A Bride Until Midnight

Sandra Steffen

Something Unexpected

Wendy Warren

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

Before you start reading, why not sign up?

Thank you for downloading this Mills & Boon book. If you want to hear about exclusive discounts, special offers and competitions, sign up to our email newsletter today!

SIGN ME UP!

Or simply visit

signup.millsandboon.co.uk

Mills & Boon emails are completely free to receive and you can unsubscribe at any time via the link in any email we send you.

A Bride Until Midnight

Sandra Steffen

Dear Reader,

As I write this letter, a song about going home again is playing on the radio. the lyrics call to me, for a few years ago my childhood home was nearly destroyed in a fire. By some lovely miracle, my parents got out alive.

Recently I had the pleasure of watching them as they celebrated a milestone anniversary. When asked to share the secret for such a long and successful marriage, my soft-spoken mother said, “divorce, never. Murder, maybe.”

Ah, the stuff of good old fairytales. It’s safe to say I came by my sense of humor and my determination naturally.

My parents couldn’t go home again after the fire, but I invite you to step into that feeling of homecoming with me as you begin my new series, Round-the-Clock Brides. Turn the page to read A Bride Until Midnight …

I hope you love every word.

Welcome home,

Sandra Steffen

About the Author

SANDRA STEFFEN has always been a storyteller. She began nurturing this hidden talent by concocting adventures for her brothers and sisters, even though the boys were more interested in her ability to hit a baseball over the barn—an automatic homerun. She didn’t begin her pursuit of publication until she was a young wife and mother of four sons. Since her thrilling debut as a published author in 1992, more than thirty-five of her novels have graced bookshelves across the country.

This winner of a RITA® Award, a Wish Award, and a national readers’ choice Award enjoys traveling with her husband. Usually their destinations are settings for her upcoming books. They are empty nesters these days. Who knew it could be so much fun? Please visit her at www.sandrasteffen.com.

For Denis & Mary Lou Rademacher,

two of the finest role models and

well-loved parents in the world.

Chapter One

Sheet lightning flirted with the treetops on the horizon as Innkeeper Summer Matthews started up the sidewalk of her inn. For a few seconds she could see the bridge over the river and the steeple of the tallest church in Orchard Hill. An instant later the starless sky was black again.

Directly ahead of her, The Orchard Inn beckoned. Nestled on a hill overlooking the river, the inn was just inside the Orchard Hill city limits. Built of sandstone and river rock, it was tall and angular and had a roof that looked like a top hat from here. The large windows, wide front walkway and ornate portico were welcoming. A single antique lamp glowed in the bay window on the first floor. Upstairs the flicker of laptops and televisions, modern technology in a 120-year-old inn, cast a blue haze on the wavy window panes.

Only one window remained dark.

Summer went in through the front door, the purling of the bell blending with the lively voices of her friends who were watching the front desk in her absence. She listened at the stairs for guests and checked the registration book on her way by. K. Miller, the last member of the restoration crew scheduled to begin work on the train depot first thing in the morning, still hadn’t checked in. Wondering what was keeping him, she followed her friends’ voices to her private quarters.

“You’re home early.” Madeline Sullivan, whose surprise engagement to Riley Merrick was the reason for tonight’s emergency wedding-planning session, was the first to notice Summer. Madeline’s blue eyes shone with newfound joy.

Chelsea Reynolds looked up from her laptop, and Abby Fitzpatrick turned in her chair.

Giving Summer a quick once over from head to toe, Abby said, “I saw the new veterinarian getting into his truck with roses and a bottle of wine. And you wore a dress, which means you shaved your legs. What are you doing home already?”

Summer went to the refrigerator for a Diet Coke before joining the others at her table. “Did you know that goats, when born, land on only three feet?”

There was a moment of silence while the others searched for the relevance in that little pearl of wisdom.

“Goats,” Abby repeated as Chelsea deftly plucked a blade of straw from Summer’s light brown hair.

“Do you have experience birthing goats?” Madeline asked.

“I do now.” She popped the top of her soda can and poured the cold beverage into a glass. “Nathan’s service called during dinner. One of the Jenkins’s goats was struggling to deliver. I went along on the emergency house call. The twins are fine, and the mother is resting, but I definitely shaved my legs for nothing.”

Madeline was a nurse whose blond hair and blue eyes gave her an angelic appearance. Blond, too, Abby wore her hair in a short, wispy style that suited her petite frame but camouflaged an IQ that rivaled Einstein’s. Chelsea had dark brown hair, a curvy build and a no-nonsense attitude. All three of her friends burst out laughing, and Summer couldn’t help joining in.

Looking at these women sitting around her table on this quiet Tuesday night, it occurred to her that when she’d arrived in Orchard Hill six years ago at the tender age of twenty-three, she’d been as fragile and wobbly as one of the Jenkins’s newborn goats. Madeline, Chelsea and Abby had befriended her, and in doing so, they’d held her up until she’d gotten both feet firmly underneath her. A year and a half ago, they’d all done the same for Madeline when her fiancé was tragically killed in a motorcycle accident. Now Madeline was standing on her own again, about to be married to the man who’d received Aaron’s heart.

“How are the wedding plans coming?” Summer asked.

“Amazing,” Abby said. “In ten days the most miraculous wedding of the century will go down in history right here in Orchard Hill.”

Summer wished Abby hadn’t worded it exactly that way. She wanted Madeline’s wedding to be a dream come true—nobody deserved this happiness more—but a wedding that went down in history would undoubtedly be high profile. The thought of that sent dread to the pit of her stomach.

She reminded herself that most people harbored a profound desire to be remembered for something, to leave their mark on the world. At the very least they wanted their elusive five minutes of fame.

Not Summer.

She’d already made her splash and a messy one at that. Not that anyone in Orchard Hill knew the melodramatic details of her former life. As much as she loved this town and the life she’d found here, she preferred her little secret to remain just that. Hers.

“I think we’ve done all we can do until morning,” Chelsea said. The official wedding planner, she closed her laptop.

The others gathered up their things, too.

Leading the little entourage out the door, Chelsea said, “We have the church, the reception hall, the caterers, the gown and the guest list. We still have to talk about music, flowers, table favors and Madeline’s vows, but we’re in good shape. Don’t you agree, Madeline?”

Summer wondered when Chelsea would notice that Madeline wasn’t listening. She wasn’t even following anymore. She’d stopped in the center of the courtyard and, as she often did, lifted her face to the dark sky.

“I want apple blossoms on the altar and no gifts,” she said. “I want a simple wedding.”

From across the courtyard, Chelsea said, “Apple blossoms on the altar will be lovely, and we can request no gifts. But a simple wedding with three hundred guests?”

“Two-hundred-ninety-eight,” Madeline said, blinking up at the starless sky. “Riley spoke with his brothers. They don’t see how they can possibly get out of their commitments on such short notice. They’ll both be out of the country for the wedding.”

“Two of the most eligible bachelors on the guest list aren’t coming?” Abby asked.

“Shoot,” Chelsea said at the same time.

It was all Summer could do to keep the relief from bubbling out of her. Kyle Merrick was Riley’s older brother and had grown up in Bay City on Michigan’s gold coast. He’d caused quite a stir when he’d gotten kicked out of his Ivy League college, but it was his exposé of a professor’s wrongdoing that gained him real notoriety. He’d accepted the formal apology from the university but turned his nose up at their invitation to return. With an attitude like his, it wasn’t surprising he’d become a nationally acclaimed journalist. As a newspaperman, he’d likely caught her exclusive the day she’d made the front page of the society section of every major newspaper on the eastern seaboard.

He wasn’t coming to his brother’s wedding. Summer couldn’t contain her happiness about that. It was all she could do to keep from performing cartwheels across the courtyard.

“Before you go,” Madeline called. “I want all three of you to close your eyes.”

Abby was the first to do as Madeline asked. Although Chelsea complained, she closed her eyes, too. Summer was still smiling when she finally acquiesced.

“Take a deep breath,” Madeline continued in her quiet, lilting voice that for a moment seemed almost otherworldly. “Now, slowly release it and draw in another. Relax. Breathe. With your eyes closed, picture the man of your dreams. Do you see him? Maybe he’s rugged and moody, or shirtless and sexy, or brainy and pensive.”

An image sauntered unbidden across Summer’s mind. No matter how many dates she accepted, or how much she enjoyed the attention of the rugged, earthy men of Orchard Hill, her fantasy man wasn’t clad in faded jeans or chinos. He was loosening the button on a fine European suit.

Champagne taste on a beer budget.

“Believe your paths will cross, and they will,” Madeline said. “I’m living proof. Now open your eyes.”

All four of them opened their eyes at the same time. They were still blinking when lightning flashed across the horizon. As if in answer, the lights in the inn flickered.

“The universe just sent us a sign,” Madeline whispered in awe. “Your lover is on his way.”

Summer didn’t know if Chelsea and Abby believed in Madeline’s prediction, but they got in Chelsea’s car without disputing it. Madeline had always been intuitive and romantic. Since she’d discovered wealthy architect Riley Merrick and had proceeded to fall in love with him, she’d become even more wise and serene. She believed in destiny and positive thoughts manifesting into positive results. And she believed the flickering lights were a sign.

Summer believed in the cantankerous electrical system in her inn. If that storm came any closer, a fuse would blow, and her lights would go out. There was nothing magical about it, she thought, after Madeline left, too. And the balmy breeze fluttering the loose gathers in her dress’s bodice wasn’t a prelude to a lover’s touch.

It was just the wind.

Tall and muscular, the man crossing Summer’s threshold watched her watching him. Although she couldn’t see his eyes clearly, she saw his bold smile.

Bold with a capital B.

There were times when a woman didn’t appreciate such over-confidence. This wasn’t one of them.

His chest was bare. Why, she didn’t know. He didn’t seem to care that he was dripping on an impeccably tailored, white shirt lying on the floor. He kicked it aside with the toe of one worn boot. Summer knew there was something incongruous about his attire, but this was her dream, and she was enjoying it too much to rouse herself enough to analyze the inconsistencies.

Thunder rolled, ever closer, the sound moving through the darkness, approaching as rhythmically and steadily as the man. And what a man—a long, lean paradigm of natural elegance, honed muscle and masculine intent. Apparently unaffected by the fury of the storm, he smiled as he leaned over her. She held her breath as she waited to be awakened with his kiss.

Thunder cracked right outside the window, and Summer jerked awake. She blinked. Floundered.

Where was she?

Rain pelted the windowpanes, and thunder rumbled again. As she ran her hand over the cushion beside her, her memory gradually returned. She’d curled her feet underneath her at one corner of the settee in the central foyer to wait for the last guest to arrive. She must have fallen asleep. Had she been dreaming? The details of the fantasy escaped her, but there was a yearning in her belly that reminded her how long it had been since she’d known a lover’s touch.

Darn Madeline and her silly predictions.

Summer squinted into the darkness. Darkness?

The lights had been on when she’d curled up with her magazine. The power must have gone out. Luckily she’d anticipated the likelihood of that and had put her candle lighter and hurricane lamp on the registration counter soon after Madeline, Chelsea and Abby left.

Now that she had her bearings, she padded barefoot to the desk where she easily located the lighter and removed the glass chimney from the hurricane lamp. She was in the process of lighting the wick when a fist pounded the door behind her.

She spun around, the lighter still flaming. Lightning blazed across the sky just then, outlining the dark figure of a man on her portico.

She reeled backwards.

“I’m here for the room,” he said, water sluicing off his rain slicker.

K. Miller, the missing carpenter, she thought. Of course.

With her heart still racing, she took her finger off the lighter’s trigger then turned down the wick of the lamp. “The power’s out,” she called, after replacing the globe.

“It went out with that last streak of lightning as I was pulling in,” he said loudly enough to be heard through her front door. “I don’t need electricity. All I need is a dry corner to crash until morning.”

She unlocked the door. Leaving him space to enter, she slipped behind the counter where she normally greeted guests.

There was something oddly familiar about the way he stepped over the threshold. Which was strange, because she was sure she didn’t know him.

Wet, his hair was the color of her favorite coffee, dark and rich and thick. His eyebrows were straight and slightly lighter than his hair, his eyes too shadowed for her to discern their color from here. A drop of water trailed down his cheek before getting caught on the whisker stubble darkening his jaw. He hung his jacket on the coat tree next to the door then started toward the desk.

Green. His eyes were green and so deep they shot a bolt of electricity straight through her. The atmosphere in the room thickened—desire at first sight. He must have felt it, too, because he wasn’t moving anymore, either.

“Are you the innkeeper?” he finally asked, dropping his duffel bag at his feet.

“Summer Matthews, yes. Welcome to The Orchard Inn.”

