Inn at Last Chance

by Hope Ramsay

  Clay was still standing in the threshold of the living room giving Mr. Raintree and Bear the once-over.

  “Clay, those boxes of linens should go upstairs in the hallway. Just drop them there and I’ll take care of the rest,” Jenny said.

  “Gabe?” Clay said, continuing to stare at the man. “I heard you were back.”

  Mr. Raintree blinked a couple of times. He still looked kind of sleepy. “Do I know you?”

  Clay shrugged. “We used to play together when we were kids. You were a year younger than me, and I remember teaching you how to catch a bullfrog one time for the Easter frog jump.”

  Mr. Raintree shook his head. “I don’t remember that.”

  Clay shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. Welcome back.” He turned toward Jenny. “Upstairs in the hall?”

  She nodded, and Clay headed up the stairs, the sound of his footsteps thudding through the house.

  Kyle came through the door carrying a box marked “Jenny’s closet,” and Bear started barking again.

  “Bear, sit,” Mr. Raintree commanded. The dog obeyed. And it occurred to Jenny that Mr. Raintree was used to having people obey his commands.

  “Where does this go?” Kyle asked.

  “Oh, that’s my personal stuff. Take it down the hall to the back—”

  “Upstairs,” Mr. Raintree interrupted. He turned toward her with one of his half smiles. It looked kind of rough and ready in his sleep-wrinkled face. “Don’t you remember, we decided last night that you were sleeping upstairs?”

  She tried not to grind her teeth. She remembered him trying to use his ankle as an excuse. And she’d decided she wasn’t going to let him get away with that. But now, looking at him, she realized that it would be a mistake to fight with him. She would lose. Besides, he was her guest, and the Rose Room was much nicer than the room right off the kitchen. So she should enjoy it for the time being.

  She turned toward Kyle. “Put all the boxes marked personal up in the Rose Room. It’s the bedroom in the back of the house, you’ll know it by the wallpaper.”

  She turned back toward Mr. Raintree, intent on suggesting that, since he had won the fight over the first-floor bedroom, he should plan on sleeping there at night and not in the recliner. But she held her tongue when she found him staring at the TV as if he’d seen a ghost. His face had gone sheet white.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “That’s just not right.”

  “What?”

  “I was playing Legend of Zelda last night when I fell asleep. But the game cartridge in the machine right now is Final Fantasy. Did you change it?”

  “No. I just walked in. You can ask Clay or Kyle. Maybe you forgot or changed the games in your sleep. Or maybe the system isn’t working right, because when I first came into the room, it looked like it was on demo mode or something.”

  “Demo?”

  “It seemed to be playing all by itself.” She glanced at the TV, which now displayed the menu asking if the player wanted to load a saved game or start a new one.

  Mr. Raintree picked up the controller and clicked through the menu. “That can’t be,” he muttered. His hands were trembling a little, and Jenny wondered if perhaps Mr. Raintree had been overdosing on his meds.

  “What can’t be?” she asked.

  “Look at the date for the last save.” He pointed a finger at the screen. “The game was saved just a few minutes ago.”

  A wariness prickled her backbone. “That’s odd, isn’t it? A few minutes ago you were fast asleep.”

  He gave her a laser-beam stare. “Exactly. But it’s worse than that. Someone played my brother’s last game. See the initials?”

  “LER?”

  “Lucas Edward Raintree. Last night when I hooked up the game and first turned it on, the save date for that game was twenty-five years ago. Luke played that game the morning he was shot. I took the game cartridge out of the system. I didn’t want to touch Luke’s last game. Last night, I played an entirely different game.”

  “What are you suggesting, Mr. Raintree?” Jenny said.

  “Someone came in here and put the Final Fantasy cartridge in the game, loaded Luke’s last game, and played it. Since it was saved just a few minutes ago, whoever did that has to be here in this house right now. And that person has to be someone Bear knows, otherwise he would have barked.”

  He looked up at her, his dark brow lowering into a troubled scowl.

  “Mr. Raintree, I did nothing to your game. I just arrived. And if you don’t believe me, you can ask Clay and Kyle.”

