Asking For Trouble

The stuffing recipe was one of Lori’s favorites, though she couldn’t take credit for it. That honor belonged to world-renowned chef Bill Thackery, her former colleague. Though Bill might be absent, the one thing that wasn’t was his prized recipe collection, which she had lifted prior to leaving Philadelphia, along with his favorite set of Henckels knives.

No doubt he was more upset about losing his knives and recipes than losing her.

Leaving Bill hadn’t been an easy decision. He’d been her mentor, teaching her the finer points of culinary artistry, and she admired him greatly. But Lori felt she needed to get out from under his thumb, to establish herself as a chef in her own right, not just one of Bill’s protégés. Though she counted him as a friend, she just couldn’t work with him any longer. He’d grown demanding and unreasonable, wanting everything to be done his way and stifling her creativity until she wanted to scream.

They bickered constantly about the correct way to do just about everything, like what ingredients to use in chili, the proper temperature for roasting duck, how much yeast was required when baking bread. You name it, they argued over it. In fact, they had argued bitterly the night before her departure over a duck pâté that Lori had created. Bill had pronounced it “bland.” She’d stolen his knives and recipes for revenge.

The competition to outdo each other had finally gotten to Lori, who had decided one morning that she’d had enough, that it was time to make a break and get her own career off the ground. The Two Sisters Ordinary would give her that chance.

Lori hoped Bill didn’t hate her too much. She still felt guilty about leaving him the way she did, with no note or explanation. But she figured he owed her for years of hard work and loyalty. The recipes and knives were a fair punishment for his obnoxious behavior and nasty disposition. She just prayed he wouldn’t be able to track her down, because Bill Thackery did not like to be crossed.

“Is everything all right? You look upset. I meant what I said about the truffles. Just go ahead and—”

The dark-haired woman shook her head, smiling apologetically as she grabbed the edge of the table and pushed to her feet. “It’s not the truffles, Beth. I’m just tired. If you don’t need me for anything else, I’m going to my room and relax for a while.”

“Of course. If you like, I can fix breakfast in the morning, so you can sleep later.” Beth wasn’t a fabulous cook like Lori, but she was proficient enough to slap bacon and eggs together.

“That’s not necessary. I’ll be fine by morning. But thanks for the offer.”

Concern creasing her forehead, Beth watched her chef disappear and wondered, not for the first time, what was bothering the young woman. She didn’t have time to ponder the possibilities, because the door from the dining area to the kitchen swung open and Brad Donovan entered.

He’d changed since she’d seen him at dinner and was now wearing jeans and a blue polo shirt. The jeans had been ironed, as evidenced by the perfect crease dissecting the pant legs.

Good grief! What kind of a man ironed jeans?

A man who was a perfectionist and wanted everything just so—a man used to genteel living, gracious surroundings and having a perfect wife—a man who was reserved, anal and her total opposite.

Still, the dimples in his cheeks when he smiled were awfully cute, and he had a way of looking directly into her soul—as if he knew exactly what she was thinking—that made her totally uneasy.

“Hope you don’t mind, but I’m taking you at your word and making myself at home. Stacy wants a glass of milk, so I told her I’d bring one up to her when I retired, if that’s okay with you.”

“Of course. I’ll get it for you.” She made to rise, but Brad placed his hand on her shoulder and pushed her back down gently. His touch made her jump. “Please don’t!” She shrugged it off.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

“Forget it, okay?” Beth had overreacted, but she didn’t like to be touched in a proprietary way, not after Greg.

“I’d like to join you for a few minutes, maybe beg a cup of coffee, if I’m not disturbing you. Adult conversation’s been at a premium at our house lately.”

With an understanding smile, she pointed at the coffeepot. “Help yourself.”

“Thanks.” Fetching two mugs, he filled them with freshly brewed coffee and carried everything to the table, sitting down beside his hostess.

“You’re not disturbing me,” she said. “I’m just going over some menus.”

“Your chef’s terrific. I loved the duck. Very moist. And the skin was crisp, just the way I like it.”

“Thank you. My hope is to have one of the finest restaurants in the area. And with a chef as excellent as Lori I think I’m on my way.”

