“Ally breathed hard when Will scooped her into his arms and then raced two steps at a time, up the wide staircase of Bluebell, their plantation mansion.
His arms were strong, hard and chiseled, and his chest muscles rippled appealingly as he laid her gently on the bed. Staring into her eyes, Will slowly bent to kiss her lips.
“I’m gonna make you so happy, Allison,” he breathed in his charming southern accent.
“Oh, Will, you’re so strong and wonderful. Won’t we make beautiful children together? Although we need to get married first.”
“Let’s get married this weekend.”
Ally breathed hard again, sliding her fingers down the contours of his finely sculpted abs. He’d been working out so diligently lately.
“Oh, heavens to Betsy,” Becca snorted, repeating her mother’s favorite old-fashioned expression. “Get the horse whip from the barn and put me out of my misery!” Her face flamed in embarrassment. “This is total drivel!”
Becca crumpled the pages she’d been writing all afternoon and threw them into the fireplace. Unfortunately, the pages didn’t quite make the flames and sat there, half in, and half out on the hearth’s bricks. Staring at her. Taunting her. She was a horrible writer. A sap. A hack. A fraud. And she was terrified over upcoming grad school.
Her senior year had just about done her in. Whatever possessed her to major in Chem E? Why not Humanities, English, Music, or even Education?
Because she’d wanted to prove to herself and her parents she was smart—and she’d had a crush on the Chem E teaching assistant with his long hair and startling blue eyes. Who then moved to Berkley without so much as a backward glance.
Pathetic. Utterly, exquisitely pathetic. That described her in spades.
Aunt Rayna let out a chuckle at Becca’s outburst over her romance novel. Her streaks of violet hair turned darker shades of purple in the fire’s orange coals. “Writing is a lot of practice.”
“But what do you think?” Becca wailed.
“It—the story—your words.” Her aunt paused. “Um, I’m trying to get my thoughts together, my dear.” Rayna’s eyebrows knit together as she frowned, focusing on the fire while she gingerly took the poker tongs and rescued the charred pages.
Becca got the sudden feeling her aunt was trying to think of something good to say.
Rayna snapped her fingers. “I know what your story reminds me of! Rhett Butler and Scarlett O’Hara in Gone with the Wind. The way he sweeps her up the staircase.”
“Rhett is very inspirational,” Becca said, not admitting that she’d watched Gone with the Wind nineteen times since her 14th birthday. “Obviously. What girl hasn’t imagined herself in Clark Gable’s arms?”
“That’s an understatement, my girl,” Rayna said, arching an eyebrow with exquisite precision.
Becca let out a giggle at her aunt’s funny face and then flopped into one of the tapestry wing chairs. She poked her toe at the woodpile on the hearth. “So where am I going wrong? I want to be a published romance writer someday and I can’t even get one stupid scene right.”
“Well,” Rayna mused thoughtfully, hugging her shoulders, while she pondered the question.
Even though it was summer, the evening had cooled considerably and the old Victorian hotel was just drafty enough to warrant a soothing fire in the evenings. Especially when they had paying guests in the upstairs rooms.
Well, at the moment they had exactly one paying guest comfortably ensconced in the Hidden Lily Room, which was a beautifully furnished Victorian straight out of the pages of a Regency novel, with a small, private bath. Cameron Elliott was here to help Annalisa Drake grab the crown at the Miss Snow Valley Beauty Pageant this week. She’d been hired to be a beauty pageant coach for the young woman.
Even though Cameron had checked in a week ago, she rarely spent much time at the B&B except to sleep. Lately she’d become quite frantic. The Snow Valley Pageant was only forty-eight hours away.
Cameron was a combination of beauty and brains—with a wicked streak of competition. Even though she was young, she had drive and that fierce “commando” pageant mother—surrogate mother—look in her eye. She was determined that “her” girl was going to win and she rarely ate the Big Sky breakfast they were famous for. Tea and half a slice of toast—no butter. The Starry Skies stash of Diet Coke in the fridge was also disappearing faster than usual with Cameron in the house.
