The Room with the Second-Best View (17 page)

He cast a meaningful glance toward the ceiling and their guest's bedroom. “And that would be a bad thing because…?”

“Oh, you.” Grinning openly, she pointed toward the bowl of raw eggs. “See if you can fish the shells out of there, please.” Her gaze took in his dress slacks and shirt. “Here. You'd better put on an apron first.”

He did as instructed, donning the apron she removed from a drawer. Normally he would have balked at the frills, but he'd seen Millie frown too often recently. If wearing a fancy apron kept her happy, he'd do it.

She opened the back door to let Rufus in. The creature bounded toward him to prance at his side, waiting to be acknowledged.

“Yes, I see you,” Al told the dog. “Good morning. I'm sure you've worked up an appetite chasing squirrels this morning.”

Satisfied with a word directed his way, Rufus trotted to his bed in the corner and settled in for his first nap of the day.

“Oh!” Millie whirled, eyes wide. “Here she comes. Quick, go serve her coffee. Tell her breakfast will be ready shortly.”

He would have argued that Millie could certainly handle a coffeepot, but then he saw that she'd fixed up a tray with the fancy silver coffee service that had once belonged to her grandmother. She certainly couldn't carry a tray one-handed, so he swallowed a grumble, picked up the tray, and headed for the dining room.

He arrived at the same time as Miss Hinkle, whose eyebrows arched as she caught sight of him.

“This operation is smaller than I thought,” she commented. “You not only act as butler and porter, you wait on the customers as well.” She approached the table to stand beside the high-backed chair where Millie had laid a beautiful setting of china, shining silver, and an embroidered napkin. Miss Hinkle stood beside the chair and gave him an expectant look.

Jaws clamped tight, Al set the tray down and slid the chair out for her. For an instant, he considered jerking the chair backward as she lowered her considerable bulk into it. An uncharitable impulse reminiscent of his sons when they were adolescents. He slid it neatly beneath her.

Another pointed glance, this time toward the coffee urn. Al stiffened. Was he to pour for her as well? Did the woman expect him to spoon-feed her too?

Silent, he filled her coffee cup and returned the silver urn to the tray, which he slid close enough to be within her reach.

“I hope this is real cream.” She pursed her lips, lifting the small silver pitcher. “Not that imitation stuff.”

Though he had no idea what Millie had provided, he matched her haughty tone. “Of course it is. Breakfast will be ready soon.”

As he turned to go, Rufus trotted into the room, his tail wagging in a friendly manner. He sauntered past Al, liquid brown eyes fixed on the visitor at the table.

“Ack!” A screech pierced the air, and Rufus skidded to a halt. “What is that?”

Al inspected the creature at his feet. “It's a dog.”

Her gaze snapped to his face. “I
know
it's a dog. But what is it doing here?”

“It lives here.”

Millie hurried into the room. “Is everything okay?”

Miss Hinkle extended an arm and pointed at Rufus, who for once was demonstrating a bit of sense and had remained statue-like at Al's side. “Mrs. Richardson, I trust you've taken precautions to keep the food preparation area clean and free of animal dander. I can't imagine what the health inspector said when he discovered that you have a creature given free run of the guest areas of the house.”

Al risked a glance at Millie. From her expression, he knew the same thought had occurred to both of them. They hadn't considered contacting a health inspector.

Millie answered smoothly. “Miss Hinkle, I assure you my kitchen is completely sanitary. After all, Justin has been my guest for the past nine months, and has eaten countless meals in this house. I'm sure he'll vouch for the cleanliness of the facilities.”

Brilliant move on her part to bring up the beloved nephew. Al awarded Millie an approving nod.

“Well.” She fixed a withering gaze on Rufus. “I really must insist that you keep that canine out of the dining room. Its presence will quite ruin my appetite.”

Though he may not have comprehended the words, the poor dog obviously picked up on the meaning. He turned and, tail drooping, slunk from the room.

Al followed, wishing that he, too, could be banned from the dining room for the duration of their guest's stay.

Chapter Twelve

S
usan rode in the backseat while Justin drove her car, glad for the space between her and Aunt Lorna. The cab of Justin's pickup wasn't big enough for the three of them, and of course his motorcycle wouldn't work. In fact, during the tour they'd given Aunt Lorna of their house, the sight of the bike in the garage had set off a twenty-minute harangue about the dangers of motorcycles and how she had barely slept a wink for three years since Justin bought his.

Their home had been declared, “Charming, if a bit cramped. When the children come along, you'll need to look for a more suitable place, of course.” She had fixed Susan with a knowing glance. “And you shouldn't wait too long. You never know if you might experience difficulties.” Which had sent heat flooding into Susan's face.

Since Aunt Lorna opted against attending church—“I'm far too exhausted to be put on display before the whole town my first day here”—they took her on a driving tour of Goose Creek. When they turned onto the northbound side of Main Street, Justin pointed out the Whistlestop Café on the corner.

“That's where we thought we'd go out for lunch after the ceremony. It's our favorite place in town to eat.” He pulled into the parking lot and leaned slightly over the steering wheel, peering at the deep, rough-wooded front porch.