  “Both of them entered the house after you did. Bear barked at them.”

  He continued to stare for a long moment, then shook his head and looked down at the dog. “Come on, Bear, let’s go take a walk.” His voice sounded rusty and overlaid with some emotion that Jenny couldn’t quite fathom. He snagged his cane from the floor and headed out the open front door in his uneven gait, the dog following obediently at his heel.

  He was more than merely moody, she realized. Something deep and dark was troubling her boarder. He might be self-medicating, or hallucinating, or something strange. Yesterday she might have argued with him about his accusation, but not today. Today she realized that Gabriel Raintree was alone and troubled. He needed help and support, not an angry tongue.

  She made up her mind, right then, that she’d stop fussing at him and dedicate herself to being the innkeeper she wanted to be. If she could take care of a grumpy, troubled person like Mr. Raintree, then she truly had a calling for this life she’d chosen.

  And hadn’t she decided to run an inn because she wanted the company? Well, here he was. Her first guest. And he needed company maybe even more than she did.

  Bear headed out into the big rhododendrons, sniffing around, marking his territory. While the dog took care of business, Gabe folded his arms against his chest and watched the big dudes moving Jenny’s boxes into the house.

  He was uneasy about her moving in. Something wasn’t right. Someone was messing with him—someone Bear knew, someone local.

  All the rational evidence suggested that it was Jenny. She was the only one who could have changed the game and saved it moments before he awakened. And she could have come into his room and deleted his files and written that message about ghosts. She and Zeph were the only two people who could get past Bear.

  So she had every opportunity, but what possible motive did she have? Unless she was some kind of psycho, there wasn’t one blessed reason for her to be playing with him. He did not, for one minute, believe she was a psycho.

  But he’d been fooled before.

  Bear returned to his side, and he buried his hand in the dog’s mane. Bear leaned into him, giving him love without any conditions. If only people were more like Bear, the world would be a happier place.

  He let go of a mournful sigh. He needed to take a shower and get back to work.

  He and Bear headed back into the house, dodging the guys with the boxes. The dog knew that Jenny controlled the food, so Bear made a beeline into the kitchen where she was unpacking an incredible number of cartons.

  Gabe watched for a moment as she spoke to the dog like a woman speaking to a baby. Bear soaked up the love, and then he gobbled up the bowl of kibble she put down for him.

  She looked up from the dog and startled. “Oh, Mr. Raintree, I thought you’d gone back to your writing. I’m sorry about the noise, but Kyle and Clay will be finished shortly, and I promise I’ll try to be as quiet as I can so you can work. But I need to get these things put away as quickly as possible.”

  “It’s all right, and I wish you’d quit calling me Mr. Raintree. It’s Gabe.”

  “Oh. All right then, Gabe.” She seemed so awkward and maybe a little flustered. She pushed her big owl glasses up her nose. Her hair was up in its usual sloppy-looking bun, and tendrils of slightly curly hair framed her face. She was wearing one of her navy blue sweaters, a white turtleneck, and a pair of the baggiest jeans he’d ever seen.
r />   She looked wholesome. She looked like a breath of spring air. There was not one thing sinister about her, or even remotely crazy. She seemed sane and stable and real in a way that so many people never managed to achieve.

  He was ruling her out as a suspect. And if she was ruled out, the only other possibility was Zeph Gibbs. And Gabe had no trouble believing that Zeph was a few cards short of a full deck.

  “Uh, I know you don’t like sweets in the morning,” Jenny said, breaking into his bleak thoughts, “but is there something I can make you for breakfast? I make a mean egg-and-cheese casserole.”

  He shook his head. “No, I like my Cheerios, thanks. And don’t trouble yourself. I can deal with cereal on my own. I’ll try to stay out of your way.”

  “Oh, that’s all right. I’m just working on recipes for when the inn is open. And it wouldn’t be any trouble at all to cook—”

  “I don’t need you to cook for me.” His voice sounded gruffer than he intended. He probably should tell her the truth about the diabetes, but that was something private—something he didn’t share with people.

