Love Inn Page 2

  Her eyebrows went up a bit. “Have you ever been to Ireland, then?”

  Bells went off in his head. He hoped his face didn’t blanch as white as he felt. “Yes. Once.” He began to move toward her bag.

  “Will you ever go again?”

  He was glad she couldn’t see his face. He tried to sound light-hearted. She was his guest. “Tomorrow maybe. Right now, I’m going to check on your room.”

  And he strolled away, certain her gaze followed him, the amusement wrinkling the corners of her eyes.

  ###

  Kitty watched the ripple of muscles play in his back as he disappeared up the stairs. The sight of him, bare-chested and apologetic had sent a strange ripple of attraction through her. He was wise to don a shirt.

  She tried to concentrate on something else.

  The kitchen, although entirely modern, maintained its sense of ruggedness. Pine beams ran the length of the ceiling, and French country designed tile decorated the wall between cabinet and counter. The red brick fireplace off the kitchen, in what was most likely a small dining area, completed the look.

  Her love of simplistic country life sighed within her. She’d tried to make her home such a place, but it lacked something. She knew what it was but she wasn’t quite sure how to remedy the problem.

  She glanced at the doorway where her host had gone.

  Yes. One of him would spice things up nicely.

  She finished the light fare and tea, and followed Mr. Jessup up the short flight of stairs to a floor of three bedrooms. He busied himself in the first one to the left—a charming room, lightly painted in a pale shade of purple with bright white trim.

  It wasn’t the attractiveness of the room that took her eye, however. Ben Jessup stood near the wall, facing her with a lighter in his hand, lighting a candle. The faint flicker of the flame lighting the planes of his face.

  Her first reaction was one of interest. A man performing domestic tasks was a novelty. The men she had grown up with in Ireland were far from domestically tamed. They tilled fields, tended animals, and more often than not, worked in a laborious job at a factory. The ones she’d been associating with since she’d become published were all totally business focused. Mr. Jessup was a nice contrast.

  “Thank you for that,” she said.

  He looked at her, head tilted slightly. “Sure. You’re paying in advance for a good long stay. I want to make you as comfortable as possible. If you need anything special, you know, for your meals or anything, just let me know.”

  He moved away from the bed and placed the candle on the dark cherry dresser adorned simply with a white lace doily.

  “And thank you again for the food. I was a bit greedy. I ate it all.”

  He grinned as he passed her, and she saw the dimple, missed in every smile he’d given before. “You’re welcome. Sweet dreams, Miss Beebe.”

  She didn’t turn to watch him leave.

  But she wanted to very much.

  ###

  When she woke in the morning, the sunlight slanted through mini-blinds, and spilled out onto the hardwood floor. She blinked a few times and rolled to her back. The down comforter had been encased in a scented duvet cover and she ran her hand over it. The linens were powder-scented as well, and created a wonderful dreamy nest in which she wanted to burrow deeper and return to the whispered world of sleep. But duty called and she wasn’t here for a ‘stay-in-bed’ sort of vacation.

  She sat up and rubbed her eyes. Across from the bed was an oak desk with brass handles. A telephone sat at one corner and a pad and pen graced the other. She slid to her feet and pulled the overnight bag to a white wicker rocker near the bed. She dug around until she found her notebook.

  Writing was always done in phases. Handwritten notes came first, then entry into her laptop followed, with final edits and revisions done last. She took her notebook and the pen from the desk back to bed. After fluffing up the pillows to a comfortable position, she spent a few moments free writing.

  Time passed quickly and when she looked at the clock, over an hour had passed. She really wanted to see her host again to see if he looked as appealing over breakfast as he had near the midnight hour in the candlelight.

  Her room had its own bath and she reveled in the hot water until she wrinkled. As she towel dried, she noted that many amenities of popular hotels had been placed in there—a hair dryer, complimentary soap, shampoo, and even lotion. The inn had everything.

