by Amberlee Day
“Anyway, I’m heading out,” Dora said, pulling a duster from her cleaning supplies and tapping it on her hand for emphasis, then making a face and blowing away the resulting dust cloud. “Sostenes is on call tonight if you need something. She’s only five minutes away.”
“Helpful.” Kate smiled at the woman. She still hadn’t seen evidence that the housekeeper spoke English. A phone call to her might be problematic.
Kate waved as they pushed through the heavy rotating door, just as the back door slid open. Oh, great. The big-shot agent and his dog, again. Kate folded her arms, ready to spar. “You know, Mr. Prescott, your dog made a mess before you walked away from me this morning. I spent half an hour cleaning up my shoe. And trust me when I tell you there’s something wrong with that dog’s insides.”
“Right, sorry,” he said, though she’d swear he barely realized he’d said it. He wouldn’t have been so polite to her if he had. “Listen, is there somewhere in town I could get a decent cup of coffee?”
“Coffee? You left me with that mess, and now you come here asking for ...” Grr. He was treating her like some kind of service desk. Then again, that was exactly what she was, but still. She thought about giving him directions to the Friends of Jesus basement to get his coffee from the quilting church ladies, but she decided against it. No need to be mean, especially if her guess was true and Brenda Lee Mitford wasn’t going to be gracing Harvest Ranch with her presence. “Yes, there is, Mr. Prescott. Choco-Latte is down the street, past the dollar store. They have some hot cinnamon soy drinks and skinny lattes to die for.”
“Skinny?” He suddenly turned to her, as if he’d finally noticed who he was talking to. Poor guy. She could almost feel sorry for him.
“Or just regular coffee, if you prefer.”
Freddie didn’t say anything, and his blank, staring look remained when his gaze dropped to her sweater and down to her feet. But what was this? A bright spot suddenly lit his eyes, and his gorgeous lips parted, as if he’d just had a vision. What it was and why he was looking at her that way, she couldn’t have guessed, but it made her toes curl. She glanced around at the empty, currently disheveled lobby and wondered if it was safe to be alone with him.
“Skinny,” he mumbled again, ruffling her feathers because he seemed to be talking about her.
“No need to get personal.”
“How tall are you?” he abruptly asked.
“How ... what?”
Freddie took several steps back, held his fingers up like he was seeing her in a frame, and screwed up his eyes. “Five-six?”
She shrugged. What was this? “Five-five and three-quarters.”
“I’d say that’s about right.”
“It is about right.”
He circled her, looking at her front and back.
She wanted to disappear, or knock him down, either one. “What are you doing? Are you going to insult my clothes again? This is going too far. If a person wants to wear yoga pants and sweaters, she should be allowed to do that, without comment from—”
“Walk across the room.”
Her anger flared in the same space her worry for his sanity went up. “What?”
He made a dumb walking motion with his fingers. “Walk, just over to the desk.”
“No.”
“Please,” he said, and if he hadn’t been using a gentlemanly tone, and if she hadn’t been a little curious what he was up to, she wouldn’t have done it. But she did. She walked over to the desk with quick but measured steps before turning around, her hands out questioning.
“And? Why did I just do that?”
“Yes, it could work.”
“What could work?”
Freddie walked quickly over to her, and that worry niggled again that he might be dangerous, though she didn’t really believe that. More like strange. “Kate, I think I have an idea that could help us both. You see—”
The revolving door swooshed around just then, bringing McGee into the Cornucopia lobby. Kate looked back and forth between him and Freddie, impatient to know what this handsome, odd New Yorker’s idea was. “Hi, McGee. What’s up?”
But her high school friend, the local reporter, was busy taking in the mess she’d made of the furnishings. He picked up an old rake with fake leaves glued to it that she’d leaned against the “maybe” box. “Helping your parents pack up?”
“No.” She strode over and snatched the rake from his hands, putting it back by the table. But actually, it was really one of the uglier pieces, so she changed her mind and shifted it to the discard box. “Just doing some redecorating. What do you want, McGee?”
