Innkeeper's Daughter

by Marie Ferrarella

  “You were eavesdropping,” she countered.

  “A rose by any other name...”

  “Would still be eavesdropping,” Alex snapped. She tried to remember if she’d said anything the least bit revealing or embarrassing, something he could hold over her head to amuse himself after his father’s funeral was part of their history. “You could have cleared your throat, made some kind of a noise to let me know you were there.”

  “And miss the opportunity to hear you make Miss Too-Sexy-For-Words back off?” he asked in amusement. “Never.”

  It took effort to keep her mouth from dropping open. “You think Stacy’s too sexy for words?” Alex asked, not completely comprehending why that would bother her at all, not to mention as much as it did.

  “No,” he answered mildly, “but she does. You can see it in her body language, the way she carries herself, tilts her head. Not that, in my shallow youth, I wouldn’t have been attracted.”

  “But now that you’re an old man, you wouldn’t?” Alex asked, the question only partly tongue-in-cheek.

  “Not an old man,” Wyatt corrected her, “just not an easily swayed adolescent anymore.”

  “So you’re telling me that you’re more discerning now.” She wasn’t sure she believed him. After all, there were those photos of him with that model at one of the premieres—and there had been other, equally vapid-looking women, according to random stories on the internet.

  “I’d like to think so. These days,” he told her, “I’m more interested in substance than flash and fire.”

  “Substance,” Alex repeated, sarcastically.

  Wyatt pretended not to notice. “That’s what I just said.”

  Her eyes never left his. She was waiting for him to blink. “You.”

  “Me,” he verified. “Are we having a communication problem here?” he asked genially. “Because I can attest to the fact that you and I are the only ones sitting out here, so it shouldn’t be so hard to grasp the concept that I’m talking about me.”

  “We’re not having a communication problem,” she said. “What we’re having is a reality disconnect. The last picture I saw of you was at the Hollywood premiere of your latest movie—the title escapes me now, but it was a mere four months ago.” There’d been a nubile blonde clinging to his arm for all she was worth. “The woman photographed with you not only appeared to be short on substance, but she was short on material, too. As in the material that went into making her dress—or, in this case, her almost nonexistent dress. Women of substance, to borrow your term, don’t really go in for playing show-and-tell with their body parts.”

  Wyatt looked completely unfazed by her accusation. “Ava was my producer’s daughter. She’d never been to a premiere before. I took her to mine as a favor to him.”

  Right, like she believed that. The man was a writer, obviously able to come up with an excuse at the drop of a hat. “Always the selfless giver, that’s you.”

  “After the premiere,” he continued as if he hadn’t been interrupted, “I took her home to her father.”

  “How long after?” Alex really didn’t expect an answer. She expected him to shut her down and walk back inside, annoyed.

  “Immediately after,” he answered, surprising her. “That was the arrangement I made with him—and with her. Ava was definitely too young to party, no matter how much she wanted to,” he emphasized.

  “And she didn’t breathe a little heavily up close against you?” she asked, refusing to admit she’d been wrong.

  “Oh, maybe just a little,” Wyatt conceded.

  “Aha.”

  “No, ‘aha,’” he informed her firmly. “Ava tried to use her still-underdeveloped feminine wiles on me—and I said no. Besides, I’d given my word to her father that she would be home right after the movie and since he’d helped edit the film, I knew he knew exactly how long the movie ran and how long it would take to get home from the premiere at that time of night. Her father had left nothing to chance.”

  A man after my own heart, Alex couldn’t help thinking. “That must have really put a crimp in your style.”

  “It would have,” he agreed, “if I was into girls barely out of their teens—which I’m not. Even when I was in my teens, I wasn’t into girls the same age as I was.” There was a somewhat nostalgic smile on his lips.

  Alex rolled her eyes. How had they gotten to this point? She didn’t want an overview of his former—or present—love life.

  “I can only imagine why.”

