The Rain Sparrow

by Debbie Macomber

  Grayson was sentimental about Honey Ridge, too, but business was business. “I don’t like the sound of this.”

  “I knew you’d want the mill eventually. But you sweat the small stuff too much. The early bird gets the worm and all that.”

  Incredulous, foreknowledge tingling along his nerve endings like electricity, Grayson stared at his brother. “What did you do?”

  “We. What we did.” Devlin grimaced. “We bought it.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  GRAYSON PARKED THE Jeep in the graveled lot at the back of Peach Orchard Inn and exited the vehicle without saying a word to his brother. He was irked. Ticked. Irritated with his impulsive brother, though this wasn’t the first time, nor would it be the last.

  With long, efficient strides that ate up the tidy lawn, he approached the wraparound porch of the inn. A white two story with double galleries and tall columns, Peach Orchard Inn was a stunning example of Greek Revival architecture popular in the early 1800s. His builder’s eye was impressed with the careful preservation and restoration of historic detail.

  A speckled, shaggy dog—an Australian shepherd, he thought—sprawled on the shady porch under a white wicker table. The animal rose slowly, sniffed Grayson’s pant leg, and wagging his stubby tail, nudged a blue head under the human hand. Grayson rubbed between the dog’s ears. “Hello, fella.”

  Devlin by now had caught up, and the dog turned his attention to the newcomer. “We should get a dog.”

  “We is plural. We don’t live together. Thankfully.”

  “Aw, Gray, get over it. You would have made the deal anyway. I saved you some of your precious time.”

  There was that, but Grayson wasn’t ready to forgive this clear departure from their established methods of doing business. He was the bean counter, the deal maker. Devlin was the creative genius. “I could have gotten a better deal.”

  “Maybe.” Devlin scrubbed the dog’s head. The animal responded by raising a palm to shake, almost-white blue eyes soft and adoring. Like people, dogs adored Dev and tolerated Grayson. He’d never figured that out.

  He pushed the doorbell, unsure of the protocol for entering someone else’s home even if it was a hotel of sorts.

  Devlin didn’t share his hesitation. He opened the tall paneled door and stepped into an immaculate foyer and back into a time of carriages and crinolines. Grayson followed, soaking up the architectural details. Over the door, a half-moon window known as a lunette, spilled light on to the gleaming oak entry. To one side, a rosewood credenza polished to a sheen held a bouquet of fresh white flowers. Above the credenza, a glass case displayed some sort of artifacts. He saw a leather journal, a pocket watch, coins and buttons, among other intriguing items. The piece of framed sheet music, tattered and yellow, especially interested him. He moved to the case, hands behind his back, to peruse.

  The light scent of peaches, whether real or artificial, whispered on the air. Peach Orchard Inn. Peach fragrance. Nice touch.

  Dev, too, had stopped in his tracks to look around with the interested eye of a design master before tilting his head back. “Get a load of that staircase.”

  With a slight curve of polished banisters, the wide, red-carpeted stairway gracefully rose to the second floor. Overhead hung a small chandelier, glittering in the transom light. The entry was elegant and classy, as befitting such a house. A house to explore and study.

  However, at present, he wanted a shower more than anything before the ticks and poison ivy could take up residence on his skin.

  “They’re expecting us, right?” Devlin asked. “I don’t see or hear anyone.”

  “I made the reservation myself with the proprietress, Julia Donovan. We should have knocked and waited outside.”

  Devlin stepped back to the doorway and thudded his fist against the wood.

  They heard a door close and footsteps above them. Grayson looked upward as a terrific pair of legs, followed by a stunning brunette, came into sight. She moved down the staircase with the grace and flounce of a flamenco dancer, her dark hair swinging around her shoulders. In a silky blouse the color of mustard and a slim gray skirt that showed off the perfect amount of curve, she made his mouth go dry.

  As she took the last step and moved toward him, a smile on her face, Grayson recognized her...and his stomach dipped with a kind of pleasant dread.