“Huh.” McGee seemed to notice Freddie for the first time and nodded at him. Freddie nodded back—guy greetings. “I’ve been all over town, Kate, and no one has reservations for Brenda Lee Mitford.”
“Oh. Well, maybe they just don’t want to tell you,” she said, glancing back at Freddie. “After all, it’s illegal to confirm someone is a guest without their permission. Privacy laws, that kind of thing.”
“True, but I looked in their guest logs,” McGee sighed.
Kate was horrified. “You what? You can’t do that.”
“If they leave the records unattended, you can.” McGee crossed his arms high on his chest, a stupid grin on his face. “Reporters have their ways of finding out things.”
Freddie chose this moment to step forward, his hand outstretched. “You’re McGee? Freddie Prescott.”
McGee shook his hand. “You’ve heard of me?”
“Well ... you are a reporter, after all.” Freddie smiled at McGee like he was trying to get him to run for office. “You write for the ...?”
McGee shrugged. “The Harvest Ranch Times. Reporter about town and morning editor.”
“Right,” Freddie said, looking back at Kate with a look she wished she understood. “Right. So you’re looking for Brenda Lee Mitford, are you, McGee?”
Kate’s warning flags popped up. What was he doing?
“Sure am. Do you know who she is? Author of the Love at Home books, really famous. She has red hair, and a dog that looks just like that one,” he said, pointing at Pumpkin and making Kate’s insides jump. She’d wanted publicity for the Cornucopia, but hadn’t Freddie been kind of a pushy stickler about insisting she didn’t tell anyone?
“Just like that one, huh?” Freddie asked.
“Yep. She has a dog like that in her books, and ever since she set her stories in Harvest Ranch, people here have gone a little nutty about labradoodles.”
“That’s quite humorous,” Freddie said with a put-on smile that made her want to smack him. “Very funny.”
“Yeah.” McGee looked like he didn’t know what to make of Freddie, which Kate thought was highly appropriate.
“What are you doing here, McGee?” she asked.
He broke off from studying Freddie, the pride back in his eyes. “I have it figured out. You do have Brenda Lee Mitford staying here at the Cornucopia. Where else could she be? Unless she’s staying out of town or something, and that’s unlikely, don’t you think?”
“McGee, I don’t think—”
“What an exciting prospect,” Freddie interrupted, and Kate didn’t like the way his eyes sparkled. She didn’t trust it. “Imagine: a celebrity staying here, at the same hotel I’m staying at. Is it true, Kate? Kate’s the manager here, you know.”
“I do know.” McGee wasn’t impressed with Freddie; Kate could tell that much. “So spill, Kate. Do you have a celebrity staying here?”
“Well,” Kate began, not sure where she should go with this. Yes, she wanted the publicity, but this felt like some sort of trap on Freddie’s part. “I’m not sure what else to tell you that I haven’t already, McGee, except I can promise that if you were to illegally look at our guest registry, you definitely wouldn’t be seeing Brenda Lee Mitford’s name.”
McGee screwed up his face, his thinking look. “What if she’s using a pseudonym? She might be.”
“True,�
�� Kate continued, “but then couldn’t she be doing that at any of the other places in town?”
No, he hadn’t thought of that. One thing about McGee was that his thoughts were written all over his face.
But before he had a chance to admit defeat, Freddie did something that really threw Kate for a loop. “Tell you what, McGee. I have some contacts. I’ll make some calls, see if I can figure out where your reclusive celebrity is. Sound good?”
“What kind of contacts?” McGee wasn’t impressed.
Freddie stood up taller, jutted out his chin. “I’m from New York.”
And somehow, that impressed McGee. Kate rolled her eyes.
“Oh, I see! Alright, then. When should I check back with you?”
“How about ... tomorrow?” Freddie asked. “The parade starts at noon, so how about eleven? We can meet at the parade staging area.”
“Great!” McGee beamed. He picked up a plastic tangerine from a fake fruit bowl and tossed it in the air before backing up and lobbing it back like a basketball. He missed. Pointing to Kate, he promised, “See you later,” before pushing his way out the revolving door.
