“Perhaps we could scout out some picnic locations? To recommend to guests.” He added the last phrase as an afterthought. His main concern was securing a bit of privacy.
“The spring that gave the town its name is north of the gristmill. It’s surrounded by three oaks and has a nice stream running from it. There’s even a tiny waterfall. We’d have to hike a bit from the road, but it’s a pretty spot.”
Barnabas grinned. “Sounds perfect.” Especially since they didn’t have company.
He wished now that he’d brought her gift. He’d been waiting for the right moment to give her the second sketch he’d made of the Kissing Tree carvings ever since the day of the judging, but the moment had never felt right.
Tonight. It had to be tonight. Her father was coming to town tomorrow to inspect the inn. To check on his daughter. To take care of his usual Oak Springs business. Barnabas had no guarantee that after her father learned of his desire to switch careers that he’d be allowed anywhere near Phoebe. The gift would have to be given tonight.
“I’ve been working on that ad copy you asked me to write,” Phoebe said, interrupting his plotting.
Barnabas steered the horses away from town and toward the gristmill. “Great! I scribbled down a few ideas too, but they’ll need to be dressed up with your professional author skills.” He grinned at her and shifted the reins to his left hand so he could dig a piece of paper from his coat pocket. He held it out to her. “Here. Let me know what you think.”
Paper crinkled as she unfolded the sheet. She read the contents aloud. “‘Want your wife to brag about you to all her friends? Be the first of your peers to celebrate an anniversary at the Inn of Pecking Pulp Providers—’” A laugh burst from her belly. “What?”
Heat radiated up Barnabas’s neck. He’d forgotten about using that latest alias in his rough draft. He grabbed for the paper, but she twisted to the side, and his fingers bounced off her elbow. Impressive reflexes for someone laughing so hard.
She wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand and fought to catch her breath between lingering giggles. “The Inn of Pecking Pulp Providers? Really?”
Well, at least she wasn’t insulted. He supposed it could be worse.
Recognizing the humor in the situation, he chuckled along with her. Feeling a bit sheepish, he shrugged and admitted the truth. “I started coining alternative names for the inn from the day your father gave me this assignment. At first, they were a way to deal with the frustration of being tasked with a project I didn’t want, but after the first day of working with you, they evolved into teasing nicknames. The kind of thing friends or family members do out of fondness. I meant no offense, I promise.”
Phoebe grinned. “None taken. Although it’s a shame you didn’t share this with me before we had the sign installed. The Inn of Pecking Pulp Providers has quite an alliterative ring to it.”
“I thought you wanted people to actually come to your inn.”
She laughed again, the sound buoying instead of worrying him this time. Her amusement was unrestrained and beautiful. Her face tipped back toward the sky. Tiny lines danced at the corners of her eyes, above cheeks flushed pink with delight. It made a man hunger to repeat the experience. Often.
Spotting the mill up ahead, Barnabas slowed the team, wanting to prolong their moment together.
Phoebe’s laughter drifted away on the breeze, but she quickly filled the quiet by resuming her recitation of his less than admirable advertisement copy.
“Let’s try this again, shall we?” She aimed a grin at him that made his insides feel as if a family of tail-chasing squirrels had just taken up residence. “‘Want your wife to brag about you to all her friends? Be the first of your peers to celebrate an anniversary at the’—ahem—‘Kissing Tree Inn. Don’t worry. There’s stuff for you here too.’” She raised a teasing brow at him. “Well, that’s a ringing endorsement.”
Barnabas chuckled. “I figured you would flesh it out. I mainly wanted to construct phrasing that would appeal to male readers. I knew you would write something romantic and enticing to engage the hearts of female readers. Those could be placed in ladies’ magazines and your literary magazine. But I thought we should place a few ads in business journals and newspapers that cater to men of means. Those types are most susceptible to ploys that stroke their ego.”
Phoebe leaned close as he steered the team to the side of the road and reined them to a halt. She folded his atrocious ad copy and slipped it into the pocket of his coat, her fingers inadvertently nudging his side. His breathing shallowed.