Maybe it was the lamplight. Maybe it was the late hour and the rain, but her voice sounded throatier and somehow sultrier in her own ears. If one of them didn’t put an end to this soon, clothes were going to start falling off.

“Everyone else arrived hours ago,” she said, taking a stab at normalcy.

He delved into his back pocket. It took her a little longer than usual to realize that he was probably fishing for his credit card so he could register.

She pushed the leather-bound book toward him and said, “As long as the power is out, my computer is, too. If you’d just sign the registry, we can settle up in the morning.”

He hurriedly wrote his name. Leaving the book open on the other side of the counter, he turned his attention back to her. That delicious warmth uncurled deep inside her again.

Well well well. Here she was having sexy thoughts about a rugged, earthy man who definitely was not wearing a two-hundred-dollar tie. There was hope for her yet.

“You’re in Room Seven.” She handed him a key, since the electronic key card wouldn’t work during a power outage, the number seven dangling from a metal ring. “Upstairs, to your right, then all the way to the end of the hall.”

He accepted the key and her venture back to decorum without saying a word. After picking up his duffel bag, he headed for the stairs.

“Wait,” she called.

He turned around slowly, his gaze steady and bold. Bold with a capital B.

Outside, thunder rumbled. Inside, lamplight flickered like temptation.

“Yes?” he asked.

“You’ll need this flashlight.”

He wrapped his fingers around one end of the light. The logical corner of her brain that was still functioning knew she was supposed to release her end now, but she couldn’t seem to do more than tip her head back and look at him.

He was handsome but not in a classical way. His features were too rugged for that, his jaw darkened with beard stubble and damp from the rain. His face was lean and angular, forehead, cheekbones, chin; his lips were just full enough to cause a woman to look twice. There was a small scar below his nose, but it was his eyes that caused a ripple to go through her. Something about him brought out a yearning to hold and be held, to touch and be touched.

He must have felt it, too, because his gaze delved hers before dropping to her mouth. From there, it was a natural progression to her shoulders, bared by her sleeveless dress, and finally to the V that skimmed the upper swells of her breasts.

He drew a slow breath, and it was as if they were both suspended, on the brink of taking the next step. If either of them made the slightest movement, be it a gentle sway or the hint of a smile, there would be no turning back.

She finally garnered the wherewithal to release the flashlight and step away. Giving herself a mental shake, she said, “I hope you enjoy your stay at the inn. Good night, Mr. Miller.”

She’d surprised him. No doubt a man with his masculine appeal was accustomed to a different outcome. But he didn’t press her. Instead, he turned the flashlight on and followed the beam of light up the stairs.

“It’s not Miller,” he said, halfway to the top.

“Pardon me?” she asked.

“My name isn’t Miller. It’s Merrick. Kyle Merrick.”

The thud of his footsteps had quieted, and his door had closed before Summer moved. Looking dazedly around the room, her gaze finally fell upon the open registration book. She ran to it and spun it around. By the light of the oil lamp she read the bold scrawl.

Kyle Merrick.

Oh no.

A few hours ago Madeline had said that neither of Riley’s brothers was planning to attend the wedding. So what was Kyle doing here?

Regardless of his reasons, the wealthy, world-renowned journalist with a nose for scandal and a penchant for stirring up trouble was spending the night right upstairs, and it was too late for Summer to do anything about it.

The Merricks were self-made millionaires. The jacket hanging on the coat rack was likely made in Italy. Kyle probably owned a closet full of European suits. No matter how far she’d thought she’d come these past six years, her taste in men hadn’t changed.

She’d been wildly attracted to him and had come very close to succumbing to the desire he brought out in her. There was no other way to describe the awareness that had arced between them. She couldn’t explain it, and she couldn’t deny that she’d felt it. A delicious current lingered even now. She had little doubt an attraction like that would have led to more passion than she’d experienced in a long time.

But he was Kyle Merrick.

And she was … well, Summer wasn’t her given name.

Chapter Two

Kyle Merrick’s Jeep Wrangler was equipped with the most advanced navigational system on the market, but he rarely turned it on. Relying on technology dulled a man’s natural instincts. Besides, it was more fun to use the sense of direction he’d been born with. It came in handy when he needed to find a way out of dicey situations in some of the world’s largest cities, poorest villages and, on occasion, women’s hotel rooms.

Locating the house where his brother was staying didn’t require navigational gadgetry, carefully honed skill or God-given talent. Once Kyle had narrowed it down to the general vicinity—east of the river and north of Village Street—Riley’s silver Porsche in the driveway had been impossible to miss.

Kyle parked the Jeep and got out. As he sauntered to the door, he noted his surroundings, something else that came naturally. This neighborhood was in an old section of Orchard Hill, but, unlike the residences on the national historic registry, the houses here were small and nondescript. This bungalow wasn’t Riley’s type of house at all. Which meant it was Madeline Sullivan’s.

Since there was no sense putting off the inevitable, he raised his fist and knocked on the door. A large, brown dog bounded outside the instant the door was opened.

While the dog took care of business on an unsuspecting hedge, the Merrick brothers faced one another, each carefully assessing the other.

Riley was the first to speak. “I wondered which one of you The Sources would send.”

Kyle grimaced because this did feel a little like a mission. He’d wanted Braden to come but had lost the toss.

He and his brothers had a father in common and three separate mothers. It accounted for the similarities in their height and build and the differences in their eye colors and personalities. They hadn’t always gotten along, but they’d always been a united front when it came to their mothers, otherwise known as The Sources. In this instance, Kyle didn’t blame them for being concerned about Riley’s recent, hasty engagement.

Apparently Riley understood that this confrontation was inevitable. He threw the door wide and said, “You might as well come in.”

Kyle and the dog followed him through a comfortably furnished living room where blueprints were spread across a low table and a fax was coming in. They ended up in a yellow kitchen where a television droned and steam rose from a state-of-the-art coffeemaker.

Catching Kyle looking around, Riley said, “She’s not here.”

Instead of offering Kyle a seat at the table, Riley leaned against the counter and took a sip from one of the mugs he’d just filled. There was no delicate way to do this, and they both knew it. They also both knew that Kyle wouldn’t leave until he’d had his say.

Carrying his coffee to a spot that was a safe distance from his brother, Kyle leaned a hip against the counter, too, and said, “You can’t blame us for being concerned. Two years ago, you were dying. Two months ago, you still weren’t yourself. Now you’re getting married in a week and a half to a woman you proposed to after you’d known her a matter of days.”

“Don’t form an opinion until you’ve met Madeline.”

“I’m sure she’s a saint. I heard she was wearing your sheet the first time she met your mother.” Kyle wouldn’t have minded being a fly on that wall, but Riley didn’t share the details of the encounter. Merrick men didn’t kiss and tell.

“You have to admit it looks suspicious,” Kyle said. “She’s a nurse. You have money.”

“Madeline doesn’t care about money.”

Everybody cared about money. But Kyle said, “She showed up uninvited at one of your construction sites, and she failed to mention that the heart beating in your chest came from her deceased fiancé.”

“Water under the bridge,” Riley insisted before taking another sip of coffee.

Following suit, Kyle said, “You fell for her. Hard. I get that. So live with her for a while. Make sure the penny doesn’t lose its shine.”

“I’m marrying her, Kyle, the sooner, the better.”

The dog stood up and looked from one to the other.

“What’s your hurry?” Kyle asked. “It’s not as if you have to marry her.” He stopped. The drone of the television covered an uncomfortable lag in conversation. “Is that what this is about? She’s pregnant?”

Riley shot him a warning look.

And Kyle muttered the only word that came to mind.

“We’re not telling anyone yet,” Riley said. “So keep it to yourself. I don’t know what I did to deserve Madeline, to deserve any of this, but whatever it was, I’m not wasting another minute of my life without her.”

Kyle fought the urge to rake his fingers through his hair. “You slept with her, and now she claims she’s going to have your baby. Don’t hit me for what I’m thinking.”

He could tell Riley wanted to hit him. It wouldn’t be a sucker punch, either. Riley didn’t fight dirty, but he fought to win, something else the Merrick men had in common.

“Have you ever known a virgin, Kyle?” he asked.

It took a few seconds for Riley’s meaning to soak in. “You mean Madeline? For real? You’re sure?”

“Positive.”

Kyle put his coffee down. “I’ll be damned. A virgin. I didn’t know there were any alive past the age of eighteen. Make that seventeen. Fine. The kid’s yours. That’s good. I guess. I’m just saying—”

“You’re saying it’s all happening fast and you, Braden and our mothers are worried about that. I trust you’ll put their minds at ease. In your own good time, of course.”

They shared their first smile. Riley knew him well.

“Anything else you’d like me to tell our mothers?” Kyle asked, suddenly not at all sorry he’d lost that toss to Braden.

“Tell them I can feel my heart beating.”

This time Kyle didn’t say anything. He simply stared in amazement at his younger brother.

He would never forget the panic and paralyzing fear that had ripped through the entire family twenty months ago when they’d learned that Riley had contracted a rare virus that was attacking his heart. In a matter of days, he’d gone from strong and athletic to wan and weak. He was only thirty years old. And he was dying.

Kyle, Braden and Riley’s friend Kipp had stayed with him around the clock. They’d begged him, badgered him and bullied him to hold on. Two years younger than Kyle, Riley had been at death’s door, literally, by the time he’d finally received a heart transplant. His recovery had been nothing short of a miracle, but, despite his robust health afterwards, there had been something different about him. It was as if his sense of adventure, his passion and even his laughter had been buried with his old heart. Strangely, he hadn’t been able to feel the new one beating.

“How long has the feeling been back?” Kyle asked.

“Since Madeline.” Riley placed a hand over his chest. “I used to climb mountains just for the view from the top. That view is nothing compared to what I see when I look into her eyes. I can see the future, and that’s never happened to me before.”

Kyle held up one hand. He didn’t know how much more he could take on an empty stomach.

Riley laughed. And for a moment it took Kyle back to summer vacations and boyhood pranks they’d pulled together. He hadn’t heard Riley laugh quite like this in a long time. It did Kyle’s heart good.

“I’ll tell The Sources you’re happy and as healthy as the proverbial horse and I’ll tell them you can feel your beating heart. I’m glad, man. It’s good to see you. Real good. Now, I have a plane to catch to L.A.”

He was already out the door when Riley said, “You look good, too, Kyle. More rested than I expected.”

The brothers shared a long look, Kyle in the watery rays of late morning sunshine and Riley in the shadow of the doorway. If they were keeping score, this point would go to Riley, for, with his simple statement, he’d let Kyle know that Riley wasn’t the only one their mothers were worried about. Kyle hadn’t been himself lately, either. He was going through something. Running from something.

The Sources worked both ways.

“If I look rested,” Kyle said, “it’s because I slept like a baby last night.”

“During that storm?”

Kyle couldn’t explain it, but once he’d closed his eyes, he hadn’t heard a thing for nine solid hours. The inn had been empty and the power was back on by the time he’d wandered downstairs this morning. Now, standing in a patch of sunshine beneath his brother’s watchful gaze, he found himself thinking about the woman with the large, hazel eyes and sultry, cultured voice that made hello sound like an intimate secret.

“Can your plane ride wait until after lunch?” Riley asked.

“That depends. Are you cooking?”

Again, the brothers shared a grin.

Riley, who often burned toast, said, “I thought I’d call Madeline at work and see if she can join us at the restaurant downtown. I’d like you to meet her.”

“Let me know what time,” Kyle said as he climbed into his Jeep.

Meanwhile, he had a woman to see about a room.

Robins splashed in the puddles in the inn’s driveway as Summer pulled into her usual parking place. She lifted her cloth bags from her trunk and started toward the backdoor, the groceries in her arms growing heavier with every step she took. The sound of Kyle Merrick’s deep voice coming through the kitchen window sent the headache she’d awakened with straight to the roots of her teeth.

She’d spent the first half of the night tossing and turning, her body yearning to finish what meeting Kyle Merrick had started. Between short bursts of fitful sleep, she’d lain awake staring at the dark ceiling, anticipating the hate mail she would receive from the people she’d duped should her secret ever be revealed.

Her father, for one. Her former fiancé, for another.

Sometimes she imagined her mother and sister sitting on a cloud, smiling down at her and singing a song about sweet revenge. To this day, she knew she’d done the right thing. That didn’t mean she wanted to relive what was to have been her wedding day.

She heard Kyle’s voice again. This time it was followed by a flirtatious, though aging, twitter Summer would recognize anywhere. Harriet Ferris lived next door and was always happy to watch the front desk when Summer needed to run errands during the day. Harriet told raucous stories and loved nothing better than having a captive audience, especially if it was someone of the opposite sex.

