This Heart of Mine (14 page)

Wind Lake Cottages

Bed
&
Breakfast

established 1894

Kevin frowned. "That sign looks new. And nobody said anything to me about a bed-and-breakfast. She must have used the old house to take in guests."

"Is that bad?"

"The place is musty and dark as sin. I can't believe anybody would want to stay there." He turned onto a gravel lane that wound through the trees for about half a mile before the campground emerged.

He stopped the car, and Molly caught her breath. She'd expected to see rough cabins decaying on their foundations. Instead, they'd driven into a storybook village.

A shady rectangular Common sat at the center, surrounded by small gingerbread cottages painted in colors that could have spilled from a box of bonbons: mint with tangerine and toffee, mocha touched with lemon and cranberry, peach with blueberry and brown sugar. Wooden lace dripped from tiny eaves, and fanciful spindles bordered front porches no larger than a trundle bed. At one end of the Common sat a charming gazebo.

A closer inspection showed that the flower beds in the Common were overgrown, and the loop of road that surrounded it needed fresh gravel. Everything bore an air of neglect, but it seemed recent rather than long-term. Most of the cottages were tightly shuttered, although a few had been opened up. An elderly couple emerged from one of them, and Molly spotted a man with a cane walking near the gazebo.

"These people shouldn't be here! I had all the summer rentals canceled."

"They must not have gotten the word." As Molly gazed around, she experienced the oddest sense of familiarity. Since she'd never been anywhere like this, she couldn't explain it.

Across the road from the center of the Common was a small picnic area with a sandy, crescent-shaped beach directly behind it and, beyond that, a sliver of the blue-gray water of Wind Lake against the backdrop of a tree-lined shore. Several canoes and a few rowboats were overturned near a weathered dock.

She wasn't surprised that the beach was deserted. Although the early-June morning was sunny, this was a North Woods lake, and the water would still be too chilly for all but the hardiest swimmers.

"Notice the complete absence of anyone under the age of seventy!" Kevin exclaimed as he stepped on the accelerator.

"It's early. A lot of schools aren't out yet."

"It'll look this way at the end of July. Welcome to my childhood." He swung away from the Common onto a narrower lane that ran parallel to the lake. She saw more cottages, all of them built in the same Carpenter Gothic style. Presiding over them was a beautiful two-story Queen Anne.

This couldn't be the dark, musty place he'd described. The house was painted a light cocoa with salmon, maize, and moss green accents decorating the gingerbread trim above the porch, over the gables, and on the porch spindles. A round turret curved on the left of the house, and the broad porch extended around two sides. Petunias bloomed in clay pots by the double front doors, which held matching panels of frosted glass etched with a design of vines and flowers. Ferns spilled over brown wicker stands, and old-fashioned wooden rockers held cheery checked pillows in colors that matched the trim. Once again she had the sense of being plunged into an earlier time.

"I don't frickin' believe this!" Kevin vaulted out of the car. "This place was a wreck the last time I saw it."

"It sure isn't a wreck now. It's beautiful."

She winced as he slammed the door, then got out herself. Roo broke free and headed for the shrubs. Kevin gazed up at the house, his hands planted on his hips.

"When the hell did she turn this into a bed-and-breakfast?"

Just then the front door opened, and a woman who appeared to be in her late sixties emerged. She had faded blond-and-gray hair caught up in a clip with strands escaping here and there. She was tall and big-boned, and her mouth was wide, topped by prominent cheekbones and bright blue eyes. A flour-dusted blue apron protected her khaki slacks and short-sleeved white blouse.

"Kevin!" She hurried down the steps and gave him a vigorous hug. "You sweet boy! I knew you'd come!"

To Molly, Kevin's hug in return seemed perfunctory.

The woman gave her an assessing look. "I'm Charlotte Long. My husband and I came here every summer. He died eight years ago, but I still stay in Loaves and Fishes. Kevin was always losing balls in my rosebushes."

"Mrs. Long was a good friend of my parents and my aunt," Kevin said.

"My, I miss Judith. We met when my family first came here." Her sharp blue eyes returned to Molly. "And who's this?"

