Carolina Mist (37 page)

“Why…”
Belle blinked, absorbing the news. “Why, yes. Yes, of course. How clever of him.”

“Don’t give him credit he doesn’t deserve,” Abby told her as she raced to the front door to let Naomi in. “It was Sunny’s idea
…”
Her
voice trailed down the hallway.

“Whosever.” Belle waved a hand in the air signifying that it didn’t really matter whose idea it was. It was perfect.

“
Don ’t you think so, dear?”
Belle said aloud to the empty room.
“
Well, of course, but they will be, I am certain, perfectly nice strangers, or Alexander wouldn’t be bringing them home. Oh, yes, this could work.”
Belle’s little fingers
tapped an increasingly merry tune on the enameled top of the kitchen table.
“We’ll both have to do our part to help, of course. Yes.”
She tilted her head as if listening to a voice only she could hear.
"Yes, this could be fun. It could, indeed
…”

B
y the time Alex pulled in the driveway, the Primrose Inn was as ready as it would ever be to receive its first guests.

Naomi had cut armfuls of flowers from her garden and had set up a workplace for herself on the back porch, where she sorted flowers and greens to grace the house and fill it with fragrance, thereby unwittingly creating the ambience for which the inn would become known. The washbasins in the guest bedrooms overflowed with dried hydrangea from Naomi’s stash from the previous year, and the bedside tables highlighted vases of colorful tulips which perfectly accented the faded hues in the old quilts that covered the beds. Huge bowls of heady-scented peonies of deepest red transformed the front hallway into a cheerful reception room, and a carefully crafted centerpiece of vines and flowers and herbs graced the dining-room table.

“Dessert!” Abby cried as she nearly collapsed on the back porch railing after scrubbing down the bathrooms and setting the table. “And
something for hors d’oeuvres…”

“Abigail, calm down.” Naomi spoke serenely from the opposite side of a tall display of forsythia which she was preparing to set right outside the front door, first impressions being
so
important. “Now, you do, as I recall, know how to make a pastry shell?”

“Of course, I do.”

“Then I suggest you go inside and make one. Umm, better make that two.”

“Do you have any thoughts on what I might fill them with?”

“As a matter of fact, I do.” Naomi grinned. “When I went back home, I took a few packages of last summer’s blackberries out of the freezer. They should be ready right about the time you will need them. And I called Colin and asked him to stop at Foster’s and pick up some whipping cream. So,
you just go on inside there and make a crust for your blackberry tart. There’s some cream cheese and a jar of homemade chutney on the counter and some herbed dip in the fridge. You can set them out with the wine—which is chilling alongside the dip—so your guests can have a few minutes to warm up for dinner.”

Abby stood drop-jawed and humbled as Naomi so calmly laid out before her the agenda.

“What, by the way, is the main course?”

Abby blanched, then panicked. “I
…
I don’t know. Alex just said to make potatoes and salad and dessert.”

“Then he must have something else in mind. If worse comes to worst, we can run down to Foster’s. He doesn’t close until six.” Naomi smiled brightly. “Now, go, girl. You have things to do.”

“Naomi, I don’t know what I’d do without you.” Abby spoke with all sincerity.

“Neither do I, sugar.” Naomi shook her head slowly, then smiled meaningfully. “Neither do I.”

41

A
bby was standing in her underwear, fresh from her shower, contemplating just what an innkeeper should wear, when she heard the sound of slamming car doors from below her windows.

“Damn,” she whispered loudly. “Damndamndamn.”

Dancing an anxious jig of sorts, she shimmied into a short denim skirt, pulled a long-sleeved ballerina-styled knit shirt with blue cornflowers over her head, and hastily slid into canvas espadrilles before fleeing down the steps, tying her hair back with dark blue ribbons as she went. Seeing her frazzled reflection in the hall mirror, she paused and took several deep breaths. It would not do for the innkeeper to appear unnerved at the sight of her guests. She
resumed her steps, more slowly now, toward the front door and prepared to open it just as it swung aside.

“Oh, here she is now,” Alex announced, all pleasantries as he led two couples into the front hallway. “Abby McKenna, this is Bob Conroy and his wife, Elaine, and Sue and Jeff Turner.”

Abby did her best to cast a wide smile as she extended her hand to her guests. “Welcome to
…” What had he called it? “…
the Primrose Inn.”

“This is lovely.” Sue Turner, a short, slightly pudgy woman with very short red hair and too-pink lips, looked over the length of the foyer. “And I just adore your wreath.”

“My wreath?” Abby frowned.
What wreath?

“The one on the front door. I just love grapevine. So homey.”

“Oh, of course. That wreath.” Abby made a mental note to steal a peek at whichever of Naomi’s creations she had loaned for the occasion.

“We’re so glad you could accommodate us on such short notice.” Bob Conroy’s bald head bobbed up and down as he pumped Abby’s hand.

