, I’m in no shape to think about any guy. Plus, I only said the guy was hot. Not that I’m going to marry him and have his babies.”
“There’s no need to get snippy. I have a reputation to uphold.”
“Which you will. Trust me, okay?”
After a few beats of silence, Sarah’s twin said, “I’ll think about it.”
TWO HOURS LATER, Sarah wished she were anywhere other than immersed in serving the inn’s hectic lunch. Backing against the kitchen’s pass-through door, Sarah took a deep breath, willing her pulse to slow as she pasted on one of her sister’s trademark serene smiles. One thing that helped her relax, at least partially, was that the sun-flooded dining room was a world away from the frenzied pace of the kitchen.
She took a deep breath and then headed for the man who had already become her least favorite guest.
“About time,” Mr. Standridge said. With his double chin, permed suspiciously black hair and small gold hoop earring, Sarah imagined the portly man as a retired pirate. Only that picture was somewhat skewed by the fact that Mrs. Standridge’s loose white bun made her a dead ringer for Mrs. Claus. Although, Sarah thought as she set two plates of roast beef in front of them, stranger things could happen than Mrs. Claus and Blackbeard having a scandalous affair at her sister’s inn.
Not trying too terribly ha
rd to hide her grin, she looked up to find herself face-to-face with Shane Peters. His angular features sported a half day’s stubble, and his smiling eyes were as blue as the berries on her sister’s stationery logo. Quite simply, the man was breathtaking. And the fact that she’d even noticed was a sure sign that, yes, stranger things than a pirate Mrs. Claus scandal could happen!
Mr. Standridge cleared his throat. “Freshly cracked pepper, please.”
“And I still haven’t gotten my Chablis,” Mrs. Standridge complained.
“Need more of my help?” Shane asked with a teasing grin, helping himself to the best seat in the room beside open French doors.
“I’m thinking maybe so,” she said with a discreet wink that she hadn’t intended on being flirty.
“Ma’am?” Mr. Standridge glowered.
“I would really like more tea,” Mrs. Helsing said with a wag of her empty glass. As robust as the Standridges were, the Helsings were stick-thin and white. Pasty yet slick. Complexions like Crisco.
“And when you get a chance,” Mr. Helsing said, “could I please get a new fork? The tines on this one are smudged.”
“Certainly, sir. Right away.”
“I hate to be contrary,” the woman who’d introduced herself as “the widow” Naomie Young said in a cottony tone that matched her fragile frame and pale blue eyes, “but I prefer white bread to pumpernickel.”
“Yes, ma’am. I’ll have fresh white bread right out.”
Sarah managed a feeble smile, took one last intrigued glance at Shane, then worked up a sweat attempting to fulfill her guests’ never-ending requests. If only the two of them had met under other circumstances.
“THAT WAS DELICIOUS,” Heath said, toward the meal’s end, to the couple he’d heard addressed as the Standridges. He introduced himself as his brother had instructed, being careful to maintain a chatty, conversational tone and not tipping off anyone as to the true nature of his visit. “So far, what do you think of the inn?” he asked.
“The decor’s lovely,” Mrs. Standridge offered, glancing over her shoulder before speaking again. Checking to see if Sadie was out of the room? “But the food…” She blanched.
“You didn’t care for it?” Heath asked, more than a little surprised, since he’d enjoyed his roast beef, mashed potatoes and gravy.
“It was tasty enough,” the woman said, “but a smidge heavy for my tastes. Reminiscent of a high-end TV dinner.”
“Not that we were eavesdropping,” the female half of the Helsing couple said, “but I booked this weekend because of fantastic recommendations from several of our friends. I enjoyed the meal, but the service seemed lackluster, if not altogether slow.”
Mr. Helsing nodded. “There were several times when my iced-tea glass was empty, and I had to wait a full three minutes or more for a refill.”
The horror.
Why, Heath couldn’t say, but as he made careful mental notes of a litany of bogus halfhearted complaints, he felt sorry for Sadie. According to his brother, the Blueberry Inn was one of the best-kept secrets in the Midwest—which was why the Zodor’s editor in chief was so hot to get the scoop.
Keeping that in mind—and registering the fact that he’d completely enjoyed his own lunch—Heath took his fellow diners’ complaints with a grain of salt. By the time the disgruntled bunch had wandered off to their rooms or the garden for reading or an afternoon nap, he’d pretty much decided that if dinner was as tasty as lunch, he’d simply strike the petty negativity from his files.
Experience had taught him that building your own business was tough. Other than the time it had taken Sadie to get him registered and that mile-a-minute room description, he hadn’t noticed anything even remotely remiss. And so what if she had ever so slightly fudged those couple of tasks? Just as he’d been burned by the discovery that it was his latest game design that Tess had really lusted after, maybe there was some sort of behind-the-scenes situation going on with Sadie. Something she had too much class to let him or any of her other guests see.
He’d just discreetly tucked his notepad into his jacket pocket when the woman at the center of his thoughts entered the dining room. The fact that the mere sight of her produced a pleasurable jolt set him on edge. The last time he’d felt an instant attraction had been with Tess.
