But at least here in her own bedroom inside a benevolent old house that oozed memories and mysteries, Valery had her privacy.
She poured another shot—only a little more to smooth the edges gone ragged from the day and Mama—and tossed it back with a satisfied shudder.
Carefully, she recapped the bottle and slipped it into the shiny pink tote bag in the back of her closet. There were some things Julia didn’t need to know.
An easy, pleasant warmth had begun to flow into her veins, and she felt better, steadier, and not so angry. She could smile again.
After a long minty gargle, she sprayed a generous spritz of Chanel in all the right places, breathed in the warm musk and jasmine scent and fluffed her hair.
“There,” she said to the mirror as she touched up her lipstick. “Everything is just fine.”
* * *
GRAYSON SHUT HIS COMPUTER, pocketed his reading glasses and rubbed the impressions alongside his nose. “I’m done for the night. My brain is mush. Don’t you want food?”
They’d been at it for hours, skipping dinner after several generous helpings of Valery’s amazing blueberry coffee cake. Now, his belly gnawed like a mouse at a cardboard box.
Devlin held up a hand, his attention riveted on his laptop screen. “Pizza. Sandwich. Anything.”
Knowing his all-in brother, Grayson left his laptop in the room and jogged downstairs. Pizza, if he could locate a place that delivered, worked for him. If not, he’d scrounge more of that coffee cake and make coffee. If he could find the kitchen.
He went through the parlor with its massive white marble fireplace and nineteenth-century décor. The night had cooled, and he had a sudden desire to sit in front of a crackling fire with a good book or a Sudoku instead of working. He glanced at his watch. Maybe at some point while he was here, Valery would build a fire, and he’d take a short respite, put his feet up. Maybe. If time permitted.
He stretched his shoulder muscles, aware he’d been hunched over the computer too long.
“Bad habit,” he muttered.
“What is?”
He jerked his gaze from the fireplace toward an arched doorway leading to the left. Valery leaned a hand against a glossy white door fame, her head tilted to one side. The innkeeper didn’t look the least bit businesslike.
“Talking to myself, for one thing.”
Her full mouth, red like her nails, curved. “And the other thing?”
Feeling a little foolish to be caught jabbering to himself, he stroked a hand over the back of his neck. “Poor posture at the computer.”
“Very bad for you. Come in the kitchen. Rest that smart brain of yours. We’ll catch up while I figure out Julia’s recipe for breakfast lasagna.”
Grayson’s stomach grumbled.
“I was thinking of pizza.” He trailed her perfume into an industrial-sized space done in cream and copper, granite and stainless steel. Nothing nineteenth century here in the kitchen.
“For breakfast?” She turned slightly to show him a lovely profile, her posture as perfect as a dancer’s.
He shook his head. “For now. I’m starving. Does any place in Honey Ridge deliver?”
“O’Toole’s Pizza and Pasta is great. Need the number?”
“O’Toole’s?”
“A fine Italian family.” She laughed, and he noticed that her eyes glittered a little too brightly. “Kidding, but even if they’re not exactly Italian, O’Toole’s makes good pizza. Call them.”
He took out his phone. She rattled off a number, and he placed the call. When he finished, she put a cup of coffee in front of him. “Might as well keep me company until the pizza arrives. You need cream or sugar for that?”
“Show me where and I’ll get it. We’ll be here a while. Might as well learn the layout.”
She pointed, and he opened a cabinet above his head.
“Not that one.” She moved across the tiled space and leaned in to open a door to his right. “Real cream in the fridge if you prefer.”
Her scent wafted to him, a cover of perfume and mint over another distinctive smell, and he knew why her eyes were a bit glassy. She’d had a drink or two, maybe three, and her beverage of choice hadn’t been coffee. Not a big deal. Lots of people had a relaxing drink in the evening, though he was not one of them. He preferred to be in control at all times.