“So if I were to compliment your intelligence, tell you how much I admire your business instincts, and gush my amazement over the way you transform unwanted objects into treasured essentials, I’d increase my chances of adding a chandelier made of bronze cherubs to the inn’s foyer?”
Her eyes held him captive as her fingers came to rest atop his forearm. He swallowed. Reminded himself to breathe. And completely lost track of what she’d been saying. Something about cherubs?
He expected her to tease him for his lack of response, but she seemed equally distracted. She made no attempt to retrieve his dropped conversational thread. In fact, she stared up at him as if he were the most interesting man in the world.
One of the horses shook its head, rattling the traces and reminding Barnabas that they were on a public road in full view of anyone who happened to pass by. Not the right place for a first kiss, even if his mind could think of little else at the moment.
Forcing his gaze away from Phoebe, he set the brake and clambered down. He hurried around to her side and helped her alight. Then, tucking her hand into the crook of his arm, he started to climb the small hill that led to a trio of oaks at the top of a knoll. He assumed that was where they’d find the picturesque spring she’d mentioned. To be honest, he didn’t care what they found as long as her arm remained twined with his.
About halfway to the trees, they met up with the stream that ran downhill to power the mill. The gentle sound of water tripping over stones and roots accompanied them the rest of their journey, putting Barnabas at ease. Before they reached the trees, Phoebe slowed and pointed out the miniature waterfall that stood all of eighteen inches high.
“This has always been my favorite spot,” she said. “If the sun is too bright, guests can enjoy the shade of the trees farther up, but I imagine many will choose to stop here. I know I would.”
“Then let’s stop.” Barnabas took a step away from her and shrugged out of his coat. Snapping it against the breeze, he laid it on the grass near the bank of the stream.
“Barnabas! Your coat,” she protested. “It’s going to get terribly wrinkled.”
“I’m not afraid of a few wrinkles. Are you?”
Her eyes sparked at the challenge, and she immediately lowered herself to sit upon the coat, tucking her legs behind her. He joined her, taking off his hat and dropping it over one knee. Her attention shifted to his hair, and an odd look came into her eye.
“Barnabas?” She shifted until her knees came under her, then rose slightly so her face was even with his. “If I asked to take liberties with your person, would you grant me permission?”
His throat went dry. “What, uh, kind of liberties?”
“Nothing indecent.” She smiled, and he knew he’d give her permission to do whatever she wanted. “I just wish to assuage my curiosity on a particular matter.”
His heart pounded like a steel forger’s hammer. “All right, then. Assuage away.”
“Close your eyes.”
He complied, but every other sense remained heightened as he focused completely on her. The rustle of her skirt as she adjusted her position. The smell of her hair as her face inched closer to his. The tingle of her touch as her fingers brushed against his forehead.
Sitting still was the hardest thing he’d ever done. His arms screamed to reach for her. His lips begged to press against hers. But he held his ground and remained outwardly calm even as gunpo
wder fuses sizzled with fire inside him.
Even with his eyes closed, he could sense her nearness. Feel her warmth. Then her fingers moved, burying themselves in his hair. Shivers danced over his scalp and down his nape. It felt marvelous. Invigorating and relaxing all at once. Until her fingers left his scalp to tousle his hair with all the vigor of a wet dog shaking dry.
One eye popped open. Directly in front of it was her chin and her full, pink lips. It was too bad her curiosity had centered more on his hair than his mouth, but the way her upper teeth caught her lower lip soothed his disappointment.
His other eye opened. “You were curious about my hair?”
“Mm-hmm.” She gave it one more good ruffle, then sat back on her heels to survey her handiwork.
Barnabas itched to smooth it back into some semblance of order, knowing how wild his wavy hair could get when not properly tamed, but the look on her face kept his hands at his sides.
“You’re always so perfectly turned out,” she said. “Never a wrinkle or hair out of place. It can be difficult for someone who’s always been an odd duck to feel comfortable next to such a majestic swan. So I brought you down to my level. Just for a moment.” Her lashes lowered. “I hope you don’t mind too much.”
