by Warren, Pat
Someone had a green thumb. A colorful bed of California poppies bloomed within the driveway circle. Pink bougainvillea trailed up the stucco fencing from the side yard to the back. On the far right was a patch that seemed to be an herb garden beneath three tall royal palms that looked as if they’d stood there since the beginning of time.
Alex parked in the paved area next to a four-wheel drive. The only other car was an older tan Mustang off to the side. Either the house wasn’t fully up or nearly everyone was away somewhere. Getting out, he took a moment to stretch and look around.
The main building was three stories high with a center entrance and two wide wings, topped by a slanted black roof. The pale gray wood could have used a touching up, he thought, along with the shutters and trim painted a Wedg-wood blue. It didn’t yet look shabby, but it might soon. Thick and healthy green vines trailed along each side, winding along the third-floor windows. Wisps of smoke curled upward from a redbrick chimney, maybe from a fireplace. Twin Oaks was at a much higher elevation than San Diego, though he didn’t really think it was chilly enough for a fire.
A country-style mailbox painted poppy red was near the entrance. A small two-wheel boy’s bike leaned against its post. Did it belong to Neal Delaney’s son? Alex wondered.
All things considered, Delaney’s Bed & Breakfast wasn’t bad, he thought as he walked toward the arched front door. He’d been right; there was a cozy, countrified feel to it.
Alex stepped into the spacious foyer and onto a red Mexican tile floor. A chest-high walnut check-in desk flanked by twin rubber tree plants was against the far wall facing the door. A stately grandfather clock stood off to one side. The scent of warm apples and cinnamon had him remembering that he’d skipped lunch.
Through the archway off to his right was a comfortable room furnished in pastels, Southwestern-style. Two women were watching Oprah on a large-screen television while an older couple played chess at a table by the window. At the far end, glowing embers smoldered in a large stone fireplace. The colorful Indian carpet was a bit faded, but the room was neat and clean.
To his immediate left was a large dining room with a long buffet table near double swinging doors. Half a dozen maple tables filled the room, some with place settings for four, others two and a larger round one for six. Here the carpeting was a rich red, the tablecloths checkered and the earthenware chunky and casual. The chandelier was heavy wrought iron and smoky glass. A woman with auburn hair, her back to him, was arranging fresh flowers in several vases. Altogether inviting, Alex decided.
Since no one seemed to notice him, he was about to ring the small bell on the desk when a woman straightened from behind the desk where she’d obviously been stooping down to search for something. Shoving the box of printed forms she held under the countertop, she checked her watch, looking worried. But she erased her frown as she raised deep blue eyes to his and gave him a welcoming smile.
“Can I help you?”
“I’m Alex Shephard. I believe I have a reservation.”
“Oh, yes. We’re glad to have you with us.”
“Glad to be here.” Not for the first time, Alex wondered why people who worked in hotels and such often spoke in the plural.
She reached for a registration form from a slot in the desk and turned it toward him, then handed him a pen. “If you’d fill this out for us, please.”
He watched her make several notations in red ink on a card. Was this Megan Delaney, or was Megan the woman in the dining room? No, the flower arranger seemed older than the wife of a man of thirty, though he couldn’t rule her out.
More likely this one, he decided, since she looked to be in her mid-twenties. She had a great face, oval with high cheekbones, and then there were those sky blue eyes. Her mouth was wide and inviting, but right now her lower lip was caught between her teeth. The frown was back on her face. A rush of guilt had Alex wondering if the loss of her husband and all that that meant had given her a perpetual frown.
He began filling out the registration form while continuing to study her from under lowered lashes. There was a small, interesting depression in her chin, less of a dimple than a dent. She had a distracted air about her as she again glanced at her watch, then toward the front door.
“Is something wrong?” he asked, pausing, more to make conversation than because he needed to know.
Megan swiped at wispy bangs that reached to her eyebrows. “I hope not.” She shot him a quick smile, then looked pointedly at the unfinished form in front of him. “Are you having trouble with that?”
