by Gina Wilkins
Everything was perfect, she assured herself, refilling her coffee cup and taking a bracing sip. Or at least as perfect as she and her siblings could make it appear to be in front of their guests—one travel writer, in particular.
Lost in her fantasy of a glowing write-up followed by a flood of bookings and accolades, she jumped dramatically when a loud, jarring crash came from the front of the inn. A couple of guests gasped, and one gave a startled little screech. Hot coffee splashed over the rim of Kinley’s cup. She hissed a curse, quickly setting down the cup and shaking her stinging hand. She was running toward the front of the inn before the sound of the crash fully faded away.
Grimacing, she threw open the front door and viewed the scene outside as Bonnie groaned behind her in despair.
An old pickup truck had slammed into the front post of the portico that jutted out from the front of the inn to provide cover for unloading cars at the front door. The post had splintered in half and now that whole corner of the shingled portico sagged dangerously downward. The top half of the post, along with some small debris, had landed on the now badly dented pickup.
Rhoda climbed out of the driver’s seat of the truck, shoving a broken piece of gingerbread trim out of the way. Her curly salt-and-pepper hair was wildly disheveled around her plain face, but she looked uninjured, to Kinley’s relief.
“I’m so sorry,” Rhoda called out the minute she was clear of her wrecked truck. “I overslept and I’d forgotten to charge my phone so I couldn’t call you. I stupidly glanced at my watch just as I started to drive under the portico and I misjudged the turn. I’m okay, but I’m so sorry. I have insurance. It will cover the damage, of course.”
Reaching the older woman first, Kinley caught her nervously flailing hands in a calming grip. “You’re sure you’re all right? Should we take you to be checked out? I can drive or we can call an ambulance.”
Rhoda shook her head vehemently. “No, I’m fine. Really. I was wearing my seat belt and I wasn’t going very fast. The truck’s too old for an air bag, so at least I didn’t get hit in the face with one of those. Just got a fright when it hit, that’s all.”
“You’re lucky the whole portico didn’t come down on you.”
“I know.”
“Hey! Everyone get back.” Logan came running around one corner of the inn, waving an arm to punctuate his order to the gawkers now gathered in the open doorway. “No one should stand under the portico until I make sure it’s fully supported again. Bonnie, lock the front door and have your guests use the side entrance for now.”
“I’m so sorry, Logan.” Rhoda pulled her hands from Kinley’s comforting grasp and began to twist them in front of her. “I’ll move my truck.”
“No.” Stopping nearby, Logan pushed a hand through his slightly shaggy brown hair as he surveyed the damage with a frown. “Let me handle it.”
Having obligingly moved out from under the portico, Kinley turned to look again, wincing at the sight. It could have been much worse, she assured herself. At least only one post was broken, so the whole portico hadn’t come down. But still, it looked sad sagging that way, some of the delicate gingerbread trim dangling precariously.
“We have a wedding Saturday,” she reminded her brother. “Rehearsal is tomorrow evening.”
He nodded. “I’ll put in a call to Hank Charles. I’m pretty sure he made an extra post when we commissioned him to craft these, just so he’d have the pattern if he needed it again. If he still has it, we’ll get it delivered and installed as quickly as possible.”
Kinley put a hand to her head with a sudden groan. “That travel writer is due tomorrow morning. He’s going to be taking photographs of the inn. I don’t suppose there’s any way…?”
“Oh, hon, I’m so sorry,” Rhoda moaned again.
His unshaven jaw clenching, Logan nodded shortly. “I’ll do what I can.”
A black car came up the drive and stopped in the guest parking area. Wondering who would be arriving this early on a Thursday, Kinley glanced that way. A tall, dark-haired man who appeared to be in his early thirties—and in excellent physical condition, she couldn’t help noting—climbed out of the driver’s seat and paused to study the commotion around the front of the inn. She didn’t recognize him. He was dressed casually in somewhat rumpled khakis and a dark green cotton shirt with the cuffs rolled back at the wrists. He didn’t look like a salesman, nor a traveler looking for a room. After a moment, he moved toward them.