Summer almost felt sorry for Kyle.

Almost.

What was he doing in the inn, anyway?

He’d gone. She’d freshened the rooms after breakfast and made the beds. Room Seven had been empty. She’d checked.

Kyle Merrick’s duffel bag was gone. And she’d been relieved. Okay, she’d felt a little unsettled, too, but that was beside the point.

For some reason he was back—she had no idea why—and was sitting at the table, no doubt sharing raucous tales with Summer’s next-door neighbor. He looked up at her as she walked in and almost smiled.

“I thought you’d left,” she said.

“Without paying for my stay last night? Your low opinion of me is humbling.”

He didn’t look humble. He looked like a man with sex on his mind, the kind of man who didn’t ask for commitment and certainly didn’t give it. Lord-a-mighty, the invitation in those green eyes was tempting.

“What makes you think I’ve formed an opinion about you?” she asked.

He smiled, and the connection between their gazes thrummed like a guitar string being strummed with one finger. Pulling her gaze from his wasn’t easy, but she turned her attention to the woman watching the exchange.

“Would you like a cup of tea, Harriet?”

Seventy-eight-year-old Harriet Ferris had been dying her hair red for fifty years. Before every birthday there was a discussion about letting it go gray, but she never would, just as she would never stop wearing false eyelashes and flirting with men of all ages.

“No, thank you, dear, I really should be getting back home. I’m expecting an email from my sister in Atlanta. She refuses to text. So old-school, you know?”

Although she stood up, she made no move toward the door until Summer leaned down and whispered in her ear.

A smile spread across Harriet’s ruby red lips. “What would I do without you? What would any of us do? This handsome man has brought you a gift.” Harriet looked from Summer to Kyle and back again. “I won’t spoil the surprise, but I dare say if you could bottle the electricity in this room right now, you could sell it to the power company for a tidy profit. If only I were twenty years younger.”

“You’re a cougar, Harriet,” Kyle said, rising, too.

With a playful wink and a grin that never aged, Harriet tottered out the back door.

Now that he and Summer were alone, Kyle handed her the gift bag. “For the next time your power goes out,” he said.

She opened the brown paper sack. Peering at the fuses inside, she shook her head and smiled.

He looked like he was about to smile, too, but his gaze caught on her mouth, and Summer knew Harriet was right about the electricity in this room.

“You wanted to settle up for last night’s stay?” she asked.

“You aren’t from Michigan are you?” he asked.

The question came from out of the blue and caught her by surprise. Years of practice kept her perfectly still, her expression carefully schooled to appear artful and serene.

“I can’t place the inflection,” he continued. “But it isn’t Midwestern.”

She pulled herself together. Carrying the milk, eggs and cheese to the refrigerator, she said, “I was born in Philadelphia and grew up in Baltimore. My grandparents had a summer house on Mackinaw Island. Until my grandfather died when I was fourteen, my sister and I spent every summer in northern Michigan. What about you? Where are you from?”

She was just making conversation, for she knew the pertinent facts about his past. She’d researched all three of the Merrick brothers after Madeline had announced her engagement to Kyle’s brother Riley a few days ago.

“I was born and raised in Bay City,” he said, his voice a lazy baritone that suggested he had all the time in the world. “I studied out east and have traveled just about everywhere else. What did you whisper to Harriet?”

She glanced at him as she closed the refrigerator. “I told her where she put her spare key this week. She keeps moving it and forgets where she hides it.”

“Is that why they call you the keeper of secrets?” he asked.

Summer stopped putting away groceries and looked at him. She prided herself on her ability to identify a person’s true nature at first sight. She wasn’t the only one in this room doing that right now. Kyle was looking at her as if she were a puzzle he had every intention of solving. That felt far more dangerous than the heat in his gaze or the fact that she was wondering if he might kiss her.

She wasn’t about to be the first to look away, as if she had something to hide. Which she did, but he didn’t know that. And he wouldn’t.

Okay. It was time to get both their minds on something else. “Are you flirting with me?” she asked, even though she knew he was.

She could tell her ploy had worked by the change in his stance, the slight tilt of his head, the even slighter narrowing of his gaze. Oh yes, his mind was on something far more fundamental than her past, for nothing was more fundamental than flirting with the opposite sex.

For months, Kyle had felt as if a spring had been coiled too tight inside him. This woman was slowly unwinding him. She’d taken a chance when she’d opened her door last night. Maybe she kept mace under the counter. If she had a stun gun, she hadn’t needed it. He’d felt hypnotized at first sight.

Summer Matthews had hazel eyes and curves in all the right places. She was a pretty woman, and he knew his way around pretty women. He didn’t understand them, God no, but he knew when a woman wanted what he wanted.

Summer was interested. She just wasn’t acting on it. The question was, why? She wasn’t wearing a ring, and she was no prude. Nobody with a voice that sultry and a mind that bright was shy and unsure of herself.

She was refreshing and intriguing. Deep inside him, that taut spring unwound a little more.

“If I were flirting with you,” he said huskily, “you’d know it.”

Her gaze went to his mouth, but instead of continuing the flirtation, she named the amount for last night’s stay. His interest climbed another notch, and so did his regard for her.

He liked a woman who could keep her wits about her.

He wished he had enough time to turn those astute eyes starry, to run his hands along her graceful shoulders and feel her arms slowly wind around his neck as her lips parted for his kiss. Unfortunately he was out of time to do more than say, “I’m meeting my brother and future sister-in-law for lunch. After that I have a plane to catch, but I wanted to pay for my room before I leave town.”

Pocketing the cash he gave her, she said, “It’s not every day a girl meets an honest man.”

And then she did something, and there was no turning back. She smiled as if she meant it.

Kyle couldn’t help reaching for her any more than he could help drawing his next breath. He covered her mouth with his, before either of them thought to resist.

After that first brush of lips and air, the kiss deepened, breaths mingling, pulse rates climbing. It was a possessive joining, a mating of mouths and heat and hunger. It didn’t matter that it was broad daylight, that he had to leave in a few minutes or that he barely knew her. He kissed her because he had to. It was primal, and it was powerful, and, when her mouth opened slightly, he wanted more. He wanted everything.

He’d imagined her body going pliant—he had a damned fine imagination—but it was nothing compared to the reality in his arms. Her hands came around his back, then glided up to his shoulders. She moved against him, and he held her tighter, melding them together from knees to chest.

Somewhere in the back of Summer’s mind, warning bells were clanging. She was crazy to be doing this, to be starting something with a man in his field, this man in particular. Doing so was risking discovery. And yet she couldn’t seem to help herself. She couldn’t stop. She had to experience Kyle’s kiss. She needed to know she could feel this way.

Last night when she should have been sleeping, her eyes had been wide open. Now, they closed dreamily, so that she had to rely on her other senses. Her other senses were floating on a serenade of sound, heat and passion.

His mouth was firm and wet, his breathing deep, his scent clean and brisk like mint and leather. The combination made her heart speed up and her thoughts slow like a lazy river on a sultry summer day. His arms and back were muscular, his legs solid and long. It had been a long time since she’d been kissed like this, since she’d reacted like this. Had she ever been kissed quite like this?

Her back arched, her body seeking closer contact even though they couldn’t get any closer through their clothes. Until this moment, they’d been strangers. His kiss changed that, and it was spinning out of control. Control was the last thing she wanted, for passion this strong didn’t come along every day.

She felt like a balloon held gently between a pair of firm lips, waiting to see if another puff of air would fill her, transforming her, or if those lips would withdraw, sending her careening backwards. The air was Kyle Merrick. Therein lay the risk.

She reminded herself that he was leaving town today, and if she ever saw him again, it would be on rare occasions and only because he was going to be Madeline’s brother-in-law. Such meetings would be entirely controllable. It made this feel less dangerous, less likely to be something she would regret. And so, for a few moments, she let herself feel, let herself react, let herself go. And go and go.

For the first time in a long time, she felt like herself. And it felt good.

She felt free.

The kiss didn’t end on a need for air. It ended with the sudden jarring and incessant ringing of both their phones.

Hers stopped before she could think clearly enough to answer. It went to voice mail, only to start up again. Whoever was calling was insistent. Kyle’s caller was just as determined.

They drew apart, their eyes glazed, mouths wet, breathing ragged. She let her arms fall to her sides. Dazedly, he raked his fingers through his dark hair.

Moving more languidly than usual, as if her hands were having trouble picking up signals from her brain, she finally reached for her cell phone and answered. Normally Summer began speaking the moment she put the phone to her ear. Today, Madeline did that from the other end.

“What?” Summer asked. “Honey, slow down.” Although vaguely aware of the low drone of Kyle’s voice, too, Summer listened intently to what Madeline was saying. “Of course I’ll come. I’ll be right there,” she said.

Summer was aware that Kyle had pocketed his phone and was watching her. “That was Riley,” he said. “I was planning to meet him and Madeline for lunch. He had to cancel.”

She glanced at him as she dropped her phone into her bag and fished inside for her keys. “I know. My call was from Madeline.”

He watched her, waiting for her to say more. When she didn’t, he said, “Riley said it’s possible she’s losing the baby.”

Summer studied his eyes. Only a few people knew Madeline was pregnant. “Riley told you about the baby?”

This time Kyle nodded. “When I saw him this morning, he was happier than I’ve seen him in a long time.”

“Madeline, too,” she said quietly.

Summer wanted to shake her fist at fate and demand that this work out for Madeline. She’d already lost so much. Now she’d found Riley, and she was happy. Happy. Was it too much to ask that she could stay that way?

“Dammit all to hell,” Kyle said.

Summer wasn’t a crier, but tears welled because, for a few moments, she understood. They both felt frustrated and helpless over Madeline’s possible medical emergency. Maybe what they said was true. Maybe there was strength in numbers, because she suddenly felt empowered. It went straight to her head. From there, it meandered to places she didn’t normally think about in the light of day.

Dresses were her usual work attire. The sleeveless, gray dress she wore today had a fitted waistband and a softly gathered skirt. It wasn’t formfitting, yet she was very aware of the places along her body where the lightweight fabric skimmed.

She felt Kyle’s gaze move slowly over her, settling momentarily at the little indentation at the base of her neck. It was all she could do to keep from placing her hand where he was looking, for she could feel the soft fluttering of her pulse at her throat. She’d learned to school her expressions, but that little vein had a mind of its own.

Last night, she’d blamed this attraction on the storm. Everybody knew people did crazy things during atmospheric disturbances. Kyle’s kiss a few minutes ago had created its own atmospheric disturbance.

But right now, Madeline needed her.

So Summer reeled in her thoughts, tamped down her passion and said, “I don’t like to be rude, but I have to go.” A handshake seemed a little formal after that kiss, so she settled on a smile. “It was nice meeting you. I mean that. Have a good flight.”

Even though it was handled politely, Kyle knew when he was being asked to leave. Since he had no legitimate reason to hang around—he did have a plane to catch after all—he walked out with Summer.

She headed for a blue sedan, and he started toward the lilac hedge in full bloom near where he’d left his Jeep. Pea gravel crunched beneath his shoes. He wasn’t sure what made him turn around and look at her. Perhaps it was the same thing that caused her to glance over her shoulder at him at the same time. Whatever the reason, it felt elemental and as fundamental as the pull of a man to a woman and a woman to a man.

Just then, a gust of wind caught in her hair and dress. And it struck him that he’d seen her before.

He knew he was staring, but he couldn’t help it. He scanned his memory, trying to identify the reason she seemed familiar.

“Is something wrong?” she asked, obviously in a hurry to be on her way.

Deciding this wasn’t the time or place to play twenty questions, he simply said, “No. You have to go. Good luck. Tell Riley I’ll be in touch.”

She drove away, and he finally got in his Jeep. Instead of starting the engine, he sat behind the steering wheel, thinking. The sensible thing to do would be to turn the key and head for the airport to catch his two o’clock flight to L.A.

Leaving the engine idling, he slipped his laptop from its case and turned it on. He typed Summer’s name at the top of his favorite search engine. There were thousands of matches, among them a semi-famous opera singer, a retired drummer from a sixties rock band, and a teacher in Cleveland. There was even a racehorse by that name. Kyle tried another search engine and found an article archived from a local newspaper that listed Summer as the innkeeper of The Orchard Inn.

Minutes later he turned his computer off. Now what?

He wondered what was happening in the Emergency Room. He’d spent days on end at the hospital two years ago when Riley had been so close to death. Riley hadn’t asked Kyle to come this time, which was fine with him. Female troubles made all men squeamish. Besides, this was intimate. It was something that was between Riley and Madeline and Madeline’s closest friend. That brought Kyle back to Summer.

He was pretty sure he’d never met her. He would have remembered an actual encounter. As he sat strumming his fingers on the armrest, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was missing something.

