Читать книгу The Right Twin - Laura Altom Marie - Страница 10

Friday

“Help!”

Heath Brown—identical twin to Hale Brown, who was the renowned food critic for Zodor’s International Country Inn Review Guide—rushed across Blueberry Inn’s reception area to aid a wobbling stack of towels that happened to have great legs. Dropping his black weekender on the floor, Heath grabbed the bulk of the folded laundry, in the process revealing a lovely surprise.

“Thanks, Kim.” The bearer of towels had been grinning, but now she frowned. “Er, you’re not Kim. Sorry.”

“No need for apologies,” Heath said. “We can all find ourselves in a laundry crisis now and then.” He repositioned his pile. “Where do you want these?”

“Oh…” Laughing, the woman lurched into action, setting her stack on top of an intricately carved walnut reception desk, then turning to face him again. “Here will be fine.”

Heath cozied his stack alongside hers.

“Thanks. I hadn’t realized I’d grabbed quite so much and I thought that Kim—the housekeeper—was right behind me.”

“Again, not a problem.”

“Now, how can I help you?”

“I just need to check in.”

“Then you’re in the right place.” Long, buttery hair eased over her shoulders, and her friendly smile crinkled the corners of her eyes. Intriguing eyes. Olive-green. As easy to lose himself in as one of the martinis Heath favored after a long day’s work. “Welcome to Blueberry Inn. I’m the owner, Sadie Connelly.” She held out her hand for him to shake. Which he did. And when the brief touch struck him as not too hard and not too soft but oddly just right, he was almost reluctant to let her go. Ludicrous in light of what he’d been through with Tess just six months earlier.

“Nice to meet you. I’m Shane Peters.” But for only one weekend. “I should, uh, have a reservation.”

“I know.” She winked and then rounded the desk’s nearest corner. “I recognize the name—only, isn’t your reservation for two?”

Heath’s heart lurched. To avoid suspicion, Hale always attached a fictional girlfriend to his fictional name. But for the life of him, Heath couldn’t recall the backstory Hale had told him to deliver to explain what had happened to the poor girl. “Um, yes, well, at the last minute Susie had something come up.”

“I’m sorry,” Sadie responded. “Hopefully even without her you’ll still manage to grab plenty of R & R.”

“That’d be great,” Heath replied. After meeting his hot innkeeper, he now gave the weekend at least a chance of being more entertaining than the two-day nap he’d imagined it would be.

“If you’ll give me a sec, I’ll find the—here it is.” She brandished a navy leather volume about the size of a high school yearbook. Embossed in elegant silver script across the front was Blueberry Inn.

“Now, if I could just find a pen…”

“Got one,” Heath said, reaching into the pocket of the sports jacket his brother had insisted he wear over his usual casual fare of jeans and a T-shirt. He handed over the pen, in the process, inadvertently brushing his fingers against Sadie’s. Instant chemistry tightened his stomach.

“Thanks,” his hostess said, her shaky grin somehow leaving him with the impression that all wasn’t quite right. Had she felt the same electricity? “I don’t know what’s wrong with me today.” She tapped herself on the forehead. “I can’t seem to pull it together—I haven’t even had time to dress myself properly.” She gestured to her frayed cutoffs and snug pink tee. She looked proper enough to Heath.

“Don’t sweat it,” he said, charmed by the warmth of her smile and her ability to laugh at herself. “I’ve had a few of those days myself.” Which was part of the reason he’d agreed to this stunt with his twin. Sure, there’d be some work involved in reviewing the inn, but mostly it offered Heath the chance for a much-needed break.

“Thanks for understanding,” she said, rifling through the desk drawers. Registration forms? “I know they’re here somewhere,” Sadie murmured to herself with a cute furrowing of her eyebrows.

Time for a reality check: the fact that Heath had even noticed her eyebrows, on top of her many other charms, could cause him nothing but trouble.

Heath was at Blueberry Inn for only one reason, and that was to bail his brother out of a jam. He owed his twin for the way Hale had ultimately opened his eyes to Tess’s deception. The least he could do was cover while Hale was off chasing his secret career dream of becoming a champion drag racer. Sure, most guys would just take time off work to pursue their dreams, but Hale’s boss was a hard-nosed taskmaster. He didn’t permit moonlighting, and when he made an unusual assignment such as this one—for Hale to go into an establishment ASAP—he meant business. Apparently that same boss’s wife—also the money behind the publication—had been so enchanted with the inn during a recent stay that she wanted it featured in a special pullout section on entrepreneurial women in the next edition. According to Hale, the inn’s perfection made the awarding of a top rating of five silver spoons a mere formality.

All of which was well and good for Heath’s brother to say, but insofar as Tess had taught Heath to despise liars, he hated the thought that his every word and action—even his name—over the long weekend would have to be false. Still, it couldn’t be helped.