As harried as she was by Rhoda’s accident and the resulting mess, Kinley was startled by the instant jolt of pulse-tripping physical awareness that shot through her when the newcomer smiled at her. She’d have thought she’d be too distracted to be dumbfounded by a sexy grin, but apparently her recently dormant feminine instincts were still alive and healthy. Shoving those ill-timed responses to the back of her mind, she pasted on as professional an expression as possible under the circumstances and greeted him. “May I help you?”
He met her eyes, and she noted that his were very blue, intriguingly so in contrast with his longish dark hair and tanned skin. Wow. She had to force herself to resist automatically checking his ring finger. When he spoke, it was in a pleasantly deep voice that only strengthened her immediate attraction to him. “Are you Kinley Carmichael?”
Even the way he said her name gave her a little thrill. How odd. “Yes, I am. What can I do for you?”
Something about his sweeping glance before he answered made her self-conscious—but not in a bad way. The hint of reciprocated approval in this great-looking guy’s expression was a nice little boost to her ego.
His smile deepened, pushing a slash of delicious dimples into his tanned cheeks. “I’m Dan Phelan. I know you didn’t expect me until tomorrow, but I found myself ahead of schedule. I—ah—hope I didn’t arrive at an inconvenient time.”
Kinley felt her heart sink abruptly. The quick flush of pleasure changed abruptly to dismay. The travel writer hadn’t been scheduled to arrive until tomorrow. She had wanted everything to be so perfect when he arrived. Why had he shown up at just this inopportune moment?
It was only nine o’clock, she thought in silent despair. What more could possibly go wrong today?
* * *
Though she immediately schooled her expression, it was apparent to Dan that Kinley Carmichael had recognized his name, and that she hadn’t been happy to hear it. Considering he’d obviously shown up in the middle of a crisis, he couldn’t blame her, but he had to admit it piqued his pride to have an attractive woman appear so distressed by meeting him.
He wouldn’t have labeled Kinley a classic beauty, but he liked the look of her oval face framed by an angular, gold-streaked brown bob, gray-blue eyes that met his with a directness he found refreshing and a mouth with a full lower lip that could only be described as kissable. She was on the tallish side, maybe five-eight, with long legs and a slender figure more aptly defined as athletic than voluptuous. Just his type—though the way her eyes had darkened when he introduced himself was hardly an auspicious beginning.
A fiftysomething woman in a peasant top, faded jeans and sandals, her wildly curling hair more gray than dark, looked from Kinley to Dan and then gasped in sudden comprehension. “You’re not the travel writer, are you? The one who’s supposed to come tomorrow?”
He nodded. “My itinerary changed unexpectedly. If there’s no room available for me here tonight, I’ll stay somewhere nearby and come back tomorrow.”
Her smile firmly in place again, Kinley spoke up. “Of course we have a room for you, Mr. Phelan. We’re delighted to have you.”
He had to admire the warmth she managed to inject into the welcome despite the dismay he’d seen pass fleetingly through her eyes. Though it had caught her off guard when he’d shown up a day early, his first impression of Kinley was that she was not easily rattled.
“Please, call me Dan.” He glanced again at the damaged truck and portico. “I seem to have arrived at a bad time.”
�
�It’s my fault,” the older woman said firmly. “I hit the post. The inn is usually immaculate. Beautiful. The Carmichaels run a first-class operation. Don’t you dare write a bad review because of my negligence!”
The way she shook her finger at him reminded him of his favorite childhood nanny, Adele. She’d had a way of making her displeasure known with just a judicious wave of that slightly bent finger. Of all the string of nannies his generally disengaged parents had hired to look after him, Adele was the only one he recalled very clearly. That memory made him smile as he murmured, “I wouldn’t dream of it.”
Kinley placed a hand on the woman’s shoulder and Dan saw her give a little squeeze. “It was an accident, Rhoda. No one is blaming you. We’re all relieved that you weren’t hurt. Dan, this is Rhoda Foley, who works with us here at the inn.”