“Without a doubt. So why did you decide to become an innkeeper? It seems an odd profession for someone so young. I always think of innkeepers as old married couples who crochet doilies, chop firewood and wear red-and-black-checked shirts.”

Laughing, she sipped her coffee and started to relax. Brad Donovan was very easy to talk to and seemed genuinely interested in what she had to say. “I’m not as young as you think,” she said, explaining about her aunts’ decision to give their house to her, and hers to turn it into an inn.

“When I divorced my husband I was at loose ends. The inn gave me something to focus on. And I love everything involved in the operation of it. It’s quite a challenge, but also very satisfying knowing that my guests enjoy what I do for them.”

“I guess having people around all the time keeps you from getting lonely. That was the hardest thing for me after my wife died. I never realized how lonely being all alone could be.” He stared thoughtfully into his coffee.

“How did she die?”

He looked up, his eyes filled with sadness. “Ovarian cancer. By the time Carol was diagnosed, it was too late. The cancer was too far gone.”

“I’m so sorry. That must have been very difficult for you, especially with a young daughter to care for.”

“It hasn’t been easy. But Stacy keeps me focused on what’s important. And I try not to dwell in the past.”

It was clear he was still in love with his dead wife, and that said volumes about the kind of relationship they’d had. Beth had been deprived of that deep connection, that death-till-you-part kind of love in her own marriage and envied those who had it. Though not enough to ever look for it again.

“I don’t get lonely very often,” Beth said. Though sometimes at night when she lay in her cold bed, she yearned for a warm body to snuggle with. Buster came close to fitting the bill, but it wasn’t quite the same. “I have my aunts, the guests, people around me all the time and, of course, my dog, so I’m rarely ever alone. There are times when that can be frustrating, like when I’m all set to watch a movie and I get interrupted.”

“I can’t remember the last film I watched. It’s not as much fun now that Carol’s gone. And Stacy’s taste is so different than mine. I like the old black-and-white films, but she won’t watch a movie if it’s not in color.”

“I guess kids Stacy’s age like movies where everything gets blown up. My best friend, Ellen, is the same way. She’s a huge Bruce Willis fan and doesn’t understand the simplicity and humor in a classic film like The Philadelphia Story, which she thinks is boring. I love the classic films, too. I’m very addicted to my video and DVD collection.”

While Beth went on to discuss a Humphrey Bogart/ Lauren Bacall movie she’d watched recently, Brad listened intently, surprised by the primal reaction he was having to her infectious smile, the sound of her voice and the sparkle in her big green eyes as she extolled the virtues of Bogart’s abilities as an actor.

Beth Randall was a very attractive woman. He’d thought her cute at first glance, but he could see now that she was so much more. Brad hadn’t felt such an overt response to a woman since he’d met Carol at med school, and he was stunned by it.

Of course, Beth and Carol were nothing alike. Carol had been a cool blonde, with pretty cornflower-blue eyes and a conservative air about her—the typical Southern belle. Beth, on the other hand, had massive amounts of coppery hair that tempted a man to run his hands through it. She was relaxed, casual….

“Is something the matter, Dr. Donovan? You keep staring at me as if I’ve grown another nose.” She reached up to touch hers, hoping it wasn’t dripping.

“No. In fact, your nose is very cute.”

She turned fifteen shades of red, feeling the heat of embarrassment all the way down to her toes, which she was curling and uncurling under the table. “Thank you.”

“I was wondering if you’d mind answering some questions about my father’s stay here.”

The question took Beth off guard and her stomach knotted. She tried to remain poised and nonchalant, schooling her features to reflect that. “I’m afraid I don’t have much to add right now, Dr. Donovan.”

“It’s Brad, remember?”

“I haven’t had a chance to speak to my aunts,” she lied. “But I will. And soon.”

“Do you think they know something? It seems whenever I bring up my father’s disappearance you get nervous.” He stared intently at her, wondering if she knew more than she was saying and hoping she didn’t.

“Nervous?” Beth laughed one of those Katharine Hepburn ha, ha, ha laughs. Only hers didn’t come off nearly as innocent or flippant. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m just tired. I’ve had a long day. So if you’ll excuse me.”

Before he could utter another word she bolted from the kitchen with lightning speed, not remembering about the milk for Stacy until she’d reached the haven of her room. But she had no intention of going back down.