What?

She hadn’t looked familiar until a few moments ago. Did she remind him of someone else? Was that it?

His mind circled around a few possibilities then discarded them. No, she didn’t look like anyone he knew. He would have noticed that earlier.

But she was familiar. Although he didn’t know where or when, he’d seen her before.

Kyle Merrick never forgot a face.

Chapter Three

The founding fathers of Orchard Hill were an unlikely trio of entrepreneurs from upstate New York. One was said to have been a charming shyster who convinced his business associates back home that wealth awaited them “in the green hills of a promised land.”

According to local historians, among the first arrivals were a prominent banker and his wife, who took one look at the crudely built clapboard houses in the village and the surrounding mosquito-infested ramshackle farms and fainted dead away. The second founding father was a botanist who, through much trial and error, developed three species of apples still widely grown in the local orchards today. The third was considered to be a simpleton by his aristocratic parents. This so-called dunce proved to be a man of great wisdom and ambition who eventually established The Orchard Hill Academy, now the University of Orchard Hill.

Historical tidbits were strange things for Summer to be thinking about as she waited at the traffic light at the corner of Jefferson and Elm, but it took her mind off worrying about Madeline or wondering if she’d really glimpsed a momentary recognition in Kyle Merrick’s gaze as she was leaving the inn. She gripped the steering wheel and told herself not to jump to conclusions.

He couldn’t have recognized her.

It was possible he’d seen her photograph in the newspapers six years ago. But she’d been younger then, and blond, and had been wearing a frothy veil and a wedding gown made of acres of silk.

He hadn’t recognized her.

How could he? She barely recognized the girl she’d been then.

More than likely, what she’d thought was a fleeting recognition in Kyle’s green eyes had simply been a conscious effort to coax the blood back into his brain after that kiss. She pried the fingers of her right hand from the steering wheel and gently touched her lips. He wasn’t the only one still recovering.

Enough. They’d enjoyed a brief flirtation. Not mild, mind you, but brief. That was all it was. She had nothing to worry about. He was most likely on his way to the airport this very minute to pursue more pressing stories than a rehash of old news, even if that old news was Baltimore’s most notorious runaway bride.

She and Kyle had said their good-byes. Or at least she had. She tried to remember how he’d replied.

“Good luck,” he’d said as they’d parted ways. And everybody knew good luck was as good as goodbye.

She jumped when a horn blasted. People in Orchard Hill didn’t generally honk their horn, which meant she’d probably been sitting at the green light longer than she should. Smiling apologetically in her rearview mirror at the poor driver behind her, she quickly took her foot off the brake and continued on toward the hospital across town.

Roughly seven square miles, Orchard Hill was a city of nearly twenty-five thousand residents. The streets curved and intersected in undulating juxtaposition to the bends in the river. A state highway bisected the city from east to west, but even that was riddled with stoplights. She’d learned to drive in congested city traffic. She’d learned patience here.

She had to wait a few minutes while a crew wearing hard hats moved a newly fallen tree limb out of the intersection. A few blocks farther down the street a delivery man threw his flashing lights on and left his truck idling in the middle of Division Street. Hosanna chimed from the bell tower as it did every day at half past eleven.

It really was just an ordinary May morning in Orchard Hill. The normalcy of it was like a cool drink of lemonade, refreshing and calming at the same time.

While she waited at another red light she found herself staring at the ten foot tall statue on her left. Nobody could agree where the bronzed figure came from, or how long it had stood on the courthouse lawn.

Summer remembered vividly the first time she’d seen it more than six years ago. She’d been lost and nearly out of gas that day when she’d coasted to a stop at the curb. So exhausted that the lines and words on the road map in her hand swam before her eyes, she’d found herself gazing out the window at a whimsical figure at the head of a town square.

Most cities reserved a place of such importance for cannons and monuments and statues of decorated war heroes on mighty steeds, but that day she was drawn from her car by a larger-than-life replica of a fellow with holes in his shoes, bowed legs, patched trousers, and a dented kettle on his head. Johnny Appleseed was her first acquaintance in Orchard Hill.

She’d stood beside the statue and taken a deep breath of air scented with ripe apples and autumn leaves. Above the golden treetops in the distance she saw a smoke stack from a small factory, a water tower and several church spires. Somewhere, a marching band was practicing, and there were dog walkers on the sidewalks of what appeared to be a busy downtown.

It had been too early for streetlights, but lamps had glowed in the windows of some of the shops lining the street. Fixing her gaze straight ahead, she’d walked away from her unlocked car, leaving her ATM and credit cards in plain view on the seat inside. A thief wouldn’t get far with any of them, for all her cards had been cancelled.

Nobody duped Winston Emerson Matthews the Third without consequences, not even his daughter. Especially not his daughter.

She’d entered the first restaurant she came to and sat at a small table. A blond waitress a few years younger than Summer had appeared with a menu and a smile. Nearly overtaken with the enormity and finality of her recent actions, Summer stared into the girl’s friendly blue eyes and blurted, “Ten days ago I left a rich and powerful man at the altar. My father has disinherited me and all I have left in my purse is ten dollars and some change.”

After a moment of quiet deliberation, the waitress had replied, “I’d recommend Roxy’s Superman Special.” In a whisper, she added, “It’s a savory chicken potpie. Roxy makes it from scratch. Her crusts alone could win awards.”

Something had passed between their gazes. Summer’s eyes filled up, and all she could do was nod.

“I’ll be right back.” The angelic waitress had soon returned, a plate in each hand. She sat down across from Summer and shook out her napkin. “I’m Madeline Sullivan,” she said, handing Summer a fork and napkin and picking up another set for herself. “Welcome to Orchard Hill.”

Before the meal was finished, Summer’s second acquaintance in Orchard Hill had become the best friend she’d ever known. Madeline had taken Summer home with her, as if normal people took in disinherited young women with secret pasts every day.

She was the only person in Orchard Hill Summer had confided in, the only person who knew her given name.

Madeline had been working her way through college then. Today she was a nurse, and right now she lay in a hospital, possibly losing a baby she desperately wanted.

“I’m coming, Madeline,” Summer whispered into the celestial sovereignty reserved for promises and prayers.

Buchanan Street curved one last time before the three-story brick hospital came into view. She followed the arrows and parked near the lighted E.R. sign around back. Grabbing her shoulder bag, she locked her car then ran through the automatic doors and down a short corridor. She rounded a corner.

And came face-to-face with two Merrick brothers, not one.

Years of practice with schooling her features very nearly deserted her as she looked from Riley to Kyle. She wanted to ask Kyle what he was doing here. Why wasn’t he checking his bag at the airport?

And how had he beaten her here?

Instead she focused on a pair of brown eyes, not green, and said, “Riley, how is she?”

Riley Merrick was as tall as his brother and had a similar build. There was a depth in his eyes that put Summer at ease every time she saw him.

“You know Madeline,” he said, his voice a deep baritone. “She keeps telling me not to worry about her, that everything’s going to be okay.”

That sounded like Madeline.

“What happened?” Summer asked.

“She passed out at work. Hit her head when she fell. The bleeding seems to have stopped.”

“She was bleeding?” Summer asked.

“Too heavy to be considered spotting.”

Oh. That kind of bleeding. “And the pregnancy?” Summer whispered.

“We’re waiting for the results of blood work. A few minutes ago Madeline told me she doesn’t feel she’s lost the baby.”

That sounded like Madeline, too.

Apparently Riley realized that Kyle was still standing beside him. He glanced at him, and said, “Summer, this is my brother Kyle.”

“Hello, Kyle,” she said.

“We meet again,” he said at the same time, only slightly louder.

“You two know each other?” Riley asked, looking sideways at his brother.

“Remember when I told you I slept like a baby last night? It was at her place.”

“At my inn. In Room Seven. Alone. At least I assume he was alone.” Summer shot Kyle a stern look before turning back to Riley. “Where is Madeline now?”

Double doors clanked open and a man wearing scrubs pushed a gurney through the doorway. A television droned on the far wall in the waiting area. A little girl was crying, and a teenaged boy was holding his wrist. Other bored-looking people dozed or fidgeted, waiting for their turn to see a doctor.

“She’s in Room Four,” Riley answered quietly. “Talya’s performing an examination.”

Talya Ireland, pronounced like Tanya, only with an l, was a midwife and Madeline’s new employer. She’d stayed at the inn when she first came to town several months ago. If Madeline was with her, she was in good hands.

Summer lowered herself into a nearby vinyl chair. Before she’d even finished smoothing her skirt, Riley said, “Madeline asked me to send you in the minute you arrived.”

She was on her feet again and halfway to the door when she thought of something. “Riley?” she said.

Both Merrick brothers were watching her.

“If Madeline feels she’s going to be okay,” Summer said, “I believe her.”

Relief eased the strain on Riley’s face. Kyle’s expression was more difficult to decipher. He stood looking at her, his shoulders straight, the collar of his shirt open, cuffs rolled to his forearms. He was one of those men who played hard and cleaned up well, and he sent her stomach into a wild swirl. He was ruggedly attractive from the waves in his coffee-colored hair to the toes of his Italian-made shoes.

She forced her eyes away but felt his gaze until she disappeared on the other side of the heavy metal doors. The vinyl flooring beneath her feet muffled the sound of her footsteps. From behind curtain one came the mechanical blip of a heart monitor. Behind curtain two, a child cried forlornly. Hushed voices and a few groans that didn’t sound like pain were coming from behind curtain three.

Summer stuck her head inside room four. The hospital bed took up the majority of the narrow cubby; monitors and IV racks competed for space with an efficient-looking midwife.

“Hey,” Summer said, drawing Madeline’s gaze.

From her pillow, Madeline gave Summer a weak smile. “Hey yourself.”

Summer looked at the third woman in the room. In her late thirties, Talya Ireland had exotic gray eyes and five shades of brown hair beauty salons would love to replicate. If there was an ounce of Irish blood in her as her name suggested, it wasn’t readily apparent.

While Talya studied the blood pressure printout and fussed with a switch on the IV, Summer sidled closer to the bed and studied Madeline. The two of them were identical in size, yet today Madeline seemed slight and pale and smaller somehow.

“How are you feeling?” Summer asked.

On a shuddering breath, Madeline said, “Oh, Summer. All these sounds and smells and people scurrying around. I used to work here, but this morning all I could think about was the day Aaron died.”

Summer took Madeline’s hand. Madeline and Aaron Andrews had been childhood sweethearts and inseparable until nearly two years ago when a motorcycle accident cut his life tragically short. Madeline had been with him when he’d taken his last breath in a hospital room similar to this one. It was only natural that the horrors would come back at a time like this.

With a sniffle, Madeline pointed to the thin wall between her room and the room next door, from which came another creak and a muffled moan. “Are they doing what I think they’re doing?” she asked.

Nobody could make Summer smile like Madeline.

“Are you blushing?” Madeline asked.

Smoothing the sheet at her patient’s waist, Talya said, “Summer is such a lady.”

“Take that back.” But Summer knew she was smiling again. Friends made life so rich.

“We’re talking about you,” she said to Madeline. “And you haven’t answered my question.”

“I’m scared and shaken but better, I think.”

Sinking to the edge of the bed, Summer sighed. “You’re really okay?”

Madeline nodded. “Talya wants me to stay off my feet for a few days.”

“At least a few days,” came a stern voice from the other side of the bed.

“And the baby?” Summer asked quietly.

“I’m not far enough along to have an ultrasound, but Talya is guardedly optimistic that my pregnancy is still viable and will continue to be so for a good long time.”

Talya said, “Sometimes spontaneous bleeding occurs early in a pregnancy. It isn’t normal, but it isn’t altogether uncommon, either. It’s possible her placenta has attached a little low in her uterus. If that’s the case, I’ve seen it spontaneously move up a little to a safer holding place. Right now all we can do is wait and see.”

A nurse who used to work with Madeline bustled into the room. “Here’s your lab results,” she said, handing the report to the midwife. “Hi, Madeline.”

Talya read the report. “Your beta levels are elevated. That’s a good sign.”

The moment she grinned, Summer jumped to her feet. “I’ll get Riley.”

“I’ll go,” Talya said. “I like to deliver good news.”

With a swish of the curtain, she was gone, only to pop her head through the folds again. “Those sounds coming from your neighbors? Two twelve-year-old girls texting their grandma in Spokane.” She made a tsk, tsk, tsk sound with her tongue. “I know what’s on your minds.” She pointed her finger at Madeline. “None of that for you until I see you again in my office.” She winked at Summer. “You are under no restrictions.”

An instant later the curtain fluttered back into place. In the ensuing silence, Madeline burst out laughing. It was music to Summer’s ears.