Molly extended her hand. "Molly Somerville."

"Well, now…" Her lips pursed as she turned back to Kevin. "You can't read a magazine without hearing about that marriage of yours. Isn't it a little early to be seeing someone else? I'm sure Pastor Tucker would be disappointed that you aren't trying harder to make things work with your wife."

"Uh, Molly is my…" The word seemed to stick in his throat. Molly sympathized, but she wasn't going to be the one to say it.

"Molly's my… wife." He finally managed to get it out.

Once again Molly found herself under the scrutiny of those blue eyes. "Well, that's good, then. But why are you calling yourself Somerville? Tucker's a good, proud name. Pastor Tucker, Kevin's father, was one of the finest men I ever knew."

"I'm sure he was." She'd never liked disappointing people. "Somerville's also my professional name. I write children's books."

Her disapproval vanished. "I've always wanted to write a children's book. Well, now, isn't this nice? You know, when Kevin's mother was alive, she was afraid he'd marry one of those supermodels who go around smoking dope and having sexual relations with everybody."

Kevin choked.

"Here now, pup, you get out of Judith's lobelia." Charlotte patted her thigh, and Roo abandoned the flowers to trot over. Charlotte reached down to chuck his chin. "Better keep an eye on him. We've got some coyotes around here."

Kevin's expression turned calculating. "Big ones?"

Molly gave him a reproachful gaze. "Roo sticks close to home."

"Too bad."

"Well, I'm off! There's a list of guests and dates on Judith's computer. The Pearsons should be here any time. They're bird-watchers."

Kevin turned pale beneath his tan. "Guests? What do you—"

"I had Amy freshen up Judith's old room for you, the one your parents used. The other bedrooms are rented."

"Amy? Wait a—"

"Amy and Troy Anderson, he's the handyman. They just got married, even though she's only nineteen and he's twenty. I don't know why they were in such a hurry." Charlotte reached back to untie the apron. "Amy's supposed to take care of the cleaning, but they're so gaga over each other that they're worthless. You'll have to keep after them." She handed the apron to Molly. "It's a good thing you're here, Molly. I never was much of a cook, and the guests are complaining."

Molly stared down at the apron. Kevin shot forward as the older woman began to walk away. "Wait a minute! The campground's closed. All the reservations were canceled."

She regarded him with disapproval. "How could you even think to do that, Kevin? Some of these people have been coming here for forty years. And Judith spent every penny she had sprucing up the cottages and turning the house into a bed-and-breakfast. Do you have any idea how much it costs to advertise in
Victoria
magazine? And that Collins boy in town charged her almost a thousand dollars to set up a Web site."

"A
Web site
?"

"If you're not familiar with the Internet, I suggest you look into it. It's a wonderful thing. Except for all that porno."

"I'm familiar with the Internet!" Kevin exclaimed. "Now, tell me why people are still coming here after I closed the place down."

"Why, because I told them to. Judith would have wanted it. I kept trying to explain that to you. Do you know that it took me nearly a week to get hold of everyone?"

"You called them?"

"I used that E-mail, too," she said proudly. "It didn't take me long to get the hang of it." She patted his arm. "Don't be nervous, Kevin. You and your wife will do just fine. As long as you put out a nice, big breakfast, most people are happy. The menus and recipes are in Judith's blue notebook in the kitchen. Oh, and get Troy to look at the toilet in Green Pastures. It's leaking."

She headed off down the lane.

Kevin looked sick. "Tell me this is a bad dream."

As Mrs. Long disappeared, Molly watched a late-model Honda Accord turn into the lane and head toward the B&B. "As a matter of fact, I think you're wide awake."

Kevin followed the direction of her gaze and swore as the car stopped in front of the B&B. Molly was too tired to stand any longer, so she sank down on the top step to watch the entertainment. Roo yipped a greeting at the couple who came up the sidewalk.

"We're the Pearsons," a thin, round-faced, sixtyish woman said. "I'm Betty and this is my husband, John."

Kevin looked as if he'd taken a direct hit to the head, so Molly replied for him. "Molly Somerville. This is Kevin, the new owner."