His turn to smile. “Not really.” He resumed writing as running footsteps sounded behind him, coming closer. Thundering now, accompanied by heavy breathing. Curious, Alex swung around.
A small boy with dark windblown hair came racing in, dragging a dripping backpack by one soggy shoulder strap. His once white Nikes were muddy, his beltless jean shorts were at half-mast, and his yellow polo shirt was streaked with dirt. His round face was twisted into a comically nervous look. “Mom, don’t be mad,” he began.
Megan skirted the desk, so relieved to see her son that she had trouble not smiling at his forlorn appearance. He had only one short block to walk from where the school bus let him off along with two other children, but still she worried, especially when he was more than ten minutes late like today. She had a pretty good idea what had happened as she stood looking down at him. “Again?”
Eyes downcast, he nodded dejectedly. “Me and Bobby were wrestling when I slipped in this mud puddle.” Looking up, he gave her a hopeful smile. “I won the match, though, and I’ll clean my backpack all by myself, honest. Probably nothing inside got wet ’cause I grabbed it right out.”
It was the third time in as many days. The morning showers never dried up enough by afternoon and were magnets for small boys. Ryan’s best friend, Bobby, was as prone to puddle hopping as her son. “If you’d carry your backpack the way you’re supposed to, using the shoulder straps, you wouldn’t always be dropping it.”
A horrified look screwed up the boy’s face. “Mom! Only geeks do that.”
Megan dabbed at a muddy spot on his cheek, needing to touch him after her anxious ten minutes to reassure herself he was all right. “Maybe, but geeks don’t have wet backpacks.” She dropped her gaze to his Nikes, then to the muddy footprints trailing in his wake. She’d have to get the mop, again. “Take your shoes off here and go upstairs. I want you to wash up and change clothes before you hit the kitchen, okay?”
“Okay.” Relieved she wasn’t mad, he gave his mother a quick hug, then stepped out of his untied Nikes, the shoelaces trailing mud. Turning, he noticed the tall man watching him. “Hi. I’m Ryan. See you later.” Flashing a sunny grin, he grabbed his backpack, the movement liberally spraying Alex with drops of brown water. Ryan’s eyes grew wide. “Oops. Sorry.” With an anxious glance at his mother, he ran in his damp stocking feet through the dining room. “Hi, Grace,” he yelled out as he bounded through the swinging doors.
Amusement on his face, Alex stared after the boy. He wasn’t used to children of any age, hadn’t spent much time around them since he’d been one himself. The occasional dinner at Mitch’s house with his two kids around the table was enough, even though they were quiet and shy. Unlike Ryan Delaney.
“He’s like a small tornado,” he commented, brushing off his pants.
“That he is.” Gingerly, she set Ryan’s muddy shoes on a paper towel behind the desk, then walked around to inspect his slacks. “I’m sorry you got splashed. Can I get those cleaned for you?”
“No, thanks. I’m washable.” Alex let his gaze trail down her curves from shoulders to breasts to slender hips and hoped the effect she had on him didn’t show on his face. She was definitely nicely put together.
Still, Megan felt the need to explain. “He usually goes around back to our private entrance. He’s been taught to stay out of the way of guests.” She was never certain how strangers felt about children, especially a man alone. Then again,
if he objected to a child on the premises, he could find another place to stay. She needed the business, but not as much as she needed Ryan to feel secure. Pen poised, she eyed him as he stared thoughtfully at the muddy footprints on the tile. “You look a little uncertain. Do you have a problem with children?”
“No, no problem.” Alex bent to finish his form. Not as long as they weren’t his.
Megan took a moment to study Alex Shephard now that her concern for Ryan’s safety wasn’t a distraction. Tall, over six feet, with football shoulders and a lean, tanned face. Sun-streaked hair and big sea green eyes with long lashes many a woman would kill for. He was wearing tan khakis and a denim shirt. Not exactly business attire. Most open-ended Monday check-ins were business people. Then again, he could be on vacation.
Aware of her scrutiny, Alex put down the pen and met her eyes. “Do I pass inspection?”