“I’ll call Chelsea and Abby,” Summer said. “We’ll contact the caterers, Reverend Brown and everyone on the guest list.” Since there hadn’t been time to follow normal wedding protocol, most of the invitations went out via email, so it wouldn’t be difficult to send another. “We’ll tell them the wedding is being postponed for a few weeks.”

Madeline was shaking her head. “I want to talk to you about that.”

Summer had known Madeline for more than six years. This stubborn streak had begun to emerge after she’d discovered newfound happiness with Riley Merrick.

“What is it?” Summer asked.

“I have a favor to ask.”

“The answer is yes.”

“You haven’t heard the request,” Madeline insisted.

For years Summer had wanted to repay Madeline in some small or profound way for taking her under her wing when she’d first arrived in Orchard Hill. “No matter what it is, I’ll do it.” She studied the mischievous glint in Madeline’s eyes, another quality that had only recently come out of hiding, and posed her next question more haltingly. “What is the favor?”

Madeline crossed her ankles beneath the sheet, fluffed her pillow and tucked one hand under her head. When she was comfortable, she told Summer what she had in mind.

By the time Talya returned with Riley and Kyle in tow, Summer and Madeline had everything worked out and their plan in place. Summer gave her best friend a warm hug, told Riley goodbye and skirted around Kyle, who still had time, if he hurried, to catch his plane.

She smiled to herself as she walked out into the gorgeous May sunshine. Madeline was right. Everything was going to work out just fine.

Harriet Ferris never did anything halfway.

When Summer returned to the inn, the sassy redhead was talking to a man Summer didn’t know. She wore violet today, her slacks, her blouse, her earrings, even the broach on her collar, were a shade of her favorite color. Five feet two in her two-inch purple heels, she rested her elbows on the top of the registration desk and cast Summer a friendly smile. “This is Knox Miller checking in.”

The missing K. Miller was here at last.

“Isn’t Knox the most masculine name you’ve ever heard?”

Harriet didn’t flirt halfway, either.

It didn’t matter that he wore a wedding ring and had a receding hairline and expanding waist. Harriet didn’t discriminate when it came to men.

For his part, Knox was flattered and kind. He explained that he was a day late due to a family emergency, chatted for a few more minutes and accepted Summer’s welcome to The Orchard Inn.

After he left to join the crew hired to begin restoration of the old train depot, Summer filled Harriet in on Madeline’s condition. In return, Harriet relayed the messages that had come in during Summer’s hour-long absence. Mentally she calculated the time it would take to launder the guest towels, dust the hardwood floors, pick a bouquet of lilacs for the dining room table and plan tomorrow’s breakfast. In the back of her mind, she thought about Madeline’s request.

She also wondered if Kyle had managed to catch his flight.

As if thoughts really did manifest into reality, the front door opened and Kyle walked in. Once again she had the distinct impression that nothing escaped his notice. It reminded her that she needed to stay on her toes with him.

“I left the inn ahead of you,” she said. “And yet you arrived at the hospital before I did. How?”

He took his time removing his sunglasses, took his time replying. “I have a genetic predisposition to catch lights green and to bypass construction zones. I guess you could say I always get where I want to go.”

Summer knew there was no logical reason to believe Kyle was referring in any way to sex, but she had a genetic predisposition to pay attention to innuendo. “I thought you had a plane to catch.”

“Are you trying to get rid of me?” he asked.

“You evade a lot of questions,” Summer said.

“We’re alike that way,” he countered.

Harriet looked up from the computer where she’d been checking out her new profile online and watched the exchange. Still sharp as a tack, she raised pencil-thin eyebrows at Summer as if concurring. Summer definitely needed to stay on her toes with this one.

“I didn’t go to the airport because I decided that meeting my future sister-in-law was more important than catching a plane,” Kyle said. “My brother’s a lucky man. I don’t think Madeline’s midwife likes me, though. What’s her secret?”

He was looking at Summer in waiting expectation, but it was Harriet who said, “Tayla doesn’t like men. That’s not a secret, though. I mean, she dates men on occasion, but she doesn’t wholly trust the lot of you. And for your information, Summer doesn’t reveal our secrets. She’s a saint that way.”

He met Summer’s gaze. “You have a lot of fans.”

“I have a lot of friends.”

“Talya,” he said thoughtfully. “It’s the name of the Greek muse of comedy.”

“You know the Muses?” Summer asked, thinking of the nine sister goddesses in Greek mythology presiding over song, poetry and the arts.

“As a writer, I’m well-acquainted with the muses.” He leaned his elbows on the registration desk, the action bringing his face closer to Summer’s. “How do you know them?”

“I studied mythology in college.”

“What college?” he asked.

Summer didn’t like answering questions about her past. Luckily Harriet liked to be the center of attention and saved Summer the trouble of trying to reply without revealing anything pertinent.

Harriet batted her fake eyelashes at Kyle and said, “Give me a second and I’ll tell you what the name Kyle means.”

Summer could have kissed her.

While Harriet clicked buttons on the computer, Kyle took out his credit card and slid it across the registration desk toward Summer. “I’m going to need that room for another night or two.”

“You’re not leaving for L.A.?” she asked.

He shook his head.

You have to be kidding me, she thought. But she feigned an apologetic smile and said, “I’m afraid all my rooms are taken.” She could tell he didn’t believe her.

“Here it is,” Harriet said. “Kyle. It means handsome. They’ve got that right. I handed over the key to Room Seven ten minutes ago.”

Kyle’s green-eyed gaze was causing an atmospheric disturbance again. In the six-plus years Summer had lived here, she’d adjusted to an entirely new life, different in every way from the one she’d left behind. No more shopping trips to London or yachting on Sunday afternoons or going wherever she pleased whenever she pleased without having to worry about expenses. Now she worked for a living, and she worked hard.

When it came to friends, she’d taken a giant step up. She liked her new life. She loved her inn, and her friends and neighbors, and she enjoyed her niche in Orchard Hill.

Men were the only category she had trouble with. It wasn’t that she didn’t have opportunities to date. She went out often and truly enjoyed dinner and conversation. But she hadn’t been wowed by any of them.

Until Kyle.

He was doing it again right now with just a look. “Have dinner with me,” he said.

Peering up at Kyle through her trifocals, Harriet said, “I’d want to be home before seven. I hate to miss The Wheel.”

Kyle seemed at a loss. Summer didn’t try to hide her grin.

“Why don’t you put Kyle in the attic apartment, dear?”

Just like that, Summer was the one at a loss, and Kyle’s smile grew. He rounded the desk and planted a kiss on Harriet’s lined, rouged cheek. “I’ll take it. What time would you like me to pick you up for dinner? I promise to have you home in time for The Wheel.”

Harriet fairly swooned as she named a time. “Would you like me to show him the attic?” she asked Summer.

“If you don’t mind all those stairs,” she said to her neighbor.

“It’ll save me from having to get on the StairMaster.” With a wink at Kyle, Harriet added, “I like a tight butt.”

There was a slight lifting of Kyle’s right eyebrow as he looked down at the audacious, bodacious woman. He glanced at Summer and said, “So do I.”

“How long will you be staying with us?” Summer asked, making a failed attempt to refrain from looking at Kyle’s rear end as he sauntered toward the stairs.

“I’m not sure.” He turned and caught her looking. “Oh. You need to know because of the room. I’ll pay for an entire week. I’m doing Riley a favor, and I’m not sure how long it will take.”

Summer was getting a bad feeling about this. “What kind of favor?” she asked.

“Madeline has doctor’s orders to stay in bed, and Riley is going to wait on her hand and foot. They won’t hear of postponing the wedding, so until Madeline’s out of danger, I’m filling in for the groom. I’m not at all sure what that entails, exactly, since I’ve never been married. Do you?”

While Summer was shaking her head, Harriet put one hand on the newel post. In a stage whisper to Summer, she said, “If I’m not back in ten minutes, don’t come looking for me.”

Summer couldn’t help smiling. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

Harriet’s twitter preceded her up the stairs.

Kyle didn’t immediately follow her. Sunlight spilled through the bay window, turning the air golden yellow. He stood in the middle of all that sunshine, feet slightly apart, hips narrow, the slight cleft in his chin more pronounced with the light behind him. He was tall and lean and wouldn’t be very comfortable in the full-size bed in the attic apartment Madeline had recently vacated. He’d rented it sight unseen. That alone was cause for concern, for it suggested an agenda of some sort.

If that wasn’t bad enough, he was looking at her again as if she were a puzzle he had every intention of solving. His name may have meant handsome, but he spelled trouble with a capital T.

“Are you coming?” Harriet called from the top of the first landing.

He glanced up the staircase and heaved a sigh. With his face turned slightly, his eyes hidden, Summer glimpsed a pallor not evident before. With his guard down, his fatigue was almost palpable.

She wondered if he’d been ill, or if there was something else at the root of his exhaustion. There was a weight in his step as he followed the purple-clad woman up the open staircase, the quiet thud of their footsteps overhead the only sounds Summer heard over the wild beating of her heart.

She faced the fact that Kyle Merrick wasn’t going to be someone who’d once spent a night in her inn. He wasn’t even going to be someone she’d once kissed. He would be staying in Orchard Hill for several days, and he would be sleeping right upstairs.

He’d agreed to fill in for the groom.

That was not what she’d wanted to hear. She could feel the vein pulsing at her throat. That favor she’d wholeheartedly granted Madeline?

Summer had agreed to fill in for the bride.

Chapter Four

“You missed your bleeping flight? Are you bleep-bleep-bleeeeeeeeep?”

Kyle held the phone slightly away from his ear to prevent permanent damage to his hearing. Grant Oberlin had a corner office on the top floor of a New York City high-rise with one of the most prestigious newspapers in the country. It had been one hell of a steep climb from the streets of south Boston where he’d grown up. Pushing sixty now, he hadn’t lost his drive, the accent or the language.

“Where the bleep are you right now?”

Kyle had learned to mentally block out Grant’s profanity. It was one of a handful of useful skills he’d gleaned from his father.

“On second thought,” Grant said loudly. “I really don’t give a bleep where the bleep you are. Here’s what you’re going to do.”

People in the business called Oberlin The Cowboy. He rolled his own cigarettes—he probably had one clamped between his lips right now—wore snakeskin cowboy boots and had a chip on his shoulder the size of Wyoming.

“Do you know how many bleepity-bleep-bleep strings I had to pull, how many favors I had to call in to get you this bleeping gig?”

The tirade continued. Kyle’s mind wandered.

Harriet had opened the windows on either end of the attic before she’d gone. Kyle stood in the gentle cross breeze, his shirt unbuttoned, his feet bare.

The attic apartment was long and narrow. With its sloped ceilings and painted wood floors, it was the kind of space his interior decorator mother would have a name for. There was a bed and dresser on one end, a kitchenette and living room on the other, and a crooked chimney dividing the two halves. Harriet had said Madeline Sullivan had lived here after college. She must have taken all her personal touches with her, because the apartment was shades of gray and splashed with yellow. Like Summer.

“Get your bony bleep on the next plane, and I’ll call Anderson and tell him you’ll be in touch.”

Oh. Grant was still talking.

The cagey newspaperman had given Kyle his first break fourteen years ago. Kyle had high regard for the man. There was a part of him screaming that Grant was right, that he was making a mistake or, as Grant put it, a mother-bleeping gargantuan bleep.

Kyle was too tired to care.

He took the verbal beating—he owed Grant that much—but he felt far removed from it. How long had it been, he wondered, since he’d felt anything? How long since his experiences had found their way through the top layers of his skin and moved him, touched him or just plain fazed him?

He was thirty-four years old and had become like one of those kids born without the sensor in their nerve endings that allowed them to feel pain. Without it, they didn’t understand the concept of fire or sharp objects or broken bones. It was a dangerous way to live because, without pain, joy had a lot in common with a shot of Novocain.

“You haven’t heard a bleeping word I’ve said, have you?”

Grant Oberlin was one of the few newsmen left willing to cut Kyle any slack. Maybe the only one. Kyle was numb to that, too.

He’d felt Summer’s kiss, though. He conjured up the sensation from memory, her soft lips, her warm breath, her pliant body. He wasn’t dead to everything.

“I heard you, Grant.” His voice could have been coming from anybody, anywhere. “I’m on the scent of something here.”

“Blonde, brunette or redhead?”

A year ago Kyle might have been able to rustle up a smile. “I have a hunch.”

“Yeah, well, your bleeping hunches hold as much water these days as a leaky bucket.” How nice that Grant was moving from gutter slang to cliché.

“I’m not sure I care if I fix the bucket, Grant.”

The blasé remark sparked a long litany of bleeps. “That’s the trouble with you bleeeep kids who come into this profession already rich. You’re not hungry enough.”

