A Bride Until Midnight / Something Unexpected. Wendy Warren

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СКАЧАТЬ One mother, two stepmothers and too many grandmothers, aunts and family pets to count. Action-adventure or horror?”

      She laughed at the awkward segue. “I live alone in a hundred-and-twenty-year-old inn. Definitely not horror.” It was her turn to ask a question. She took her time deciding which one. “Crime dramas or reality TV?”

      “Could I get another choice here?”

      “You don’t watch much television?” she asked.

      He made a sound universal to men through his pursed lips. “Three hundred channels and there’s still nothing on half the time.”

      She looked up at him and smiled, for she’d often thought the same thing.

      “See what I mean?” he said, his voice a low croon befitting the dark night. “We have a lot in common. We’re practically soul mates.”

      She wished she could blame the warm swirl in the pit of her stomach on the lateness of the hour or the wine. “Out of all these questions,” she said, “we’ve found only one thing we have in common. I don’t believe in soul mates.”

      His gaze went from her eyes, to her lips, to the base of her neck where a little vein was pulsing. He folded the towel over the edge of the sink and got caught looking at her lips again. He didn’t pretend he didn’t want to kiss her. And yet he waited. A man who had enough self-confidence to want a woman to be sure wasn’t an easy man to resist.

      A gentle breeze stirred the air. Somewhere a night bird warbled. Moments later an answering call sounded from across the river. Summer didn’t recognize the bird-song, but she understood the language of courtship. It seemed to her that birds had a straightforward approach to life. They built a nest in the spring, raised a brood and, as if guided by some magical internal alarm clock, they gathered in flocks and flew south to a tropical paradise for the winter, only to return and start all over again in the spring.

      Summer had started over once. She never wanted to do that again, which brought her right back to where she and Kyle had started. Whatever this was, be it a date interview or simply a pleasant interlude, it was ending. It had to.

      Taking a deliberate step back, she said, “Good night, Kyle.”

      He handled the mild rejection with a degree of watchfulness and his usual charm. She wasn’t expecting the light kiss. Little more than a brush of air, it was over by the time she’d closed her eyes. The dreamy intimacy lingered as he walked to the door.

      “Thank you for the midnight snack,” he said quietly, “and for having a sunset personality.”

      She smiled. And he was gone.

      It was a few minutes before Summer’s heart settled into its normal rhythm. Occasionally Madeline used to join her in the kitchen late at night. Kyle was the only man who ever had. Strangely, his presence hadn’t been an intrusion. Without even trying, he’d made her feel understood. Kyle Merrick would make a good friend.

      He would have been a good lover, too. Of that, she had no doubt. All things considered, his middle of the night visit had gone well. He seemed to have accepted the limits she’d set. It was a relief, and yet, with every swish of the drawstring at her waist and every rustle of the fabric at her midriff, she was reminded of what she was missing.

      She stuck her hands on her hips and huffed. She supposed there was always the next best thing.

      On the counter sat the uncorked bottle of wine and the bowl containing the remaining crème brulee. She pushed the wine out of the way and reached for a spoon.

      Friday morning dawned cloudy and gray. The temperature had dropped overnight and the barometric pressure had been on the rise ever since. Spring had returned to Orchard Hill.

      Seven of Summer’s eight guests had shuffled to the breakfast table groggy or grumpy or both, adversely affected by the atmospheric change. Kyle was the last to amble downstairs. Looking surprisingly rested and amiable, he took a seat at the long dining room table as she was clearing away the place settings of five men who’d already left for their day’s work restoring the train depot.

      “Good morning,” she said, as she did to each guest every day.

      “Morning,” he answered. “Beautiful day, isn’t it?”

      The last two remaining carpenters looked askance at him. When thunder rumbled an exclamation point disguised as weather, Kyle had the grace to counter his sunny outlook with, “Easy for me to say. I’m not being forced to work in it today.”

      With a few grumbles, he was forgiven.

      “Coffee and juice are on the sideboard,” she said. “I’ll be right back with your breakfast.”

      Kyle was alone at the table with his coffee when she returned with his plate of crisp bacon, whole wheat toast and a stack of piping hot pancakes. In a separate bowl was a generous serving of fresh strawberries sans crème brulee.

      “Have you already had breakfast?” he asked.

      She thought about the slice of toast she’d eaten two hours ago while the bacon was frying and answered simply, “Yes.”

      “A cup of coffee, then?” he asked.

      Summer had hit the snooze button once, and then she’d hit the floor running. She hadn’t slept well the previous night, and, after only three hours last night, sleep deprivation was catching up with her. Caffeine sounded wonderful. In fact, she could have used a direct IV line of the stuff. She went to the sideboard and poured herself a piping hot cup.

      It wasn’t unusual for her to have a cup of coffee with a guest. Her boarders all happened to be men this month, but that wasn’t always the case. Sometimes families stayed here. Throughout the year, groups of women came for girlfriends’ weekends of wine tasting and shopping and marathon chick flick rentals. Summer’s mainstay came from sales reps and other men and women employed by companies with projects too far away for a reasonable commute.

      She sipped her coffee while Kyle dug into his breakfast. They talked about everyday things. He told her about a book he was reading, and she relayed a funny story from a former guest. Out of the blue, he asked her if she’d ever been married.

      She looked him in the eye and with complete honesty said, “No, have you?”

      He offered her a pancake before he drizzled the stack with syrup. She took it and daintily ate it with her fingers while he explained why he’d never married.

      She was laughing by the time he summed it up. “Women are complicated.”

      “And men aren’t?” she asked.

      Cutting into his stack of pancakes, he said, “I’d be happy to explain the differences to you, but I have to warn you, it’s not a topic for sissies.”

      Somehow she believed he was only half joking. In a like manner, she said, “I’m fairly certain I can handle it.”

      He seemed to be enjoying the opportunity to share his expertise. The man obviously had a playful side to go with his voracious appetite. The pallor she’d glimpsed yesterday was less noticeable this morning. His eyes crinkled at the corners, as green and changeable as the weather. He hadn’t bothered to shave. The stubble on СКАЧАТЬ