  She hummed softly to herself as she dressed in a soft pastel blouse and black slacks. Twisting her hair up into a ponytail, she placed silver hoops in her earlobes, a dab of mascara, and she was ready to greet the world.

  Or at least, Himself.

  He’d set out plates and silverware for breakfast at the tables set up in the dining room. She noticed the solitary iris he’d placed in silver vases on each table also, and smiled at his thoughtfulness.

  She sat facing him, watching his every move. He stood at the stove flipping something that looked to be pancakes.

  Her stomach grumbled at the wonderfully sweet scent of maple syrup warming nearby.

  He hurried to the table and placed a plate of butter before her. “Good morning. Can I get you some coffee? Or do you want more hot tea?”

  She thought a moment. “Coffee. Heavy on the cream, and sweetener if you have it.”

  “Coming right up,” he replied, scooping up her plate. “It’s pancakes today and bacon if you want it.”

  “Bacon, yes. Wonderful.”

  His legs strained against the fabric of the faded jeans and she marveled again at his physique until he disappeared behind the island.

  He returned to the table with a tray bearing a porcelain creamer, matching mug and saucer. Then he opened a door on the antique cabinet next to the fireplace and brought out packets of sugar and sweetener.

  “Did you build this house?” she asked, curious to know more about him.

  He nodded and went back to the stove. “Yes. Well, I had it built. I drew up the plans though my wife, Carla, added all the special touches.”

  Disappointment filled her. “Where is your wife? I haven’t met her yet.”

  He walked to the table with her plate. “She’s deceased. I live alone.”

  She gazed at him. He was experienced at hiding his grief, but she was more experienced at seeing underlying emotions. He would be an excellent hero, achingly flawed.

  ###

  He poured water into the skillet and set it in the sink. His guest was finishing her second pancake and he knew she wouldn’t take a third. The reminder of his missing wife had stung, but it hadn’t killed him. Not like it used to.

  The good doctor had said time heals all wounds. Maybe he would learn to live with loss after all.

  “Your associate, Miss Butler, is she on staff full-time?”

  Ripped from his remembering, he replied, “Nikki? Oh no. She only comes in a few times a week. She lives in Memphis. She’s… a doctor. He didn’t know why admitting his sister-in-law was Carla’s physician seemed out of place, but it did. He waited for the usual question.

  “Oh? What sort of doctor?”

  There it was.

  He smiled a standard smile to hide the pain. “Cardio-Oncologist. She treated Carla during her bout with cancer before she died.”

  “Oh.”

  Small voice. Shock. Sorrow maybe? He couldn’t tell from the way she looked down at her plate but he thought he saw her nod to herself. Time to change the subject. “So, you think our little country place will make a good book?”

  She sounded relieved. “Yes, I believe it will, Mr. Jessup. There’s history in this region I’m thinking. A bit of that and I’ll have a rousing tale.”

  “Please call me Ben, and I don’t know much about history, but from what I hear from the gossipy ladies at the shop where I get my hair cut, there’s plenty of color.”

  “Local color? How fabulous. We Irish are known for our colorful characters as well. We thrive on it.”


  “Which is why you’ve written so many books with Irish people in it, I suppose?”

  She grinned at him. “How did you know? Are you a romance reader, then?”

  His cheeks burned. “Only yours.”

  “I’m flattered, Mr…Ben.”

  Before he could make a complete fool of himself, the door leading out onto the back porch opened and Nikki stuck her head in. “Is it too late to eat?” she queried, shutting the door quickly. “I’ve had all-night rounds with a patient at the hospital and I…”

  She didn’t finish once she saw Kitty sitting at the table in the dining room.

  “You must be Miss Butler,” Kitty said, standing and extending her hand. “Thank you so much for all you did to get me set up here. It’s a grand place.”

  Nikki took the proffered hand. “You’re very welcome. We’re so happy to have you here.” She glared at Ben. “You should have called me.”

  He shrugged. “Miss Beebe arrived late. Coffee?”