Kyle had heard it before. That no longer fazed him, either. “I’ll be in touch, Grant.” He disconnected in the middle of the lecture.

Squeezing the phone in his fist, he almost hurled it against the wall. He yanked his shirt off, balled it up, and flung that instead. With that, the adrenaline leaked out of him like a stuck balloon.

Oberlin was wrong. Kyle was hungry. Hungry for something out of his reach, hungry for oblivion.

Flying day and night, night and day, living in airports and hotel rooms while hunting down people who didn’t want to be found and sniffing out stories they didn’t want to tell, sifting through lies and searching for a grain of truth, then writing an accurate account of the events only to have it slashed in half to make it fit in a column between a political cartoon and a story about a heroic cat that found its way home over the Rockies had grown wearisome.

Who wouldn’t be tired?

Other than an occasional fluke, he’d lost the ability to sleep more than a few hours at a time. A friend of his who liked to play at psychiatry claimed his internal clock needed an adjustment. She said he needed to wake up and go to bed in the same time zone.

He needed to restore his reputation, too. And Kyle didn’t see that happening.

He went to the window Harriet had opened. From here he had a bird’s-eye view of the grounds and the river. In its day, rivers like this one had been an integral part of life in the Midwest. During the timber barons’ heyday, logs were floated on the river to thriving sawmills downstream. Harriet said a riverboat used to travel from Lansing to Grand Haven and back every day, carrying commuters and travelers before the railroads were built and highways cut through the forests, around lakes, swamps and dunes.

He wondered if the river minded that it was no longer of use to anybody. Kyle knew the feeling.

Rumor was he’d sold out an informant. The proper terminology was that he was being investigated for revealing a source. He hadn’t revealed anything, and he sure as hell hadn’t taken money for it. But he couldn’t prove it, and it had broken down the line of trust he’d worked so hard to build. And an investigative reporter without leads wasn’t an investigative reporter for long.

He probably should care about that.

He had it from a good source that he was burned out. He wasn’t burned out. And he wasn’t experiencing writer’s block, whatever the hell that was. He was just tired of fighting for meaningless front-page stories while the real news was given a two-inch spot after the obituaries.

Last night he’d slept more than he’d slept in weeks. It hadn’t lasted. Already fatigue was engulfing him.

He turned his back on the view and glanced around the room. Sloping ceilings, painted wood floors, a slip-covered sofa, mismatched lamps, and a bathroom too small to turn around in. He sank to the bed, because the accommodations didn’t matter, either.

He laid back. And was asleep before he’d closed his eyes.

Summer’s footsteps were quiet as she climbed the stairs to the third floor. At the top, she adjusted the stack of linens in her arms and finger combed her hair. She didn’t really expect to see Kyle. After all, it had been three hours since Harriet had returned after showing him to his room. Although Summer hadn’t heard the purling of the front door chimes or seen him leave through the kitchen where she’d been working this afternoon, it didn’t mean he hadn’t slipped out.

Just in case he was inside, she tapped lightly on the door. Placing her ear close, she listened. She didn’t hear music, voices or the TV. There was only silence.

She hadn’t spent much time in the third-floor apartment since Madeline had moved out two weeks ago. She’d given the place a thorough cleaning, but that was all she’d done. Since Kyle would need these towels before he could shower, and she wanted to make the bed up with fresh sheets, she knocked again. Her apartment off the kitchen and this one on the third floor were the only doors that required actual keys anymore. She had a spare key with her, but first she tried the knob. Surprisingly, it turned.

She’d have thought that somebody who’d lived in L.A. and New York and half a dozen other bustling cities would have locked up behind him. Obviously not.

She would just run in, put the towels in the bathroom, freshen up the bed, then leave. She pushed the door open and instantly felt the gentle breeze.

The natural light slanting through the small windows on either end of the space left the center portion in shadow. Her hand was on the light switch when she saw Kyle lying on the bed across the room.

Shirtless and barefoot, he was clad in low-slung jeans. His face was turned toward her, his lashes casting deeper shadows on his cheeks. She saw no movement whatsoever, no fluttering of his eyes, not even a rise and fall of his chest. She thought about the pallor she’d glimpsed before he came upstairs and wondered—

She didn’t like what she was thinking.

There were times in her life when she’d felt as if she were being steered toward a blind curve by an invisible hand pressed firmly against her back. Today she was being pulled toward it as if by an invisible cord.

As she crept steadily closer, she automatically categorized the space. She didn’t see Kyle’s duffel bag anywhere. His shirt lay half on, half off the chair beside the bed, his shoes lined up neatly beneath the window. The man was a study in contrasts. Somehow she’d expected that.

She hadn’t expected him to be dead to the world. Cringing at her terminology, she saw no liquor bottles or sleeping pills on the nightstand, or anything else that might have explained his comatose appearance.

She leaned slightly over him. Now that she was only a few feet away she could see his chest rise and fall shallowly. He was breathing. Thank heavens.

Okay, he was simply sound asleep. The voice of reason told her to stop looking at him, but my oh my oh my, she wasn’t listening.

A man’s chest really was his most attractive physical attribute. No man wanted to hear that, but it was true. Kyle’s chest was muscled, the skin taut and tan and darkened with a sparse mat of fine, brown hair. His ribs showed, suggesting a lanky, wiry build. His waist was lean, his abs tidily halved by a narrow line of hair that disappeared beneath the closure of his CK’s.

She had no idea how he kept in shape, but he was every woman’s fantasy and had a broad appeal that could have been an advertisement for anything from blue jeans to sports cars to European vacations. His legs were long and lean, too. Shame on her for allowing her eyes to linger at his fly.

Summer took a step away and let her gaze glide back along a safer path—waist, abs, ribs, chest, shoulders. His jaw was darkened with whisker stubble. His mouth was closed.

And his eyes were slightly open.

She froze like a deer trapped in the glare of headlights. He was looking at her.

Or was he?

She looked closer and realized she was wrong. His eyes were open a slit but his pupils weren’t focused. He was still sound asleep.

And she was getting out of here before he woke up and caught her watching him or worse. But what could be worse? He could accuse her of liking what she saw. She couldn’t have refuted it, for she evaded the truth when necessary, but she didn’t lie.

She scurried to the door on tiptoe, leaving the towels and sheets on the table where Kyle had left his keys. She backed out the door, her gaze on his prone form, an image that was going to be nearly impossible to get out of her mind.

Kyle was aware of two things when he wandered downstairs. His brain was fuzzy despite his quick shower, and he was starving.

He wasn’t wearing a watch, and he’d left his cell phone charging next to the stack of towels he’d discovered by his door, so he couldn’t be certain of the time. He’d missed lunch. From the look of the activity of other guests at the inn, their work was over for the day.

Two men in blue jeans and work boots stood on the portico, their voices carrying through the screen door. Three others sat around what appeared to be an old game table in the front room off the foyer. A kid who didn’t look old enough to shave was eating fast food in the dining room. The aroma of greasy fries had Kyle’s stomach growling all the way to the kitchen.

He hadn’t known what he was looking for until he saw her. Summer.

She stood at the counter, her back to him. She was whipping up something with a wire whisk, her actions slowing each time she glanced at the recipe book open in front of her. Her light brown hair swished between her shoulder blades and her hips swayed to and fro with every repetition of that metal whisk.

She must have had ultra-sensitive hearing, for she glanced over her shoulder. Stilling momentarily, she said, “You’re awake.”

He sauntered the rest of the way into the room, letting the door swing closed behind him. “Jet lag’s a b—a bear.”

“I see you found the bath towels,” she said, resuming whatever it was she was doing.

So, she’d noticed his damp hair. Obviously he wasn’t the only observant type in the room. He stopped at the kitchen table and said, “Until I spotted the towels, I thought I’d imagined seeing you in my room.”

She stopped stirring. “You saw me?”

“I’ve got to tell you, it was a relief finding evidence that you’d been there. Chronic insomnia and an insatiable hunger are bad enough. Hallucinations would have been a lot tougher to ignore.”

She smiled at his dry wit. He found he liked that, too.

“I thought you were dead,” she said, as she faced him. “Seriously, I’ve never seen anybody sleep so soundly. If you saw me deliver your towels, why didn’t you say something?”

“Like I said, I thought I was dreaming. I’d be happy to tell you about the rest of the dream.”

She rested her back against the counter, folded her arms and tilted her head slightly. He half expected a mild admonishment. He felt a sexual stirring again. Oh, he definitely wasn’t numb to everything.

“Harriet is the one who enjoys dirty stories,” she said quietly.

Did she say Harriet?

There was a nagging buzzing in the back of his mind. He looked from Summer’s hazel eyes to the clock on the stove. It was after seven.

Harriet.

He’d stood her up. Muttering Grant Oberlin’s favorite word under his breath, Kyle headed for the door.

“Take these,” Summer told him. She handed him a vase filled with fragrant lilacs. “Purple is Harriet’s favorite color.”

It was dark outside when Kyle parked at the curb in front of Madeline’s house on Floral Avenue later that night. He recognized Riley’s silver car in the driveway and also Summer’s blue sedan. Two other vehicles were there, too. It might have explained why every light in the house was on.

He climbed out of his Jeep, only to hesitate. Madeline’s doctor had prescribed bed rest, so it was unlikely there was a wild party going on, and yet for a few seconds he wondered if he should go in. Riley would have called Kyle a choice brotherly name if he knew Kyle was so much as considering the possibility that he was intruding.

Riley, Braden and Kyle had been raised by three very different mothers in three separate households. The boys had all wanted the same thing from their father: his attention, some fatherly advice and a good example. Brock Merrick hadn’t had it in him. He’d shared his immense wealth, and he’d loved his sons; he’d loved their mothers, too. The problem was, he’d loved a lot of women. By the time the boys were adults, they’d learned to accept his flaw. Ultimately, since they couldn’t get what they’d needed from him, they’d gotten it from each other. They’d also gotten black eyes and bruised egos, but that was part of growing up with brothers.

They’d vowed to be there for one another no matter what, no questions asked, and while they’d all been adults for a while now and didn’t see each other as often as they wanted to, being there for one another would never change. Feeling back in his game, Kyle walked to his brother’s door.

Riley answered Kyle’s knock and threw the door wide. He motioned him in as if Kyle were a lifeboat and Riley was swimming in shark-infested water. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“Is something wrong?” Kyle asked.

This morning only Riley and his dog, Gulliver, had been home. Tonight, Kyle heard voices, several of them. All female.

“No,” Riley said. “On the other hand.” He paused again. “No, come on back.”

Kyle wondered, was there something wrong or not?

Just then a chorus of laughter carried through the house. One was throaty, one breathy, one a giggle. Again, all were feminine. Maybe there was a party going on after all.

Gulliver looked expectantly at Riley then waited for his master to nod before leading the way. The brown dog and Riley took the same route through Madeline’s house they’d taken this morning. They led Kyle past a narrow staircase in the living room then through a brightly lighted dining room and into the kitchen. From there they entered an arched hallway where Kyle saw a door that had been closed earlier.

They stopped outside a small bedroom with old-fashioned floral wallpaper and period furnishings. There was a mahogany desk and dresser on the far wall. On an adjacent wall was an antique four-poster bed. And on that four-poster were four women.

Kyle recognized Summer. She sat on the side closest to the door, her back to him, her body blocking the faces of two others. Kyle assumed the slight woman lying down was Madeline. He had no idea who the other two lined up against the headboard were. One had a notebook open on her lap, the other was gesturing wildly with her hands. Whatever she said caused laughter to erupt again.

Kyle and Riley shared a look, and Kyle quietly said, “This kind of thing would never happen between men.”

Riley’s sudden chuckle drew four sets of eyes. It occurred to Kyle that laughter looked good on Summer. Her cheeks were flushed, the curve of her lips enticing a second look. Rimmed by dark lashes, her eyes crinkled slightly at the corners. She was smiling, genuinely happy.

There was an innate elegance in the way she placed her teacup on its gilded saucer and set it on the nightstand before introducing him to her friends. Chelsea Reynolds was the curvy brunette, Abby Fitzpatrick the wispy-haired blonde.

“It’s nice to meet you,” he said to each in turn.

“How did it go?” Summer asked him.

“Better than I expected.”

“Did she forgive you?”

“Who?” the petite blonde asked.

The brunette shushed her with a nudge.

“She made me work for it,” he said, his gaze steady on Summer. He and Summer were the only ones who knew they were referring to Harriet Ferris, and neither of them chose to explain to the others. “But eventually she warmed up,” Kyle said. “The flowers were a big help.”

“I’m glad.” She was looking at him as if she meant it.

