“Mmm…” Mrs. Young said, jolting him from his thoughts. “This tartar sauce is heaven. Have you tasted it yet, Mr. Peters?”
“Not yet,” he replied. “I’m still too busy with the slaw. Really extraordinary.” He cringed at his word choice. Fruity, perhaps, but what the hell did he know about food? All he ever ate was frozen pizza and Subway takeout.
Truthfully, he couldn’t give a flip about the food.
All he was really interested in was the chef.
“THANKS AGAIN,” SARAH said, writing a personal check for the outrageous amount that her lunchtime chef had specified. “Now, are you sure you don’t fix anything but catfish, because I seriously need help for dinner.”
“Sorry,” Branson Polk said, accepting the check, folding it in half and shoving it into the deep pocket of his white jeans. “But, really, catfish is my only claim to fame. Let me think about it, though, and possibly between me and my compatriots we can find you someone.”
“Thanks,” she said, hoping that her tone of desperation was making an impression on him. “Sadie left plenty of frozen meals, but I tried that yesterday and I’m pretty sure I might’ve accidentally served a few that were still rock-solid in the middle.”
He gave her a sympathetic cluck. “Been there, done that. Whenever possible, fresh is best.”
“Amen.”
“You’ll muddle through.” He saluted her on his way out the back door. “Sadie wouldn’t have entrusted you with this serious a task if she didn’t have complete faith in your ability.”
Oh? And what ability was that? Her newfound knack for dreaming up little white lies on the fly?
With Branson Polk and his team gone, the kitchen was back to being overwhelming.
Her mortal enemy.
Any fool could fudge her way through making beds, scrubbing toilets and washing a few towels. For sure, the weakest link in her innkeeping chain was the inability to cook. Having Helga called away was a crisis she hadn’t foreseen. Whereas just hours earlier Sarah had felt confident she’d finish the weekend in a blaze of glory, she now felt seriously in over her head and afraid for what the next twenty-four hours might hold.
Chapter Seven
After casually inquiring as to his fellow diners’ verdicts on lunch, Heath was pleased to find that with a resounding majority everyone had been suitably impressed. He’d assume by their not having mentioned it, no one, aside from his tablemate, had noticed the covered window—which was now uncovered.
He’d glanced through the glass to see humming—spotless—efficiency.
To borrow Mrs. Young’s word, curious.
But nothing to make an issue of.
Funny how the more he got to know Sadie Connelly, the more he wanted her to succeed. The more he was willing to overlook any of the tiny details he couldn’t quite figure out. He barely knew the woman, yet he felt as if he’d always known her. As if their individual experiences with their exes had somehow fast-forwarded the normal getting-to-know-you phase.
After dutifully logging his notes on lunch in his brother’s journal, Heath wandered out to the front porch, squelching the urge to invade Sadie’s kitchen just to hang with her. Washing dishes, scrubbing counters—whatever. Seeing how his brother probably wouldn’t do that, however, he figured it’d probably be best if he didn’t either. Leaving him with nothing to do but twiddle his thumbs. Waiting for his next chance to see her.
The woman who undoubtedly, after learning of his deception, would never speak to him again.
The screen door creaked open and he looked up, hoping to see his hostess.
Bummer. It was just Mr. and Mrs. Standridge, bickering over whether to go rowing or antiquing.
“Mr. Peters,” Mrs. Standridge said, “you seem to be a logical sort. Wouldn’t you say antique shopping would be a better use of our afternoon than rowing?”
“Before dragging him into this,” her husband said, “I can shop any day of the week. I thought we came out here for fresh air and relaxation.”
Hands on her hips, she said snippily, “Shopping is relaxing to me.”
“Well, not to me.”
“See?” she said, directing her comment to Heath. “How can I possibly relax when I have to deal with his petulant demands?”
“Look,” Heath said, making a time-out signal, “I’m thinking compromise is needed here. Trust me, the sun on the lake is brutal, so how about doing a little shopping while it’s hot and then rowing later this afternoon, once it cools off?”