Besides which, Heath’s falsehoods wouldn’t harm Sadie Connelly. Unlike Tess’s lies, which had cost him and his company millions through corporate espionage. If Sadie Connelly was even half as talented in the kitchen as his brother claimed, she had nothing to sweat.

As much as possible, Heath would relax and be himself, relishing the rare time away from what his brother referred to as his obsession of a career—video game designing. Heath would be the first to admit he’d put in hellacious hours of late, but what else did he have to do?

It wasn’t as if he had anyone waiting for him at home. He didn’t even have a pet. Just himself. And another in a long line of lonely nights, a bowl of ramen noodles and whatever happened to be on ESPN.

Boo hoo. Cry me a river.

After what Tess had put him through, why would he even want more? The question was logical enough. Trouble was, he very much wanted more. He wanted a wife and kids and a family to call his own so badly that the yearning brought on an embarrassing ache.

What was wrong with him?

As a relatively good-looking and successful bachelor, he should’ve been having the time of his life. Not moping about what might have been. Certainly not about whether or not he’d ever find a woman—or love—again. But for as long as he could remember, his mom had always called him her sensitive son.

Clear in his mind was the memory of riding his bike one flawless July afternoon when he’d been nine. Not a breath of wind, locusts troubling dusty weeds on either side of the dirt road and their monotonous hum. Riding along, counting the licks on a cherry Tootsie Pop, he’d come upon a bird, fluttering on the powdery shoulder. Pulling alongside to investigate, he’d seen that the small brownish-gray bird wasn’t indulging in a dust bath but was struggling at a far more solemn task. Its mate had been crushed.

The little bird tried and tried to wake its companion, thrusting its beak under a broken wing, urging the female to fly.

Fast as he could, Heath rode home to get his mother. She’d climbed on her own bike and dutifully followed. But now, as an adult, Heath knew there was nothing she could have done.

By the time they’d returned, the male had exhausted himself and he sat alongside his mate shuddering with each breath.

Heath had started to cry, begging his mom to do something, and she’d held him close, smoothing his hair and telling him love wasn’t easy. She’d promised him that one day, like the bird, he’d find a special girl, and when he married her, there’d be no guaranteeing forever. He’d just have to savor each day for the jewel it was.

In meeting Tess, Heath had thought he’d found his jewel, only to discover, instead, cold, unyielding stone. Hardening his jaw, he glanced over his shoulder to an eight-paned window. He hated to think that the woman still held emotional power in his life.

“Aha!” The innkeeper had found a stack of forms and now she took one from the top, shoving the rest behind the counter. “Once you fill this out, I’ll take you to your room.”

Heath made quick work of his assignment, glad for the distraction from memories he’d just as soon forget.

When he’d finished, Sadie retrieved a brass key ring with the number nine engraved on it, then stepped from behind the desk. “Want me to get that?” She nodded toward his bag.

“No, thanks.” A chivalrous streak had him reaching for it himself.

“Okay, then,” she said, making a sweeping gesture toward the stairs. “Follow me and we’ll get you squared away so you can relax before lunch.”

Considering the caliber of the present view, Heath was pleased to oblige. The woman his brother had described as one of the premier hostesses in the country, well-rounded in all types of cooking and the genteel manners of the sort to instantly put the most disgruntled guest at ease, was also a serious looker. At least five-ten with an abundance of curves.

Heath had been so busy admiring her endless legs that it had barely registered how tough a time she’d had checking him in. Not that it mattered—it just seemed odd.

Up curved stairs and then down a wide hall lined with antique side tables and chairs and bucolic landscapes. His guide stopped before a door, easing the key into the lock.

“Here you go,” she said, turning the latch and door, then stepping back with a flourish. “This is the Mark Twain Suite and features whitewashed walls in honor of Huck Finn and memorabilia of the author’s life. One of our most prized acquisitions is this letter to his daughter, Clara, written in 1904.”

“Um, thanks,” Heath said. Not that he wasn’t impressed with the room’s overall ambience, but Sadie’s delivery style sounded rushed—as if she’d been up all night memorizing the description. “How long have you been running this place?”

“Five years.” She flashed him a smile. “This inn’s my pride and joy.”

He nodded, unsure of what to say. Something about her mannerisms struck him as off—especially for someone who’d been following the same routine for so long. But then, lord knew he’d had a few off days himself at the height of his Tess fiasco. Maybe Sadie had just argued with a member of her staff? The other half of her towel team?

“Anyway,” she said with an awkward flap of her hands, “lunch will be served in the dining room at one. I hope you enjoy your stay.”

“Thanks. I’m sure I will.”

“And don’t hesitate to tell me or one of the staff if you need more towels or a snack—or whatever.” She flashed another of her cute toothy grins and then she was off, shutting the door behind her.