"Oh, yes. We heard about you. You play baseball, don't you?"

Kevin sagged against the gas lamppost.

"Basketball," Molly said. "But he's really too short for the NBA, so they're cutting him."

"My husband and I aren't much for sports. We were sorry to hear about Judith. Lovely woman. Very knowledgeable about the local bird population. We're on the trail of Kirtland's warbler."

John Pearson outweighed his wife by nearly two hundred pounds, and his double chins wiggled. "We hope you're not planning on making too many changes in the food. Judith's breakfast spread is famous. And her cherry chocolate cake…" He paused, and Molly half expected him to kiss his fingertips. "Is afternoon tea still at five o'clock?"

Molly waited for Kevin to respond, but he seemed to have lost the power of speech. She cocked her head at them. "I have a feeling tea might be a little late today."

Daphne lived in the prettiest cottage in Nightingale Woods. It sat off by itself in a great grove of trees, which meant she could play her electric guitar whenever she wanted and no one complained.

Daphne Gets Lost

Kevin had his cell phone pressed to one ear, the B&B's phone pressed to the other as he paced the entrance hall barking orders to his business manager and somebody who was either a secretary or a housekeeper. Behind him an imposing walnut staircase rose half a flight, then turned at a right angle. The spindles were dusty, and the richly patterned carpet on the treads needed vacuuming. An urn filled with drooping peacock feathers topped a pilaster on the landing.

His pacing was wearing her out, so Molly decided to explore while he talked. With Roo trotting after her, she moved slowly into the front parlor. The pincushion settee and pleasing jumble of chairs were upholstered in pretty buttercup and rose fabrics. Botanical prints and pastoral scenes hung in gilded frames on the cream-colored walls, while lace curtains framed the windows. Brass candlesticks, a Chinese jardiniere, and some crystal boxes ornamented the mantel above the fireplace. Unfortunately, the brass was tarnished, the crystal dull, and the tabletops dusty. A lint-flecked Oriental carpet contributed to the overall air of neglect.

The same was true of the music room, where the traditional pineapple-patterned wallpaper served as a background for rose-patterned reading chairs and a spinet piano. A writing desk in the corner held ivory stationery, along with an old-fashioned fountain pen and a bottle of ink. A pair of tarnished silver candlesticks sat on top, near an old toby jug.

A Queen Anne table and ten matching high-backed chairs graced the dining room across the hallway. The room's dominant feature was a square, cutaway bay window that provided a generous view of lake and woods. Molly suspected that the tall crystal vases on the sideboard had held fresh flowers when his Aunt Judith was alive, but now the marble top was cluttered with the remains of breakfast serving dishes.

She walked through a door at the back into an old-fashioned country kitchen warmed by blue-and-white tiles as well as wooden cabinets topped with a collection of chintzwear china pitchers. In the center a sturdy farm table with a marble slab served as a workspace, but now dirty mixing bowls, eggshells, measuring cups, and an open jar of dried cranberries littered the surface. The very modern restaurant-size stove needed cleaning, and the dishwasher door hung open.

A round oak table for informal dining sat in front of the windows. Printed pillows covered the seats of the farmhouse chairs, and a punched-tin chandelier hung above. Behind the house the yard sloped down to the lake, with woods on each side.

She peeked into a large, well-stocked pantry that smelled of baking spices, then entered a small connecting room, where the very modern computer resting on an old tavern table signaled that this was the office. She was tired of walking, so she sat down and booted it up. Twenty minutes later she heard Kevin.

"Molly! Where the hell are you?"

Slytherin rudeness didn't deserve a response, so she ignored him and opened another file.

For a normally graceful man, he had an unusually heavy step that morning, and she heard his approach long before he located her. "Why didn't you answer me?"

She repositioned the mouse as he came up behind her, deciding it was time to face up to him. "I don't answer roars."

"I wasn't roaring! I was—"

When he didn't finish, she looked up to see what had distracted him. Outside the window a very young woman in skimpy black shorts and a tight, scoop-neck top flew across the garden, followed by an equally young man. She turned and ran backward, laughing and taunting him. He called out something to her. She grabbed the hem of her top and tugged it up, flashing her bare breasts.