  “Well, let me take the mystery out of it for you,” Wyatt offered. “Older women are more interesting conversationalists.”

  Okay, now he was really pulling her leg. “Conversationalists,” she echoed.

  “Yes.”

  The smile on his lips was positively wicked and completely unnerving. She decided it was time to end this exchange. She was too tired to win and she wasn’t about to let him win by default.

  “I suggest we both turn in,” she said, rising to her feet.

  His wicked smile spread. “Do you, now?”

  She realized her error in her choice of wording. What was it about this man that made her feel as if she was forever losing ground? She could feel her cheeks heating.

  “Separately,” she elaborated. “Turn in to our separate rooms.”

  Wyatt spread his hands wide. The innocent smile was anything but. “I never thought you meant anything else.”

  The pending funeral curtailed her automatic reaction. Otherwise, she would have been exceedingly tempted to throw something fast and heavy at his head.

  It made her long, just for a second, for the freedom of the past.

  “Good night,” she said, turning on her heel and marching inside.

  “Good night,” he echoed cheerfully, following in her wake.

  CHAPTER TEN

  THE MORNING OF the funeral, Alex was up before first light.

  She hit the ground running.

  The first thing she did, even before brushing her teeth, was to make another list.

  Even so, she had an uneasy feeling that she’d forgotten something.

  The decision to hold the service outdoors, down on a spit of land overlooking the Pacific Ocean, had required the temporary acquisition of an army of folding chairs, not to mention a level platform for the minister as well as the casket, the flowers and the enlarged photograph of Uncle Dan, showing him with his arm over the shoulder of a young Iraqi boy. He’d been at the height of his career and the prime of his life. He looked far too vital in the photograph to be felled by anything that life could possibly throw at him.

  It was Wyatt’s favorite photograph of Dan.

  In her bright turquoise dress she wanted to join Wyatt in celebrating his father’s life rather than his death—something he’d made clear he’d wanted “when my time comes.” Surveying the immediate area, she felt satisfied that at least here, everything was proceeding according to schedule—more or less.

  People had begun arriving and after the initial two or three had hesitantly approached the area chosen for the solemn occasion, Alex felt comfortable about leaving the mourners to take care of one another. Especially after Stevi and her father joined them.

  A quick pass through the kitchen told her that Cris and Rosemary had everything under control. Food for the reception would be ready on time.

  As she left, Alex nodded at Andy, silently thanking her for keeping their nephew occupied and out of Cris’s hair.

  Checking her phone she saw she had two text messages. One was from the minister—whose message contained misspellings, testifying to how unaccustomed he was to this mode of communication—and the other was to let her know that the casket was en route from the funeral home ahead of schedule.

  Alex was about to go back outside again when something made her stop.

  And then she remembered what she’d forgotten to put on her long list.

  Wyatt.

  Alex backtracked through the inn and stopped in front of the room her
father had told Wyatt he could claim as his own for as long as he liked. The door was closed. Alex stood in front of it, debating her next move.

  Common sense told her to just turn around and go back to the ocean to await the minister’s arrival. A gut feeling, however, told her to stay where she was and knock.

  Alex wanted to make sure Wyatt wasn’t in his room the way an uneasy feeling whispered that he might be. She had no idea what to call that uneasy feeling.

  Since it definitely wasn’t that she was in tune to the man.

  You know he’s not going to welcome you butting in if he is inside the room. Alex raised her hand anyway and knocked on the door. Softly.

  There was no response from inside.

  There, satisfied? He’s not there. Now go!

  But she didn’t. She remained where she was and after a moment more, chewing thoughtfully on her lower lip, Alex knocked again, louder this time. When there was still no response, she knocked a third time, louder still.

  Then, completely against every instinct, she tried the doorknob. It gave under her hand, allowing her to open the door.

  She did.

  Slowly.