“Sounds reasonable,” Mrs. Standridge said. “Arthur? That sound all right to you?”
Her husband grunted. “Get the car keys. If you want to shop, you’ll have to drive.”
Once the Standridges were off, Heath was back to moping on a wicker love seat, and then the screen door creaked open again—this time with better results.
“Hey,” he said.
“Hey, yourself.” With a sigh, Sarah collapsed onto the seat beside him. “I owe you a huge thanks for getting them out of my hair. Before they came out here, they were bickering in the dining room while we were trying to clean up and get things shipshape for dinner. Mrs. Standridge told me on her trip back in to grab her purse that you’re the diplomat who settled the squabble.”
“I’d hardly call myself a diplomat. More like a disinterested third party.”
She laughed. “Regardless, thanks.”
“So,” he said, sliding closer, “I’m glad to see you pulled off lunch with your usual flair.”
“Thank you,” she said with a slight bow. “It was tasty. I had some myself after serving all of you.”
“You don’t usually eat your own cooking?”
She paled. “Sure, but, you know, sometimes after slaving in a hot kitchen you don’t much feel like eating.”
“Guess I can remember Mom saying the same.”
“Where does she live?”
“Mom?”
“Duh.” Sarah made a face.
“Damn, woman. You’re a tough audience.”
Grinning, she gave his shoulder a nudge. “That’s what all my critics say.”
“Right. Anyway, Mom and Dad still live in the four-bedroom ranch we grew up in.”
“Your brother? Where’s he live?”
“Um, St. Louis,” he said, cursing Hale with every breath. “Same as me. How about your sister and your folks—where do they live?”
“Um, my sister’s in St. Louis, too. Mom and Dad sold the family homestead. Traded it in for a Branson condo. They both love fishing and country music, so they figured that’d be a great spot for both.”
“True.”
“Well,” she said with her palms flattened on the seat cushion as if she were about to push herself up and leave. “Guess I should get back to work. The reception area needs dusting, the plants need watering and it’s never to early to start thinking about dinner.”
“So soon? Aren’t you allowed even a short break?”
She laughed. “With Helga gone, there will be no rest for the weary.”
“I thought the saying went, no rest for the wicked?”
“You implying I’m wicked?” she asked with a wickedly pretty grin that made him want to get to know her all the more.
“Shoot,” he said, ducking his head, “I don’t know what I’m saying. Just that I wish you’d take the next hour or so off and make like the Standridges and go antiquing with me.”
“Okay, assuming I could spare the time—which I can’t—why on earth would you go antiquing?”
She’d relaxed again. Good, because he wanted her out here with him as long as possible.
“Stupid, really. Embarrassing, even, since it’s not very manly.”
“Come on,” she teased, “seeing how you rock climb, too, I would think that gives you plenty of extra testosterone to counteract your feminine side…the one that adores antique shopping.”
“That tongue of yours is so sharp you could use it to slice a tomato.”
“Oh, now that’s
a compliment if I ever heard one,” she tossed right back. “So? What are you looking for in antique emporiums in my part of the country?”
He could’ve lied, but instead he went for the truth, knowing he was safe in assuming she’d never know such an intimate fact about Hale. “When my brother and I were kids, Mom and Dad would often take us to the St. Louis Zoo.”
“Us, too,” Sarah said. “It’s still one of my favorite things to do when it’s not too hot or cold.”
“I haven’t been in years,” he said. “Maybe we should go together.”
“Sounds like a plan. But for now, get back to your story.”
“Okay, well, every time we went, our folks bought me those little wax animals. You know, the ones made in a machine while you watch?”
“Sure. I had about ten of them when I was little.”
“Yeah, well, me, too. Only, one day when I was—I don’t know—eight, maybe nine, I was playing with mine out by a creek, when a gang of my friends came over and asked if I wanted to go ride bikes with them. I said sure and left my animals, figuring I’d come back for them later. Only, when I did, they were all gone, washed away by a storm.”