"Whoa…" Kevin said.

Molly felt her skin grow hot.

The man caught her around the waist and dragged her into the woods so that they weren't visible from the road, although Kevin and Molly could see them clearly. He leaned against the trunk of an old maple. She immediately jumped on him and wrapped her legs around his waist.

Molly felt the slow pulse of dormant blood stirring as she watched the young lovers begin to devour each other. He cupped her bottom. She pressed her breasts to his chest, then, resting her elbows on his shoulders, caught his head to steady it, as if she weren't already kissing him deeply enough.

Molly heard Kevin move behind her, and her body gave a sluggish throb. She could feel his height looming over her, his warmth penetrating her thin top. How could someone who made his living with sweat smell so clean?

The young man turned his lover so that her back was against the tree. He pushed a hand under her T-shirt and covered her breast.

Molly's own breasts tingled. She wanted to look away, but she couldn't manage it. Apparently Kevin couldn't either, because he didn't move, and his voice sounded vaguely husky.

"I think we've just caught our first glimpse of Amy and Troy Anderson."

The young woman dropped to the ground. She was petite but leggy, with dishwater-blond hair pulled up in a purple scrunchy. His hair was darker and cut close to his head. He was thin and quite a bit taller than the girl.

Her hands slipped between their bodies. It took Molly only a moment to realize what she was doing.

Unzipping his jeans.

"They're going to do it right in front of us," Kevin said softly.

His comment jerked Molly out of her trance. She bolted up from the computer and turned her back to the window. "Not in front of me."

His eyes drifted from the window to her, and for a moment he didn't say anything. He just gazed at her. Again that sluggish pulsing in her bloodstream. It reminded her that even though they'd been intimate, she didn't know him.

"Getting a little hot for you?"

She was definitely warmer than she wanted to be. "Voyeurism isn't my thing."

"Now, that surprises me. This should be right up your alley, since you seem to like preying on the unsuspecting."

Time hadn't diminished the embarrassment she felt. She opened her mouth to apologize once again, only to have something calculating in his expression stop her. With a shock she realized that Kevin wasn't interested in groveling. He wanted to be entertained with an argument.

He deserved her very best, but her brain had been inactive for so long, it was hard to come up with a response. "Only when I'm drunk."

"Are you saying you were drunk that night?" He glanced out the window, then back at her.

"Totally wasted. Stoli on ice. Why else do you think I behaved like that?"

Another look out the window, this one lasting a bit longer. "I don't remember you being drunk."

"You were asleep."

"What I remember is that you told me you were sleepwalking."

She managed a huffy sniff. "Well, I hardly wanted to confess that I had a problem with alcohol."

"Recovered now, are you?" Those green eyes were much too perceptive.

"Even the thought of Stoli makes me nauseous."

His gaze raked a slow, steady path over her body. "You know what I think?"

She swallowed. "I'm not interested."

"I think I was just irresistible to you."

She searched her imaginative brain for a scorching comeback, but the best she could come up with was a rather pitiful "Whatever makes you happy."

He shifted his position to get a better view of the scene outside. Then he winced. "That's got to hurt."

She wanted to look so badly she could barely stand it. "That's sick. Don't watch them."

"It's interesting." He tilted his head slightly. "Now, that's a new way to go about it."

"Stop it!"

"And I don't even think
that's
legal."

She couldn't stand it any longer, and she whirled around, only to realize that the lovers had vanished.

His chuckle had an evil edge. "If you run outside, you might be able to catch them before they're done."

"You think you're funny."

"Fairly amusing."

"Well, then, this should really entertain you. I dipped into Aunt Judith's computer records, and the B&B seems to be booked solid into September. Most of the cottages, too. You won't believe how much people are willing to pay to stay here."

"Let me see that." He pushed past her to get to the computer.

"Enjoy yourself. I'm going to find someplace to stay."

He was busy scanning the screen, and he didn't respond, not even when she reached over him to pick up the piece of notepaper she'd used to jot down the names of the vacant cottages.