Instead of looking embarrassed, Megan laughed. “Sorry. Occupational hazard. When you allow people into your home, even paying guests, you kind of like to check them over. I didn’t mean to be rude.”
“You’re not. And I’m not an ax murderer.” He took a business card from his pocket and handed it to her. “I’m scouting locations for possible land development and construction for my father’s firm. I’m not sure how long my business will take, which is why I left the departure date blank. Probably at least a week, if you can accommodate me.”
Megan read the card and nodded. “Matter of fact, we have two rooms available. Our French provincial bedroom in back on the first floor and our Southwestern suite on the second, which is larger and has a sitting area, as well. Both have private baths. Your choice.”
“The suite will do just fine.” French provincial wasn’t even close to his first choice.
She reached behind her for the key and held it out to him. “We don’t have air-conditioning, but the windows open and there’s always a breeze this far up the mountain. Breakfast is served from seven to nine. Picnic lunches are available if you let us know the night before. We do offer some dinners by special arrangement.” She’d begun the dinner practice three years ago when she’d noticed quite a few repeat guests, some honeymoon couples, others celebrating anniversaries and special events. It had been a big hit from the start.
“Sounds good.”
“Great. There’s no elevator. Do you need help taking up your bags?”
Lifting one golden eyebrow, he let his eyes roam down her slender frame and back up, wondering if she was putting him on. Did she honestly carry up guests’ luggage? “I think I can handle it, but thanks.”
“All right, then. I’m Megan Delaney and my assistant, Grace, is around here somewhere. Please let us know if there’s anything you need. I hope you enjoy your stay with us.” Turning, Megan busied herself straightening papers.
Megan did carry the bags for a few folks, older people and some who just looked frail. It had become a habit to ask, but obviously, a macho guy like Alex Shephard would never allow a woman to help with his luggage.
As the man in question walked out to his car, Grace came from the dining room and joined Megan at the desk, her eyes following him. “Now, there’s a fine specimen. Was he wearing a wedding ring?”
Megan sent her a cool look. “Don’t start.”
Hunger had Alex leaving his comfortable suite after settling in to wander off in search of food. He decided to walk the two miles into town, remembering a small café he’d spotted on the drive through. Half an hour later, he found the restaurant he’d been seeking.
The Cornerstone had four booths and six tables, served three meals a day according to the sign on the door, accepted all major credit cards and sold freshly baked goods from an appetizing display case—pies and cookies and assorted loaves of bread, all homemade. Though he was not usually much of a dessert eater, the assortment nonetheless had Alex’s mouth watering as he slid into a vinyl booth by the window.
It was early, not yet five, and only one other booth was occupied. The two women sitting there were obviously lingering over coffee, perhaps after a late lunch. He studied the handwritten menu as a middle-aged redhead wearing a pink uniform with a huge, lacy white handkerchief trailing out of a breast pocket walked over.
“Coffee?” she asked, the carafe poised in her hand.
“That’d be great.” He held out his cup. “How’s the pot roast?”
“Wonderful. I made it myself.” She grinned, revealing a crooked eyetooth. “I’m Emily, the owner. You just passing through?”
Alex had been in dozens of restaurants just like the Cornerstone in dozens of small towns up and down the coast on his scouting expeditions. He knew that the owners, usually friendly, knew everyone in town and were the best source of information around. “Pretty much. I work for a land development firm. We’re interested in the parcel at Grayson and Thomas at the east end of town.”
Emily nodded. “I know the one. Been vacant forever. Old man Parsons owns it. His wife died last year and his kids put him in a nursing home just last month. Guess they want to sell the land to pay for his stay. Elderly care can get real expensive.”
“So I’ve heard.” The Parsons kids had a need to sell and weren’t just testing the waters. That would be helpful to know when it came time to negotiate.
“Where you staying?”
“Delaney’s Bed & Breakfast.”
Emily’s smile was genuine. “No finer place around here.” She nodded toward the menu. “What’ll it be?”