“Oh, no.” Sarah comforted him with a hand on his knee. “I’m sorry. I hate to think of you as a sad little boy.”
With a bittersweet chuckle, Heath said, “Mom did, too, which is why she got me started collecting antique cast-iron zoo animals. They’re hard to find, but I’m up to about twenty different breeds now.”
“What’s the latest acquisition?”
“Polar bear.”
“Sweet.”
“Yes, he is.” As was sitting here on the shady front porch, shooting the breeze. Heath spent so much time in his office brooding over what might have been with Tess, then despising her, he’d nearly forgotten the simple pleasure of enjoying a woman’s company. “So? You accompanying me on my latest safari?”
“I want to, but…” A myriad of unreadable emotions flashed across her face. Clearly she wanted to spend the afternoon with him, but pressures from the inn tied her down. “There are so many chores to tackle around here. Plus, getting ready for Saturday-night dinner’s a pretty lengthy process and I like to make it extra special. Especially as I have reservations for five other couples who are coming out from town.”
“Staying the night, too?”
“No, thank goodness—just for dinner. But you can see where that adds to my load.”
“Sure,” he said, covering her hand—which, amazingly, was still on his knee. She’d surprised him by expressing relief over guests not staying the night. You’d think the added business would improve her bottom line. Was this an indication of how overwhelmed she was by the inn’s hectic pace? That she was stressed to the point of turning away guests? “I understand. Rain check?”
“Absolutely.”
“Do you ever get tired of this?”
“What do you mean?”
He looked toward the flawless rolling expanse of lawn and the pristine gardens beyond. “All of this. It seems like a huge responsibility. Not just the upkeep of the inn itself but having to fix three squares a day for strangers.”
Her expression was sad for a fleeting moment, and then she shrugged. “You get used to it. Of course it’s a lot of work, but mostly it’s fun. I get a lot of pleasure from seeing my guests happy.”
“I’m sure. But inside—” he tapped his chest “—don’t you ever feel trapped?”
“Truthfully, at the moment, when I’d much rather spend a leisurely afternoon getting better acquainted with you, yes. But usually no. I’m quite content puttering along with the daily care of this big old place.”
“Fair enough.” He stood. “Guess, then, I’d better not take up any more of your time. I’ll leave you to it.”
“Guess so.”
Was that the hint of a sigh he’d detected as she’d bowed her head? Good. He wanted her to feel as disappointed about their afternoon apart as he did.
AS HEATH WANDERED through a converted grocery store that claimed to be “Winchester’s finest antique mall,” he thought again about the fact that over the course of the morning and afternoon a few things about Sadie hadn’t added up. Their picnic junk food—where had it even come from? Not knowing where the inn’s oars were kept. The panic at having to function without Helga. The two women didn’t even seem all that close, yet apparently Sadie relied heavily on the older woman. The covered kitchen window. Even more disconcerting was their recent conversation. Her admission that sometimes she felt trapped.
It seemed inconceivable that a woman with her phenomenal skills wouldn’t enjoy her work. Every inch of the inn appeared to be the result of a love of all things domestic.
The antique store reminded him of the inn, in some ways. The way it’d been set up in homey vignettes, showcasing a bedroom here and a living room there, right down to vintage mannequins sporting appropriate clothes. Were Sadie to design a store, she’d have done it with this degree of style, he thought.
A mannequin wearing a voluminous green taffeta ball gown caught his attention. The dress was the same shade as Sadie’s eyes—as was a matching green crystal necklace and earring set displayed nearby. Not thinking, just reacting to the memory of Sadie’s olive-green eyes, Heath called over the clerk to help with his purchase.
After paying, he headed outside, stashing the jewelry in his Jeep’s glove box, where it would wait until the right moment. Which, for all Heath knew, might never happen.
The gift was impulsive.
Pricey.
