Angel Kisses and Riversong

by Lynnette Bonner

  But only some. She felt the rest of her mortification as heat in her cheeks. She snatched the paperclip from his hand and held his key higher so he couldn’t miss seeing it this time. “B-breakfast is at nine in the dining room.” She nodded him toward the table they’d passed only moments ago. “Check-out is at two tomorrow afternoon.”

  Smirk fading, the guy took the key from her hand. Nodded his thanks. And disappeared behind the door.

  Salem’s eyes fell closed. In the next moment she was hurrying back to her desk and glowering at the paperclip as though it was solely responsible for all of her embarrassment. By the time she chucked the paperclip into the trash bin beneath her desk, it was mangled into an unrecognizable twist of metal.

  Salem’s alarm went off and she slapped at it with a groan. She’d finally gotten the last of the paperwork done just after midnight. After that she’d done a quick double check of the table and quietly set it for breakfast, and then headed up to her room. But she had just fallen into bed when Gran had rung her bell, needing help to get to the bathroom. By the time Salem had helped her and gotten back to bed, it had been nearly one. Then Gran had needed help again at four thirty.

  Salem squinted at her clock. Six ten. She had exactly twenty minutes before Gran would be ringing her bell and demanding to be helped down to her chair. And woe to Salem if she wasn’t dressed and wearing make-up by that time, for Gran would assure her that her idleness was taking her straight into the lower regions of the hottest locale of the afterlife.

  Salem groaned again and pushed herself out of bed. I love Gran. I love Gran. I love Gran. She chanted the reminder to herself as she shuffled into her bathroom and slapped on the water in her shower.

  An hour later, with Gran finally ensconced in her recliner before the picture windows that overlooked the Wenatchee River, Salem took a cup of coffee out to the deck and sank into one of the Adirondack chairs. She curled her hands around the mug and tugged her sweater more firmly about her shoulders, because despite the fact that it was the end of June, the mountain morning still demanded a little respect.

  With half an hour before she needed to start breakfast preparations, she pondered her to-do list. It was becoming clearer and clearer that Gran was not going to be able to remain in her room on the upper floor of the tri-level house. So likely the best place to focus would be on finishing the other mid-level room—the one across the hall from her guest’s. It had its own bathroom and since it was on the main floor of the house, would be the perfect solution for Gran—if Salem could talk her into moving into it. Later in the summer as finances and time allowed, she would clean out and remodel the bottom floor rooms. Eventually that would give them five rooms a night for guests, as opposed to the single one they had now. It would also leave the upper floor for her own living space.

  Salem massaged at the tension squeezing the back of her neck. She was barely handling things while having to only deal with one guest room. What made her think she could find the time for adding another four?

  But by then, she reminded herself, she would no longer need to spend the bulk of her days on remodeling projects, so that would help. And maybe she’d be able to hire an assistant at some point.

  Maybe.

  If Gran’s medical bills didn’t start piling up again.

  So if her next goal was to remodel the room that she planned to dub the Aria Room, her first order of business for the day—as soon as her tenant checked out of Serenade—would be to haul all the furniture from Aria down to the shed. Gran’s adjustable bed would eventually need to come down from her room upstairs, but Salem could get some of the men from church to help her with that when the time came.

  Salem reminded herself to look on the bright side of all this hard work. In addition to making it so Gran didn’t have to navigate a flight of stairs morning and night, having a free room upstairs would be nice the next time Shiloh came to visit. They’d be able to stay up late chatting like old times without Gran pointing out that only the ungodly stayed up till such wee hours of the morning.

  Salem spent a few minutes reading her Bible and then glanced at her watch. It was time to start breakfast. As she made her way to the kitchen, she wondered if their new guest would be on time to the table. Or if he would even show up at all. She couldn’t believe that she’d actually fallen asleep at the front desk last night. Her worst nightmare had come true. At least he’d been polite about her faux pas.