“Mind?” Barnabas shook his head and chuckled softly. “I feel freer in this moment than I have in a long time. I’ve had to fight for every opportunity that came my way. Had to be smarter, more skilled, more professional than my competition. I couldn’t afford to be anything less than perfect if I wanted to escape my past. My appearance became my first line of defense. If I looked like a professional, it was easier for others to believe in my capabilities. Easier for me to believe.” He captured her hand with his. “I don’t want to wear armor with you, Phoebe. Yet until this moment, I was afraid to let you see inside, afraid you might not like the man beneath the veneer.”
“Oh, I like him.” Her voice came out whisper-soft and brushed against his heart like fine wool. “I like him very much.”
nine
Phoebe cupped Barnabas’s square jaw. His skin was smooth from a morning shave and warm from the afternoon sunshine. His lips beckoned. His chin tilted. His neck stretched. Anticipation swirled like a whirlwind of fall leaves in Phoebe’s belly. Heavens, how she wanted him to kiss her. To see what love tasted like.
She leaned forward.
“Phoebe Woodward! Is that you?”
Jerking backward, Phoebe dropped her hand from Barnabas’s face. She thought she might have heard Barnabas groan, but she couldn’t be sure. Not when her ears were full of the strident tones of Esmerelda Clovis.
“It is you. I knew I recognized those spectacles.”
Esmerelda must have eyes like a hawk to recognize a pair of spectacles from thirty yards away. Biting back a sigh of severe disappointment, Phoebe stood to greet the huffing woman as she ascended the hill with surprising agility for a mother of three. Although Phoebe really shouldn’t find Melda’s energy surprising. Clovis females thrived on gossip, and if taking an uphill hike meant getting the scoop on the town spinster and the handsome land developer before her mother-in-law did, no climb would be too steep to keep Melda in her little black buggy.
“What can I do for you, Melda?” Phoebe asked, making an effort to keep her tone from sounding too perturbed. Not that she had much success, but her conscience insisted she at least try.
Esmerelda Clovis pressed her palm to her chest as she fought to catch her breath. Then, of course, she ignored Phoebe’s question and addressed the issue most of interest to her. “Mr. Ackerly! What a surprise to find you out here with our dear Phoebe.” She looked down at the coat lying on the grass before aiming a sly glance at the man bending down to retrieve it.
Thankfully, Barnabas had managed to smooth his hair into some semblance of his normal tidiness. Phoebe hated to think what conclusions Melda might have drawn had she seen the tousled mess Phoebe had so imprudently made of his hair moments ago.
Acting as if nothing were out of the ordinary, Barnabas fit his hat to his head, then retrieved his suit coat and shook the grass from its underside. He smoothed the fabric with a long swipe of his hand, draped the garment over his arm, then finally turned his attention to their nosy intruder. “I don’t know why you’d be surprised to find me in Miss Woodward’s company, ma’am. It’s well known that I have been employed to assist her in the development of her inn. We are often in each other’s company.”
Barnabas’s innocent deflection was impressive, but Melda was no novice to be put off so easily. She and the rest of the Clovis Busybody Society ran the Oak Springs grapevine with the efficiency of a mechanized mining operation. She wouldn’t be deterred until she uncovered the juiciest tidbit.
“Of course,” she said as she gave Barnabas’s shoulder a decidedly patronizing pat. “But finding the two of you together away from the inn, and looking so cozy, is certainly of interest.” She smiled as if privy to a secret already shared. “An experienced woman such as myself knows courtship when she sees it.”
“Excellent!” Barnabas’s cheery enthusiasm caught Phoebe off guard. “That is precisely the effect we were hoping to achieve. Thank you, Mrs. Clovis, for confirming our hypothesis. Miss Woodward and I were on the hunt for romantic rendezvous locations to recommend to the inn’s future clientele. You’ve just ensured that this spot will be added to the list. Although . . .” He lowered his voice and leaned close to Melda, darting his eyes about as if fearing someone might overhear what he was about to say.
Melda tilted her head toward him, unwilling to miss a single syllable.