IN THE HALL, RESTING her shoulders against Shane Peters’s door, tightly shutting her eyes, Sarah finally exhaled. What a mess that had been. She’d expected him to arrive with a girlfriend in tow. Sadie had warned her to be on the lookout for single guests who could possibly be from Zodor’s, but the way Shane had leaped to her aid with the towels hardly made him seem the snooty reviewer type. Besides which, he’d planned to arrive with a weekend date. It would hardly be professional for a reviewer to bring a date, now would it?

Pulling herself together, she hustled down the hall to the back stairs. In Sadie’s room, as Sarah should have done an hour earlier, Sarah exchanged her comfy clothes for sharply creased khakis and a white blouse. The bulk of the inn’s guests would be arriving within the hour, and now that she’d worked out the registration process with gorgeous Mr. Peters, she hoped that from here on out her check-in duties would be smooth as silk.

Sarah added a string of her sister’s pearls and matching earrings to her ensemble, then swirled her hair into a French twist. With a spritz of a light floral scent and fresh lip gloss, she was good to go.

Mmm…Mr. Peters. Truth be told, her quick change had more to do with that one new guest than with the other anticipated arrivals. Had she only imagined the electricity between them when they’d touched? It had been so sweet of him coming to her rescue in the lobby. Then he’d been so patient while she’d fumbled for the registration forms.

All in all, he seemed like a nice guy—a drastic departure from Greg. It was even a relief that her attraction meter still worked.

Her cell chirped out the Gilligan’s Island theme song.

She glanced at the caller ID, only to roll her eyes. “Hey, sis. What’s up?”

“Not much. Just checking in. Have any of our couples arrived?”

“Half of one.”

“What do you mean half?”

“On Peters-plus-guest, the guest backed out on him.”

“You don’t think he could be the reviewer, do you? Pulling something sneaky?”

“Not a chance. Too good-looking, laid-back and not at all uptight.”

“Sarah…” her sister warned, her voice nearly a growl.

“What?”

“Just in case…don’t even think about starting something with him.”

“Good grief. I’m barely over Greg. What makes you think I’m anywhere near ready to jump in the dating pool again?”

“I don’t know. Something in your tone of voice.”

“My tone?” Sarah laughed.

“It’s me, remember? I have a sixth sense about you and men.”

“Right. Like Helga claims to have her all-seeing man eye?”

“That’s exactly right. Don’t knock it. And even if he is hot, you won’t have time for romance. And another thing—I don’t want anyone thinking I’m fraternizing with the guests. Or, for that matter, cheating on Trevor.”

Sarah sighed. “Again, after the head trip Greg pulled on me, I’m in no shape to think about any guy. Plus, I only said the guy was hot. Not that I’m going to marry him and have his babies.”

“There’s no need to get snippy. I have a reputation to uphold.”

“Which you will. Trust me, okay?”

After a few beats of silence, Sarah’s twin said, “I’ll think about it.”

TWO HOURS LATER, Sarah wished she were anywhere other than immersed in serving the inn’s hectic lunch. Backing against the kitchen’s pass-through door, Sarah took a deep breath, willing her pulse to slow as she pasted on one of her sister’s trademark serene smiles. One thing that helped her relax, at least partially, was that the sun-flooded dining room was a world away from the frenzied pace of the kitchen.

She took a deep breath and then headed for the man who had already become her least favorite guest.

“About time,” Mr. Standridge said. With his double chin, permed suspiciously black hair and small gold hoop earring, Sarah imagined the portly man as a retired pirate. Only that picture was somewhat skewed by the fact that Mrs. Standridge’s loose white bun made her a dead ringer for Mrs. Claus. Although, Sarah thought as she set two plates of roast beef in front of them, stranger things could happen than Mrs. Claus and Blackbeard having a scandalous affair at her sister’s inn.

Not trying too terribly hard to hide her grin, she looked up to find herself face-to-face with Shane Peters. His angular features sported a half day’s stubble, and his smiling eyes were as blue as the berries on her sister’s stationery logo. Quite simply, the man was breathtaking. And the fact that she’d even noticed was a sure sign that, yes, stranger things than a pirate Mrs. Claus scandal could happen!

Mr. Standridge cleared his throat. “Freshly cracked pepper, please.”

“And I still haven’t gotten my Chablis,” Mrs. Standridge complained.

“Need more of my help?” Shane asked with a teasing grin, helping himself to the best seat in the room beside open French doors.

“I’m thinking maybe so,” she said with a discreet wink that she hadn’t intended on being flirty.

“Ma’am?” Mr. Standridge glowered.

“I would really like more tea,” Mrs. Helsing said with a wag of her empty glass. As robust as the Standridges were, the Helsings were stick-thin and white. Pasty yet slick. Complexions like Crisco.