  Of course, Alex reasoned, Wyatt actually might not be in the room. He might be somewhere on the grounds and she’d just missed him. But somehow, something deep in her gut told her that Wyatt wasn’t on the grounds, he was here, in his room, and he needed to have someone come and get him moving.

  That was her job.

  Finally she opened the door wide enough to be able to look inside.

  Wyatt was there, in the room, standing to the far left of the door. His back was to her and, hands shoved deep into his pockets, he was looking out the window. Tension fairly radiated from him.

  “Didn’t you hear me knock?” Alex asked softly, like someone speaking on the phone in a nursery filled with sleeping infants.

  “I heard you,” Wyatt replied gruffly, still not turning to face her. “I was just hoping you would go away.”

  He’d been dressed and ready to attend the funeral for more than half an hour now, but he couldn’t get himself to walk out the door, because, until he did, until he witnessed the ceremony and watched the casket being lowered into the ground, he could go on pretending that this wasn’t real. That his father was still out there somewhere, doing what he’d always done.

  He’d had no idea how much he didn’t want to let go of his father, of the past, until this morning.

  He hurt so badly, he thought his heart was going to split in two.

  “Why?” she asked quietly, crossing to Wyatt in deliberate, measured steps.

  “Do I have to have a reason?” he snapped, impatient and weary at the same time.

  “Wyatt—” she placed her hand gently on his rigid shoulder “—you can’t hide in here.”

  He swung around then, denial hot on his lips. A denial he didn’t voice because when he looked at her, the uselessness of the effort hit him right between the eyes.

  “Why is it you’ve always had this knack of getting into my head and using what you find there against me?” he asked. “Ever since we were kids.”

  The corners of her mouth curved ever so slightly. He guessed she was remembering an incident or two.

  “I’m not clairvoyant, I was just good at making you feel paranoid.”

  He took a deep breath, willing his tension to leave him. He managed to succeed, but only in part. He was a grown man. He had thought it was going to be easier than this. But it wasn’t, and being a grown man had nothing to do with it.

  “Once I go outside, it’s all over. There’ll never be another summer with my father. There’ll never be another deep-sea fishing trip, or long evenings on the veranda, talking, wondering why all the fireflies were back east—”

  “Maybe they don’t get along with the june bugs,” she suggested, a sad smile playing along her lips. It was an argument she’d put forth when she and his father had had the same discussion years ago. Uncle Dan had laughed then. She’d loved making him laugh. It was why she remembered the exchange.

  “Yeah, maybe.” Wyatt laughed softly now himself. He looked into her eyes. “I don’t know if I can handle it, Alex.”

  Though she sympathized with what he was saying, she knew she couldn’t let him stay here. It would only be worse for him down the line.

  “Wyatt, he’s gone whether you accept it or not, whether you attend the service or not,” she said quietly. “And if you don’t attend the service, you’ll regret it in time. Really regret it. You know that.”

  He closed his eyes and sighed wearily. “Yeah, I know that.” Opening his eyes again, he added, “You’re right—and if you ever tell anyone I said so, I’ll deny it with my dying breath.”

  She laughed, nodding. “Your secret’s safe with me. Now put that on—” she nodded at the jacket laid out on his bed “—and let’s go. A lot of your father’s friends are already here.”

  He picked up the jacket and slipped it on, but as he did, his collar ended half sticking up. Wyatt didn’t notice.

  Looking back at him, Alex did.

  “Hold it,” she said.

  He looked at her quizzically, and she carefully smoothed his collar down. They stood there for a moment, looking at each other. Feeling things she wouldn’t put a name to.

  Alex dropped her hands to her sides. “Okay, good to go,” she pronounced, turning to walk out the door.

  “Why did you come just now?” he asked, following Alex out. He lengthened his stride and caught up to her so that they went down the hall to the rear exit together.

  She was about to shrug and say something about his being an item on her “to do” list and wanting to check him off, but that really wasn’t the truth. She’d been concerned about him and, right now, he needed the truth.

