Innkeeper's Daughter

by Marie Ferrarella

  “You investigated me?” she cried, stunned. Why would he do that? Whatever the answer to that was, she knew she didn’t appreciate her past being dug up and examined.

  “No, your father mentioned it to me during one of our talks. He felt guilty about you giving up those opportunities and, at the same time, he was proud of you for being so selfless and making that kind of sacrifice for the inn.”

  “I didn’t do it for the inn,” she told him quite truthfully—she didn’t want any praise under false pretenses. “I did it for my dad. And I’d do it again,” she added with feeling. “In a heartbeat. Except that now I’d probably do it for the inn, as well. The inn is in my blood,” she admitted freely. “I realize now that it’s part of who I am.”

  Wyatt nodded. “I think you’re right.”

  That surprised her. And yet, she had to admit that these past few weeks she’d spent with Wyatt had been one surprise after another. Five weeks had gone by and they were both still standing—and unscathed. Not just that, but even more astonishing, she liked spending time with him.

  Alex paused now for a moment, waging an internal war with herself. She was struggling not to broach the subject that was foremost in her mind; best to let sleeping dogs lie. But she needed to have every question answered, every magic trick explained. Her curiosity had to be appeased, and she wanted to ask him just how much longer he would be here, researching and writing.

  The side that needed to know won.

  And lost.

  Because when she asked, Wyatt told her what she didn’t want to hear. “Actually, I’ve got everything I came for, so I’ll be leaving, ironically, on Labor Day.”

  She felt her stomach seize up. She did her best to ignore it and the restlessness and distress that washed over her, threatening to completely unravel her composure.

  Words were sticking to the roof of her mouth as she said, “I thought...you were supposed to write the book...while you were staying here.”

  “I did. All except for the end of the last chapter,” he added. “And it’s still a rough draft, but it came together pretty well. It won’t take much to polish it up, dot the i’s, cross the t’s, that sort of thing. The publisher wants it by the end of the week.”

  “The end of the week,” she echoed, the phrase all but throbbing in her brain. Wyatt was leaving at the end of the week. He wouldn’t be around to haunt her every move, wouldn’t be there to pop up in the most awkward places, making her feel as if every single space of her life had been invaded.

  She was, in effect, getting her life back.

  So why didn’t that make her happy?

  * * *

  THE NEXT COUPLE of days seemed almost surreal. The minutes seemed to evaporate even before they arrived, taking the hours hostage, making them, too, disappear before they could adequately register.

  Alex felt like someone who was trying to hold on to raindrops with her bare hands. It just wasn’t working. The raindrops were seeping through her fingers.

  She hardly saw Wyatt.

  He spent most of his last two days at the inn with her father. Something about needing to clarify a few more points.

  She already missed him, which wasn’t possible because he was still here. A person had to be out of sight to be missed, right?

  She didn’t know.

  Alex wasn’t certain about anything anymore. Moreover, the confidence she’d had in herself, in the way she ran the inn, in the way she faced each day, now felt as if it was actually perched on a foundation of wet sand instead of concrete.

  It’s a trick, it’s all smoke and mirrors. Wyatt got to you somehow, but once he’s gone, you’ll be able to detoxify and everything will be fine again, you’ll see.

  She should be counting the seconds until Wyatt was gone, not trying to harvest the minutes he was still here.

  The pep talk did no good.

  Alex found herself at loose ends and those ends were swiftly coming unraveled. Somehow, rather than attending to the inn’s books the way she was supposed to be doing, Alex suddenly discovered herself drifting by Wyatt’s room—she refused to admit that she’d gotten there by design—and then knocking on his door before she could stop herself.

  “C’mon in,” Wyatt called out. “It’s open.”

  Even so, there was a quick tug-of-war in her brain, urging her to run before she eased the door open, pushing it with her fingertips.

  Wyatt was by the bed, throwing a couple of things into the suitcase that lay sprawled open on the quilted comforter.

  “You’re packing.”

  Wyatt laughed. “There’s that keen eye of yours again.”

  Alex heard herself saying, “So I guess that this is really goodbye.”

  Wyatt folded his extra pair of jeans and deposited them into the suitcase. “I prefer my father’s way of saying it. ‘See you soon,’” he added.

  As if she needed to be reminded. As if she’d ever forget what words his father said at the end of each summer vacation, before the pair left the inn and Wyatt would be put back on a plane to New York.

  “Yes, but when he said that,” Alex pointed out, even as she struggled against the wave of sadness she felt swelling within her, “it was understood that there would be a later.”

  Wyatt stopped packing for a moment to look at her. “What makes you think that there isn’t?”

  Why was he making her spell it out? They both knew he wouldn’t be coming back. That this very well could be the last time they would see each other. Maybe he didn’t care, but she did—and she hated him for it.

  “Because your dad’s not around anymore so there’s no reason for you to come back and spend the summer here, and the book is done.”

  “The book might be,” Wyatt readily admitted, “but I’m not. I’ve still got some unfinished business to tend to.”