  Head tilted slightly, the woman extended a hand, silver bracelets dangling from her wrist but otherwise devoid of jewelry. “I’m Valery Carter. Welcome to Peach Orchard Inn.”

  Grayson slid his much longer fingers against hers. Her skin was firm and smooth, her nails trimmed but decorated with blaze-red polish. He recognized her, but apparently, she’d forgotten him. No surprise there.

  He realized he was staring, and she was waiting. “Grayson Blake. This is my brother, Devlin. We have a reservation.”

  A tiny frown puckered her brow in thought before her face cleared. “Grayson and Devlin? I know you.”

  She laughed, tossing her hair so that it made a whispery sound against her shiny blouse. “That’s not a come-on.”

  “Too bad,” Devlin, the glib-tongued devil, said, and Valery’s smile widened. “As kids we spent every summer here with our grandparents, Evelyn and Jeff Mayfield. They had a farm on the other side of town.”

  “Yes.” She eased her hand from inside Grayson’s. “I remember you two. One of you caused a lot of mischief.”

  Grayson jerked a thumb toward his brother. “That would be Devlin.”

  She turned her attention to his brother. Hand on her hip, one eyebrow lifted, Valery’s expression wasn’t a bit businesslike as she teased, “Are you here to save the puppies, the whales or to search for Yeti?”

  Grayson groaned. “Maybe you remember us too well.”

  “The infamous escapades of Devlin Blake and his sidekick? Everyone in Honey Ridge remembers.”

  Sidekick. Yeah. That would be him.

  Devlin turned on his pretty boy charm. “Yeti? Is he here? Want to join me in the search?”

  Valery’s laugh sounded, low and warm. “You haven’t changed a bit.” Her golden gaze focused on Grayson. His insides tightened. The sidekick brother had been an awkward, skinny, nerdy teenager. No doubt she remembered that, too.

  “Grayson.” She mulled his name with her soft Tennessee voice. Then her eyes danced with humor, and he was certain she remembered too much.

  He cleared his throat, checked his watch. “Are we early? I want to get settled and get back to work.”

  “Such a rush,” she mused. “But your rooms are ready. Do you have bags?”

  “In the Jeep.” Grayson checked his watch again. They still had daylight. “We’ll get them later.”

  “So, what kind of business brings the pair of you back to Honey Ridge?”

  “The grist mill across the road. We purchased it.”

  Her tidy eyebrows arched. “Really? What on earth for?”

  Grayson’s smile was more of a smirk. He enjoyed the scoffers, the unbelievers who said the Blake brothers couldn’t make a design happen. Then, when they did, the surprise and pleasure was so much sweeter.

  “You created something beautiful out of this house. We thought we’d do the same with the grist mill.”

  “Reopen the mill? But why? No one grinds their own grain these days.”

  “As a restaurant. It’s what we do.”

  Her brow furrowed in thought. “You know, I think I’ve heard that somewhere. Blake Brothers Restaurants. Isn’t there one in Chattanooga?”

  “The Depot with the private dining cars?” Grayson said. “That’s us.”

  “Great steaks. Very posh. Oh.” She pointed. “You’re bleeding.” She opened the credenza and pulled a tissue from a box.

  Grayson touched his cheek. “Attacked by a vicious briar.�
�

  “Here. Let me.” She moved into his space until he smelled exotic perfume, tiptoed up on ballet flats and patted the tissue against his cheek. Up close and personal, her amber eyes were spoked with gold and ringed in black, her lashes thick and long, enhanced with some sort of female magic.

  She was like a gypsy enchantress.

  Irritated to be attracted and not wanting to be, he took the tissue from her. “I got it. Thanks.”

  He was no longer an awkward adolescent with time on his hands. Time, he’d learned in the cruelest way, was of the essence. A smart man used it wisely.

  “Valery!” a female voice called from somewhere to the left.

  Valery’s warm smile became brittle. She stepped away from Grayson, slowly turning toward the sound, back straight and stiff.

  A mature woman with short dark hair, and trim and tidy in pale slacks and blue sweater, breezed into the foyer.