Despite the awkward circumstances, Kinley made it clear that she was standing by her employee. Dan saw no evidence of irritation with the older woman, merely a matter-of-fact acceptance and what seemed to be genuine concern for her well-being. Nor did he think Kinley’s kindness was put on for his benefit. Rhoda’s fierce loyalty to her employers was apparent. His positive first impression of Kinley bumped up another notch.
“It’s very nice to meet you, Ms. Foley.”
She mumbled a reply, though she continued to shoot looks of warning at him.
Kinley cleared her throat. “Rhoda, why don’t you go inside and have a cup of tea to calm your nerves while Logan takes care of your truck?”
Having sent the older woman on her way, she turned back to the men. “Dan, this is my brother, Logan Carmichael.”
Though he saw the family resemblance as they briefly shook hands, Dan noted that Logan’s features were more roughly carved than his sister’s, his jaw squared beneath a three-day growth of dark beard. His brown hair was a shade darker than Kinley’s, and his eyes were hazel, shadowed with what appeared to be a permanent frown. Maybe it was just the damage to the inn that made him look so stern, but Dan suspected Kinley’s brother wasn’t the lighthearted type even under the best of circumstances.
A petite blonde with a sweet face and angelic smile came out the side door of the inn and approached them. “I’ve got Rhoda settled down in the kitchen with some tea. Logan, do you need me to make any calls for you?”
Logan shrugged. “I’ll get the guys to help me start the repairs right away. You can deal with the insurance.”
“Dan, this is our sister, Bonnie,” Kinley said. “Bonnie, meet Dan Phelan, the writer for Modern South magazine. He’s going to be spending an extra day with us. Isn’t that nice?”
Dan couldn’t help but be amused by Kinley’s too-cheery tone. Though she was doing her best to hide it, he would bet she thought it was anything but nice that he’d shown up twenty-four hours early.
If Bonnie was as displeased as her sister, it wasn’t evident in her pleasant expression. She bore only a faint resemblance to her siblings, her eyes a deep blue, her coloring fair, her stature more compact. Striking had been the first adjective to pop into his mind with Kinley. He would have described Bonnie as pretty. Yet his attention continued to be focused primarily on Kinley, even as Bonnie spoke to him. “Rhoda told me you were here. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Phelan. Welcome to our inn.”
“It’s Dan. And thank you. It’s a beautiful place.”
He wasn’t just being polite. Despite the current minor damage, the inn really was lovely. The multibayed Queen Anne-style building was surrounded by an inviting wraparound porch that opened onto the drive-through portico. The siding was a pale gray, the trim pristine white. The front door was painted a bright red and featured leaded-glass inserts and sidelights. A stained glass half-round window above the now-sagging portico drew the eye upward to the peaked, shingled roof against the bright blue sky. Colorful spring flowers bloomed in several tidy beds, and the Blue Ridge Mountains, draped in rapidly dissipating morning fog, formed a spectacular backdrop for it all. Compared to those distant peaks, Bride Mountain was little more than a foothill, but the view was breathtaking.
Bonnie motioned apologetically toward the broken post. “As you can see, we’ve had a little mishap this morning, but fortunately no one was injured and my brother will see that it’s quickly repaired. Please come in through the side door. Breakfast service ended at nine, but I’m sure I can find something for you if you’re hungry.”
“I’ve eaten already, thank you.”
“Coffee, then?”
“Sounds good. I’ll just get my bags.”
“Um—let me get them for you,” Logan offered, not doing a particularly good job of hiding his reluctance.
Because he’d seen Kinley give her brother a sharp nudge, Dan fought a grin as he declined politely. “I’ll let you get to your repairs. I’ll carry my own bags. I pack light.”
Nodding rather curtly, Logan turned back to the damaged portico, already lifting his cell phone to his ear to summon assistance.
“I’ll help you bring in your things,” Kinley offered, subtly directing Dan away from the portico damage and leaving her brother to deal with it. “I’ll show you up to your room and then give you the grand tour when you’re ready.”
“I’d like that,” he said, his gaze focused on her face.