“We might need your help putting it about town that should one come across a couple sharing an intimate picnic or other private moment in a picturesque setting, one should practice discretion and leave the couple to enjoy their solitude. We wouldn’t want the inn’s guests to be made to feel uncomfortable in any way. Not when they are bringing so much business to the local area.”
Phoebe had to stifle a laugh. He had Melda eating out of his hand. Even while scolding her for interrupting them, Barnabas cleverly invited her into his confidence and soon had her pledging to do her part in protecting the privacy of future guests.
While they spoke, Barnabas escorted Mrs. Clovis down the slope, leaving Phoebe to follow in their wake. Not that she minded. Avoiding the scrutiny of a female Clovis was always a blessing.
Barnabas handed Melda into her buggy, continuing to work his management magic. As she took hold of the reins, however, her attention suddenly lurched away from Barnabas and jumped onto Phoebe.
“I nearly forgot! There’s a photographer headed to your inn. He stopped by the livery to ask for directions while I was fetching my buggy. I overheard him say that Mr. Ackerly had hired him to take some publicity photos. I didn’t think much of it until I ran into the two of you out here, but you better hurry back. He’s probably waiting on you. The, ah, rendezvous hunt will have to wait.” The long, slow wink that accompanied that pronouncement was anything but subtle.
Apparently the Oak Springs grapevine would be buzzing with news of Phoebe’s little outing with Barnabas after all. She’d probably be the talk of the town before the photographer even finished setting up his camera.
She stifled a groan and forced her cheeks to crease in an expression she hoped passed for a smile. “Thanks for the warning, Melda. We’ll head back right away.”
Phoebe didn’t wait for Barnabas to help her into the carriage. While Melda waved and aimed her horse toward town, Phoebe climbed into the front seat of the inn’s new carriage, keeping to the edge so she wouldn’t be seen sitting too close to the driver. A spinster had to take care with her reputation. Especially one who wanted to run a respectable establishment for married couples.
Barnabas tried to offer reassurances, but he didn’t know Oak Springs the way she did. He’d leave in a few days, and she’d be left to face the pitying glances and wagging heads. Instead of Phoebe Woodward, innkeeper and entrepreneur, she’d now
be Phoebe Woodward, abandoned spinster who’d lost the one man who’d ever shown an interest in her.
She stole a glance at the man by her side. He’d given up forcing conversation on her and now stared straight ahead, contemplating the road before them.
What if he didn’t leave her? What if he stayed? With her. Her father managed to conduct business both in Oak Springs and Huntsville. Surely Barnabas could too. If he wanted to.
Would he want to?
Phoebe bit her lip. How did one handle this kind of situation? Should she ask him to stay? Offer to give up the inn and move to Huntsville? But they’d worked so hard on the inn. She didn’t want to give it up. It had become their project.
The thought momentarily stunned her. Their project. Not hers. Theirs. Barnabas’s style and influence were visible in every corner of every room. Even her private chambers, the one room for which he’d offered zero advice. She’d been tempted to cover it in wall-to-wall flowers and cupids just because she could, but in the end she’d selected a simple damask pattern of white and silver flowers on a deep blue-gray background. A color reminiscent of Barnabas’s eyes. A happenstance she hadn’t recognized until this very moment.
Oh dear. It was too late to save herself. She’d gone and fallen completely, irrevocably in love with him.
“You all right?” Barnabas arched a brow at her as he turned the carriage down Kissing Tree Lane.
Phoebe faked a smile and nodded. “Yes. Just working through a few things in my mind.”
“Well, if you want to talk them out, I’m here.”
For how long?
But she didn’t voice that thought. They had a photographer waiting on them. Now wasn’t the time to bare souls.
So she pasted on another insipid grin and said, “Thanks.”
She turned away from his too-perceptive gaze, knowing he’d see right through her. His inspection lingered, but he didn’t press her. Probably because they’d reached the inn.
“Keep the horses back,” a man called from where he was adjusting a camera on top of a tripod at the far edge of the road. “I want a clear shot of the inn.”
The Kissing Tree Page 14