  Something about him seemed vaguely familiar, but she couldn’t quite figure out what it was. Not his looks so much as maybe his name?

  She shook off the contemplation and opened the fridge. It didn’t matter. Her guests’ business was his own.

  She pulled out the bacon. This was her last package. If she got a guest today, she’d have to do something different for breakfast tomorrow, which Gran wouldn’t like. No breakfast was complete, according to Gran, unless it was accompanied by thick-sliced bacon. But with the way the finances were, she would need at least three more guests to book and pay before she would have enough money for more groceries.

  Salem added six slices to the grill. Then decided to add the remaining four. If their guest ate as much as his broad shoulders implied, then he’d likely want more than the two slices she normally supplied with her french toast breakfast. If he didn’t eat it all, she could use it to make sandwiches for herself and Gran at lunch.

  Just then Gran’s bell rang from the front room. Salem turned the heat on the grill to low, washed her hands, and went to see what Gran needed.

  Jett woke to the smell of heaven. Nothing got the blood pumping in the morning like the scent of bacon wafting on the air. He glanced at the clock and realized he only had ten minutes to make it out to the table, or be late. He rushed through a two-minute shower, slipped on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, thrust his feet into his slides, and hurried out to the dining room. Not a soul was in sight. Other than the fact that the table was set, the room looked just the same as it had the night before when he’d passed it.

  He did notice a Keurig coffee maker in the corner, with a stack of mugs beside it. He took one, settled it beneath the spout and popped in a flavored coffee pod that sounded like it might be good. The heavenly scent of coffee soon melded with the bacon in a way that had his stomach rumbling in anticipation.

  He glanced around. Still no one had joined him. Maybe he’d misunderstood where he was supposed to meet for breakfast. He followed his nose to the kitchen and poked his head inside. Steam rose from the grill where bacon popped and crackled, but other than that the room was empty. He glanced over his shoulder. Not a soul in sight.

  That bacon was going to burn if someone didn’t turn it, like now. He weighed the impropriety of invading the kitchen without invitation against the very likely possibility of burnt bacon, and didn’t even hesitate. A fork lay on the counter next to the grill. He used that to flip the pieces over and was glad to see he’d arrived in time. The pieces were a perfect, crispy brown.

  “What are you doing?” There was more than a little anger and frustration in the question snapped at him from across the room.

  “I was just—” He swallowed. The sleepy woman with the beguiling splay of hair that had reminded him of a halo last night had turned into an annoyed angel with fire dancing in her blue eyes. Today all those blond waves were neatly combed and piled up on top of her head which drew his focus to the slender column of her throat. He stopped himself from further perusal before his curiosity made her uncomfortable. “I was just turning over the bacon before it burned.” He held up the fork as though he needed proof.

  Her face turned pink. She strode toward him and reached for the fork. “I’m really sorry about that. My grandmother called for me just after I started cooking. I had to go help her. Please have a seat in the dining room and I’ll bring your meal right out.”

  He relinquished the fork, but he couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a conversation with someone about anything other than football, broken bones, or car
eer changes, so instead of leaving he held his ground. “You work here alone? Had kind of a short night, didn’t you?”

  She flashed him a look. “Gran needs someone to take care of her. I thought I could turn her home”—she swept a hand to indicate the house beyond the kitchen—“into a bed and breakfast, which would allow me to stay here and care for her. For now, yes, I’m the only one. I apologize again for your having to wake me last night, and practically cook your own breakfast this morning. I’d be happy to give you a discount for last night’s stay?” Her cheeks, which had only a moment ago been rosy, now turned a little pale. She peeked over at him above the bowl of eggs she was whipping into a froth.

  He had a feeling that giving him a refund was the farthest thing from what she could afford to do. Besides, that wasn’t going to happen. “I’m not upset. Don’t want a refund. I’m sure getting your own business up and running must be exhausting. And it’s a nice thing you are doing, taking care of family. Not many people would go to such lengths.”