He wasn’t even sure if it was appropriate, given how short a time they’d been acquainted. Funny thing was, he didn’t care—on either count.
Pretty obviously, the reason Sadie wasn’t acting like her normal self was connected to her split from her ex-boyfriend. Not that Heath had known her long enough to be able to gauge her so-called normal self, but any idiot could see there were times she didn’t feel at ease in her own surroundings.
Heath had planned on heading back to the inn, but now he thought better of it and aimed for another antique store a half block away.
Across the street, which was lined with stately oaks and historic brick storefronts, the Standridges stood and bickered—loud enough for him to hear. Not specifics, just general grumpiness.
When Heath grew older and was married, he didn’t want to be like that—arguing all the time. Instead he wanted to stroll tree-lined streets, holding hands, reminiscing. Smiling.
And it wasn’t some random woman’s smile that came to mind but Sadie’s cute grin.
Part of her problem no doubt stemmed from feeling pressed for time. And why had she been short of time?
Him.
He shouldn’t have been so insistent about her going fishing with him that morning. He shouldn’t have been insistent, but seeing what a great time they’d had, he was glad he’d enticed her onto the boat. From here on out, however, he vowed to let her do her thing with the inn.
Then, once the weekend was over, he’d explain the switch, and if all went well, they wouldn’t argue but would laugh the whole thing off.
Right. And then they could retire to the inn’s front porch to watch pigs fly.
“YOU HAVEN’T DONE ANY more flirting with that single guest, have you?” Sadie’s condemning tone made it clear what she expected Sarah’s answer to be.
“Um, no.” To be able to give her sister the response she wanted, Sarah crossed her fingers. Flirting? Never. Why would she want to flirt when there were fun things like vacuuming and toilet scrubbing to do?
“Whew.” A relieved sigh could be heard across the static-filled cell line. “Okay, so explain the problem?”
“Helga’s bubbka’s in the hospital with a broken hip.”
Sadie gasped. “Is she going to be all right? I adore bubbka.”
“She’ll be fine, but the main reason I called is that I’m worried about tonight’s dinner. We’ve had a bunch of reservations come in from locals and…” Sarah debated
about even telling Sadie the next part.
“And?”
“Well, one of the reservations was for a single woman. You don’t think she could be that reviewer you’ve been looking for, do you?”
Groaning, Sadie said, “Anything’s possible. Have you called Josie yet?” Josie was one of Sadie’s closest friends, a gourmet chef, and she ran a small, chic vegetarian bistro in nearby Drover’s Ferry.
“Duh. She’s got measles.”
“No way?”
“Yes way. I’ve got plenty of frozen food left, but with the potential reviewer coming, I figured you might want tonight extra special.”
“You’ve got that right. Okay, let me think…” For a long time Sarah heard nothing but the faint sound of a boisterous crowd and the “Chicken Dance” song, then… “I’ve got it. Here’s what you’re going to do…”
“ARE YOU A MIRAGE?”
“Nope.” Sarah grinned when Shane Peters made a show of disconcertedly rubbing his eyes. “Just me.”
“Well, just me,” he said on the sidewalk in front of Poppy’s Antique Emporium, “how’d I get so lucky as to rate more time with you?”
“I don’t know,” she said with a flirty flutter of her eyelashes, stifling the urge to steal a quick hug. “You must be living right.” If Sarah didn’t have to keep lying to the man, she’d have told him that she had the next couple hours free now because her brilliant sister had dreamed up an amazing plan.
And if it weren’t for her sister’s insistence that Sarah maintain the identity charade for the entire weekend, she’d also have told him how much of an effect his probing questions had had on her. Whereas Sarah didn’t need even a tiny nudge to want to escape KP duty, ever since the debacle with Greg she had spent an awful lot of her time on work. Too much time.
Crazy as it might seem, something about having made an escape, something more about Shane Peters’s smile, made her feel like a giddy schoolgirl—twirling and laughing, with her face tipped to the sun.
The Right Twin (Times Two Book 2) Page 8