by Kait Nolan
Oh boy. This kid was too astute for her own good. What was he supposed to say? For all intents and purposes, Pru was her mother. In the end, he went with the truth. “No, not like Kennedy.”
Before he could figure out whether he ought to pursue the issue to suss out if Ari had a problem with that, a car pulled into the drive.
“Anybody you know?” Flynn asked.
“Nope. Maybe it’s one of the new reservations.”
“If it is, they’re early.”
The sedan rolled to a stop in front of the steps and the driver, a middle-aged man with graying sideburns and a neat goatee stepped out, followed by a woman Flynn assumed was his wife.
“Good day to you,” Flynn called. “Welcome to the Misfit Inn.”
“Oh honey, he’s Irish!” the woman exclaimed.
“So I can hear.”
Flynn broadened his smile. “Would you be the couple from Milwaukee, then?”
“What?” For a moment, the gentleman looked baffled. “Oh, no. But we are here looking to book a room. A woman at the diner in town recommended the place. Do you have any vacancies?”
“Sure, and I think we can manage that. For how many nights?”
“Through Sunday, if possible.”
Flynn knew without looking there was space. But were the other rooms all ready? “Check in’s not normally until after three, but come on inside. You’ll rest a bit, while we get things sorted. If you’ll just take your car around the corner to the lot there.”
“Excellent!”
As soon as the man and his companion slid back into their car, Flynn turned to Ari. “Where can we put them? Are the other rooms ready?”
“Beds are made. I just need to run towels up and set out the toiletries. I’ll check the book.”
“What information do we need from them?”
“Copy of driver’s license and a credit card number. But I don’t know how to run the payment program,” Ari admitted.
“We’ll figure it out. Run up and pick a room, while I get them settled in the lounge with…something to eat.”
She scampered off, and Flynn tried to remember what he’d seen in the cupboards for snacks. As soon as the couple came up the stairs, he ushered them inside and straight to the guest lounge. “I’m Flynn Bohannon. And you’d be?”
“I’m Kenneth Talbot. And this is my wife, Michelle.”
“And where would you be from, then?”
“Los Angeles.”
Flynn gestured for them to take a seat. “That’s grand. One of Pru’s sisters lives out that way. Would you be here for business or pleasure?”
“A little of both. Mostly pleasure,” Kenneth explained.
“Sure, and we can help with that. Can I offer you some coffee? Tea?”
“Coffee would be lovely,” Michelle said.
“Sort yourselves out there. I’ll be back in the shake of a lamb’s tail.”
Flynn hurried to the kitchen to start the coffee. When he opened the freezer for the beans, he spied the rolls of frozen cookie dough, neatly labeled with baking instructions. God love the woman. He pulled out a roll of chocolate chip, switched on the oven to the requisite temperature, and unearthed a baking sheet. Thinking freshly baked cookies would be good for the other guests, whenever they arrived, he went ahead and sliced an entire roll and popped them into the oven, before getting started on the coffee. He was searching out mugs and plates to make up a tray, when Ari came trotting down the back stairs.
“Oh, cookies. Great idea.”
“Is the room all set?”
“I’m sticking them in the Dogwood Room. I checked the book. Nobody’s in there this week.”
“Wonderful. Do you want to take them a clipboard with the registration paperwork, while I finish this up?”
“On it!”
By the time he carried the tray in with a plateful of warm, gooey cookies, Ari was chatting cheerfully with the couple.
“Mr. Talbot works in Hollywood!” she declared.
“That’s brilliant. Are you researching a film, then?”
“Doing some prospective location scouting,” Kenneth said.
“Are those fresh cookies?” Michelle asked.
“They are, indeed. Please, help yourself.”
They were still chatting half an hour later, when Pru stepped into the room. “What’s all this?”
Flynn made introductions. “They’re all the way from California, here through the weekend.”
“We put them in the Dogwood Room,” Ari added.
