by Irene Hannon
Jaz joined them. “What’ll it be today, folks?”
“We’re both going with your recommendation. And we’ll share a large order of fries.” Clint turned to her. “What would you like to drink?”
She smiled at Jaz. “Whatever white soda you have is fine.”
“Same for me,” Clint seconded.
“Got it. The grill’s all fired up. It won’t be long.” Jaz leaned sideways to wave at some new arrivals, then detoured toward the cooking area.
“Interesting place.” Kristen studied a framed collage of motorcycle license plates on a nearby wall.
Clint chuckled. “Yeah. And more than a little off-putting for the uninitiated. As is Jaz. He likes to tell the story about his appearance at the town council meeting to apply for a permit. They almost didn’t give it to him, based purely on his appearance. But he’s turned out to be one of the town’s leading citizens—and a devout Christian, to boot.”
“I caught his reference about going to church this morning. Not what you’d expect from someone who looks like him.”
“Like I said yesterday at the party, looks can be deceiving.”
An odd undercurrent in his voice piqued her interest, but he continued without giving her a chance to analyze it.
“I know you said you’re not a churchgoer, but if you change your mind, my congregation would be happy to welcome you. We have a great pastor, too.”
She managed a smile. “Thanks, but if I ever want to talk with the Lord, I can always pop over to Starfish Bay Chapel right on the inn grounds.”
“Have you been inside yet?”
“Of course. I’ve explored every inch of the property, public and private, and we’ve already booked a few wedding parties. The chapel is a perfect spot for a small, intimate ceremony. Very contemplative.”
“I know. Lindsey at the Mercantile and her husband were married there last spring. It was the first building on the site that was completed, at Mattson’s orders. Scott Walsh, the foreman on the inn project, married another Starfish Bay resident there last Christmas. Do you do a lot of wedding planning for guests?”
Too much.
That was the one part of her job she didn’t enjoy. Celebrating other people’s happy endings always left her feeling melancholy.
But she modified her answer for her companion. “Enough.”
He gave her one of those keen looks that delved a bit too deep and made her squirm. “Bridezilla problems?”
“Not usually.”
“But...?”
“But what?”
“I get the feeling that isn’t your favorite part of the job.”
The man was much too sharp.
“A little romantic happy-ending stuff goes a long way.”
Jaz chose that moment to deliver their drinks and fries. Perfect timing, considering Clint’s speculative expression.
“I’ll be back shortly with those burgers, but go ahead and dig into these.” He set the basket of golden potatoes between them. “They’re just out of the fryer.”
As he returned to the cooking area, Kristen slid from her stool. “Would you excuse me for a minute? I’d like to wash my hands.”
“Of course.” Clint stood, too, and indicated the far corner of the building. “Be prepared. The theme carries over in the restrooms, too.”
“Thanks for the warning.”
She took off in the direction he’d indicated. No matter what awaited her in the ladies’ room, she could handle it far better than a discussion about romance. If she was lucky, he’d forget all about the topic by the time she got back and they could move on to a more innocuous subject.
Unfortunately, he struck her as the kind of guy who had a long memory—and a lot of determination.
* * *
Clint watched Kristen edge around a polished Harley with a pirate-hat-wearing skeleton in the driver’s seat, then fished a fry out of the basket Jaz had left on the table.
What kind of woman didn’t like happy endings and brides and romantic stuff?
One who’d been burned.
What other explanation could there be?
He dipped the fry in ketchup and popped it in his mouth. Was Kristen divorced? Had she been dumped by a significant other? Or had some guy hurt her in another way?
His blood pressure edged up a few notches, and he frowned. What was that all about? He hardly knew his new tenant. Yet that reaction had felt a lot like his protective instincts kicking in.
Could be just basic human empathy, though. He hated injustice. That was one of the reasons he’d become a cop. But whatever her romantic history, the right guy should be able to fix the damage. Patience and love and kindness could heal a lot of hurt.
Her antipathy to religion bothered him more. That was a bigger stumbling block to...
Clint stopped chewing.
To what?
“Here you go.” Jaz set two huge burgers on the table and scanned the room. “I didn’t scare the little lady off, did I?”
“No. She went to wash her hands.”
Jaz snickered. “Can’t say I blame her. Happens to a lot of people first time they get a load of this place.” He gave Clint a speculative look. “You know, guys who bring women in here are usually either trying to end a relationship or test out the potential. Sort of a trial by fire. How come I think you’re doing the latter?”
Striving for a casual tone, Clint dipped another fry in ketchup. “I have no idea.” In his peripheral vision, Kristen came into view and he transferred his attention to her. Man, she looked great today in that soft sweater that matched the jade hue of her eyes, with her hair swinging around her face.
“I do. Because when she’s in sight, you can’t take your eyes off of her. Not that I blame you. She’s a looker.”
Yeah, she was.
Kristen slipped back onto her seat and inspected the burgers. “Those look fabulous.”
