Falling Inn Love: A Pumpkins and Proposals Novel (The Harvest Ranch Romance Series Book 3)

by Amberlee Day

  “Virgil’s still on night duty,” Dad said. “He’s not exactly proactive, but he knows how things work around here.”

  “And his brother, Vernon, is available if you need an extra hand at the desk,” Mom put in. “We’ve been having him come in quite often, actually.”

  “Okay. That’s something, anyway.” Kate nodded. Virgil had never been a lot of help, but he was something.

  Pain suddenly shot through her head. But was he something? If she needed Virgil’s help, she’d definitely be in dire straits. She’d guess Vernon wouldn’t be much better. This running the inn was starting to sound a lot harder than she’d expected, even temporarily. But then, her parents had no idea she was defeated on arrival after her most recent disaster.

  “By the way, Kate,” Mom said, “you’ll enjoy this. We’re expecting a celebrity guest. It’s that Brenda Lee Mitford, the one who writes all those books about Harvest Ranch. The Love at Home series. She’s coming to town for the fall festival.”

  Kate’s spirits lifted a smidge. “That’s right, Pat mentioned it. And she’s staying here at the inn? That will be nice publicity.” In fact, vital publicity. Funny how her parents hadn’t mentioned that before now. They usually lived for stuff like that. Funnier still that they wouldn’t want to be here to make sure everything went smoothly.

  “Yeah, probably!” Dad called out cheerily from the driver’s side, and Mom laughed.

  This all felt so weird.

  Fortunately, Mom’s expression flipped from “freedom, here we come!” to a brief look of motherly concern. That was more like it. That was what Kate really needed from her mom right now, even if Mom didn’t know it. “Ah, Kate. We’re so proud of you. I hope you know how much we appreciate you taking leave from your big-city job to help run the inn for a few weeks.”

  “Scranton, Pennsylvania, isn’t exactly the big city, Mom.” Kate grimaced, hating keeping the truth from them.

  “And tell Steven we said thank you. He’s the one really sacrificing, letting us borrow his manager and his fiancée.”

  And way to make it worse, Mom. “Steven’s fine with it.” Super-duper fine. “Really.”

  Dad revved the engine and grinned. “Tell him we’ll bring him back a T-shirt.”

  “Okay, but ...” Kate tried, but it was too late. They pulled away from the curb like they were running for their lives. Katie frowned as she watched the sedan drive away, leaving a cloud of dust in its wake. “If you were heading to the airport so quickly, why did I have to drive home with Pat? I could have brought the car home.”

  But nobody was there to answer.

  As she turned to go back inside, another thought occurred to her. She kicked at the ground before going through the doors. “Great. If they took the sedan, that means they left me with the hearse.”

  Back indoors, the inn lobby stood quiet as a tomb. It looked the same as always—busy, with the walls covered with decades of fruit-and-vegetable-themed swag. Smelled the same too, like leather polish and peppermint ... She sniffed. Maybe a little musty. She ran a finger along the chest-high wooden sheaf-of-wheat statue that had stood in the lobby her entire life. Musty and dusty.

  She sighed. “Guess I’d better get to work.”

  She carried her bag back to the office and left her jacket there. First things first: check the guest registry. Checkout had been at eleven, two hours ago, which meant Dora and whoever her current underling was would be busy cleaning the rooms. New guests would begin arriving at three, so she had some time to get her feet under her.

  She perched on the high front desk stool and scanned the registry. “Wow,” she said aloud, flipping pages to see if there was more than the handful of reservations listed. “No wonder Mom and Dad weren’t worried they were leaving me with too much to do. Nobody’s coming, or almost nobody.” Maybe she should go find Dora, just to check in. Kate hopped off the stool to exit the lobby’s rear glass doors.

  The sound of someone pushing through the front revolving door made her spin around ... just as the sound ground to a stop mid-swing. Swoosh-screech, followed by a muffled whine.

  “Oh, crackers. Just what I need.”

  A man had started through the door, but he’d somehow gotten stuck. His section of the door had him trapped between outdoors and indoors, and his back was to her, pushing on the wood-framed glass like he could make it go backward. Didn’t he know how a revolving door worked?