“Your husband and daughter have been plying us with cookies and coffee,” Michelle added. “You have such a lovely place here.”
Husband and daughter. Shock rippled through Flynn, along with some sweeter emotion as he looked from Ari to Pru. He supposed they did look like a family. It made for a far more appealing idea than he’d have imagined.
Pru seemed to likewise be struggling for what to say. Ari, however, seemed to have no problem leaping into the fray. “It’s a pretty awesome place to grow up. Did you always live in Los Angeles?”
“Will you excuse us for a moment?” Pru asked.
Flynn rose as she angled her head toward the hall. They continued on into the office.
“Husband?” she asked.
He lifted his hands in truce. “I didn’t say a word. They assumed.”
Pru seemed more flummoxed than angry about it. “Would it be weird to correct them now?”
“Probably. What does it matter? They’re only here for a few days. They don’t live here.” And why the hell was he reluctant for her to make that correction? He wasn’t husband material.
“I suppose not. I should get their details for the reservation.”
“Already gotten. The paperwork’s there on the desk. You just need to run the credit card. The room’s ready.”
“Why didn’t you come get me?”
“Why should we interrupt someone’s massage for a walk-in, when Ari and I could handle it?”
Pru gave him a long look before studying the paperwork, to make sure everything was in order. Then she set it aside and wrapped her arms around him. “Thank you.”
Flynn pulled her in tight and pressed a kiss to her brow. “I told you, I want to help.”
“So you did.” She looked again at the reservation paperwork. “I guess I’m going to let you.”
Chapter Six
“SO, FLYNN SEEMS TO be pretty settled in,” Abbey observed.
Pru used the excuse of digging in the china cabinet for platters to hide her face. “I suppose a gypsy learns to settle quickly wherever he goes.”
“Must be nice having that in the house.”
“That?”
“A guy who looks like that. I mean, damn. You can’t tell me you haven’t noticed he’s hot.”
“A woman would have to be dead and six months buried not to notice that,” Pru conceded. She passed platters to Abbey and straightened, heading for the fridge.
“He’s certainly got an eye for you. He watches you whenever you’re in the room.”
Pru made a noncommittal noise and grabbed some bacon. What was she supposed to say to that?
“The air seems to crackle whenever you’re within ten feet of each other.”
“Crackle? Really?” Pru kept her voice dismissive as she began to peel some pears for an appetizer.
Abbey clutched a platter to her chest. “Oh, come on, Pru. Admit it! There’s something going on between you and the Irish hottie.”
She’d admit no such thing because the last thing she needed was something about that getting back to Kennedy. “There’s attraction, yes.” Pointless to deny that. “But Flynn will be leaving soon. What sense would it make to get involved with him?”
“Oh honey, being with a man like him would have nothing to do with sense. He’s the kind to make you lose your senses.”
He certainly was.
“Doesn’t make it any less worth it.”
Pru hoped she was right.
> The front door opened. A moment later, the sound of Logan’s voice echoed from the foyer. “Pru?”
“In the kitchen!” she called.
He came straight back, his arms loaded down with two stacked cardboard boxes. With one look at the trays and platters scattered over the counter, he set the boxes to the side. “What’s the party for and why wasn’t I invited?”
“It was kind of a last-minute thing. Flynn met Ford McIntosh at the wedding and found out he was a fellow musician. Since he decided to stick around until Kennedy gets back, he invited Ford over for a jam session, and apparently Ford called every musician in the county. They’re all out back.” Even as she spoke, the tones of conversation and laughter gave way to more music as somebody began picking on a banjo. “Abbey, you want to go ahead and take those extra drinks to put in the cooler?”
With a look that said their discussion about Flynn wasn’t over, she grabbed up the bags of drinks. “On it!”
Logan strode over to the back door as Abbey slipped out and looked at the gathering. “Holy shit. There must be near to twenty people out there.”
“Twenty-two. Hence all the food.” Pru slid a tray of bacon wrapped pears into the oven and moved to the boxes containing this week’s farm share from Logan’s CSA program. “What have we got this week?”