  She blinked hard and turned away from him on the pretense of grabbing a pan. But he could see a similar skillet she could have used right next to the stove, and there’d been a distinct sheen in her eyes. Had he made her cry? Why would such a simple compliment make her cry? After a moment she said, “Thank you. Please…feel free to wait in the dining room. Or you can take your coffee out onto the deck. I’ll be right out with breakfast.”

  Jett lifted his coffee cup from where he’d left it next to the stove, but he only strode to the doorway and leaned one shoulder into the frame. He’d much rather stand right here and watch the angel flutter about the kitchen.

  CHAPTER 3

  Salem gritted her teeth. Couldn’t the man take a hint? How many times had she suggested he head for the dining room? Should she be more forceful about it? He couldn’t just stand there and stare at her! She was going to burn something for sure if he didn’t knock it off. Despite her need for income, she couldn’t help but be thankful that he was leaving today—before he landed in the middle of any more of her humiliations.

  She got out the bread and the cornflakes.

  He watched.

  She poured the cornflakes onto a plate and crushed them.

  He tilted his head and kept studying her every move.

  If he must stand there, at least they could talk about something. “So where are you from?” She dipped a slice of thick bread in the eggs.

  He rubbed one hand over his jaw. Hesitated. Finally answered. “Recently I’ve been living in Florida. But I was born and raised in Texas.”

  She dredged the bread in the cornflakes and lowered it into the hot oil in the pan. “What brings you all the way to Washington?”

  He frowned. “What about you? Have you always lived here?”

  She dipped another piece of bread. Okay. So obviously the guy was avoiding her question. What if he was an escaped convict, or something? Maybe that was why his name seemed familiar? What if he attacked them?

  Don’t be ridiculous, Salem. He hadn’t made her feel even a little threatened last night, not even when he’d been pulling a paperclip from her hair. Still…

  She thought of Gran, helpless to defend herself. Maybe this bed and breakfast thing wasn’t the right solution to her current predicament? But how else was she going to be able to hang onto this large home that Gran had lived in for nearly fifty years, without turning it into a money-maker?

  She realized she’d left his question hanging. “Um…” What had his question been?

  Her hand was shaking, and this time when she dropped the bread into the oil some splashed up and hit the backs of her fingers.

  She gasped and yanked her hand back.

  He was beside her in an instant. “You alright?”

  She backed away from him. “Yes. I’m fine. Really.” Her heart hammered in her throat. Last night she must have been too sleepy to notice how broad his shoulders were. The guy could probably snap her in half without so much as breaking a sweat. What would she do if he didn’t back off?

  His attention was focused on the backs of her fingers, which he held in a gentle grip. “Doesn’t look too bad, but you should run them under cold water, just to be safe.”

  Her gaze skimmed the breadth of him. The guy was huge. His shoulders were twice the width of hers, and he had to have a hundred pounds on her. A hundred pounds of sheer muscle, if the taut red Buccaneer t-shirt he wore revealed truth.

  She’d never be able to fight him!

  She narrowed her eyes, reached out, and wrapped her hand around the handle of the pan currently sizzling with hot oil.

  Thankfully, after only a moment of scrutiny, he was already backing away. He resumed his position in the doorway.

  Against her apron, she swiped the feel of his gentle grip from her trembling hands. She needed to steer them back to a normal conversation. No more contemplation about convicts attacking. “You asked if I’m from around here. I’ve lived all over the state, but my grandparents owned this place, so we spent most of each summer up here. I have friends around who I’ve known since we were all just kids.”

  She pinned him with a look, hoping he’d get the message. One phone call to a friend and someone could be here in five minutes. Okay, maybe ten. Providing they were even in town when she called.

  She turned her back to the man to grab a spatula, letting her eyes fall closed for just a moment. If he was a serial killer, she and Gran would be dead before anyone arrived. He’d probably even have time to clean up any evidence of his presence. But criminy, did serial killers come with such soft, soul-searching eyes?