  Kate strode over to set him straight. “Sir,” she said, knocking on the glass. “Sir! The door won’t go backward. You have to keep coming this way.”

  The man turned just enough for her to see his face. Huh. Not a bad-looking guy at all. Dark hair, gorgeous long eyelashes she could see even through the antique glass. He froze for a moment, staring at her like a fish in a bowl, his mouth open and a slight frown making him look a bit goofy. She put a hand on her lips so he wouldn’t see her laugh.

  He said something, but it was muffled.

  “What?” She cupped a hand over her ear.

  “My dog!” he yelled, pointing behind him. Sure enough, a large dog stood outside on the sidewalk, its leash trapped where the man held it.

  Kate shook her head at him. “Dogs don’t like revolving doors,” she said, but the man shook his head and put his hand by his ear. She held up a finger to tell him to wait. “Tourists,” she muttered, hurrying out the rear doors, going around the building via the narrow side alley where the hickory tree branches hung far too low and made her duck. She still snagged her hair. “Ouch!”

  She growled at the tree but kept going until she’d reached the street entrance, slowing as she approached the dog. It was a labradoodle, of course. Half the dogs in town were anymore, after those Love at Home books came out. This one stood watching its owner on the other side of the glass and whining.

  “Hey there, girl,” Kate began, but she jumped back when the dog turned and barked at her. The sound rattled against the glass. “Whoa! Sorry, girl. Calm down. Didn’t mean to startle you.”

  The dog kept barking. Kate bit her lip. She’d always been more of a cat person than a dog person. Maybe she should have been practicing so she’d be prepared for moments like this, like learning the fundamentals of a different language. That was something Steven had taught her working at the Hilton.

  “Sit,” she tried, but the dog still barked. “Uh, stay. Cease. Fermare!” Just in case it understood Italian—her optimistic minor in college that she’d hoped would lead her into exotic travel. It hadn’t, and the dog didn’t stop.

  From behind the glass, she heard the man yell, “Pumpkin, stop! Pumpkin, sit!”

  That worked. The dog quieted and sat, as if it were the most behaved creature in the world. Except for an upturned nose, it looked almost sweet. Kate wrinkled her own nose at it, but she tiptoed forward to get the leash. The dog didn’t move.

  “I’ve got it,” she said after she’d pulled the leash back through and held the end. She kept her eyes on the dog as the man pushed all the way through the doors—swoosh—ending up back outside. The dog whined but didn’t move.

  “This door isn’t exactly safe,” the man complained, taking the leash out of her hand.

  “It’s actually perfectly safe, if you heed the instructions,” she replied, pulling her guarded frown from the dog and pointing to the ornate gold-lettered sign hanging next to the door. “Carry dogs through door or go around the back. I think it’s pretty clear.”

  The man read the sign but looked neither angry nor sorry. “Fine. Could you show us where to go around the back?”

  Up close, Kate could see that her view through the antique glass had not been an illusion. This guy’s eyelashes were criminally long and dark, and he had the slightest cleft in his chin. More of a dimple, really. Almost Cary Grant, but shorter. Maybe it was the perfect hair that clinched the effect. Not hard on the eyes at all. “Sure. This way.”

  “Thank you,” he said.

  She sensed a little condescension and bristled. “No problem.
” As they passed his car—a rental, possibly the one she and Pat had passed on their way into town—she asked, “Where are you visiting from?”

  “New York. The city, of course,” he added, like she was some yahoo who wouldn’t get his meaning.

  “Of course.” A flash of paisley at his chest caught her attention. “Nice pocket square.”

  “Thanks—” he began. Then he scowled at her. He wasn’t dumb, then. He knew when he was being politely mocked. She could dish condescension, too. She swung her arms as they walked along the sidewalk, the dog walking close to Katie like it was keeping her from getting close to its master. Katie ignored it. She didn’t completely ignore when they passed through the alley and the man hit his head on a hickory branch. “Ow!” he said, followed by a growl. That made her smile. “Somebody should trim those.”

  “Probably,” she agreed.

  “So, what, do you work here?”

  “Yes,” she said, patiently. “I wonder that you would follow me if you thought I didn’t.”