She paused a moment, her head slightly tilted as she met his eyes, and he wondered if she had sensed his immediate attraction to her. But she merely smiled and nodded, speaking in the same briskly professional voice she’d used before. “Let’s get your bags, and I’ll take you in through the side door.”
The disarray outside could not be in starker contrast to the tidy inside of Bride Mountain Inn. The side door opened into the dining area rather than the front foyer. As he followed Kinley through the big room, Dan’s gaze was drawn to the large, sparklingly clean back windows that overlooked the gardens and the distant mountains. The room was airy, immaculate and immediately welcoming. It was easy to imagine himself lingering over coffee at one of the round tables and watching the sky brighten over the flowers, fountain and charming Queen Anne gazebo behind the inn.
She led him into the entryway that would have been his first sight of the place had he come in the front door. The matching leaded-glass sidelights on either side of the door flooded the wood-floored foyer with morning sunlight. A small antique reception desk held a big bouquet of fresh flowers, and an old-fashioned mail cubby on the papered wall behind the desk reinforced the old-world-inn feel to the place. Sparkling crystals dangled from the chandelier that lit the two-story space, and a curving, wood-banistered stairway led upstairs.
“Very nice,” he commented.
Kinley’s quick grin looked more natural than the professional smiles she’d forced after he’d identified himself to her. His initial attraction to her doubled in response. He reminded himself that he was here for business reasons, that he tried to remain objective about the subjects of his articles despite his generally laid-back approach to his job. He hadn’t gotten much sleep last night. The past couple of weeks had been stressful. Maybe he was just tired, and a little too susceptible at the moment to a pretty face and an approving smile. He needed a strong cup of coffee, a brisk walk and maybe a nap, after which he was sure he’d have himself under better control.
After plucking a key from behind the desk, Kinley moved toward the stairs. “This way,” she said and started up, his computer bag slung over her shoulder.
Carrying a small suitcase in his right hand and a garment bag in the other, he followed. Despite his best efforts, his gaze lingered on the slight sway of her slender hips as she preceded him. He’d always had a thing for slim hips and long legs…
Shaking his head in self-reproach, he made himself raise his eyes. Maybe he’d have two cups of strong coffee, followed by a very long walk to clear his mind. He could just hear his managing editor—who also happened to be his cousin—lecturing him that lusting after his hostess was no way to start an assignment.
Kinley unlocked the third do
or on the right at the top of the stairs and escorted him inside. The suite was as immaculate as he had come to expect of this place. The furniture was dark wood in Colonial style, the linens pale yellow trimmed in rich cream. A writing desk, flat-screen television, comfortable-looking chair and ottoman, and a minifridge were among the amenities. A small but luxurious private bathroom was stocked with high-end toiletries and supplies. More fresh flowers in a crystal vase adorned the nightstand, along with a bowl of fresh fruit. The view was spectacular. The last traces of fog had burned off, though he thought he glimpsed a lingering wisp near the large fountain that highlighted the flower garden.
He set his bags on the floor near the Colonial dresser. “I have to say the inn is really beautiful.”
He was rewarded by another of Kinley’s bright smiles. “Thank you. My sister loves decorating and took charge of most of the restoration before we reopened eighteen months ago. Most of what you see is her work.”
Reaching out to take his computer bag from her, he nodded toward her as he set the bag on the desk. “And what do you love to do?”
She answered without hesitation. “I like the business side of running the inn. The marketing, events planning, bookings, that sort of thing. It’s a challenge, and I’ve always enjoyed a challenge.”
“So do I,” he murmured without looking away from her. The enthusiasm in her eyes when she talked of her work made him wonder what other passions excited her. After all, he was a healthy, straight, definitely single male.
As if she’d somehow gotten an inkling of the direction his wayward thoughts had taken, her left eyebrow rose a fraction of an inch. She studied him for a moment with a heightened awareness in her expression—not nerves, he decided, but a hint of intrigue. At least, he thought he was reading her correctly.
He cleared his throat. “You said something about coffee?”
It was much too early for anything stronger. He could only hope a strong shot of caffeine would clear his uncharacteristically cloudy head.