Valery had always been a free spirit, maybe a little on the wild side, although that was the skewed view of a fifteen-year-old adolescent who’d seen her kissing a college boy at the July Fourth fireworks display. He’d been crushed.
He moved to the enormous stainless steel fridge and found the cream, poured a dollop and leaned back against the granite counter to sip. “Excellent brew.”
“Are you a coffee snob?”
“Not at all. You?”
She shook her head. “My sister is. Only the best for our guests, freshly ground and carefully brewed.”
He saluted with the cup. “This guest appreciates it.”
She treated him to a smile, soft around the edges. “Catch me up, Grayson. What have you been doing since I saw you last?”
“Nothing special. Went to college. Started a business. And here I am.”
She pulled open a cabinet and took out a large oblong casserole dish, then moved to the refrigerator for eggs, milk and ham. “I’m sure there’s more to the story than school and business.”
A few broken, insignificant relationships and membership in too many business organizations weren’t scintillating conversation. “Sadly, no. What about you?”
She lifted a shoulder, focused on the casserole. “The usual small town tale. Julia and I bought this house and became innkeepers.”
She didn’t sound all that thrilled about it either.
A memory of her niggled at the back of his brain, but he was too tired and hungry to bring it forward. Maybe later he’d remember what she was leaving out.
“The attention to detail in this renovation is exceptional. Do it yourself or hire it done?”
“Most of it on our own. The property is an ongoing project, but the inn itself is complete. The work was hard and time-consuming, but Julia’s better now, and that’s what mattered.”
Before he could ask what she meant, the blue speckled dog ambled into the kitchen and looked up at Valery.
“What are you doing in here?” she asked and then to Grayson, “He must have come inside searching for Alex when Mama left. He’s lost without his boy.”
Grayson tilted his head in question.
“Alex, my sister’s stepson. He’s seven now and such a little sweetheart. That dog watches him as if he’s afraid he’ll disappear, too.”
“Too?”
She shot him a look, bit her full bottom lip. “Everyone in Honey Ridge knows, so I forget that guests don’t. Julia’s son was abducted nearly nine years ago and never found. Mikey.”
He lowered the coffee mug.
“Seriously? Abducted here in Honey Ridge?” The town where kids hung out in the park, rode bikes all over town and chased lightning bugs long after dark? Or they had when he was a boy.
“Unbelievable, isn’t it? We’ve never given up hope but...” Her voice drifted away, leaving the worst unsaid. Nine years was too long.
Grayson pushed off the counter and moved closer. “I’m really sorry.”
“Thank you. It was horrible for all of us, but especially Julia.” She slathered butter on a stack of bread slices. “Still is, of course.”
“Not something you’d get over.”
“No. But she recently remarried and is finally happy again. Eli’s a good man.”
He sipped, held the cup close to his lips and watched her over the rim. “What about you? You’re still a Carter, and I don’t see a ring.”
She placed the bread into the pan in perfect rows, the way his grandmother had laid out quilting blocks. “Single and not looking.”
“I hear that.”
Her hands paused, her face turned toward him. “You, too, huh?”
“Too busy.”
She turned back to the food preparation, but her laugh was brittle. “Yeah. That’s my excuse, too.”
The doorbell chimed, and Grayson went to get his pizza. Valery was gorgeous, outgoing and smart. In high school, all the boys had wanted to date her, so why were her words more self-mocking than truth?
Don’t miss the final book in New York Times
bestselling author Linda Goodnight’s
heartwarming HONEY RIDGE series when
THE INNKEEPER’S SISTER
goes on sale in May 2017!
Copyright © 2017 by Linda Goodnight
ISBN-13: 9781488022852
The Road to Love
Copyright © 2017 by Harlequin Books S.A.
The publisher acknowledges the copyright holders of the additional works as follows:
Love by Degree
Copyright © 1987 by Debbie Macomber
The Rain Sparrow
Copyright © 2016 by Linda Goodnight
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