“I ran into the Conroys and the Turners on the beach in Nag’s Head,” Alex told her in an offhand manner, as if this sort of thing happened every day. “The motel they were staying in lost part of its roof in the storm. They asked if I knew of a nice place to stay somewhere between the Outer Banks and Edenton.”

“When Alex told us that his
fiancée
had just opened a B&B, well, it just seemed to be fate,” Sue Conroy told Abby. “And I’m so glad he mentioned it. We’d never have found this charming little town on our own.”

His
fiancée
?

Ignoring Abby’s raised eyebrows, Alex draped an arm over her shoulder and gave it a squeeze.

“We’re certain you’ll enjoy your stay with us. Now, I would think you’d like to see your rooms. Abby, why don’t you show your guests upstairs while I take care of the fish
…
”

"What fish?”

“The one I caught. Right before the Conroys and the
Tu
rners came down the beach, I reeled in the biggest sea bass I ever saw. It will be perfect grilled.”

“We don’t have a grill,” she reminded him.

“Colin does.”

“Ummm. Grilled sea bass.” Bob smacked his lips. “I can hardly wait.”

“Well, then, let me show you to your rooms, and you can get settled. We’ll have dinner ready for you in half an hour.” Abby beckoned the foursome to follow her up the wide stairwell.

“Ah, actually, Ab, it may take a little longer than that See, the fish isn’t cleaned yet, and you know it’s been some years s
ince I last cleaned a fish…
”

“Why, Alex,
you
’
re
resourceful.” Abby turned on the steps with a smile that assured him that she enjoyed watching the tables turn. “You’ll figure it out.”

To the Conroys and the Turners, she said, “Dinner will be served at six.”

It was actually closer to seven when Abby seated the guests in the large dining room. Naomi’s homemade chutney, served over cream cheese with savory crackers and chilled white wine on the newly restored front porch, had been a huge hit, as had been the herbed dip. For that matter, the entire meal, she had to admit, had been pretty terrific. Alex’s grilled sea bass was perfect with the herbed potatoes and the salad put together with greens from Naomi’s garden. The blackberry tart was oohed and ahed over. Naomi had been right, Abby noted. One entire tart and part of the second were cheerfully devoured.

“How long have you been running your inn?” Elaine Conroy tucked a long blond strand behind one ear and peered over the top of her glasses, leaning back slightly to permit Abby to remove her dinner dishes.

“Ah, well, actually, I just inherited the property a few months ago.”

“Really? Well, one would think you’ve been doing this
forever. Dinner was excellent. The views of the river are gorgeous. All in all, I must say that this is one of the most charming inns we’ve visited.”

“You wouldn’t happen to have any small boats for little moonlit rides on the river? Even a rowboat would do.” Jeff Turner, stout and serious even as he contemplated a romantic row on the river in the moonlight, was apparently more of a middle-aged Lothario than his appearance implied.

“Not quite yet,” Alex interjected before Abby could open her mouth. “We’re still in the process of renovating the carriage house. Once it’s done, we’ll be able to bring in a few rowboats for our guests’ use.”

“Well, it’s just all too perfectly delightful,” Elaine marveled. “And you’ve just thought of every little thing. Those little sprigs of lavender on the bed pillows, for example. Just the right little touch.”

Sprigs of lavender on the bed pillows? Another little touch of Naomi?

“Abby, how many guest rooms do you have?” Elaine continued.

“Umm, we have four double rooms that are finished.” Abby mentally tallied up the work she had completed. “And several others I haven’t had a chance to work on yet.”

“Abby has done most of the renovations herself.” Alex’s pride in her accomplishment was unmistakable and genuine.

“Bob, you simply have to consider the Primrose for your managers’ retreat in the fall.” Elaine tapped her husband on the arm.

“Why, you’re absolutely right, Elaine.” He nodded. “It would be perfect. Assuming that we could use that big room out front”—he gestured toward the front parlor—“for a group meeting?”

“I’m sure we could accommodate you,” Abby replied as she removed dishes to the kitchen.
Listen to me. As if I
’
ll be in business come the fall.

“So, tell us, when is the big day?” Sue asked, accepting a cup of freshly brewed coffee from Abby’s hands.

“The big day?” Abby frowned.

“The last weekend in June,” Alex told them. “Abby
’s mother was a June bride…
right out there under that very rose arbor, wasn’t it, Ab?”

“Yes.” Abby eyed him warily. What kind of game was he playing?

“So I thought it would be special if we did the same thing.” He set the tray he was holding on the end of the sideboard and waited for her to react.

“And you’ll continue to run the inn after you’re married?” Jeff Turner asked Abby.

She found she could not respond. She was too focused on fighting off the urge to strangle him for inventing this fantasy merely for the sake of these strangers. Particularly when the fantasy so closely resembled the dream she had sheltered for so long. How dare he stand there so calmly spouting such bald-faced lies when
…
Abby’s heated brain caught up with Alex’s latest pronouncement. She turned on him fiercely, ready to blow the whistle on the charade, when she realized he was speaking directly to her, his words flowing softly to her alone, as if the others had faded somehow from the room.