“It doesn't appear to be very well attended,” Aunt Lorna said.

Seated behind her, Susan leaned toward the center of the seat to speak. “It's closed on Sundays. Most places in Goose Creek are.”

The elderly woman twisted around to give her a stunned look. “Closed on Sundays? But think of the business they're losing.”

“That's one thing I like about this place,” Justin said. “The town rolls up the sidewalks on Sundays. People take their day of rest seriously. It's not like Boston.”

“It certainly is not.” Judging from her dry tone, Goose Creek compared unfavorably to Aunt Lorna's hometown.

Susan felt the need to defend her adoptive home. “But most of the people are so caring. My afternoon receptionist's little girl spiked a fever late one Sunday night. She called Mr. Cardwell, who opened his drugstore and brought her some medicine.”

Her thin, overplucked eyebrows rose high. “The druggist made a home delivery?”

“Sure he did.” Grinning, Justin put the car in reverse. “He knew Alice wouldn't feel comfortable leaving a sick child at home, even for a few minutes. So he did the neighborly thing and took it to her.”

Aunt Lorna considered that in silence a moment, and then a frown appeared. “This place isn't at all suitable for a wedding reception. It's far too rustic.”

Justin, who was turned in the driver's seat to watch out the rear windshield as he backed up, caught Susan's eye. She hadn't known her aunt-to-be long enough to contradict her, so the task fell to Justin. She told him so in a meaningful look.

“You're probably right,” he told Aunt Lorna in his easygoing manner. “But we're not having a wedding reception. In fact, we're not really even having a wedding. We just want to go out for lunch with our family after a small, private ceremony.”

From her vantage point in the backseat, Susan could only see Aunt Lorna's face in profile. Disapproval radiated from her clenched jaw, and Susan was grateful not to be on the receiving end of her direct stare. Feeling cowardly, she planted her face against the glass and left Justin to deal with his formidable aunt.

They drove up Main Street, executed a U-turn at the intersection of Walnut, and headed down the opposite side. Justin paused to point out Tuesday's Day Spa, which he had worked so hard to update and remodel.

“An unusual shade for a storefront,” his aunt commented. A rather mild reaction, considering the source. Justin laughed. “It fits the owner perfectly. You should stop in while you're here and let her give you a massage.”

“Or a pedicure,” Susan added. It would be impolite to sit in the backseat and let Justin shoulder the entire responsibility of conversation.

“Perhaps I will. And that reminds me, I need to do some shopping.” A biting tone invaded her voice. “Obviously there's no suitable place in this town, Sunday or not.”

“There's a Walmart in Frankfort,” Justin suggested.

Laughter pealed through the car's interior. “Oh, dear boy, the very idea. I need a sturdy pair of
shoes,
not a toilet plunger. Apparently there's no public transportation system here, so I expect I'll be doing quite a bit of walking.”

Susan bit her tongue before a ready comment escaped.
Walmart has shoes too.
Aunt Lorna appeared to be the kind of woman who paid more for a pair of shoes than Susan spent on her entire wardrobe.

“There are a several shoes stores in Fayette Mall,” she suggested.

Aunt Lorna brightened. “There's a shopping mall nearby?”

“It's in Lexington, about a forty-minute drive,” Justin warned.

“But it's huge,” Susan said. “It's the biggest mall in the state of Kentucky.”

An actual giggle bubbled in the woman's throat, and she rubbed her hands. “Forty minutes is perfect.” She half-turned in her seat and settled her back against the door to peer at Susan around the headrest. “It will give me time to get to know my new niece better. And to discuss a few simple ideas I have about the wedding.”

She gave a broad smile, which Susan managed to return.

By the time they parked the car in front of Millie's house, Susan's feet hurt so badly she half considered putting in a call to Tuesday for an emergency foot massage. Aunt Lorna leaped out of the car and bounded up the porch steps with the energy of a six-year-old hyped up on Halloween candy.

Alone in the car for a moment, Justin turned around and looked at Susan. Though it did not seem possible, the love of her life had aged ten years in the span of six hours. The skin around his eyes sagged, his shoulders stooped, and he appeared to be having trouble keeping his eyes open. Even his hair seemed to have lost the strength to hold a curl and lay flat against his ears.

“What was so fascinating in that one store to keep her inside for an hour?”

“Cookware.” With an effort, she filtered the sharp edge of resentment out of her voice. At least he'd been able to rest after he collapsed on a bench in the center of the mall and refused to budge. Aunt Lorna wouldn't hear of Susan failing to accompany her while she inspected every single item in the nearly one hundred stores they visited.

“You mean like pots and pans?”

“Yes.” Susan gave into an open-mouthed yawn. “And cookie sheets and spatulas and canister sets and…” She flipped her fingers in the air. “Who knows what else? My eyes glazed over halfway through. I think she bought us one of everything in there. We're going to have to build an addition on the kitchen to hold all that stuff. Only don't tell her that, or she'll hire an architect to draw up blueprints.”