Love Inn (2 page)

A perfect specimen for her new hero.

Chapter Two

Ben jerked awake at the sound of the motion sensor. It emitted a dinging sound when an area was breached. Had he left the front door open? His heart pounded in his chest. He hadn’t meant to fall asleep. The paperback rolled off his chest as he rose.

He crossed the hall and started down the stairs when she came into view.

The first thing he saw was her hair, golden-red in the lamplight. It curled around her shoulders like tendrils of flames licking her white sweater and he swallowed hard at the way his body reacted.

“I’m terribly sorry to disturb your rest,” she said, voice rich and vibrant, full of an accent. “Might Miss Butler be awake? I was to have called before my arrival, but…”

“…No, it’s me that’s sorry,” he interrupted as he finished descending the stairs and tried not to gape at her height. She was very near eye level to him and he stood six feet in his stocking feet. “She doesn’t live here. She’s my assistant. The number she gave you was most likely mine. I’m Benton Jessup.”

She nodded, her smile lighting the depths of her sapphire blue eyes. She held out her hand for him to shake it and as he did, recognition struck him.

“Well, for crying out…you’re… Miss Beebe?”

The smile widened. “In the flesh, as they say.”

Embarrassment overcame him. He’d mixed up the day she was due to arrive or she had decided to travel his way early. He covered his chagrin by rolling into action. Scooping up her bag, he said, “You must be exhausted from your trip. Do you have more luggage?”

“Ah, in the car. No need to fuss about now,” she told him. “I’d really appreciate a nice cup of tea and my bed, if you please.”

Her accent was enchanting and he felt an odd urge to linger around her just to listen. The feeling unsettled him. “Sure. Coming right up. Follow me.”

He led the way toward the back of the house. “The kitchen’s the best room in the house, in my opinion.”

He excused himself to set her suitcase inside the doorway to the mudroom, easily retrievable once they were ready to go up the back stairs to where she would sleep. He grabbed a long-sleeved tee shirt from the dryer while he was nearby. A bit more presentable, he ambled in and caught her assessing the kitchen, every stone, brick, and log.

“Lovely. Rustic, and very romantic,” she said.

He moved to the other side of the mosaic-tiled island. He didn’t want to think about romance. Especially not at the suggestion of a woman who looked like she did, and made her living feeding it to her readers. “What can I get you? I have a few different types of beverages.”

She sat across from him, and neatly clasped her hands in front of her. “Tea. Hot, not boiling, and a bite of bread and cheese if you have it.”

“Black pekoe, and green. Or herbal. Honey wheat, white, or hard roll? Pepper jack, sharp or mild cheddar?”

She gave him one of those smiles again. This time he smiled back in spite of himself.

“Black pekoe with a drop of cream and a bit of sugar. Honey wheat, sliced if you have it. And I suspect mild cheddar with that will be splendid.”

He turned away to prepare the food and to collect himself. Something about this woman touched places he thought he had buried. He tried small talk to shorten the silence while slicing the square chunk of cheddar. “I understand you’re planning on writing another book while you’re here?”

“Yes. A tale woven and spun from the fabric of your wonderful Southern traditions,” she replied, her voice was soft and silky. “I imagine it will ooze with everything from your interesting accents to your love of the land.”

He finished slicing pieces from a loaf of bread he’d removed from the bread machine that afternoon and placed everything on a royal blue plate. He gave her a small stainless teapot filled with hot water and a teabag already steeping.

“Interesting accents? Well, I’d say you have that covered better than us,” he said, handing her a blue willow teacup and saucer. “Various Irish accents are much nicer.”

Her eyebrows went up a bit. “Have you ever been to Ireland, then?”

Bells went off in his head. He hoped his face didn’t blanch as white as he felt. “Yes. Once.” He began to move toward her bag.

“Will you ever go again?”

He was glad she couldn’t see his face. He tried to sound light-hearted. She was his guest. “Tomorrow maybe. Right now, I’m going to check on your room.”

And he strolled away, certain her gaze followed him, the amusement wrinkling the corners of her eyes.

###

Kitty watched the ripple of muscles play in his back as he disappeared up the stairs. The sight of him, bare-chested and apologetic had sent a strange ripple of attraction through her. He was wise to don a shirt.

She tried to concentrate on something else.

The kitchen, although entirely modern, maintained its sense of ruggedness. Pine beams ran the length of the ceiling, and French country designed tile decorated the wall between cabinet and counter. The red brick fireplace off the kitchen, in what was most likely a small dining area, completed the look.

Her love of simplistic country life sighed within her. She’d tried to make her home such a place, but it lacked something. She knew what it was but she wasn’t quite sure how to remedy the problem.

She glanced at the doorway where her host had gone.

Yes. One of him would spice things up nicely
.

She finished the light fare and tea, and followed Mr. Jessup up the short flight of stairs to a floor of three bedrooms.  He busied himself in the first one to the left—a charming room, lightly painted in a pale shade of purple with bright white trim.

It wasn’t the attractiveness of the room that took her eye, however. Ben Jessup stood near the wall, facing her with a lighter in his hand, lighting a candle. The faint flicker of the flame lighting the planes of his face.

Her first reaction was one of interest. A man performing domestic tasks was a novelty. The men she had grown up with in Ireland were far from domestically tamed. They tilled fields, tended animals, and more often than not, worked in a laborious job at a factory. The ones she’d been associating with since she’d become published were all totally business focused. Mr. Jessup was a nice contrast.

“Thank you for that,” she said.

He looked at her, head tilted slightly. “Sure. You’re paying in advance for a good long stay. I want to make you as comfortable as possible. If you need anything special, you know, for your meals or anything, just let me know.”