“Dig in. I hope you’re not disappointed—especially since you’re the first date Clint’s ever brought here.” Jaz smirked at him as he addressed Kristen.
She shot him a startled glance.
Thanks a lot, Jaz.
He fought back a flush as Kristen cleared her throat. “This isn’t a date. I mentioned to Clint at the open house yesterday that I was hoping to find some other dining options for inn guests. He suggested your place and offered to bring me today for lunch.”
“Is that right? Well, I’m not certain the kind of people who’ll be staying at the inn will appreciate our ambience, but any adventurous types who take the chance will be welcome. And you two enjoy your lunch anyway, even if it’s business.” From behind Kristen, Jaz gave him a thumbs-up before crossing the room to take the order from some new arrivals.
If Kristen was embarrassed by the reference to a date, she gave no indication. She’d already cut her burger in half and taken an enormous bite.
He followed her lead.
“Okay.” She swallowed the first mouthful and took a sip of soda. “You weren’t exaggerating. This is the best burger I ever ate.” She took another large bite.
The tension in his shoulders eased. “I’m glad you like it.”
“I’m surprised, though.”
“About what?” He took another bite himself.
“That you’ve never brought a date here. It would be memorable. And there’s certainly a lot of conversation starters. Like that infinity-tunnel hall with all those weird lights that leads to the restrooms.”
Chewing his burger, Clint was glad he had an excuse to delay answering. He could respond to her comment about the decor. Or he could get more personal and talk about her dating remark. It all depended on what kind of potential he saw for the two of them. Jaz had been right in his assessment of why a guy would bring a woman here.
He swallowed the bite of burger and made his decision. “I haven’t brought a date here because I don’t date much.”
She paused with the burger halfway to her mouth. “Why not?” The instant she asked the question, color flooded her cheeks. “Sorry. None of my business.” She took another bite and made a project out of selecting a fry.
“I don’t mind answering. For a long time I wasn’t in the market. Besides, I haven’t met anyone out here I wanted to date.”
She chewed on her fry and watched him. “I don’t suppose Starfish Bay has a huge number of eligible women.”
“Some. But I’m also looking for a woman who shares my faith.”
“Ah.” She continued to eat her burger, displaying a much heartier appetite than he’d expected. Lisa had always nibbled at her food and complained about her weight, even though she’d been model thin.
When the silence between them lengthened, he realized Kristen wasn’t going to add anything to that comment. So he cautiously picked up the thread.
“You mentioned once you weren’t a churchgoer. Have you ever been, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“Yes.” She wove a fry through the ketchup, faint creases marring her brow. “My family was very faith-centered. Sunday services and regular prayer were part of our life.”
“So what happened?”
She jabbed the fry in the ketchup and pulled it out. “I fell away after I went to college. It happens to a lot of kids.” She bit into the fry and chewed. “Look, I’m not sure what prompted this discussion, but if, by chance, you have any interest in me, I’m not—to use your phrase—in the market. It’s nothing personal. You seem like a nice guy, but I’m not looking for a relationship. Besides, since God and I parted company years ago and I don’t anticipate a reunion in the foreseeable future, it wouldn’t work anyway. Now tell me more about your job as a ranger. What’s the most interesting thing that’s happened to you?”
The lady wanted to change the subject.
He wanted to know more.
Why wasn’t she in the market for a relationship? And why had her faith lapsed? The going-away-to-college explanation didn’t ring true.
But she wasn’t going to tell him anything else today. He could tell that from the grip she had on her burger and the firm set of her chin.
So he went along with her change of subject. Told her some stories. Listened as she reciprocated with a few hilarious tales about her experiences as a concierge. Found himself laughing and relaxing and having the best time he’d had in years.
All of which only made him want to get to know her better.
When Jaz delivered the bill, he pulled out his wallet and started to riffle through the plastic credit-card holders.
“No. I’ll get this. I can expense it.” She touched his hand with her fingertips, the polished crimson nails contrasting with her fair skin.
A spurt of adrenaline hiked up his pulse, and the wallet slipped from his fingers, falling onto the table. It opened to the plastic sleeve holding Lisa’s photo.
The one he should have taken out long ago.
Kristen’s gaze fell on it for a brief instant before he could snatch it back.
Without comment, she withdrew her hand and rummaged around in her purse.
“I’d say you liked your lunch.” Jaz beamed at their empty plates.
“It was fabulous.” Kristen withdrew her own card and handed it over. “I’ll definitely be sending some guests your way.”
“More business is always welcome. I’ll get your receipt.”
As Jaz walked toward the cooking area, Kristen gave Clint a smile that seemed a tad forced. “Thanks for suggesting this. I have to admit, without your prompt I might never have ventured in here.”
“To be honest, I was in town for six months before I gave it a try. Lindsey finally goaded me into it.”
His brief account of his first foot-dragging visit brought a smile to her lips.