Swoosh. Pumpkin whined.
When the door stopped moving, the lobby fell silent. Freddie grinned at Kate like he’d secretly won the lottery.
“So either the elusive Mrs. Mitford is coming after all, or you’ve lost your mind,” Kate said cheerfully before picking up the errant tangerine and returning to her decluttering task.
“Neither,” Freddie said. “How badly do you want this publicity?”
She shrugged. “It would actually be really good for the inn, but not if she was supposed to come and didn’t. What kind of message does that give? ‘We almost had someone famous here, but she changed her mind’? No thanks on that one.”
“I can do better than that,” he said, a hint of promise in his voice that really piqued her interest.
“Is she on her way, then?” She hadn’t realized how much she hoped it was true until she thought it might be.
“Not quite, but hopefully by tomorrow afternoon. The thing is, I need her here before then.”
“Why?”
“She’s grand-marshalling tomorrow’s parade to kick off the festival.”
A laugh forced its way out of Kate’s chest, making her feel like a rusty steam engine. “Yeah, that’s a big deal to Harvest Ranch. If they’re expecting her, she has to be here.”
“But she won’t be, so I need a substitute.”
“A substitute?” Another unladylike laugh. “Where are you going to find that? Unless she has a twin sis—Hey!” Finally, the penny dropped. Was that what he was getting at? The comments about her height and build, the way he’d sized her up and taunted her with good publicity for the inn. She opened her mouth to tell him where he could go with his idea.
“Now, think about it before you say no,” Freddie said while heat rose up her neck and adrenaline screamed at her to just run. “You wouldn’t have to do anything but look like Brenda Lee and wave.”
“No. Way.”
“You’d be way up on a float, no close scrutiny. No one will know it’s you. It’s almost like dressing up like a clown or something.”
“I’m not doing it. Impersonating a celebrity, for real? Now that’s illegal!”
“Not if you have her permission, it isn’t. Then you’re just helping the cause.”
“And what cause is that? Trying to keep you from looking foolish?” Her voice was rising, and she struggled to get it under control. So far with this Freddie, she’d mostly managed to keep a civil, professional tone, but he was pushing some serious boundaries here. “Yes, the publicity would be very nice for the inn, but it’s not worth making a fool of myself. Or worse, getting arrested.” She went back to putting fruit and vegetable decorations in the donation boxes with a vengeance, first a gunnysack with apples painted on the side, then a ceramic sunflower.
But Freddie had one more argument up his sleeve. “Here’s the thing, Kate, and this is genuine. Do you know why Brenda Lee wanted to stay here at the Cornucopia?”
Kate slammed a wooden bowl into the box and put her hands on her hips. “Because it’s the best place to stay in town?” Because if he said no, it wasn’t the best, then “no” would be exactly how she responded to his ridiculous request.
“Because she’s studied your website,” he said, “and wants to make it a key location in her next book.”
Kate froze. The Cornucopia, gaining immortality in the pages of a best-selling book? Images flashed through her head—and her heart—as if she were seeing pictures of her life growing up at the Cornucopia. Helping her mom greet guests and her dad perform fix-it tasks. Finding the litter of kittens born under the porch of cabin twenty-one. Learning to ride a bike on the pathways between the cabins and, when she finally mastered it, zipping through the grounds like a daredevil.
And here, in the lobby. How many million times had she pushed through those revolving doors, or spent a winter’s day snuggled with a book on the big orange chair? She loved the Cornucopia. Even if she hadn’t lived here full time in over a decade, it was home. She didn’t want to lose it. “A key location? How key?”
Freddie grinned at her. “Very key. As key as you can get.”
Chapter 6
“So Brenda Lee’s not really a redhead?” Kate called from behind the closed bedroom door.
Freddie paced Brenda Lee’s cabin living room, feeling a glimmer of hope that this assignment could be saved. As he circled the room, he scrolled through promotional pictures of Brenda Lee on his phone. “You’d probably call her strawberry blond, and she wears it in kind of a ... shorter cut? I don’t know what you call it. But it’s the bright red wigs that make people recognize her.”