Alex ordered the pot roast and was amazed when the heaping plateful of meat and vegetables was set before him in a matter of minutes, along with a generous salad and warm rolls. Nothing stingy about Emily’s place. He dug in.
He was scooping up the last of the rich, dark gravy with a piece of roll when Emily sauntered back to refill his cup. “That’s the best meal I’ve had in months,” he told her honestly.
Emily beamed a smile at him as she poured. “I like to see a man eat hearty. How about a piece of rhubarb pie?”
“Did you make that, too?”
“No, sir. Megan Delaney makes all our baked goods. It’ll melt in your mouth, I guarantee.”
Alex didn’t bother to hide his surprise as he gazed at the display case. “She baked all that? You’d think she’d have enough to do running the bed-and-breakfast.”
“Megan bakes like an angel. I’d buy from her even if she didn’t need the money.” She glanced up and smiled as the two ladies got up to leave. “I donate the day-old stuff to the church.”
Even more puzzled, Alex frowned. “It wouldn’t seem she’d need the money. Her place is nearly full up on a Monday night, only one vacancy left after I checked in. Not bad for a small, out-of-the-way place. I... heard her husband died, but surely he had insurance.” Alex felt a bit squeamish inquiring behind Megan Delaney’s back, but the reason for his trip was to make sure she and her son weren’t in need.
Emily shrugged. “I suppose there was insurance, but then they did a lot of remodeling when they first bought that place and probably ran up some hefty bills. Plus it’s a big house to keep up. I don’t know, really. Megan’s real closemouthed. I do know she’s grateful for every crumb I sell here.”
Alex shoved aside his empty plate and leaned back. “You’ve known her a long while, then?”
“Sure have. She’s never had it easy, poor girl.”
“How’s that?”
Since the place was empty, Emily sat down across from the young man uninvited, one hand rubbing her sore back. “Her family rented a house in town, only a block from mine. Her mom and two sisters still live there. My daughter, Katie, is a good friend of Megan’s. The father just up and drove off one day, leaving his wife with three girls to raise alone. Megan was about ten. Dottie, her mother, had to struggle ever since. It was awfully hard on Megan since she was the oldest.”
Alex could relate somewhat since he, too, had lost a parent at an early age. But at least his family hadn’t had to struggle.
“And now,” E
mily went on, “since Neal’s gone, Megan’s got to raise that sweet little boy all alone. She’s a wonderful mother.”
Guilt washed over Alex and he wondered if it showed. “She seems too young to have a boy that age. He must be seven or so.” He sipped his coffee.
“Ryan’s eight now, I believe. But you’re right. My Brian was interested in Megan back in high school, but she had eyes only for Neal. ’Course he was handsome and a real charmer, but you’d think a smart girl like Megan would’ve seen through all that. But then, she was young. We make a lot of mistakes when we’re young.”
Here was his chance to find out what kind of a man Neal Delaney had been and Alex didn’t hesitate to take it. “You didn’t care for her husband?”
Emily topped off his coffee before answering. “I don’t wish anyone an early death like Neal had, but from what I could see, he wasn’t much of a husband or father. Couldn’t hold down a job even though he had himself a fancy college degree. Everyone liked him ’cause he was good-looking. But charm don’t put bread on the table. Megan worked almost up to the day that boy was born and went back the week after. Then Neal’s folks died in a car crash and they bought that big old house with the insurance money. Megan’s idea, I’d wager. Neal would’ve frittered away the money. Good thing they did, too, or she and Ryan might not have a roof over their heads today. At first, I thought Neal was going to finally be happy running that place. He did a lot of the renovating himself with Megan working alongside him, scraping, painting, replanting the grounds.” Emily ran a hand through her short red hair.
“I imagine it took a while to get the business going.” Most new businesses took several years to show a profit, Alex knew.
“They didn’t have too many guests right off, but within the year, things picked up. Megan’s awfully hospitable and no one can beat her cooking. Word spread and folks kept coming back, telling others. ’Course there’s only seven rooms to let, three down and four on the second floor. The third’s for the family and Grace. With a small place, you got to keep those rooms filled every night to show a profit.”