“Some fresh broccoli, carrots, and sugar snap peas, if you wanna put together a veggie tray. Assorted greens, tomatoes, peppers. A couple of onions. Zucchini, of course.”
She mentally reviewed the other ingredients she had on hand and figured she could put out crudités with an herbed cream cheese—Athena had left an easy recipe—and maybe make some quick blender salsa to go with the bags of tortilla chips from the pantry. She grabbed what she wanted and took it to the sink to rinse. “Thanks so much for bringing this by this week. Things have been so crazy trying to juggle my clients and the inn with Kennedy being gone, I just couldn’t get down to the farm.”
“Not a problem. Everything going okay? Need me to pitch in with anything?” She loved that he’d offer.
“No, thanks. This was great. We’re managing.” Largely because of Flynn, but she didn’t see the need in saying that.
“Have you heard from the newlyweds?”
“Not a word, which is as it should be. They deserve a chance to be cocooned in their own little world.” And it meant she avoided any awkward questions about Flynn.
“So, Flynn’s still around.” It wasn’t a question but Pru was determined not to feel awkward.
“He is.” She scrubbed up the fresh carrots. “He’s been helping out, while Kennedy is away.”
“Helping out, huh?” He went quiet, his face set in what she imagined he thought of as non-judgment.
Pru just sliced the tops off the carrots. “Your therapist tricks won’t work on me, Logan. I have nothing to confess.”
“Who said anything about confession? Not me.”
Realizing he’d picked up on something, Pru said the only thing she could think of to turn the conversation. “No, I don’t suppose you do want to confess about what you got up to at the wedding.”
He played dumb. “And what would that be?”
“Two words. Opal. Springs.”
She glanced up in time to see his ears turning pink.
“How did you…?”
“Did you think nobody would notice the wet hair when you got back?” Pru took some pleasure in seeing the unflappable Logan Maxwell off his game. “Look, I don’t know what’s going on with you and Athena, but I’m staying out of it.”
He looked toward the door, where a blistering fiddle joined the fray. “Message received.”
“What message?”
“You stay out of my stuff, and I stay out of yours.”
It wasn’t what she’d been saying, but if that was his takeaway, fine. She didn’t want to answer questions right now.
“You’re welcome to stay for snacks and music.”
“Actually, I was thinking I’d see if Ari wanted to go riding tomorrow. If you didn’t have other plans for her.”
Pru softened. “She’d love that.”
“How bout I help you finish that veggie tray and carry it out and ask her.”
“Sure. Thanks.” She set him up with the rest of the veggies and another platter to arrange them on, while she whipped up the dip and salsa.
Together, they carried the thrown-together feast out to the long table set up beneath the old bodock tree. All the picnic tables and most of the chairs had been arranged in a horseshoe around it, and musicians sat on every surface. Strings were well-represented, with multiple guitars, three banjos, two mandolins, a couple of other fiddles, in addition to Flynn’s, and even a stand-up bass. There were also a couple of harmonicas and even a dulcimer. The Talbots and the Simpkins—the sweet, older couple from Milwaukee—were camped out in loungers from the porch, grinning broadly as the group finished up a rousing rendition of “Rocky Top”.
“Wonderful!” Joanne Simpkins applauded with enthusiasm. “Oh, this is such fun. Do you always have live music?”
“We’re trying something new,” Pru told her.
“You ought to make this a regular thing,” Kenneth Talbot said. “This would be quite the draw.”
“We’ll give it some thought,” Pru promised. She supposed the other musicians might be talked into coming for a jam session with each other, even if Flynn wasn’t around anymore. But she didn’t know if she wanted the reminder. “We’ve got some light appetizers to tide you over. Please, enjoy!”
A few people set their instruments aside and came to fill a plate.
Done with her work for a bit, Pru perched on the edge of one of the picnic tables to enjoy the music.