“…
but I will be moving my law practice here to Primrose as soon as I wrap up the case I’ve been working on,” Alex was saying as he lifted a cup to fill it with coffee, his eyes still holding hers across the room. “I’m thinking I might renovate part of the carriage house to use as my office.”

Her shaking hands set the clattering cup upon the table. This was no charade.

“Good evening.” A smiling, congenial Belle—oblivious to the fact that she was abruptly breaking the spell her grandson sought to cast upon his beloved—appeared in the doorway, dressed outlandishly in a long skirt of purple, God only knew its genesis, and a multicolored shawl flung about her shoulders, incongruously draped over her prim little white blouse.

What in the world?

“Good evening,” the guests all murmured somewhat uncertainly.

“This is my grandmother, Belle Matthews.” Alex, too, was taken off guard.

“Now,” Belle asked brightly, her dancing eyes clear evidence that she was enjoying her self-appointed role as the evening’s entertainment, “who’d like to have their tea leaves read?”

A long silence followed, before Alex told her gently, “Gran, everyone had coffee.”

“Oh, dear.” She frowned, clearly disappointed that her efforts to make a contribution to the action were thwarted even as she was beginning to get into character.

“But I’d be happy to bring you some tea, Belle,” Abby offered, “and perhaps you could sit with our guests and chat for a few minutes.”

Abby turned toward the dinner table. “Belle has lived in Primrose all her life. I’m sure she would be happy to tell you anything you’d like to know about the town. Primrose, for example, was a stop on the Underground Railroad. As a matter of fact, this house and the one directly across the street, which was built by the family of Belle’s late husband, were part of the network.”

“Really? This very house?” Jeff Turner brightened. “That’s music to the ears of a history buff like me.”

“Oh, Primrose has a very rich history, as one might suspect from so old a community,” Belle said as she draped the awful shawl—where had she found
that
?—over the back of her chair. “Why, this house alone has seen so much. Now, the original section of this house was built, I seem to recall, in 1790 or thereabouts. Of course, it was added onto over the years
…
”

Belle’s voice trailed off as the kitchen door swung behind Abby, who ran the water for Belle’s tea.

“I’d say everything is going just right,” Alex announced in a whisper as he hugged Abby from behind. “Now, aren’t yo
u glad I… uh-oh…
” He studied the look on Abby’s face as she turned around.

“I think you have some explaining to do.”

“Don’t you want a June wedding, Ab? In the garden? By the arbor?”

“Alex…”

“I apologize for not properly asking you before I announced it to everyone else. I admit that was a little tacky.” He pulled a hand through the hair that had slid onto his forehead. “But it just all seems so right, Ab. You said once that maybe you’d start your own business. I kept thinking about Sunny’s suggestion. What’s wrong with this as a business? You’re a natural, and the house is perfect. Why go all the way to Dallas when everything you need is right here?”

“I admit the idea of turning the house into an inn has intrigued me since Sunny first suggested it. And I admit it could probably even be fun
…
although I do think we should do a little more homework before we hang out a sign. I mean, if the Board of Health finds out that we are running a restaurant without the proper inspections and permits
…
”

He laughed good-naturedly, sensing she was mere seconds away from telling him everything he wanted to hear. “I apologize for springing this all on you, but once I caught that fish and the Conroys showed up, it just all seemed so clear to me. And I really believed you’d love the idea of a B&B, once you gave it a try.”

“Well, I admit that the thought of leaving Primrose, now that it’s really a possibility, is making me ill. All this time, finding a job on the same level as the one I lost seemed so important to me. That’s what I thought was me. Now that it’s a reality, I’m not so sure. I just don’t think I’m the same person who left Philadelphia back in the fall. I’m not so sure that I want to be—that I
can
be—that person again. I love this house, and I love this town. I love Belle, and I love Naomi. I’ve never had a friend like her, and I never will again. The thought of leaving and not h
aving her in my daily life…
” Abby began to sniffle.

“What about me?” Alex asked.

Abby burst into tears.

“You love me, don’t you, Ab?” he asked softly.

“More than anything in this life,” she sobbed.

“Don’t you want to marry me?”

“It’s all I ever wanted.” She tried unsuccessfully to stem the flood of tears. “But look what you’d be giving up to move here. Big, high
-profile cases, hefty fees…
”

“So what?” He shrugged it off. “Abby, you’re not the only one who’s reevaluated things since coming back to Primrose. Being here has helped me put my feet back on the ground and brought the important things into a finer perspective. Things I thought I’d lost long ago, I’ve found again. I don’t want to lose them for the sake of doing hack work for clients I don’t really care about. I want to know the people I represent and care about whether I win for their sake, not for mine. I want to come home every night to the woman I love. Maybe sneak away from the kids every once in a while and steal on out to the carriage house. Maybe a little dance in the moonlight or a midnight swim from time to time.”