It turned out Cameron had always dreamed of being in a pageant, but didn’t have the tall, willowy figure for it. But she loved the pageant life and the excitement—and the clothes and shoes!—so she turned to coaching.
“If she doesn’t start eating a few square meals once in awhile, that girl is going to waste away right in front of us,” Aunt Rayna had said yesterday while baking her famous coffee cake for afternoon tea. Despite the fact that Rayna loved to bake she’d kept her own girlish figure because she rarely stopped moving, rarely sat down. A bundle of nervous energy.
Rubbing at the frown lines deepening across her forehead (she did not want to get premature wrinkles and always wore sunglasses out of doors), Becca watched her aunt scan the lines of her romance novel again.
“You do tend to use the word breathing quite often . . . um, and doesn’t it seem like every romance novel you ever read has the hero’s chest rippling with muscles? Perhaps we need to look for a different word. Something else that’s spicy.” Aunt Rayna’s eyes widened playfully. “I have a Thesaurus in the den,” she whispered in a stage voice.
“I’ll grab it on my way to bed.” Becca paused, wanting to know, but afraid to ask. “Am I totally pathetic?”
Her aunt kissed her on the forehead. “Of course not. But it might be hard to write a romance that’s genuine in feelings and experience when you’ve never even been kissed.” She pulled back, a sudden gleam in her eyes. “Unless that changed this year and you haven’t spilled the beans yet!”
“You’d be the first to know.” Becca blew her dark bangs off her forehead. “Believe me.”
“So nothing happened with that young man you were telling me about in your art class?”
“He turned out to be a nude model. I dropped out. College art classes aren’t like high school at all.”
“I suppose not,” her aunt mused. “But it might have been a good opportunity to study a man’s rippling chest muscles.”
“Aunt Rayna, you are terrible!”
She gave a wicked smile. “You know I’m teasing you darlin’. I’m sure your parents have no idea the bad influence I’ve been on you all these summers you’ve been coming to help me out with this old rattling B&B.”
“It’s not a rattling old house. It’s gorgeous.”
“It’s certainly seen a lot of years of repairs. A leaking roof is on docket this summer. Winter was interesting with buckets propped up all over the place.”
“Ugh. I suppose if they knew half the things we talked about, Mom and Dad would have chained me up in a tower.”
“See? I’ve rescued you from a fate worse than death.”
“Definitely a fate worse than taking my chocolate stash away.” Becca rose from her chair. “I’m going to freshen this cocoa. Do you want me to tamp down the fire? It’s getting late. Both those couples with reservations will be no-shows.”
Becca had just turned to cross the wide Victorian living room when she heard voices from the foyer and the sound of luggage thumping on the stone tile floor.
Rayna raised one eyebrow. “Speak of the devil. I think they found us.”
“Yoohoo,” a woman called out. “Are we in the right place?”
Rayna darted across the room. “Coming!” Over her shoulder she added, “Why don’t you freshen a whole pot, Becca? And shut the windows. It’s cooling down. Hope we don’t get a freak June snowstorm, although we had a bad rainstorm last Sunday. Always bad for business.”
Aunt Rayna sighed, then lifted her face into a bright smile and batted her eyelashes, making Becca giggle. That was her t
raditional grimace when guests proved to be a royal pain.
Taking the nearly empty pot of cocoa with her, Becca slipped through the rear door to the country-style kitchen. It had great appliances and amenities. A wide stove-range, double oven, extra-wide fridge, and a floor-to-ceiling double door pantry organized immaculately.
Counters stocked with coffee and tea hot plates, bagged snacks for guests on-the-go, or if they got hungry in the middle of the night. Best of all, the kitchen boasted an eight-foot rectangular island with bar chairs overlooking a bank of windows that showed off the side porch and flower gardens.
Beyond the kitchen seating area, French doors opened onto a brand-new glassed-in room with stone pavers and comfy new patio furniture with wicker tables and pretty baskets of flowers. The smell of fresh paint lingered.
Aunt Rayna had recently added on this cozy porch. When her aunt showed off the new porch to her when Becca arrived the previous week, she’d mentioned fondly that her long-time neighbor’s son, Nick Walton, had helped her build it. Over the last several years, Nick had become Rayna’s handyman, painter, fixer-upper stable boy.