“And when you get a chance,” Mr. Helsing said, “could I please get a new fork? The tines on this one are smudged.”

“Certainly, sir. Right away.”

“I hate to be contrary,” the woman who’d introduced herself as “the widow” Naomie Young said in a cottony tone that matched her fragile frame and pale blue eyes, “but I prefer white bread to pumpernickel.”

“Yes, ma’am. I’ll have fresh white bread right out.”

Sarah managed a feeble smile, took one last intrigued glance at Shane, then worked up a sweat attempting to fulfill her guests’ never-ending requests. If only the two of them had met under other circumstances.

“THAT WAS DELICIOUS,” Heath said, toward the meal’s end, to the couple he’d heard addressed as the Standridges. He introduced himself as his brother had instructed, being careful to maintain a chatty, conversational tone and not tipping off anyone as to the true nature of his visit. “So far, what do you think of the inn?” he asked.

“The decor’s lovely,” Mrs. Standridge offered, glancing over her shoulder before speaking again. Checking to see if Sadie was out of the room? “But the food…” She blanched.

“You didn’t care for it?” Heath asked, more than a little surprised, since he’d enjoyed his roast beef, mashed potatoes and gravy.

“It was tasty enough,” the woman said, “but a smidge heavy for my tastes. Reminiscent of a high-end TV dinner.”

“Not that we were eavesdropping,” the female half of the Helsing couple said, “but I booked this weekend because of fantastic recommendations from several of our friends. I enjoyed the meal, but the service seemed lackluster, if not altogether slow.”

Mr. Helsing nodded. “There were several times when my iced-tea glass was empty, and I had to wait a full three minutes or more for a refill.”

The horror.

Why, Heath couldn’t say, but as he made careful mental notes of a litany of bogus halfhearted complaints, he felt sorry for Sadie. According to his brother, the Blueberry Inn was one of the best-kept secrets in the Midwest—which was why the Zodor’s editor in chief was so hot to get the scoop.

Keeping that in mind—and registering the fact that he’d completely enjoyed his own lunch—Heath took his fellow diners’ complaints with a grain of salt. By the time the disgruntled bunch had wandered off to their rooms or the garden for reading or an afternoon nap, he’d pretty much decided that if dinner was as tasty as lunch, he’d simply strike the petty negativity from his files.

Experience had taught him that building your own business was tough. Other than the time it had taken Sadie to get him registered and that mile-a-minute room description, he hadn’t noticed anything even remotely remiss. And so what if she had ever so slightly fudged those couple of tasks? Just as he’d been burned by the discovery that it was his latest game design that Tess had really lusted after, maybe there was some sort of behind-the-scenes situation going on with Sadie. Something she had too much class to let him or any of her other guests see.

He’d just discreetly tucked his notepad into his jacket pocket when the woman at the center of his thoughts entered the dining room. The fact that the mere sight of her produced a pleasurable jolt set him on edge. The last time he’d felt an instant attraction had been with Tess.

“Whew,” Sarah said, drawing out the chair opposite Heath’s. Her pale complexion was flushed, and the afternoon’s heat dampened the tendrils that hugged the nape of her neck where she’d pulled back her hair. Would her skin taste salty? That tempting spot on her neck? As if it were possible to shake the thought from his mind, Heath shook his head, but the motion didn’t help. Big surprise. “That was tough.”

“I’d have thought you’d be an old pro at a simple lunch.”

“Oh, sure,” she said. “I just didn’t get much rest last night. But now that my right-hand person has finally fixed her car’s flat, I’ve got time for a breather.”

“Congratulations,” he said.

“Thanks.”

After a few moments’ awkward silence, he leaned forward, toying with his blue napkin. “Not that it’s my business, but why?”

“Why what? Why was Helga’s tire flat?”

“No,” he said with a laugh. “Why’d you get a lousy night’s rest?”

“Oh, that.” She leaned back in her chair.

Had his question been too forward? Probably. Regardless, Heath forged ahead. “Simple enough question.”

“W-why do you care?”

Would Heath’s brother care?

Who could explain it, but for whatever odd reason, Heath felt a compelling urge to know something more about what made the lovely innkeeper tick. From the time they’d met until now, her appearance had gone from frazzled to casual grace. Which image was the real Sadie? Over the course of the weekend, would he get the chance to learn the answer? With elegant fingers, she traced the floral-patterned white-on-white tablecloth.

“No reason,” he said, covering for himself when it seemed she preferred to avoid the topic. “Sorry I asked. I was just trying to make small talk, but maybe my question came out as invasive.”

“No,” she said, staring at Heath straight on and then sighing. “Truthfully, I didn’t get a wink of sleep last night for a fairly simple reason. You.”