  Behind her she heard his coffee cup clink onto the counter. “Any other family? Or is it just you and your gran?”

  She almost dropped the spatula. Was he asking if they were the only two on the premises? And if she told him they were? What then? Why hadn’t she gotten a dog? A very, very big dog, with sharp teeth and a protective instinct?

  She flipped over the french toast. She didn’t have to answer that. He’d avoided one of her questions earlier. “What do you hope to do while you’re in town?” She removed the bacon from the grill and laid it out on a paper towel to drain the grease.

  He seemed to think on that for a bit. “I’m not sure. I thought I’d just see what happened when I got here. I don’t really have an agenda. Just intending to relax and spend some time thinking. Praying.”

  Praying?

  Something inside her eased. Perhaps it was the casual way he said praying, like it was a normal part of his everyday life. She loosed a breath. She was being silly. The poor guy was probably a choir boy, and here she was painting him with a serial killer brush.

  “Hey, you know, your breakfast is ready.” She’d never plated a meal so quickly in all her life. “If you’ll just follow me, I’ll get you a fresh cup of coffee. And there’s warm blueberry and apple compote in the dish on the table for your french toast. Or hot maple syrup if you prefer.” She set his plate down at the near end of the table and pulled out his chair with her other hand. Then motioned for him to take notice of the copper chafing dishes filled with syrup and compote.

  Jett felt strange being the only one at the table with her hovering over him. He’d obviously said something that upset her, but he couldn’t for the life of him figure out what it was. And had that been fear in her eyes when he’d rushed over to look at her burn? It certainly had seemed that way.

  Since he didn’t want to upset her more, he let her get him another cup of coffee, even though he would have been more than happy to do it himself. Finding another location in town that was less hands on, and maybe a touch more organized, was probably a good idea.

  She set his coffee beside him and stepped back, rubbing her hands together. “There’s a bell there.” She pointed to the brass bell next to his plate. “There’s plenty more food if you want it. So please just ring if you need anything and I’ll be right here. I’ll come back and check on you in a bit.”

  With that she left him on
his own. Could he be the only person staying in the entire place? Glancing around, he realized there were no other settings at the table. He must be the inn’s only guest.

  His stomach rumbled appreciation. More food for him. He scooped warm apple-blueberry compote onto his french toast and drizzled some maple syrup over the top of that. He was going to have to run an extra three miles to work this off, but it would be worth it. It only took him a few minutes to polish off his plate. Wow, that was a good meal. He was starting to second guess his plans to find another place to stay. Her cooking made up in spades for any other inconveniences. His stomach begged for more. He eyed the little bell she’d instructed him to use. Did he even know her name? He tried to think if she’d said it at some point, but came up blank.

  At any rate, he wasn’t going to ring a bell. He was perfectly capable of carrying his plate to the kitchen and begging the angel for more food on his own two feet, thank you very much.

  He headed for the kitchen but froze outside the doorway at the sound of a gravelly female voice.

  “Don’t eat any more of that. You are going to get fatter. Then you’ll never get Dale back. Besides, you burnt it.”

  Likely the grandmother Angel had spoken of. Fatter? Angel was barely over a hundred and fifteen pounds, if he was any judge. Not that he was judging. He was heading back to Florida in a few short weeks once he got his life figured out, so there wasn’t any room for thoughts about a woman.

  Angel sighed. “I don’t want Dale back, Gran. I wasted enough years dating that man. He was a cheat and a liar.”

  Jett winced at the pain in her voice.

  The older woman made a sound of displeasure. “You should have married him. He might be the best man you will ever get. We need someone to support us.”

  Silverware clattered onto a plate. “I’m going to support us, Gran. And if it means not having to deal with someone I can’t trust, then I’m fine with never having another man to take care of me.”