He moved away from the bed and placed the candle on the dark cherry dresser adorned simply with a white lace doily.

“And thank you again for the food. I was a bit greedy. I ate it all.”

He grinned as he passed her, and she saw the dimple, missed in every smile he’d given before. “You’re welcome. Sweet dreams, Miss Beebe.”

She didn’t turn to watch him leave.

But she wanted to very much.

###

When she woke in the morning, the sunlight slanted through mini-blinds, and spilled out onto the hardwood floor. She blinked a few times and rolled to her back. The down comforter had been encased in a scented duvet cover and she ran her hand over it. The linens were powder-scented as well, and created a wonderful dreamy nest in which she wanted to burrow deeper and return to the whispered world of sleep. But duty called and she wasn’t here for a ‘stay-in-bed’ sort of vacation.

She sat up and rubbed her eyes. Across from the bed was an oak desk with brass handles. A telephone sat at one corner and a pad and pen graced the other.  She slid to her feet and pulled the overnight bag to a white wicker rocker near the bed.  She dug around until she found her notebook.

Writing was always done in phases. Handwritten notes came first, then entry into her laptop followed, with final edits and revisions done last. She took her notebook and the pen from the desk back to bed. After fluffing up the pillows to a comfortable position, she spent a few moments free writing.

Time passed quickly and when she looked at the clock, over an hour had passed. She really wanted to see her host again to see if he looked as appealing over breakfast as he had near the midnight hour in the candlelight.

Her room had its own bath and she reveled in the hot water until she wrinkled. As she towel dried, she noted that many amenities of popular hotels had been placed in there—a hair dryer, complimentary soap, shampoo, and even lotion. The inn had everything.

She hummed softly to herself as she dressed in a soft pastel blouse and black slacks. Twisting her hair up into a ponytail, she placed silver hoops in her earlobes, a dab of mascara, and she was ready to greet the world.

Or at least, Himself.

He’d set out plates and silverware for breakfast at the tables set up in the dining room. She noticed the solitary iris he’d placed in silver vases on each table also, and smiled at his thoughtfulness.

She sat facing him, watching his every move. He stood at the stove flipping something that looked to be pancakes.

Her stomach grumbled at the wonderfully sweet scent of maple syrup warming nearby.

He hurried to the table and placed a plate of butter before her. “Good morning. Can I get you some coffee? Or do you want more hot tea?”

She thought a moment. “Coffee. Heavy on the cream, and sweetener if you have it.”

“Coming right up,” he replied, scooping up her plate. “It’s pancakes today and bacon if you want it.”

“Bacon, yes. Wonderful.”

His legs strained against the fabric of the faded jeans and she marveled again at his physique until he disappeared behind the island.

He returned to the table with a tray bearing a porcelain creamer, matching mug and saucer. Then he opened a door on the antique cabinet next to the fireplace and brought out packets of sugar and sweetener.

“Did you build this house?” she asked, curious to know more about him.

He nodded and went back to the stove. “Yes. Well, I had it built. I drew up the plans though my wife, Carla, added all the special touches.”

Disappointment filled her. “Where is your wife? I haven’t met her yet.”

He walked to the table with her plate. “She’s deceased. I live alone.”

She gazed at him. He was experienced at hiding his grief, but she was more experienced at seeing underlying emotions.  He would be an excellent hero, achingly flawed.

###

He poured water into the skillet and set it in the sink. His guest was finishing her second pancake and he knew she wouldn’t take a third.  The reminder of his missing wife had stung, but it hadn’t killed him. Not like it used to.

The good doctor had said time heals all wounds. Maybe he would learn to live with loss after all.

“Your associate, Miss Butler, is she on staff full-time?”

Ripped from his remembering, he replied, “Nikki? Oh no. She only comes in a few times a week. She lives in Memphis. She’s… a doctor. He didn’t know why admitting his sister-in-law was Carla’s physician seemed out of place, but it did. He waited for the usual question.

“Oh? What sort of doctor?”

There it was
.

He smiled a standard smile to hide the pain. “Cardio-Oncologist. She treated Carla during her bout with cancer before she died.”

“Oh.”

Small voice. Shock. Sorrow maybe
? He couldn’t tell from the way she looked down at her plate but he thought he saw her nod to herself. Time to change the subject.  “So, you think our little country place will make a good book?”

She sounded relieved. “Yes, I believe it will, Mr. Jessup. There’s history in this region I’m thinking. A bit of that and I’ll have a rousing tale.”

“Please call me Ben, and I don’t know much about history, but from what I hear from the gossipy ladies at the shop where I get my hair cut, there’s plenty of color.”

“Local color? How fabulous. We Irish are known for our colorful characters as well. We thrive on it.”

“Which is why you’ve written so many books with Irish people in it, I suppose?”

She grinned at him. “How did you know? Are you a romance reader, then?”

His cheeks burned. “Only yours.”

“I’m flattered, Mr…Ben.”

Before he could make a complete fool of himself, the door leading out onto the back porch opened and Nikki stuck her head in. “Is it too late to eat?” she queried, shutting the door quickly. “I’ve had all-night rounds with a patient at the hospital and I…”

She didn’t finish once she saw Kitty sitting at the table in the dining room.

“You must be Miss Butler,” Kitty said, standing and extending her hand. “Thank you so much for all you did to get me set up here. It’s a grand place.”

Nikki took the proffered hand. “You’re very welcome. We’re so happy to have you here.” She glared at Ben. “You should have called me.”

He shrugged. “Miss Beebe arrived late. Coffee?”

Nikki pulled out a chair across from Kitty. “Yes, strong and black. I’m beat and also starving, so dig up some more bacon and,” she sniffed at Kitty’s plate. “Pancakes? Great. I’ll have three.”