“I wouldn’t call it bright red, exactly. More of a vibrant auburn.”
Freddie looked up at the closed door hopefully. At least Kate sounded invested—a big improvement over not a chance, buddy, her first fifty responses to his idea. He’d set up Brenda’s wigs, outfits, and the heavy makeup suitcase in her empty cabin. Now all he had to do was wait and see how well Kate pulled off the look. “Vibrant auburn, good description.” Not that he cared a fig for the semantics. “Are you almost done?”
“Almost. Are you sure she said it was okay we do this?”
“Absolutely. When I called her, she said, ‘Do what you have to.’” After she said a few other choice phrases, but she’d eventually come around to see it was for the best.
“Okay, I’m ready.” Kate sounded nervous, which made Freddie more nervous. When the doorknob finally turned, he stood back to get a good view.
Kate stepped in the room, and he wasn’t disappointed. “Wow.”
“What do you think? Do I look like Brenda Lee Mitford?” Her face scrunched up like it was a bad thing, but she looked like she didn’t mind if she did. The wig really made all the difference, of course, with Brenda Lee’s signature bangs and swept-back sides. But the clothes hung on Kate well, too. The white flowy floral top cinched at the waist with a wide Western belt and a tan skirt that wrapped snugly around her legs. “I feel like Reba McEntire and the Pioneer Woman had a baby, and it’s me.”
“You look perfect.” And really kind of cute, but then she was already cute. A much cuter Brenda Lee, and certainly younger. And ... “Just two more things, and then I’d say you’re a dead ringer.”
“Really? What’s that?”
He handed her the pink suitcase. “Brenda Lee wears a lot of makeup.”
Kate frowned. “That can’t all be makeup.”
“I’m not absolutely certain, because until now I’ve never had cause to open it.”
“Do I have to? I mean, a little mascara, sure, but she does kind of wear a lot.”
“That’s the whole point. It’s part of the disguise.” He tried to make it sound like it was the best part, but she wasn’t buying it. “Look, it will make all the difference, and it’ll help hide the fact that you’re younger than Brenda, too.”
Kate grumbled.
“And don’t forget—” He wiggled his fingers by his eyes. “—she wears false lashes.”
Kate grumbled louder, those cute angry lines squinting next to her eyes. He wanted to laugh, but she probably wouldn’t have appreciated that. “Fine. Makeup, false lashes. What’s the second thing?”
Freddie forced his eyes not to drop down to the second thing that needed enhancing. Instead, he looked around the room for something to help. Something soft and with just the right firmness—which actually made him blush to think about. Luckily, he was turned away so she couldn’t see his face.
He found what he was looking for in a box of Love at Home merchandise he’d brought to sell at the book signings: orange-colored plush labradoodles. “Here,” he said, handing them to Kate. As she took one in each hand and scrutinized them, he prayed she would get his meaning and not ask him to explain. It took a moment. When her eyes flew open, he was relieved—for about half a second.
She threw the dogs at his face. At that velocity, they weren’t as soft as he would have thought.
“Hey!”
“If it’s that big of an issue,” she said in angry, measured words that made him sure she wasn’t kidding, “I’ll find my own solution.”
“Fine. As long as you find it by tomorrow morning.” He rubbed where one of the toys had hit his jaw. “We have to be at the parade route at eleven. I’ve got your friend McGee meeting us there about the same time, and I’ll tell him about you—Brenda, that is—staying at the Cornucopia. Instant publicity.” For the inn and Brenda Lee’s brand.
“What if McGee gets close and wants an interview? He’d know it was me.”
“That’s my job, to keep him at a distance. I’ve promised him an interview, but my plan is to keep him dangling for a bit. If he realizes he has to go through me, hopefully he’ll be less likely to try and get close to you. Plus, we’ll be bustling off to the parade. Once Brenda Lee actually arrives, I’ll make sure he gets an exclusive.”
She turned and looked at herself in the wall mirror. “I guess it could work. If you’re sure ...”