  “You don’t have a name tag, so I wasn’t sure.”

  Kate’s fingers automatically patted where her tag should be, and she looked down at her green sweater. There was one with her name on it somewhere in the office. She’d worn it often enough during high school and college breaks. “Oh, yeah. Sorry. I just came back. I mean, came on duty.”

  They both ducked under more hickory branches, and she led him around to enter the sliding glass rear doors, stepping quickly around to her spot behind the desk. The man wore a tan overcoat that looked a tad too big for him, probably so it would fit his broad shoulders. Sheesh, with a build like that, he should be in a football uniform instead of business attire. He still stood in the center of the lobby, looking around.

  “First time at the Cornucopia?”

  “Yeah,” he said without much enthusiasm.

  She resisted the urge to make a face at him, although she understood where he was coming from. She’d grown up here, but the inn’s harvest-themed décor would look pretty hokey to someone from New York City.

  He pulled his eyes away from the walls and approached the desk, his dog taking a spot just behind him. Was it her imagination, or was the dog giving her a snotty look? “Reservation under the name Prescott. Fredrick Prescott.”

  Since there were only a few reservations, it wasn’t hard to find. Still, she pretended to search. “Prescott ... ah, here we go. Looks like you have two cottages.” She smirked. “One for your dog?”

  If they were playing poker, he’d have the right face for it. “Is your manager here?”

  Kate’s smile stretched into a tight line. She was used to attitudes in the city, but the Cornucopia was home, and home was friendly. “As it happens, you’re looking at the manager.”

  His brow furrowed the tiniest bit. “I spoke to the manager on the phone. She didn’t sound like you. She sounded ...”

  “Older? Yes, that would be my mother. My parents own the Cornucopia, but they are presently out of town, leaving me the manager. How can I help you?”

  Fredrick Prescott frowned. “Okay. Did the owner—uh, your mother—say anything about expecting a celebrity? A celebrity author?”

  Realization dawned on Kate, and she brightened, despite the rude man she was talking to. “Oh, this is about Brenda Lee Mitford.”

  “Shh,” he said, looking around at the empty lobby like it was full of paparazzi. “Don’t need to yell it.”

  Kate narrowed her eyes. “I didn’t yell.”

  “The reservation is for two rooms.”

  “Cabins.”

  “Yes, cabins.” Did he sigh? “One is for Brenda Lee. I’ll be staying in the other.”

  “And you are Fredrick Prescott.”

  The New Yorker looked at her longer than she expected, his gaze studying her until she didn’t know if she should feel like art in a gallery or mud on his shoe. She did notice how very good-looking he was, and her stomach fluttered under his gaze. “Freddie. Freddie Prescott. I’m Brenda Lee’s agent.”

  “Agent. Got it.” Her eyes dropped down to his hands on the desk. No ring. So he was a free agent. Interesting. When the dog flicked its ear, another pop of realization went off in her head. “Wait a minute. Is this ...?”

  Freddie reached down and scratched the dog’s head, who nestled under his touch like she was in love. “It is. The original Pumpkin from Brenda Lee’s books, live and in person.”

  “Or live and in canine,” Kate joked with a hearty laugh, until Freddie turned back to her with a straight face. Okay, no sense of humor. She cleared her throat. At least he had his looks. “Let’s get you checked in. ID?”

  They got through the check-in—he was clearly photogenic, as well as good-looking in person; her own driver’s license picture was hideous. When they were done, she came around the desk. “If you’ll come this way, Mr. Prescott, I’ll show you to your cabin ...”

  She was met with another bark from Pumpkin when she got too close, which brought her to a halt.

  “Pumpkin, behave,” Freddie said. He shook his head. “I don’t know what’s wrong with her. She usually likes people.”

  “Hm,” Kate mumbled, giving the dog a wide berth. “Just a warning: while we do accept dogs here at the Cornucopia Inn, we reserve the right to refuse service to misbehaving pets.”

  That earned her a growl from the four-legged guest.

  Kate led the way through the back doors to the outdoor courtyard. At least Mom and Dad had been keeping up this part of the inn, whatever the lobby looked like. The fountain, shaped like a large cement cornucopia, sputtered in the center of the wide square, while shade trees in full fall foliage made the place look like an autumn wonderland. Orange, red, and yellow towered over them like a comforting canopy.