  “Hi, sweetie. I see your new guests have arrived.”

  “Yes, they have, Mama. I’m getting them settled now.” With a pinched expression, Valery said, “Gentlemen, my mother, Connie Carter. Mother, Grayson and Devlin Blake.”

  Grayson greeted the woman, but refrained from conversation, aware of the tension emanating from Valery. Even Devlin was subdued, his quick eyes taking in the scene. Valery, clearly, was none too pleased to see her mother.

  Interesting, but none of his business.

  From the pocket of her skirt, the innkeeper withdrew a pair of keys, becoming all business as she handed them to Grayson.

  “Guest rooms are upstairs. One of you is in the Mulberry Room and the other is across the hall in the Blueberry Room. Take your pick. They’re both open and ready. If you need anything, let me know. Breakfast is between seven and ten, and we serve light refreshments in the front parlor after two until around ten. Coffee and peach tea are available in the kitchen anytime you want them. Help yourself.”

  Mrs. Carter interjected, “Once you’re settled, come back down, and I’ll have tea and coffee cake ready.” She pointed to the right. “The guest parlor is through those double doors.”

  “Sounds good.” Devlin flashed his winning smile. “We worked up an appetite exploring the mill. Thank you, ma’am.”

  “You’re very welcome. Our guests’ comfort is important to us. Feel free to take any of the brochures from the display, walk the grounds and the orchard, sit on either of the verandas with coffee. If you need more towels or toiletries, let us know.”

  During the recitation, Grayson cast an occasional glance at Valery. Her lips were flat and tight, her expression empty.

  Curious, he tipped his head toward his brother, and they climbed the stairs to easily find the rooms marked with gold plates.

  “A little tension down there.”

  “I noticed.” Devlin pushed open the room marked Blueberry, a sunny space in baby-blue that looked out over long rows of peach trees just beginning to turn green. “Wasn’t Valery the girl you had a thing for back in the day? The Dairy Queen crush?”

  “I had a thing for a lot of girls. Hormonal teenagers do.”

  “True.” Devlin fell back on the plush bed. “But she was flirting.”

  “Not with me.” She was far more Devlin’s type. Fun and vivacious.

  “I think so, brother. Flashing those big brown eyes at you. Dabbing at your cheek. And the way you held her hand waaay too long, you were definitely into her.”

  Grayson gave his brother an evil look, spun around, strode across the hall to the Mulberry Room and shut the door. Five seconds later, Devlin shoved it open again. “Want to look at some design ideas?”

  “You already have something in mind?”

  Devlin shifted, suddenly finding the floor more interesting than his brother’s face. “Uh, well, yes. You see—” He cleared his throat, stretched his neck to one side. “I sort of bought the property back in January.”

  “January! That’s months ago.”

  Devlin spread his hands in a gesture of supplication. “Saving more of your precious time, brother. Permits are done, contractors contacted, and designs in the works.”

  “Unbelievable.” He shot a hand across the top of his head, annoyed and flabbergasted.

  “So, what do you say? Want to have a look? See what genius ideas I have for the place?”

  Grayson glowered. “Right now, I need a shower.”

  “You’re still miffed about me making the deal without you.”

  “You think?”

  “You’ll thank me later.” Devlin disappeared out the door, and Grayson could swear his brother was laughing.

  Shaking his head, he went into the bathroom and immediately realized his clothing was still in the Jeep. With a beleaguered sigh and ankles already beginning to itch, he started back down the stairs.

  Halfway down, he heard voices—contentious voices—and paused.

  “What, Mama? You thought I couldn’t handle the inn for a whole week? That I’d screw it up without you or Julia here to watch over me?” Valery’s voice was furious. Furious and embarrassed.

  “Don’t be dramatic, Valery. It’s just...” A tired sigh. “The inn is full. I thought you’d appreciate a hand with the laundry and cooking.”

  “That’s not why you’re here. Did Julia call you? Ask you to drive out and make sure I don’t ruin the business while she’s in Knoxville?”