  A truly fetching blush crawled up her cheeks. She looked rosy, and for a moment he glimpsed the passionate person who hid behind those horrible sweaters. “I’m sorry. I won’t ask again,” she said, looking away.

  “I like Cheerios,” he found himself saying.

  “Oh.”

  “Really, it’s a favorite.” Could he be more inane? It was time to retreat, before he let her know the entire sordid story of how they’d discovered his disease a month after his grandmother died.

  “I’m sure it is,” she said with a nervous smile. “If you like Cheerios in the morning, that’s just fine, Mr. Raintree. And I promise, I’ll try to be extra quiet as I unpack. Oh, and I’m having a guest for dinner tomorrow night at about six-thirty. I would be pleased if you would join us for dinner. You don’t have to sample the pie if you don’t like sweets.”

  “A guest?”

  She nodded. “Reverend Lake, the Methodist preacher. He’s new in town.”

  She was having dinner with a preacher? Alone? He disliked that idea more than he wanted to admit. He recognized this feeling. He was getting possessive of her, and that wasn’t a good sign at all. He’d felt that way once before, and it had proved to be the biggest mistake of his life.

  For Jenny’s sake, he ought to turn around and go back into his writing cave and stay there and not come out until spring.

  But instead he found himself saying, “I’d be delighted to join you and the preacher for dinner.”

  CHAPTER

  10

  Sabina and Maryanne arrived at Jenny’s door at precisely five-thirty on Wednesday afternoon, just as Jenny was popping the apple pie into her baker’s oven. The roast chicken that she planned to serve was in the second oven, and Jenny was in Heaven over the fact that she had two ovens she could use at the same time.

  The rest of her meal was staged and ready: Her macaroni-and-cheese casserole had been put together and only needed to be warmed. She had okra and stewed tomatoes simmering on the stove. The rice and corn bread would come last.

  Out in the dining room, she’d unpacked all of Mother’s Blue Willow china and her table was set with Mother’s best linen tablecloth, the one with the lace insets that had been reserved for special occasions. Teri Summers, the new florist at Last Chance Bloomers, had sent up a beautiful arrangement of Japanese irises that sat in the middle of the table in a low cut-glass bowl, surrounded by three of the four Fostoria etched water goblets that Jenny had purchased at Sabina’s antiques mall late last year.

  She was ready for the preacher.

  Or so she thought until Maryanne and Sabina marched themselves into her kitchen. Sabina carried a gigantic tote bag filled with what looked like a set of hot rollers. Maryanne carried little Joshua, who was all bundled up even though the temperature outside was pushing sixty. He looked red-cheeked and sleepy-eyed, as if he’d just awakened from a catnap in his car seat.

  “Look at you, you’re a hot, sweaty mess,” Sabina said in a big voice that was sure to disturb Mr. Raintree—Gabe.

  “Keep your voice down. Mr. Raintree is writing.” She rolled her eyes toward the back bedroom that opened right off the kitchen. The yellow sticky note was still adhered to his door.

  “Why is he in your room?” Maryanne asked as she peeled off Joshua’s winter jacket.

  “Mr. Raintree’s ankle is injured. Letting him sleep downstairs seemed appropriate.” Jenny decided that her cousin and friend didn’t need to know how she’d shamefully argued with him about the room. She felt bad about that, suddenly.

  “Oh,” Sabina said, “that was nice of you.”

  “What are you doing here?” Jenny asked. “The preacher’s due in an hour.”

  “Exactly,” Maryanne said.

  “Exactly what?”

  Sabina gave a dramatic eye roll. “You aren’t going to greet him wearing an old-lady apron, a floppy sweater, and jeans, are you?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Okay, please don’t tell me you’re going to go take a shower and put your wet hair up in a bun and put on one of those shapeless April Cornell dresses that you love so much.”

  “What’s wrong with April Cornell?”

  “Nothing if you want to remain a spinster. C’mon, I’m taking you upstairs to help you get dressed. I enlisted Maryanne to keep an eye on your dinner, since Lucy has a big date tonight with Ross Gardiner. So it’s not like I could stay home and watch her getting ready, you know?”