  Kate sighed. Yes, despite the troubles she’d left behind to come here, it was good to be home.

  “Oh, well, this is nice,” Freddie said from behind her.

  She rolled her eyes. Obviously, he meant in comparison to the lobby décor. Wait until he saw the rooms. “Thank you?” she responded in a cheery voice. She continued down the cement path, veering around the fountain and going straight toward the two middle cabins, numbers seven and eight. A thought occurred to her, and she spun around. “Um, I forgot.”

  “What?” He raised his hands like this was one of a long string of setbacks. Definitely not an easy guest.

  “You’re checking in hours early. I don’t know if your cabins are ready yet.”

  Freddie looked away, and his eyes narrowed. From his expression, she expected him to complain, but he only said, “Okay.”

  “Don’t get your boxers in a bunch,” she said with a low tilt to her head before continuing on her way.

  “What? Don’t get my ...? Wow. That’s professional. Here I was thinking small-town Virginia would be friendly, hospitable,” he murmured, and she turned mid-stride to give him a coy smile.

  “Just trying to make you feel at home. You’re not the first New Yorker I’ve met.” Plus, she’d been up all night and didn’t have the energy to be excessively polite. He’d have to just be grateful for her perky tone. “Honestly, Mr. Prescott, you would have been told when you registered that check-in is at three, so I’m doing you a favor. If you’ll just wait here, I’ll check on your rooms.”

  “Fine.”

  She swung the keys from her fingers as she walked the rest of the way. Funny how coming home after being gone a while always made Kate notice funny little things about the place. Like, it really was kind of odd that their twenty-four cabins came in three very different styles: ten genuine log cabins, ten colonial white cottages, and four red mini bungalows. Brenda Lee Mitford and this Freddie were in two of the white cottages. Kate skipped up the steps to cabin seven’s covered porch and turned her key in the lock. She expected to make a quick check that the cabin was ready.

  She hadn’t expected to open the door and find two people sitting close together on the bed. “Oh, mercy!” she exclaimed, putting
her hand to her chest. The surprise rolled over her pretty fast, though, since she knew one of the occupants only too well. “Dora! What on earth are you doing?”

  “Hey, cuz. How’s it going?” Dora swung herself off the bed, with her bleached-blond hair pulled up in a genie ponytail, and sashayed over to give Kate a hug. She smelled like bleach and wore her peach-colored cleaning uniform, which matched her companion’s.

  “I’m good,” Kate said, hugging her cousin back and waiting for a good explanation. The other maid slipped her phone in her uniform pocket and stood up. She was quite short, mid-thirties, likely Hispanic. “Who’s this?”

  Dora gestured a thumb at her. “This is Sostenes, my assistant.”

  “Hola.” Sostenes waved.

  “Hi, nice to meet you, Sostenes. What are you two doing?”

  Dora downplayed her question with a wave of her hand. “Just taking a break. Sostenes has Vampire Diaries on her phone. We’ve been watching on our breaks. It’s totally addictive. Have you seen it?”

  Kate shook her head, keeping her patience in check. This was Dora, alright. Gotta love her. “Can’t say I have. Speaking of work, how are we looking? I have an early check-in for this one and eight.”

  Dora went back and collected her cleaning carrier, and Sostenes took the cue and went for the laundry bags. “All done. We only had five to clean today, so it went fast.”

  Worry fluttered through Kate’s head. Five filled last night, seven reservations for today, with fall festival starting this weekend? What was going on?

  She peeked out the curtains at Freddie Prescott. He was still out by the fountain, leaning forward and squinting at the shape. She giggled. Yes, Freddie, big-city man. It is shaped like the horn of plenty. “Okay, well, if you guys could clear out, and Dora, maybe take your breaks in the break room next time?”

  Dora rolled her eyes. “Cute girl, you don’t have to get bossy with me. Don’t forget, I remember when you used to play dolls in the empty cabins. And sneaking friends in when you were older. And—”

  “Alright, yes,” Kate said, not wanting to revive her childhood follies. “I get it. Next time, the break room.”