  Nikki pulled out a chair across from Kitty. “Yes, strong and black. I’m beat and also starving, so dig up some more bacon and,” she sniffed at Kitty’s plate. “Pancakes? Great. I’ll have three.”

  He listened to their chatter as he heated up more bacon, syrup and pancakes.

  “What made you become a writer?” Nikki asked.

  Kitty laughed. “The weather in Ireland oftentimes keeps me indoors with little else to do but write. There’s also something to be said for naturally induced inspiration when it happens around you, like it does there.”

  “Which explains so many English gothic writers, I suspect.”

  “My father was a farmer and taught me a love of the land, though ours failed and I never touched a till again until after his death some years ago. Sadly, the land has been mostly parceled off until only the house and garden remains. So, without the land to save me, I took up the pen and wrote my way into fame and fortune.”

  Nikki’s reply was lost as the bacon sizzled in the skillet. He decided to go and retrieve the suitcases from Miss Beebe’s car. “Miss Beebe, would you like for me to get your luggage out now?”

  She frowned. “It’s Kitty, and we’re getting on so well, let’s forget the Mr. and Miss formalities. I’ll run up and get the keys for you.”

  He nodded, glancing at her. “Okay. Kitty it is.”

  Nikki pierced him with one of her sisterly looks once the woman’s footsteps had faded. “I see it but I don’t believe it.”

  “What?”

  “A glimmer of appreciation for a member of the opposite sex oozing out of your body.”

  “Don’t get carried away. She’s a guest here.”

  “She’s also attractive and single.”

  “I didn’t think a doctor noticed details about people. I thought all you saw was their condition, their disease.”

  She snorted. “I see a condition all right. Might be a tumor. Might also be a bulge in your pants.”

  He swatted at her with his dishtowel and returned to the stove and her breakfast.

  Chapter Three

  Kitty was alone, the way she liked it when she planned out a new book.

  Outside her window, rain sluiced down in sheets driven on a sharp wind that had begun around noon. A dreary gray afternoon had ensued and she found it inspiring.

  But this story was not coming easily this time.

  She knew so little about it still. Only that it was going to be full of love, loss, pain and rebirth. Using Ben as her model, there was more than enough inspiration for such a story. She had only to look around at the vestiges of his wife’s influences at The Inn to know they had had a wonderful life together.

  Love and loss, pain—it all went hand-in-glove for her stories, as it would for this one.

  She paced back and forth in front of the window. The water ran down the glass in rivulets and pooled on the ground below. She watched as geese huddled around a small lake out in the middle of the grounds facing her. Didn’t geese mate for life?

  A scene formed in her head and she dropped down at the desk, pen on paper, words appearing. In just a moment, she was halfway down the page. Finally, she stopped and sat back, pleased with the burst of writing.

  I should have found this place years ago.

  ###

  In his shop, on the far edge of the property, Ben slammed the hammer down too close to his fingers and swore. He needed to finish fixing the towel rack and get back to the house. He didn’t have time to waste drooling over a woman. Especially one who was so centered on everything he wanted to forget.

  In his head he went over the list of things still left to do. The meat market would carry those flank steaks he’d be using for fajitas. The southwestern flavors and spices might liven up dinner. If he could find small decorations to add to the tables, it would be almost like eating in a Mexican restaurant.

  If the Beebe woman liked it, her expression of approval might bring more business to The Inn, and cement his chance at having a four star rating. He scowled. Keeping her off his mind was becoming nearly impossible.

  Something about her mysterious air, the creative side of her, jangled a similar place in him. She’d lost her land and been reduced to writing, yet found she was good at it. It remained to be seen if he would find the same successes with his endeavor, but loss had given them the same choices to make. Their goals were the same. Pick up the pieces and succeed at something else.

  At the moment, his goal was to make Kitty Beebe tell all her New York friends that The Inn was the best bed and breakfast in South. But could he get his guest to succumb to his charm, his talent. . .his obsession?