  “Sabina, you need to move on,” Jenny said. “I mean Ross is with your sister, you know? It’s slightly icky for you to have a crush on him. And I know you love Lucy and wouldn’t ever want to hurt her.”

  “Yeah, I know. But it was easier to come here and fix you up than to sit around listening to Lucy talking about how tonight’s the night Ross is going to propose. So I enlisted Maryanne, and she agrees with me that you need to make a few changes.”

  “But—”

  “It’s okay,” Maryanne said. “I’ll make sure the pie comes out when the oven timer dings.”

  “And the chicken, too. I have two ovens.” Jenny’s voice sounded a tiny bit frantic to her own ears.

  “Yeah, I got it. You want me to put in the mac and cheese?”

  “No, I’ll put it in. It shouldn’t go in until six anyway.”

  “Maryanne,” Sabina said with authority, “you are deputized to put the mac and cheese in the oven at six and start the rice at six-fifteen. Because Jenny, honey, it’s going to take more than half an hour to get you ready for Timothy Lake.”

  Sabina reached into her tote bag and pulled out a bottle of wine. “Maryanne, you can also open this up and let it breathe.”

  “Wine?” Jenny’s voice squeaked. “But I don’t have any Fostoria wineglasses.”

  “Oh, my God, Jenny, just put out two of your everyday glasses. Honestly. He’s a preacher. He’s not going to judge you if your wineglasses don’t match your water goblets. Just remember that no woman gets an orgasm from a shiny kitchen floor.”

  “Since when do you quote Betty Friedan?” Jenny said. “And besides, that quote, as Wilma will tell you, is all about how a woman needs to be herself. So you’ve made my point in spades.”

  Sabina let go of an exasperated sigh. “Jenny, have you ever had an orgasm?”

  Her face flamed. She had experienced orgasms, and her pursuit of them as a young woman had been the biggest mistake of her life. “I’m not going to answer that.”

  “Right, so screw Betty Friedan and Wilma, too. I’m here to tell you that if you took half as much time on yourself as you lavish on your house and table settings…” Her voice trailed off when she finally found the wineglasses. She picked up two plain stems and started toward the door to the dining room. “… you’d be a happier person, and you might just know what you’re missing in the orgasm department.”

  “I can’t believe we’re having this discussion,” Je
nny said, “and I need three wineglasses, not two.”

  “Three?” Sabina’s eyebrows arched.

  Jenny shrugged, her face flaming even hotter than it had when Sabina had asked that doozy about orgasms. “I, uh, invited Mr. Raintree for dinner.”

  “You what?”

  “I invited Mr. Raintree.”

  “But this was supposed to be—”

  “Look, he’s a guest in the house, and I wasn’t going to make a dinner and not invite him. Especially since he doesn’t ever ask me to make him breakfast, and he’s always going out to the woodpile and getting his own wood.” And he thinks I tampered with his Nintendo for some nefarious reason.

  “I thought you said he had an injured ankle,” Maryanne said as she swayed back and forth, the baby resting his downy head on her shoulder. Maryanne hadn’t known Jenny for more than a few weeks, but it was uncanny how the girl could see right through her BS.

  “He limps to the woodpile,” Jenny said. It was a completely idiotic thing to say. And it didn’t help that her words elicited a little smile on Maryanne’s face, and a mad-as-heck scowl on Sabina’s.

  “I don’t believe this. I worked so hard to set this up and—”

  “Wait just one moment.” Jenny interrupted Sabina before she could say something Jenny didn’t want to hear. “I know you mean well, but the thing is, Sabina, I’ve decided that being an unmarried woman is liberating. I don’t have to worry about my hair or the dresses I wear or how I look. I can be free to invite people to dinner and just cook for them, without expecting anything in return. And if I want to lavish attention on the details of my table settings, it’s only because I love doing that, not because I’m worried about what anyone will think of me.

  “I’m tired of trying to cook my way into a man’s heart. It doesn’t work.”

  Sabina put the wineglasses on the counter, took Jenny by the shoulders, and looked her right in the face. “Honey, I’m just here to help you out. You’d be so pretty if you did something with your hair and put on something other than a gunnysack.”