  “Julia is committed to this inn, Valery.”

  “And I’m not? Is that what you mean?”

  “Are you?”

  “You don’t trust me.”

  “Should I? Considering—?” The older woman stopped. Her next words were soft, and all evidence of discord had, curiously, been erased. “Aunt Joanne’s asparagus is producing like crazy, and she sent a bunch. Shall we bake some for dinner?”

  Silence shimmied up the staircase and hung heavy in the air like stale grease. Grayson debated a retreat, but his ankles itched more every second. He intentionally stepped harder on the next stair, tromping downward with enough noise to give fair warning.

  Valery saw him first and flashed a dark, troubled glance at him before pasting on a bright, hostess smile.

  “Grayson.” She moved his way, giving her mother a sharp, warning look in parting. “Do you need something else for the room?”

  “Luggage,” he said and exited the house, wondering why Valery’s mother couldn’t trust her to run the inn alone.

  * * *

  BOURBON. THE COLOR of her eyes. Hadn’t someone told her that once? A man, no doubt. A forgotten one like so many others.

  She listened to the gurgle as the liquor splashed into a glass.

  Guests were checked in. All the rooms filled. An older couple who were sweet as cotton candy had arrived last, weary from their long drive and eager to settle in for a nap. She’d made a note to prepare a diabetic snack for the missus.

  Newlyweds in the Magnolia suite at the end of the hallway, the only room with a Jacuzzi tub, had come in early, sunburned and glowing, after spending the day floating the river. They’d been here for three days, sparkling and happy and madly in love. It was both heartwarming and nauseating.

  And of course, the Blake brothers. Gorgeous, both of them. Devlin, the pretty charmer, and the quieter Grayson who had definitely come into his own. Tall and lean with light brown hair that would streak blond in summer, he had the kind of piercing blue eyes that seemed to see right through her.

  She remembered those eyes. Remembered how smart and fascinating he was. Remembered, too, that he’d ignored her at fifteen no matter how hard she’d tried to get his attention by flirting with other boys. There’d been plenty of others interested.

  And look what that got you.

  She shook her head to clear the memory of Mama’s words all those years ago.

&nb
sp; Those days were past. Move on. Don’t think about it.

  She breathed over the top of the bourbon, inhaling the subtle caramel flavor before sipping. The fire trailed over her tongue and down her throat.

  She had placed a moratorium on men after the fiasco with her last boyfriend, Jed, a man who’d turned out to be part abuser, part criminal, and all jerk. If he was the best she could do, she’d prefer to be alone. The social butterfly had clipped her own wings. She hoped they’d stay that way.

  She took another sip, breathed deeply and savored the glow spreading through her center. She was still furious with Mama.

  Contrary to her mother’s opinion of her ineptness, she’d managed the inn for an entire day without upsetting anyone. Refreshments waited in the parlor under glass domes and in silver urns, and the housework was complete. So, who would it hurt if she had a little refreshment of her own before going to the kitchen to set up for breakfast in the morning?

  “Asparagus,” she muttered, lip curled in derision. As if a green vegetable cured all the evils that stewed between her and Mama like a witch’s brew of unspoken needs and unmentionable secrets.

  “For once, speak the truth, Mama. Just once.”

  But not since she was sixteen, her dancing dreams lost, left in Savannah along with her heart, had Mama ever spoken of this...thing between them. Not once after she’d convinced her daughter that she would eventually forget what had happened.

  “Your whole future’s ahead of you, Valery. Don’t look back.”

  Mocking those long-ago words, Valery tipped up the glass and swallowed.

  She looked back every day. Every blessed day, especially since her nephew’s abduction.

  A child wasn’t supposed to disappear, never to be seen again.

  She finished the glass in one quick toss, hoping the bourbon would burn away the guilty ache in the center of her chest.

  Mama would disapprove if she saw her gulping bourbon. Oh, she wouldn’t say anything. That was the trouble. She’d become as silent as the grave, and cast wounded, fuming looks to heap guilt on Valery’s head. As if she needed more.