Kyle wondered if anybody else in the room noticed that he couldn’t seem to take his eyes off her. He was interested. He was intrigued. And he hadn’t been either of those things in a while.

“Am I interrupting something?” he asked her.

Summer shook her head. “Chelsea is Madeline’s wedding planner. She’s been prioritizing the most pressing details for the coming week.”

The blonde, Abby, said, “Summer’s going to be filling in for Madeline.”

“Is that right?” He smiled at Abby, but his gaze ultimately went to Summer again, for this was the first he’d heard that.

The weather had been unseasonably warm and humid today. It brought out the beast in a lot of people. As far as Kyle was concerned, the conditions were perfect for peeling off layers of clothing, for gliding a zipper down a slender back, for lowering the straps of a certain someone’s bra and for taking his time removing it.

That was a good place to halt his wayward thoughts. “If you have plans to make,” he said, looking directly at Summer, “I won’t keep you from them.” Even he could hear the huskiness in his voice. “I just stopped over to talk to Riley.” Kyle nodded at all four women. He smiled last at Summer.

He’d been accused of being vain a time or two. When he happened to look over his shoulder as he was leaving and caught four women looking at him, he knew why he’d never apologized for it.

From the doorway, he directed a question to the official wedding planner of the group. “I’m curious about something. What does a fill-in bride do?”

Chelsea held up the fingers of her right hand and began listing off responsibilities. “She hosts a bridal shower, samples wedding cake, chooses the menu, wears pink, the bride’s favorite color.” That was spoken with a shudder. “She helps the bride select the music, meets with the photographer and basically does whatever needs to be done, even if it means keeping the appointment with the seamstress for the final dress fitting, since, luckily, Summer and Madeline are the same size.”

Summer was shaking her head. “Trying on someone else’s wedding gown is bad luck.”

Obviously, this was an ongoing debate.

“Now you sound like Madeline,” the petite blonde said. “Usually she’s the one with all the uncanny intuitions and crazy premonitions.”

“I’m right here,” Madeline said. “And I can hear everything you’re saying, Abs.”

Kyle couldn’t help smiling. He would have enjoyed continuing along that vein, but he said, “And what does the fill-in groom do?” He’d already spoken to Riley about this, but his brother’s answer had been sketchy at best.

He doubted there were many women who could pull off appearing businesslike while sharing a bed with three other women, but Chelsea made an admirable attempt as she held up the fingers of her right hand again and prepared to count the ways Kyle could help this week. In the end, all her fingers remained straight.

“I suppose the groom’s responsibility during the week prior to the wedding is to support the bride.”

His gaze returned to Summer’s. In this instance he would be supporting the fill-in bride. “I can do that,” he said.

Her hair had fallen across her cheek. He would have liked to brush it away. As long as he was touching her, he would glide his finger to her chin, his thumb smoothing over her lower lip. He’d let his hand trail down her neck, stopping at the little vein pulsing in the delicate hollow.

Kyle felt the way he had earlier. Alive and aware. Especially aware. If he and Summer had been alone, there was no telling what he might have done. Instead, he reined in his hormones and smiled all around.

“It was nice meeting both of you,” he said to Abby and Chelsea. “Take care of yourself, Madeline.” At last he spoke to the woman he couldn’t seem to stop looking at. “Summer. I guess I’ll see you at the inn.”

Summer swore the temperature lowered ten degrees the minute the men left the room. She heard three collective sighs from the other women on the bed. Pleased to discover that her hand was still steady, she took a sip of tea.

“Holy moly,” Madeline declared.

“What was that?” Abby whispered.

“That,” Chelsea declared, “was one amazing example of pure masculine appeal.”

“That,” Summer qualified, “was Kyle Merrick being supportive.”

Madeline was looking at Summer, one eyebrow raised. With a point of her finger, Summer said, “Don’t start.”

Madeline grinned knowingly. And Summer thought it was going to be a long week.

“He wants you,” Chelsea said matter-of-factly.

“Film at eleven,” Abby piped in.

Arguing that they were wrong would have been futile, and Summer had a feeling she needed to save her strength. For a few moments, she’d almost forgotten that Kyle was in a profession she mistrusted. For those few blessed minutes, he’d simply been someone who slept too soundly and lost track of time and made her lose track of it, too. He was someone who took a bouquet of lilacs to a kind old lady, someone who brought out yearnings Summer hadn’t expected to feel. It was too late to chide herself, for Chelsea was right.

He wanted her.

He hadn’t tried to hide it. She hadn’t expected that any more than she’d expected him to show up here tonight or arrive last night during that thunderstorm. But he had, and he wasn’t leaving anytime soon.

Being wanted by a man like him was heady. It was tempting, and normally Summer didn’t tempt easily. What she didn’t know was what she was going to do about it.

Chapter Five

Kyle tossed the crime novel he’d been reading onto the bed. It landed facedown on the rumpled pillow beside him. Picking up the remote again, he aimed it at the small television on the nearby wall, adjusted his pillows and tried to get comfortable. He’d already caught the beginning of a comedian’s act, a portion of the race Braden had qualified for in Europe, and the end of a black and white war movie. He’d watched an infomercial selling kitchen knives, a lot of garbage, and a piece about the disappearing rain forests in South America.

He stayed away from the news.

Powering off the television, he sat up on the edge of the bed. By the light of a small lamp in the alcove that distinguished the bedroom from the living room, he padded quietly to the window. He stood in the shadows looking up at the sky. There, in the west, was Pleiades. According to an ancient Greek legend, the bright cluster of stars represented seven sisters who’d been openly pursued by a relentless hunter named Orion. Zeus, the ruler of the gods, took pity on the beautiful maidens and changed them into doves before setting them free into the heavens.

Those ancient stargazers sure knew how to tell a story. They must have spent a lot of time studying the night sky. Kyle wondered if they’d been insomniacs, too.

The inn settled around him. Somewhere a car downshifted. The air outside his window was still, the night so quiet he could hear the river flowing over the rocks in the distance. The dark windows of the neighboring houses reflected the crescent moon. Old post lamps lined the driveway and lit the inn’s front lawn. The only illumination in the backyard was a square patch of yellow stretching onto the grass close to the inn. He couldn’t see the origin of that light but he could tell from the angle that it was coming from the first floor.

He wasn’t the only one awake at this hour.

Summer swirled the pale wine in her glass. After enjoying a generous sip, she returned to the stove where she stirred hot cream into a bowl containing beaten egg yolks and sugar. Humming with the radio, she then poured the mixture into the saucepan, adjusted the flame and began to slowly stir.

She loved cooking at night, loved the rhythm, the aroma and the steam. The process of measuring and mixing, folding and stirring was soothing. It cleared her mind, which helped her contemplate solutions to problems.

Take Kyle Merrick for instance. He was an investigative reporter. Of all the legitimate professions in the world, his had the potential to be the most damaging to the new life she’d built. That made this attraction anything but safe.

No wonder she’d been genuinely relieved when she’d learned he wouldn’t be attending Madeline’s wedding. Now he was staying in The Orchard Inn. What were the chances of that happening? she wondered.

She’d fairly melted in his arms when he’d kissed her in this very kitchen. She couldn’t very well pretend indifference now without raising his suspicions. Besides, she wasn’t that good an actress.

As she stirred the mixture in the saucepan, it occurred to her that having Kyle under her roof might not be so terrible after all. She needed to set some boundaries, for sure, but having him in close proximity meant she could keep an eye on him.

She took another sip from her fluted glass and turned down the flame under the front burner. The stove was forty-five years old and was often cantankerous, but tonight it was cooperating beautifully. Her crème brulee would be a masterpiece. She stirred and hummed, and hummed and stirred, her mind on the sweet concoction and the little oasis of light she’d created in the otherwise dark inn.

She liked nearly everything about her life as an innkeeper. Keeping this place running smoothly and in the black brought her a sense of accomplishment she hadn’t known until she’d taken on the responsibility shortly after coming to Orchard Hill. She enjoyed serving breakfast and especially liked meeting new people and hearing all about their lives and dreams. She’d come to appreciate the steady progression and the one hundred and one tasks from check-in to checkout. She didn’t mind the daily punctiliousness of freshening rooms and shopping and seeing to her guests’ needs. The daylight hours belonged to them.

The night was hers.

Tonight the air was unseasonably warm. Thanks to the apple trees in the nearby orchards resplendent with blossoms, it was also wonderfully fragrant.

Turning off the flame beneath the thickened concoction, she sniffed the rising steam. With a moan, she closed her eyes.

When she opened them, she was no longer alone.

Kyle stood in the doorway where the light was faint, one hand on his hip and an easy smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Am I interrupting?”

Always with that lilting sensuality. Deciding there was no time like the present to implement the boundaries she needed to set, she gave him a friendly smile and said, “You’re welcome to come in, on one condition.” She scooped up a spoonful of the hot mixture and gently blew on it. “Try this.”

He sauntered to the stove wearing loafers, faded jeans and a T-shirt with wording in French. Bringing his nose close to her spoon, he took a trial whiff.

There was a certain level of trust involved as he touched his lips to the still warm dessert. It was his turn to moan.

She reached for another spoon and sampled some, too. “That’s not half-bad, is it?”

“Half-bad? Are you kidding? It’s magnificent.” Kyle moved slightly to make room for Summer as she went to the sink and washed her hands. She was wearing a white tank top and those knit pants that looked so damn good on women. Hers rode low on her hips and were held up by a string tied in a loose bow.

“Do you always cook when everyone else is sleeping?” he asked.

“It’s when I enjoy it the most, and when I have the most time for it. The first strawberries of the season are ripe,” she said as she dried her hands on a yellow towel. “I thought I’d spoon the crème brulee over them and offer a bowlful to my guests with breakfast which, by the way, is served every weekday between seven and nine.”

Her movements were fluid, her voice quiet, as if in reverence to the night. She must have seen him looking hungrily at the crème brulee, for she took a bowl from the cupboard, filled it, added a clean spoon and handed it to him.

The bottom of the dish was warm in his palm, the aroma wafting upwards so sweet smelling his mouth watered. He didn’t dig right in, though.

“Is something wrong?” she asked.

“Aren’t you going to have any?”

It didn’t take her long to make up her mind. Soon they were leaning against opposite cupboards, ankles crossed, bowls in one hand, spoons in the other.

“So,” she said between bites, “are you going to see Harriet again?”

Kyle didn’t know whether to laugh or scoff. Everything about Summer Matthews was a contrast. The way she’d ladled her concoction into bowls and daintily ate it was refined. Her reference to his date bordered on brazen. Earlier she’d been sipping tea. Now her wine glass was empty. She was as regal as royalty, and yet she seemed to run this inn single-handedly. It couldn’t be easy to keep up with the repairs of a building this old—floors pitched, doors didn’t close, pipes rattled. And yet every item in the house had so obviously been chosen. The retro range and state-of-the-art refrigerator and the scratched oak table and cane-bottom chairs sitting tidily on an aubusson rug didn’t scream good taste. They whispered it.

“I think I met Harriet’s secret tonight,” he said, scraping the bottom of his bowl.

Summer’s eyebrows rose slightly. “Her secret?”

“Walter.”

“You met Walter?”

“He joined us for dinner.” Kyle emptied his bowl only to have it miraculously refilled. It happened again before he’d finished telling Summer about the evening.

Walter Ferris was a large man with beefy hands, thick gray hair and bushy eyebrows. He’d probably been a handsome devil once. In his late seventies, he was straightforward and astute. He hadn’t been able to take his eyes off Harriet all night. Harriet had given Kyle plenty of attention, but he’d caught her eyes going soft on Walter a time or two when she’d thought Kyle wasn’t looking.

They had history, no doubt about it. And since they had the same last name, and they didn’t act like kissing cousins, Kyle wondered what their connection really was.

He didn’t normally give relationships more than a passing thought. It had been a long time since he’d been in one that lasted more than a month or two. He’d never stood in a woman’s kitchen eating warm crème brulee at three in the morning. Maybe there was something to the adage that the way to a man’s heart was through his stomach, although Kyle preferred other more evocative ways.

“Do I have crème brulee on my chin?” she asked.

He shook his head but didn’t apologize for staring. “What were we talking about?”

She seemed to have forgotten, too. It made them both smile.

“Walter,” they said in unison.

Walter Ferris had a story for every occasion but, other than a vague recollection of Summer mentioning a mother and sister who’d died before she’d moved to Orchard Hill, neither he nor Harriet seemed to know a lot about her past.

“I’m a little surprised Walter joined you tonight,” Summer said. “They usually have dinner together on Tuesdays and Fridays.”

Kyle stared at her, his spoon poised between his mouth and bowl. “Are you saying Harriet and Walter have regular dinner date nights?”