“Ari and I have one to share that’s a bit more from my part of the world.” Flynn looked to Ari. “Are you ready, cailín beag?”
She nodded, and Pru watched in fascination as Flynn drew his bow across the strings and Ari began to sing. “There were three old gypsies came to our hall door…”
On the second verse, some of the guitarists picked up the tune, adding rhythm beneath her sweet, sassy voice. Pru hadn’t even known she could sing. When had she learned this?
“Then saddle for me my milk white steed, my big horse is not speedy-oh.” Flynn’s voice rose, as smooth and dynamic as his fiddle. The sound gave Pru chills.
They sparked off each other, hamming it up as they alternated verses, clearly having an absolute ball. Pru was torn between bursting with pride and wanting to burst into joyful tears. Her girl was performing. When the song was over, she stood up, clapping and whistling with all the others.
Joanne Simpkins leaned over. “You have a lovely family.”
The smile and, “Thanks,” were automatic. It wasn’t until she caught Logan’s raised brow that the implications sank in. With them came both pleasure and pain, because she could see it, too. How the three of them looked as a family. They’d slipped into it so easily, and the seduction of that picture was greater than all of Flynn’s skill in bed. But it was an illusion. A temporary state of affairs that would be over before she could blink. Pru knew, then, that she wasn’t walking away from this affair unscathed. Despite her best intentions, she was falling for Flynn, and she didn’t think she could stop herself.
~*~
Flynn admired the smooth expanse of Pru’s bare back as she plucked her shirt—or what was left of it—off the lampshade. “I’ll buy you a new shirt.”
She bent to pick up the scraps of her panties. “Mmhmm. And these?”
“What if I prefer you without them?”
Her arch look was entirely ruined by the color that leapt into her cheeks. “Well, as I can’t very well wear any of this downstairs, you’re donating a shirt to the cause.” She bent to grab one out of the drawer. One he’d found neatly folded and put away earlier in the week because she’d tossed his laundry in with theirs. The shirt dwarfed her, hanging down to mid-thigh. She wasn’t the first woman he’d ever seen in one of hi
s shirts, but she was the only one who’d made him salivate and stir at the sight.
Pru pointed a finger at him. “No.”
Grinning, Flynn rolled off the bed, still naked, and stalked her across the room. She feinted left, dodged right and tried to get to the door, but he caught her around the waist and tumbled her back onto his bed. Her laughter bubbled up like champagne and made him feel about as intoxicated. This woman…
He trailed kisses across her cheeks, down her throat, pressing his face into the V of the shirt as his hands snaked beneath the hem.
Pru swatted at him. “You can’t possibly.”
“Not for a bit yet, but you can.” With erotic intent, he set out to prove it.
“Flynn Bohannon, you’re going to kill me. Stop. Seriously.”
His hand stilled on her thigh.
“Much as I appreciate being well and truly ravished—”
“Three times,” he said, smugly.
“—we don’t have time for this. Ari will be home from Logan’s soon, and there’s no telling when the Talbots will be back from Gatlinburg or when the Simpkins come in from their afternoon hike. I need to shower, so I don’t smell like sex. And we need to change your sheets.”
“How about I join you in the shower and we deal with the sheets after?”
“If you join me in the shower, that will lead to shower sex, and, as appealing a thought as that may be, we don’t have time for that either.” She wriggled away from him and began to gather her clothes.
Accepting that their afternoon tryst was over—for now anyway—Flynn rolled off the bed and tugged on his jeans. “Fine. I’ll strip the sheets and come down with you to start laundry.” Maybe he could talk his way into her shower from there.
As he’d expected, she stayed to help him strip the bed. He gathered the linens together in a wad and nodded toward the door. “After you.”
“You should put on a shirt.”
“I’ll get one when I come back up.” To solve the issue, he scooted by her and headed for the stairs.
By the second-floor landing, Flynn’s stomach was making itself heard. “If I can’t talk you back into bed, can I at least talk you into a snack?”