  Change. That was what he needed. Change to his approach, his execution.

  He would make the Beebe woman fall in love with this place, with his very country until she didn’t want to return to Ireland. If he were to succeed at that, it meant giving up his resolve to stay out of a woman’s way.

  It meant putting himself directly in her path and he knew what direction her path would be.

  It was written on every page of her books.

  Dejected, he paced to the doorway of the shop and peered out. The rain hadn’t let up since daybreak. The early spring green of the grasses was just appearing and he watched as birds fluttered in the ground beneath one of the oaks, playing. They were probably mating.

  He turned away, even more unsettled. It had to do with Kitty. The first attractive woman who had not been a newlywed seeking an overnight stay on the way to a bigger, more fun honeymoon and he was in a dilemma.

  Maybe Nikki was right. Maybe his interest had nothing to do with the fact she was a guest at The Inn. And her book hadn’t helped anything.

  He’d read some of it while trying to go to sleep. The reminder of the Ireland he’d experienced with Carla was uncanny, and uncomfortable. Since then, he’d only wanted more. He fought the urge to pick it up every time he had spare time.

  What kind of woman could create such beauty and desire within a man just with simple words?

  The reminder of that exact woman who rested in the house across the lawn made him collect the woodwork and dart out into the pelting rain.

  ###

  When Kitty finally came down for a bite to eat, she found him surrounded by bowls lining the island counter. His dark ringlets mussed, some parts standing up, some not, like he’d been tugging on them.

  She understood when she saw the damp shirt and muddy shoeprints. She hoped it was the sizzle of the skillet that made her feel so warm and not the instant attraction she felt. The impulse to reach up and calm the wild curls like she would a child smote her.

  She seated herself at the bar, and focused on his handiwork. Delighted to see a variety of vegetables, sliced diagonally, and strips of chicken and beef. “Will it be fajitas then?”

  Ben looked up at her, his dimple deepening. “Yep. Hope you like them spicy.”

  He placed all the vegetables and meat together in the skillet and a cloud of steam rose filling the air with its fragranc
e. He worked it around in the pan, adding a bit of water or shaking something from a plastic container into it.

  Calmly, he brought the filling out of the skillet and drained it on paper towels before placing it on a plate with tortillas, Spanish rice and refried beans. On another plate he had scoops of sour cream, guacamole, and freshly made salsa.

  He nudged the plates closer to her. “You’re welcome to sit and eat there. No need for the table. It’s just us.”

  She smiled. “Mind your step, Ben. You’re spoiling me.”

  He crossed his arms and waited.

  She took a bite. “Smashing!”

  “It’s a new idea I’ve been thinking about. Does it need anything? Are the spices in the meat and veggies heavy enough, or too heavy?”

  She shook her head. “Don’t change a thing. You’ve done a splendid job. I’ve been to Mexico and had the authentic cuisine. This is much better.”

  He sighed and began cleaning up. She watched him as she ate. His youthful appearance convinced her that all men were just little boys wrapped up in a grown man’s clothing. They splashed in puddles, petted muddy animals and didn’t care if they got dirty or not in the meanwhile. They also captured a woman’s heart without even trying.

  “Ben, is there a library nearby where I could do a bit of research?” she asked, breaking the silence.

  He stopped wiping the counters and glanced over his shoulder. “Yeah, about fifteen minutes from here, in Haven Hill. Would you like for me to take you?”

  She smiled. “That would be wonderful, but I must warn you, I take a long time when books are available.”

  He shrugged. “No problem. I’m a browser myself.” Then, he gave her his full attention. “Are you writing anything on the Civil War era? That’s all I ever hear people talk about when they ask about the area and what it’s famous for.”

  She shook her head. “No. I believe that’s been done. I’m more interested in the flora and fauna of the region at this point. Helps in my setting.”

  “Oh, okay. Well, there’s no better way to get that kind of research than just going around looking at it. If you could wait on the library…”