She’d spooned another bite into her mouth and therefore couldn’t answer. He wondered if evading questions was intentional or automatic.

“Are they married then? Ah,” he said, finally understanding the dynamics. “They’re divorced. If I were to harbor a guess, I’d say Walter wants her back. Men are easy to read that way.”

“I don’t like to talk about people behind their backs,” she said.

“If you’d rather we can talk about us.”

Summer used the ruse of carrying Kyle’s empty bowl to the sink to buy her a little time. It also gave her a little much-needed space.

By the time she’d rinsed the bowls, he was leaning against the countertop in the inn’s main kitchen again, his ankles crossed, arms folded. If she’d stopped there, she would have believed he was completely at ease. But it only required one look at his lean face, his lips firmly together, his green eyes hooded, and she knew the ease was secondary. He was a man who took nothing for granted, a man who didn’t rush or gloss over details. He was the kind of man who would take his time pleasuring a woman.

“There is no us,” she said. What was wrong with her voice?

“Not yet, you mean.”

It was the perfect opening for her to say, “You and I don’t know each other, Kyle. You’re just passing through Orchard Hill, but I live in this town. My livelihood is hinged on my reputation.”

He uncrossed his ankles and straightened, leading her to assume he was going to take the rejection with a grain of salt and go back upstairs. Instead he joined her in front of the sink.

“Sunrise or sunset?” he asked.

“What?”

“Sunrise or sunset?” he repeated.

She’d turned the radio down when he’d first joined her in the kitchen. Now the low hum barely covered the quiet. “What are you talking about?” she asked.

“I’m getting to know you. I think the modern terminology refers to this stage as the date interview. You’re right, that’s an easy one. You are sunset all the way. It’s your turn. Go ahead, ask me anything.”

She started the faucet and squirted dish soap into the stream. “This isn’t a date,” she reminded him sternly, but she couldn’t help thinking he was right about her and sunsets.

What could it hurt, she thought, to participate in a little harmless middle of the night conversation? After considering possible safe topics, she said, “Bourbon or Merlot?”

“Bourbon, hands down.”

She was surprised. She’d have pegged him as the kind of man who had an extensive wine collection.

“Hard rock or Rap?” he asked when it was his turn. “First, what are you doing?” He pointed at the sink she was filling with sudsy water.

“The dishwasher’s broken, and there won’t be money in the budget to have it repaired until July,” she explained. “Hard rock and Rap are both okay on occasion, but my favorite musician of all time is Leonard Cohen.”

As two iridescent bubbles floated on the rising steam, he said, “So you’re a romantic at heart.”

Had he moved closer? Or had she? Putting a little space between them again, she scoured a saucepan.

Kyle said, “I’d offer to fix your dishwasher, but I’m afraid my brother Braden is the mechanical genius in the family. I’m good with my hands in other ways.”

“I’m sure you’ll be very happy with yourself.”

His laugh was a deep rumble, the kind that invited everyone to smile along. They were standing close again, her shoulder nearly touching his arm. This time he was the one who moved slightly. Picking up a towel, he began to dry. “I believe it’s your turn.”

Hmm, she thought as she washed measuring cups and spoons. “Baseball or football?”

“Football, but I like races the best. European Auto Racing is my favorite, probably because my youngest brother is trying to break records and hopefully not his neck. Chicken or fish?”

“I’m more of a pasta girl. Dogs or cats?”

“Dogs,” he said. “Friends or family?”

Rinsing her wine glass and carefully handing it to him by the stem, she said, “I don’t have much family.”

“Then it wasn’t a family connection that brought you to Orchard Hill?”

Keeping her wits about her, she said, “Madeline likes to say Orchard Hill found me. The elderly couple that used to own The Orchard Inn had been looking for someone to take it over. I applied, and the rest is history.”

“So you work for this old couple?” he asked.

“I bought the inn from them with the money my grandmother left me. She’d been very ill and died right after I moved here.” Summer’s grandmother had been the only one who knew where she went, and the estate attorney had promised to keep her location confidential.

“The grandmother you and your sister spent summers with on Mackinaw Island?” he asked.

She supposed she shouldn’t have been surprised he’d been listening when she’d mentioned that. Keeping her eyes on the dish she was washing, she said, “I wasn’t kidding when I told you I don’t have much family.”

“If you’d like, you can borrow some of mine. Other than Riley and Braden, most of our relatives are female. 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 his jaw was a shade darker than his hair. The collar of his shirt was open at his throat, the green broadcloth a color and style that would fit in anywhere.

“Basically there are five classifications of men,” he began as he spread jelly on his toast. “The butt heads are by and large the worst. Normally I would refer to them as something more crass, but I’m going to try to do this delicately, so we’ll stick with butt heads. These are the guys who make promises they have no intention of keeping. They’re hard and heartless. These are the liars, stealers, cheaters, politicians, CEOs, anybody with no conscience. They give all men a bad name.”

She was listening, for she’d once known a few of those. Intimately.

“Next are the sorry-asses. Forgive me but there’s no delicate way to describe this category. They’re the drunks, the guys who mean well but are too lazy to bring home a paycheck, get their own beer or mow the lawn. You know, your basic losers.”

She couldn’t help smiling again.

“Third is the—let’s call the third category the dumbbells. If sorry-asses are your basic losers, dumbbells are your basic users. This is the guy who doesn’t have any money with him on Pizza Friday, who has to be shown repeatedly how to use the business system at work but can navigate every search engine for his personal use on company time. He’s more obnoxious than harmful.”

She made an agreeable sound, which earned her an appreciative masculine grin that went straight to her head.

“The last two categories are the smart alecks and the wise guys. At first glance you might think they’re one and the same. They’re both on the mouthy side, but smart alecks are irritating and wise guys are charming and entertaining.” He took a big bite of his pancakes and smiled smugly, as if his work here was done.

“You’ve certainly cleared that up,” she said over the rim of her coffee cup. “Tell me this. Why do women put up with any of you?”

Those green eyes of his spoke a full five seconds before he said, “Because some of us are irresistible.”

“You don’t say.”

They fell into a companionable silence. She finished the plain pancake and sipped her coffee, and he made a good-sized dent in his breakfast.

Thunder rumbled overhead. Kyle felt an answering vibration that was more like the pulsing beat of a distant drum than weather. It started deep inside, radiating outward. This was desire, the kind that burned slow and got hotter. There was only one way to appease it, and she was sitting across the table from him.

Summer’s dress was the color of pecans today. When was the last time he’d met a woman who wore a dress every day? He wasn’t referring to buttoned-up suits with pencil-thin skirts and stiletto heels with toes so pointy they could draw blood. Summer wasn’t out for blood. Was that why she drew him?

No. There was something far more elemental at work here.

Her dress was sleeveless, and the neckline covered all but the inside edges of her collarbones. It wasn’t formfitting or tight and had no business looking sexy. He wanted to push his plate away and reach for her, but burning off this hunger with her wasn’t going to be that simple.

Luckily Kyle was a patient man.

When his plate was empty, she came around to his side of the table and took it. Pausing at the kitchen door, she glanced back at him and said, “Which type are you?”

He wiped his mouth on his napkin and stood. “If you have to ask, I’m doing something wrong.” With that he sauntered out the front door.

In the kitchen, Summer turned on the hot water and squirted in dish soap. As suds expanded over the dishes in the bottom, she placed one finger over that little indentation at the base of her neck. Feeling the pulse fluttering there, she thought, a wise guy, definitely.

Since there were no parking spaces in front of Rose’s Flower Shoppe, Summer parked in front of Knight’s Bakery and Confectionary Shoppe a block away. The steady pitter-patter of raindrops on her umbrella muffled the click of her heels as she started toward Rose’s, but it didn’t dampen her mood. Betty Ryan smiled from the window of her daughter and son-in-law’s bakery when she saw Summer walking by. Looking up from the newspaper he was reading in his barber chair, Bud Barkley wiggled his fingers at Summer. She couldn’t help returning his classic wave.

She hurried past two clothing stores that had survived the ongoing feud between their owners and the recession. The big chains had drained the life out of the old drugstore on the corner. Now the building was home to Izzy’s Ice Cream Parlor. Summer loved that she knew the stories and the struggles of the courageous, tenacious people who called Orchard Hill home. Being accepted by them was an honor and a gift.

As if on cue, her phone jangled in her purse. Sliding it open, she began talking the moment she put it to her ear. “I’m on my way, Chelsea. How’s Madeline this morning?”

“She’s going stir-crazy and Riley’s hovering.” Chelsea’s voice in her ear was clear and concise. “I don’t know who I feel sorrier for. Let me know what Josie says about Madeline’s bouquet, okay? I know you can’t be away from the inn more than absolutely necessary, so somebody from Knight’s Bakery is bringing four samples of wedding cake to the inn later.”

Flowers. Check.

Wedding cake. Check.

There was something Summer was forgetting, but Chelsea was on a mission, and, when that happened, there was no stopping her. “Reverend Brown has agreed to go to Madeline’s house after services on Sunday to talk to her and Riley about the ceremony and vows. That’ll take us to the final five-day countdown. Can you believe it?”

Summer thought it was amazing how fast the wedding was approaching, but she didn’t have an opportunity to make more than an agreeable murmur before Chelsea had to take another call. Outwardly Chelsea Reynolds was the most organized young woman on the planet. But underneath her buttoned-up shirts and practical manner smoldered a dreamer. Only those closest to her knew the reason she kept it hidden.

The world was feeling like a good place as Summer dropped her phone back into her shoulder bag and walked into Rose’s Flower Shoppe. As always, the scents of carnations and roses met her at the door.

“I’ll be right with you.” Josie Rose’s muffled voice sounded as if she was speaking into the cooler. Eight months pregnant with her third child, she entered the room with one hand at the small of her back and the other on her basketball-size belly. “There you are, Summer. Someone was here a little while ago asking about you. A man,” she said in a stage whisper.

For the span of one heartbeat, Summer’s only thought was, they’ve found me. She waited, unmoving.

“Can you say tall, dark and handsome?” Josie asked, oblivious to Summer’s inner turmoil.

Oh. Okay. Summer could breathe again, because that description ruled out Drake and her father.

When she’d first moved to Orchard Hill and shortened her name and bought her inn, she’d often caught herself looking over her shoulder. There had been times when she’d been certain someone was following her. She wasn’t afraid, physically, of her former fiancé or her father. It was the havoc they could wreak and the media circus they were capable of creating that she so dreaded. Her father had connections to people in high places. She’d seen him in action with her own two eyes and knew he had the ability and the capability to ruin people for pleasure or personal gain.

Nothing had ever materialized out of those certainties that she was being followed. Eventually her paranoia subsided. She relaxed and began to enjoy the life she was painstakingly building, but old habits died hard, and this morning dread had reared.

“He had the greenest eyes I’ve ever seen on a man,” Josie continued.

Summer knew only one man who fit that description. “I think you’re referring to Riley’s brother Kyle. He’s staying at the inn this week.” Offhandedly she asked, “What did he want to know about me?”

“Oh, your favorite color, what kind of flowers you like, that sort of thing. Now, I can’t say more without spoiling the surprise, but it’s like I told him, a man never goes wrong with red roses. Come on back. I’ll show you what I had in mind for Madeline’s bridal bouquet.”

Summer had been on edge these last few days because Kyle was a reporter. Other than choosing his profession, he’d done nothing to warrant her distrust. In fact, except for asking her a few questions about her background, which was a very normal thing to do when people were getting to know one another, he’d done nothing except come to his brother’s aid, sample a bowl of crème brulee at three in the morning and beguile her with his wit and charm over breakfast.

He’d hinted about making love, but she’d been thinking about that, too, so she could hardly chide him for it. She was beginning to like him. Summer took pride in the fact that she showed everyone common courtesy. She granted people who earned it her respect, but her affection wasn’t given lightly. And she liked Kyle Merrick, truly liked him.

After consulting with Madeline over the phone, Summer finalized the order for the flowers for the wedding. Josie Rose was right. The bridal wreath spiraea, lilacs and baby’s breath were going to be perfect compliments to the sprigs of apple blossoms from Madeline’s family orchard. She spoke with Chelsea first and then Abby, as she started back toward her car. Since the rain had dwindled to a mild sprinkle by then, she didn’t even bother with an umbrella.

She smiled a greeting to Brad Douglas, one of the accountants with the CPA firm located across the street, waved to Greg and Celia Michaels, owners of the antique store around the corner, and held out a steadying hand to Mac Bower who’d been the proprietor of Bower’s Bar & Grill for sixty-five years.

A pair of strappy, high-heeled sandals in the window of the shoe store on the corner caught her eye. Lo and behold, they were even on sale.

The world felt like a very good place, indeed.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.