“Here you go.” Jaz slid the receipt in front of Kristen. She signed it and handed it back. “You two come back again, okay? Next visit you’ll have to try my rattlesnake pizza.” As Kristen’s eyes widened, he laughed. “Gotcha.”
She laughed. “Rattlesnake pizza here wouldn’t surprise me, though.”
“Yeah. It would fit. And it might be fun to try. But for now, the three-meat, three-cheese with mushrooms and green peppers is my personal favorite. Have Clint bring you back for another research trip so you can try that, too.” He winked at her.
Her cheeks pinkened and she slid to her feet. “I’ll put that on the list for my next visit. Ready?” She turned to Clint.
“All set. Thanks, Jaz. See you soon.”
He took her arm as they wove through the diners and the pool tables, where high-spirited games were now under way between two older gents at one table and some teens at another. She didn’t protest his proprietary gesture, but once outside she gently extricated herself from his grip as they walked toward the car.
Her message was clear.
Hands off.
No romance.
Keep your distance.
He didn’t have any difficulty interpreting her subtle communication.
But as he drove the short distance back to his house and they parted in his driveway, he was having difficulty reconciling her message with his sudden yearning to get to know his new tenant a whole lot better.
A yearning that he had a sinking feeling was likely to remain unfulfilled—despite the upbeat platitude about dreams coming true on the place mats at the Orchid Café.
Chapter Seven
Opening day had been a resounding success.
But it had also been long, long, long. Kristen had been on the run from the instant she stepped inside the inn until the instant she left twelve hours later.
And as she wearily climbed the stairs to her apartment on Friday night, she knew the grueling pace wasn’t going to let up during the long Memorial Day weekend just beginning. Holidays were always busy at Mattson resorts, more so when an inn was just opening. Not only did you have to deal with guest requests, you also had to keep a sharp eye on new staff as they moved into the on-the-job training phase. There were few allowances for mistakes from the discriminating guests who chose a Mattson resort.
Still, she was confident she had things under control.
Once inside her apartment, Kristen dumped her purse on the kitchen counter, filled a glass with water and dropped onto a stool. What a day. All she wanted to do was fall into bed—perhaps fully clothed. She was even tempted to let her phone messages wait until tomorrow. After all, the clock was already inching toward eleven.
No. Better to get that over with tonight. The phone had vibrated numerous times during the day, but she’d been too busy with guests to answer it. Still, there weren’t likely to be any important messages. Every inn employee she’d needed to talk with on opening day had been on-site. It shouldn’t take her long to check the messages.
She groped around inside her purse, pulled out the phone and scrolled through the calls. Nothing there that couldn’t keep overni—
Wait.
With a flick of her finger, she backed up to a message from noon. The number wasn’t familiar, but the Denver area code was.
She scrolled farther down.
There it was again. The same Denver number, three hours later.
At eight o’clock tonight, yet another Denver call, from a different number.
Feeling suddenly queasy, she played the first message back.
“Kristen, it’s Connie Walters. Would you please call me as soon as possible? I have some information I need to share with you.” The woman recited her number.
Connie Walters.
She hadn’t spoken with the woman in more than nine year
s. But hearing her voice again brought back a torrent of emotions she’d thought she’d long ago put to rest.
Fear. Shame. Panic. Guilt. Desperation. Despair.
Forcing herself to continue breathing, she played back the second message from the woman.
“Kristen, it’s Connie again. I need you to call me soon, please. I have an urgent matter to discuss. If you get this after hours, call my cell.” She recited a number.
It matched the ID from the third and final call, made three hours ago.
Trying to rein in her panic, Kristen played back that message.
“It’s Connie. No matter what time you get this, call me. If I don’t hear from you tonight, I’ll check with your employer tomorrow and see if they can track you down.” This time the woman’s tone was agitated.
Something bad had happened.
Kristen’s hand started to shake.
Please, God, let Beatrice be all right!
The prayer was spontaneous, ripped from her soul. Even if she was too ashamed to approach God and ask forgiveness for herself, she wasn’t above praying for Beatrice.
The daughter she’d never met.
The daughter she’d given away.
The daughter whose life she followed through Connie at Babes in Arms Adoption Agency.
Heart pounding, she punched in the number as fast as her unsteady fingers would allow.
The woman answered on the first ring.
“It’s Kristen. What’s wrong?”
“Kristen! Thank God you called!”
She clenched the phone. Tried to brace herself. “Did something happen to Beatrice?”
“No. She’s fine—physically, anyway. But her adoptive parents were killed in a small commuter-plane crash last night. Their attorney contacted us today. They arranged to have their assets put in a trust for Beatrice, but they left instructions for you to be notified if anything ever happened to them. They didn’t have any siblings, and both sets of grandparents are gone, since they adopted at an older age. They knew you’d followed Beatrice’s life, and they wanted you to have the chance to take her back.”