  Was he setting her up for a punch line, or was he telling her that he really intended to come back to the inn? Alex was afraid to allow herself to entertain the idea, afraid to hope because the letdown would be too fierce.

  She needed to leave the room.

  She couldn’t.

  “Like what?” she asked, her breath stuck in her throat.

  Wyatt looked at her for a long moment, wondering if he was making a fatal mistake. His brain told him he might be, but his gut was weighing in with another answer. When it came to choosing a side between his brain and his gut, he’d always gone with his gut.

  Now was no exception.

  “Like trying to find out why my pulse races the way it does whenever you’re around—and it’s not because I want to strangle you the way I used to,” he added with just the smallest of smiles.

  “No strangling,” she said. Was he telling her that he’d felt the dynamics between them changing the way she had? The corners of her mouth insisted on curving up. She seemed to have no control over that lately, she noticed. Or, it seemed, over the way she felt about Wyatt. “Does this mean I’m safe with you?”

  For the time being, he abandoned the idea of packing and crossed over to her. He slipped his arms around her. “Oh, I wouldn’t exactly say that. People say I’m a dangerous guy.”

  It wasn’t his arms that held her in place. It was what she saw in his eyes. She saw her destiny—and it didn’t frighten her the way she’d once secretly suspected that it might. “Do they, now?”

  “Absolutely.” Wyatt did his best to keep a straight face.

  “You know,” she told him as she tilted her head up just a tad, “I’ve always found ‘dangerous’ to be kind of exciting.”

  He gave up trying not to smile. It was just too hard when every fiber of his being was already grinning inside him. “Then we’re good,” he said as he lowered his lips to hers.

  “Very good,” she murmured just before their lips made contact.

  But it wasn’t very good, she discovered.

  It was excellent.

  EPILOGUE

  RICHARD ROMAN SLOWLY made his way down the slight slope and went directly to t
he family cemetery.

  In the past, when he came here, it was to talk to his wife, to give Amy an update on the girls, or to share a special moment with her, the way he had when she was alive and by his side.

  The headstone had a carving of an angel on it. An angel that had her face. Talking to the headstone made him feel somehow closer to Amy.

  But today he didn’t stop at her grave, beyond saying a quick hello and asking her indulgence because today, he had come to talk to Dan.

  The corners of Richard’s mouth curved into a sad smile as he looked down on the newest headstone in the relatively small plot of land. At Dan’s request, the headstone was basic and straightforward, very much like the man himself had been.

  “Well, as usual, you were right, old friend,” Richard said, addressing the headstone. “Your plan worked just the way you hoped it would.”

  He remembered thinking that he’d had his doubts, despite Dan’s optimism. But Dan was certain. He’d felt that his deathbed request would force his son to be with Alex on a constant basis and dissolve whatever false barriers were in the way. Given their daily close contact, the sharp edges of their banter would wear away and they would finally have to admit that they had feelings for each other. Feelings that ran deep.

  “They’re getting married next month. Wyatt popped the question last night when he came to tell us that your book would be coming out next April, just in time to celebrate the inn’s 120th anniversary.” His smile widened. “He asked, and Alex had the good sense to say yes. Our kids are getting married,” he said with mingled pride and excitement.

  Richard laughed softly. “You certainly called it. I always wanted them together, but I never thought it was going to happen. But you, you knew exactly how to do it. And now, looking back, it all seems so simple.

  “Too bad you can’t be here for the ceremony, but I guess that was all part of it, wasn’t it? Making Wyatt feel obligated to work on the book you started because you told him how much it meant to you.

  “That way, no matter how much he wanted to just walk away from Alex and never look back, he couldn’t. And because they were involved in doing this one last project for you, they finally saw beyond all their clever rhetoric and fell in love just the way you said they would. I don’t mind saying it again—I was wrong—but you, you never doubted. You knew.”

  Richard sighed heavily. He missed hearing Dan’s deep voice, missed talking over old times with the one person who’d shared all those old times with him.

  “And I’d give everything I own just to have you down here at the wedding.” His sad smile deepened. “But I guess you’ll have a ringside seat for it, won’t you?

  “Got a favor to ask, since you’re up there. Watch out for my Amy, will you? Look after my girl until I get there and can do it myself, okay?”

  He assumed that if Dan could say something, the answer would have been yes.

  “I miss you both,” Richard said with another heavy sigh. And then he glanced toward the inn. “I’ve got to be getting back before Alex comes looking for me,” he said to the headstone. “Stevi’s declared dibs on making the wedding arrangements and someone’s got to be there to rein that girl in. I’d appreciate a few hints whispered in my ear on how to do that when you get the chance. You were always so much better at getting people to listen to you than I ever was.

  “That’s all for now,” Richard concluded. “But I’ll be back to give you and Amy an update when I get the chance.” He smiled at the headstone and said, “Well, see you later,” as he turned and took his leave.

  Like an old friend, the timeless sound of the waves rhythmically moving in to the shore and then out again accompanied him as he went back to the inn.

  * * * * *

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  ISBN: 9781460314197

  Copyright © 2013 by Marie Rydzynski-Ferrarella

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  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

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