Becca had met Nick, only a year older than she was, her first summer helping out when Rayna had just purchased the old Victorian and decided to turn it into a B&B.
At fifteen, Nick had been a tenacious, unflagging worker. Growing up on a ranch had taught him to fix or create practically anything. For years, Aunt Rayna had boarded two horses at his family’s ranch five miles away and Nick took care of them, bringing them over when guests wanted to go riding.
Becca and Nick became summer friends. They’d washed windows together; eaten countless batches of brownie dough with cold glasses of milk, fixed fences, rode their horses all over the hills, and watched movies with bowls of popcorn while drinking endless cans of Dr. Pepper.
Yet, unless Nick was in her vicinity, Becca almost never thought about him. He was usually disheveled, with straw in his hair, grime under his fingernails, and sunburned cheeks. Often, Becca had hung out with his younger sister Sally, riding bikes, baking cupcakes, shopping with Aunt Rayna for household decorations, and, when they got older, hanging out at the town square with other teens, going to Vacation Bible School, and eating a lot of hamburgers and pizza.
When college began, Becca had grown away from the Walton family—even though she still spent the greater part of her summer in Snow Valley with Aunt Rayna. In fact, Sally had already gotten married and had a baby with some guy she met in Idaho Falls.
Now, as she stared through the porch windows, breathing in the new paint smell, Becca thought about Nick for the first time in practically two years.
“Guess he’s still around,” she whispered to the darkened windows. They had nothing to say to each other. She’d probably try to avoid him. Nick had stayed in Snow Valley, become a rancher dude, and Becca would eventually be a PhD with a fantastic six-figure salary. Six-figure PLUS if she managed to get through without flunking out.
Becca shivered, her nose twitching from a sudden burnt smell permeating through the new porch. The darkness outside had always spooked her, but Aunt Rayna had installed—with Nick’s help—a series of patio lights running along the flower beds. Fairy lights lit up the trees and shrubbery, tall torches stood along the perimeter to keep the bugs away from the seating area and small fountain at one end—which helped keep the blackness at bay.
Beyond the meadows and valley that began where their property ended, foothills sloped and then rose in elevation into evergreen forests of pine and fir. Those hills were at least thirty miles away. An all day horseback ride, at the very least.
Most folks didn’t ride the horses rented out by their neighbors, although it was an option. Most Starry Skies guests (usually honeymooners) who craved adventure borrowed the jeep or dune buggy for the day and Aunt Rayna packed a picnic for them.
Which reminded Becca. Only one expected couple had shown up so far tonight. They were expecting a pair of newlyweds, too. Just in time for Snow Valley’s Fourth of July celebrations. Why would a young couple spend their honeymoon here in tiny Snow Valley when they could be sunbathing on the beaches of Hawaii or on a cruise to the Bahamas gorging themselves on the all-you-could-eat fancy buffets? They must be college students on a budget.
She smiled at the thought, and then instantly a feeling of melancholy came over her. She wrote silly romances, but had never had a real romance of her own. Despite her chemical engineering classes being full of guys. They talked equations, prime numbers, and the Table of Elements. Not movies or concerts or dessert on a Saturday night. Nerds, all of them!
Just like her.
Well, that wasn’t exactly true. She might be their intellectual equal but they managed to skirt around inviting her to anything more than a homework fest.
“I am an oxymoron,” she said aloud, filling the coffee pot with fresh water and setting it to percolate while dreaming of a published book with Rebecca Dash, PhD on the cover.
Except . . . would any female buy a book laden with steamy scenes written by a PhD, Plain Jane, never been really kissed, socially awkward woman?
She couldn’t even put lipstick on straight without getting it all over her teeth.
Rolling her eyes, Becca made sure the windows were closed and the back door locked. But she still smelled that faint burning odor. “That’s strange.”
Quickly, she checked the gas stove and the ovens. Nothing had been inadvertently left on. Going out to the garage, she checked the water heater and laundry facilities. No smell of burning.
Becca paused, considering. Then she pulled open the side door and went out into the cool night air.