  “I didn’t see you around so I just wanted to check on you, make sure everything was all right—and give you a little push out the door if you needed it,” she concluded. “Something I’m very capable of.”

  “You are pushy,” Wyatt acknowledged, but there was no edge in his voice, no combativeness. Only humor.

  Alex tossed her head. “Lucky for you that I am,” she retorted.

  Expecting a flippant remark from him, his response caught her completely by surprise. “Yeah, I guess it was lucky for me.”

  Just as she was about to push open the back door to go outside, Wyatt put his hand on her shoulder. Another round of cold feet? Alex was prepared to give him another pep talk if she had to.

  But as she opened her mouth, Wyatt took the wind out of her sails by quietly saying, “Thanks.”

  She could only smile. After a beat, she murmured, “Don’t mention it.” But he was already outside and heading toward the large crowd of people who had been steadily arriving while he had been inside the inn, talking to her.

  * * *

  THE SERVICE WENT ON a great deal longer than Alex had anticipated.

  When he was finished his short service that had come touchingly from the heart, the minister opened the floor to anyone else who wanted to say a few words.

  It turned out there were more than a few people who did.

  Alex’s father had been the first to talk about his lifelong friendship with the journalist. After that, almost half the guests felt the need to share either their feelings, or, more often, a story about the man whose presence was going to not only be missed, but acutely missed.

  Even Alex, who never liked to speak in front of an audience, felt compelled to say several words of tribute about the man she would always fondly think of as “Uncle Dan.”

  She deliberately kept her remarks short, afraid that if she didn’t, she would break down. The display, she felt, would be embarrassing and not exactly helpful for Wyatt to witness.

  Although her father had been her primary concern ever since she’d heard of Uncle Dan’s death, after having found Wyatt holed up in his room, she found her sense of protectiveness split. And during the service, she could feel it shifting and we
ighing in on Wyatt’s side.

  The way she saw it, her father had Stevi, as well as Cris and Andy, to rally and help him through this very difficult time.

  But although Wyatt was standing in the midst of a great many of his father’s friends, on a personal level, there was no wife, no significant other, to hold his hand.

  There wasn’t even a best friend here who could offer him a shoulder to lean on. For that matter, she didn’t even know if Wyatt had anyone who fit that description. In her opinion, if Wyatt had had a best friend, that friend would have been here for him.

  So, by process of elimination, that left her.

  It wasn’t that she saw herself as even a close friend, but they did go back a very long way. And besides, she hated seeing anyone in pain, physical or emotional, she told herself.

  No other reason.

  Tomorrow, when this was behind them and slowly becoming part of the tapestry of their past, things would go back to normal.

  The minister looked out on the sea of faces as Alex walked away from the podium after concluding her tribute. “Is there anyone else here who would like to say something before we inter Daniel’s earthly remains?”

  Wyatt rose, walking up to the spot she had just vacated. Watching him, Alex had to admit she was surprised. He’d told her he wasn’t going to speak.

  Obviously he’d had a change of heart.

  Taking the podium, he looked out at the rows of filled chairs and appeared, to Alex, to be overwhelmed. She willed him to look in her direction and strived to make eye contact. When he did, she nodded and smiled.

  Wyatt collected himself after a moment and said, “When I was a kid, I used to think that my dad had a strange job. A job that took him away to places with names I couldn’t begin to pronounce for months at a time.

  “It seemed like a lonely way to earn a living, separated from family and friends. More than anything, I wanted him to be like other dads who went to work and came home at the end of the day.

  “But he wasn’t like other dads. He was special. My father had the ability to make friends wherever he went—and he went everywhere. That was his real gift. That he could meet people and turn them into friends as easily as someone else saying, ‘Good morning.’ The reporting, the long investigations he conducted and then transmitted, they were just his sidelines. His true calling was to make friends. No one was immune to him.”