A Christmas to Die For. Marta Perry

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СКАЧАТЬ his mother had been right—but he couldn’t count on that. In any event, he’d understood what she’d wanted of him. The impossible.

      He started down the staircase, running his hand along the delicately carved railing. The downstairs hall stretched from front to back of the house. To his right, the door into the library where he’d registered last night was now closed. On his left, a handsome front parlor opened into another parlor, slightly smaller, behind it, both decorated with period furniture.

      He headed toward the rear of the building, where Rachel had indicated he’d find the breakfast room. He’d cleared his calendar until the first of the year. If he couldn’t accomplish what he planned by then, he’d put his grandfather’s farm on the market, go back to his own life and try to forget.

      The hallway opened out into a large, rectangular sunroom, obviously an addition to the original house. A wall of windows looked onto a patio and garden, bare of flowers now, but still worth looking at in the shapes of the trees and the bright berries of the shrubs. The long table was set for one.

      Voices came from the doorway to the left, obviously the kitchen. He moved quietly toward them.

      “…if I’d known, maybe I wouldn’t have opened my mouth and put my foot in it.” Rachel, obviously talking to someone about his arrival.

      “There was no reason for you to know. You were just a child.” An older voice, cultured, restrained. If this woman was hiding something, he couldn’t tell.

      A pan clattered. “You’d best see if he’s coming down, before these sticky buns are cold.”

      That was his cue, obviously. He moved to the doorway before someone could come out and find him. “I’m here. I wouldn’t want to cause a crisis in the kitchen.”

      “Good morning.” The woman who rose from the kitchen table, extending her hand to him, must be Rachel’s grandmother. Every bit the grande dame, she didn’t look in the least bothered by what he might or might not have overheard. “Welcome to the inn, Mr. Dunn. I’m Katherine Unger.”

      “Thank you.” He shook her hand gently, aware of bones as fine as delicate crystal. The high cheekbones, brilliant blue eyes, and assured carriage might have belonged to a duchess.

      Rachel, holding a casserole dish between two oversize oven mitts, had more color in her cheeks than he’d seen the night before, but maybe that was from the heat of the stove.

      The third person in the kitchen wore the full-skirted dark dress and apron and white cap of the Amish. She turned away, evading his gaze, perhaps shy of a stranger.

      “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Unger. I suppose your granddaughter told you who I am.”

      “Yes. I was very sorry to hear of your mother’s death. I knew her when she was a girl, although I don’t suppose she remembered me. I don’t remember seeing her again after she graduated from high school.”

      “Actually, she spoke of you when she talked about her childhood.” Which hadn’t been often, for the most part, until her final days. He’d always thought she’d been eager to forget.

      “I’m sure you’d like to have your breakfast. Rachel has fixed her wild-mushroom and sausage quiche for you.”

      “You can have something else, if you prefer,” Rachel said quickly. “I didn’t have a chance to ask—”

      “It sounds great,” he said. “And I’m looking forward to the sticky buns, too.” He smiled in the direction of the Amish woman, but she stared down at the stovetop as if it might speak to her.

      Rachel, carrying the steaming casserole dish, led the way to the table in the breakfast room. He sat down, but before he had a chance to say anything, she’d whisked off to the kitchen, to reappear in a moment with a basket of rolls.

      He helped himself to a fresh fruit cup and smiled at her as she poured coffee. “Any chance you’d pour a cup and join me? It’s a little strange sitting here by myself.”

      This time there was no mistaking the flush that colored her cheeks. That fair skin must make it hard to camouflage her feelings. “I’m sorry there aren’t any other guests at the moment, but—”

      “Please. I need to apologize, and it would be easier over coffee.”

      She gave him a startled look, then turned without a word and took a mug from a mammoth china cupboard that bore faded stenciling—apples, tulips, stars. It stood against the stone wall that must once have been the exterior of the house.

      Her mug filled, she sat down opposite him. “There’s really no reason for you to apologize to me.”

      Green eyes serious in a heart-shaped face, brown hair curling to the shoulders of the white shirt she wore with jeans, her hands clasped around the mug—she looked about sixteen instead of the twenty-nine he knew her to be. He’d done his homework on the residents of Three Sisters Inn before he’d come.

      “I think I do. You were being friendly, and I shouldn’t have thrown the fact of my grandfather’s death at you.”

      “I didn’t know.” Her eyes were troubled, he’d guess because she was someone who hated hurting another’s feelings. “We left here when I was about eight, and I didn’t come back until less than a year ago, so I’m not up on local history.”

      “I guess that’s what it seems like.” He tried to pull up his own images of his grandfather, but it was too long ago. “Ancient history. I remember coming for the funeral and having the odd sense that conversations broke off when I came in the room. It must have been years before I knew my grandfather had been killed in the course of a robbery.”

      She leaned toward him, sympathy in every line of her body. “I’m sure it’s hard to deal with things so soon after your mother’s death. Is there any other family to help you?”

      “I’m afraid not.” He found himself responding to her warmth even while the analytical part of his mind registered that the way to gain her cooperation was to need her help. “I hate the thought of seeing the farm again after all this time. It’s down that road I was on last night, isn’t it?”

      He paused, waiting for the offer he was sure she’d feel compelled to make.

      Rachel’s fingers clenched around the mug, and he could sense the reluctance in her. And see her overcome it.

      “Would you like me to go over there with you?”

      “You’d do that?”

      She smiled, seeming to overcome whatever reservation she had. “Of course. We’re neighbors, after all.”

      It took a second to adjust to the warmth of that smile. “Thanks. I’d appreciate it.”

      Careful. He took a mental step back. Rachel Hampton was a very attractive woman, but he couldn’t afford to be distracted from the task that had brought him here. And if she knew, there might very well be no more offers of help.

      The dog danced at Rachel’s heels as she walked down Crossings Road beside Tyler that afternoon. At least Barney was excited about this outing. She was beginning to regret that impulsive offer to accompany СКАЧАТЬ