Definitely a burning smell out here, but not in the near vicinity. No other houses lay near them. Starry Skies Bed & Breakfast sat on twenty acres of sagebrush on a sloping hill. The nearest homes were a mile down the road at the Halls’ residence. She could see their lights. All seemed calm, despite their having six rowdy kids. No wailing sirens or fire trucks. But if the Hall family was having a barbecue Mrs. Hall had chosen the worst seasoning ever. This smelled like ash, not roasting burgers or chicken.
Turning, Becca wrapped her arms around herself. Time for a sweater. She faced the western mountain forests. The smell was coming from that direction. The night sky was clear, a billion stars twinkling like a bottle of spilled glitter overhead.
Headlights crept down the road, flickering occasionally when the car bounced over a rut. Heading straight for the Starry Skies Bed & Breakfast establishment.
Becca shivered and ran for the back door to the old Victorian house, skirting along the wrap-around porch with its rocking chairs and rugs and plants. The wind chimes came in assorted styles; butterflies, bamboo, garish flowers, painted animals, hanging silently without the breath of a breeze.
No more dawdling. Their next pair of long-awaited-booked-and-paid-for guests was arriving.
Chapter 2
“A girl in need of direction often finds herself without a date on Saturday night.”
— Rebecca Dash, Author
When Becca brought in a steaming pot of cocoa and a tray of mugs, Aunt Rayna brushed past her, whispering, “Mr. and Mrs. Elmer Cook.”
“Gotcha,” Becca whispered back as she remembered who was on docket to check in tonight. Advancing to the coffee table, she set the tray down.
“How lovely,” Mrs. Cook said, smiling sweetly at Rebecca.
Maybe this couple wouldn’t be crotchety and demanding as some of the other retired couples that had visited the B&B over the years. Rebecca remembered summers when they wanted hot water bottles on demand. Ordered their windows open and then closed. Rebecca had often spent most of her time running the stairs a hundred times a day with tea, bottles of water, mail, dinner in their room, extra blankets, extra toilet paper, extra everything.
But when she glanced at Adelaide Cook’s husband, she wasn’t so sure they’d be that easy. Mr. Cook was already engrossed in the Billings Gazette newspaper, snapping the pages and pursing
his lips, wrinkles running up and down his face like railroad tracks. It appeared that he’d already dispatched the Snow Valley local paper for it lay strewn in pieces on the coffee table.
From the pained expression on his face, Mr. Cook looked like he was craving a scotch on the rocks.
Unfortunately for him, Aunt Rayna had no liquor in the house.
Fortunately for Becca’s aunt, she didn’t have to deal with drunk or tipsy hotel guests.
Mrs. Cook raised her eyebrows, “Might you have any cookies to go with our cocoa? Elmer has a sweet tooth before bed.”
“Of course,” Rayna told her without missing a beat. “Rebecca, would you get out our tray of evening refreshments?”
Becca blinked at her. Evening refreshments? It was true that they often served Rayna’s famous coffee cake when guests arrived in the afternoon, but not this late at night. It was going on nine already. Rebecca stifled a yawn, longing for bed. The six a.m. wake-up call for fixing breakfast came too early for lazy summer days when the sun didn’t set until ten o’clock.
Mrs. Cook went back to her book and Aunt Rayna made an exaggerated funny grimace at Becca, pulling her purple hair out in a halo of crazy.
Becca tried not to giggle, heading for the kitchen. She gave a start when the front door bell jangled from the foyer. The guests from the car she’d just seen coming down the road were here.
Aunt Rayna strode toward the front desk, waving her fingers at Rebecca conspiratorially.
Switching on the kitchen lights again, Rebecca wished she was already curled in bed with her latest romantic suspense novel, Rebecca by Daphne du Maurier—how had she missed that book all these years!?
Crouching down to one of the lower cupboards, she retrieved a faux silver tray, and then began grabbing snack foods. A box of crackers, the block of cheddar and pepper jack cheeses from the bin in the fridge, the cheese slicer, and a bag of frozen cookies; assorted chocolate chip, brownies, and sugar cookies she’d made the day before.
Summer in Snow Valley (Snow Valley Romance Anthologies Book 2) Page 45