“Whew,” Sarah said, drawing out the chair opposite Heath’s. Her pale complexion was flushed, and the afternoon’s heat dampened the tendrils that hugged the nape of her neck where she’d pulled back her hair. Would her skin taste salty? That tempting spot on her neck? As if it were possible to shake the thought from his mind, Heath shook his head, but the motion didn’t help. Big surprise. “That was tough.”
“I’d have thought you’d be an old pro at a simple lunch.”
“Oh, sure,” she said. “I just didn’t get much rest last night. But now that my right-hand person has finally fixed her car’s flat, I’ve got time for a breather.”
“Congratulations,” he said.
“Thanks.”
After a few moments’ awkward silence, he leaned forward, toying with his blue napkin. “Not that it’s my business, but why?”
“Why what? Why was Helga’s tire flat?”
“No,” he said with a laugh. “Why’d you get a lousy night’s rest?”
“Oh, that.” She leaned back in her chair.
Had his question been too forward? Probably. Regardless, Heath forged ahead. “Simple enough question.”
“W-why do you care?”
Would Heath’s brother care?
Who could explain it, but for whatever odd reason, Heath felt a compelling urge to know something more about what made the lovely innkeeper tick. From the time they’d met until now, her appearance had gone from frazzled to casual grace. Which image was the real Sadie? Over the course of the weekend, would he get the chance to learn the answer? With elegant fingers, she traced the floral-patterned white-on-white tablecloth.
“No reason,” he said, covering for himself when it seemed she preferred to avoid the topic. “Sorry I asked. I was just trying to make small talk, but maybe my question came out as invasive.”
“No,” she said, staring at Heath straight on and then sighing. “Truthfully, I didn’t get a wink of sleep last night for a fairly simple reason. You.”
Chapter Two
“Me?” Eyebrows raised, Heath said, “I’d like to be flattered, but judging by your pained expression, it wasn’t my devastating good looks that kept you up.”
Sarah laughed. “Not specifically you, per se, but folks like you. Guests.”
“Why? I mean, this is your livelihood. Has been for, what, five years you said?”
She nodded, leaning forward with her elbows on the table. “But I’ll let you in on a little secret.” One that Sadie had shared with her not too long ago. “The more I’m in the business, the more it seems my guests are getting harder to spoil. To well and truly please. The big chains have phenomenal employee bases, while I’m just me—and a few trusted employees who’ve become dear friends.”
“Friends who help fend off me? The enemy?” He laughed again, clearly poking fun at himself.
Was it wrong to be affected by the rich, mellow voice of the guy that your sister had specifically told you was hands-off? Probably, but Shane Peters’s laughter struck Sarah as delicious. Tempting. Like a superrich dessert you knew you shouldn’t have but were hard-pressed to resist. Alas, because of her deep sense of respect for Sadie, she would resist. Not only because the man was off-limits for the sake of her sister, but because of the pain she still felt from her involvement with Greg.
She wasn’t ready to open herself up to another man.
“You’re hardly the enemy,” Sarah said. “It’s just that…I’ve worked hard for this.” She gestured toward the opulence of the inn’s dining room. Antique tables, linens and china. Blue-and-white-toile walls and ornate moldings. Gentle sun slanting through open French doors, leading to a dreamy garden. A hundred varieties of blooms tha
t Sarah couldn’t begin to name. Sweet and lovely, humming with butterflies and bees. Beyond that, a lake so crystalline and blue and in perfect harmony with the wedding cake of a house on its shore that her sister had said she’d shed a few tears the first time she’d seen it. And all of this—every last bit—was in Sarah’s hands right now.
Granted, her sister was arguably deranged when it came to her love for the place, but Sarah knew that Sadie had worked hard to achieve all this, and out of love and respect for her twin, Sarah intended to maintain her sister’s standards. Even if the dreaded reviewer never showed.
“Sometimes,” Sarah said, again sharing more of Sadie than herself, “I want perfection so much, that I…” She shook her head. “Sorry. I’m just rambling on about nothing, when you’re here to relax and not listen to me whine.”
Shane flashed her a smile of such warm concern Sarah knew in a heartbeat he was sincere. And then she swallowed a sour taste in her mouth over the notion that at the moment she was anything but sincere.
Oh, she was sincere in terms of being nervous. But it pained her to think that this compassionate man was actually sympathizing with her over a lie.
“Relax,” he said. “From all I’ve heard, this place is a little slice of heaven, right here in your corner of Missouri. And, you know, maybe this bout of nerves is your body’s way of telling you you’ve been working too hard. Maybe if you’d try stealing a few minutes for yourself here and there, you’d be back to business as usual.”
Great theory. Trouble was business as usual for Sarah consisted of working from eight to six at the accounting firm of Geoffrey, Deloite & Bartholomew. It was Sarah’s dream to one day have her name added to the list of partners. Numbers were her game, whereas for as long as she could remember, Sadie had been into the whole hearth-and-home thing.
Like her father, Sarah had toyed with the idea of going into physics, but seeing how she also had a thing for nice shoes and expensive handbags, she’d opted for accounting over science. Where Shane had been telling “Sadie” to relax, the reality was that the real Sadie was thrilled with her life. It was Sarah who needed rest and relaxation to put things into perspective. What had happened with Greg had shaken her to the core, had made her distrust not only other people but herself.
The Right Twin (Times Two Book 2) Page 2