A pegboard hung on the wall next to the desk. She found the appropriate keys, stuck them in her pocket, and made her way through the kitchen. She hadn't eaten that day, and on the way she picked up a leftover slice of Charlotte Long's cranberry bread. The first bite told her that Mrs. Long had been right when she'd said she wasn't much of a cook, and she dropped it in the trash.

When she reached the hallway, curiosity won out over her fatigue, and she climbed the steps to see the rest of the house. Roo trotted at her side as she peered into the guest rooms, each of which had been individually decorated. There were book-filled nooks, pretty views from the windows, and the homey decorating touches people expected at an upscale B&B.

She spotted a bird's nest filled with antique glass marbles on top of a stack of vintage hatboxes. An arrangement of apothecary bottles sat near a wire birdcage. Pieces of embroidery in oval frames, old wooden signs, and wonderful stoneware vases that should have held fresh flowers were tucked here and there. She also saw unmade beds, overflowing trash cans, and grubby bathtubs draped with discarded towels. Clearly Amy Anderson would rather cavort in the trees with her new husband than clean.

At the end of the hallway she opened the door into the only room that hadn't been rented out. She knew because it was tidy. Judging from the family photos propped on the dressing table, the room had belonged to Judith Tucker. It occupied the corner of the house, including the turret. She visualized Kevin sleeping beneath the carved headboard. He was so tall, he'd have to lie across the mattress.

An image of the way he'd looked the night she'd slipped into his bed came back to her. She shook it off and made her way downstairs. As she stepped out onto the front porch, she smelled pine, petunias, and the lake. Roo stuck his nose in a flowerpot.

She wanted nothing more than to sink into one of the rockers and take a nap, but since she wasn't going to join Kevin in Aunt Judith's bedroom, she needed to find a place to stay. "Come on, Roo. Let's go visit the empty cottages."

One of the computer files had contained a diagram that marked the location of each cottage. As she approached the Common, she noticed the small, hand-painted signs near the front doors: Gabriel's Trumpet, Milk and Honey, Green Pastures, Good News.

As she passed Jacob's Ladder, a handsome, rawboned man came through the woods. He looked as if he was in his early to mid-fifties, significantly younger than the other residents she'd spotted. She nodded and received a brusque nod in response.

She headed in the opposite direction, toward Tree of Life, a coral cottage with plum and lavender trim. It was empty, as was Lamb of God. They were both charming, but she decided she'd like more privacy than the cottages on the Common afforded, so she turned away and walked back toward the more isolated ones that perched along the lane that paralleled the lake.

An odd sense of déjà vu came over her. Why did this place seem so familiar? As she passed the B&B, Roo pranced ahead of her, stopping to sniff at a clump of duckweed, then discovering an alluring patch of grass. When she came to the end of the lane, she saw exactly what she wanted nestled in the trees. Lilies of the Field.

The tiny cottage had been freshly painted the softest of creamy yellows with its spindles and lacy wooden trim accented in palest blue and the same dusty pink as the inside of a seashell. Her chest ached. The cottage looked like a nursery.

She mounted the steps and discovered that the screen door squeaked, just as it should. She found the proper key in her pocket and turned it in the lock. Then she stepped inside.

The cottage was decorated in authentic shabby chic instead of the kind that was trendy. The white-painted walls were old and wonderful. Underneath a dustcover she found a couch upholstered in a faded print. The battered wooden trunk in front of it served as a coffee table. A scrubbed pine chest sat along one wall, a brass swing-arm lamp next to it. Despite the musty smell, the cottage's white walls and lace curtains made everything feel airy.

Off to the left, the tiny kitchen held an old-fashioned gas stove and a small drop-leaf table with two farmhouse chairs similar to the ones she'd seen in the B&B's kitchen. A glance inside the painted wooden cupboard showed wonderfully mismatched pottery and china plates, more pressed glass, and sponge-painted mugs. Something ached inside her as she spotted a child's set of Peter Rabbit dishes, and she turned away.

The bathroom had a claw-foot tub along with an ancient pedestal sink. A rag rug covered the rough-planked floor in front of the tub, and someone had stenciled a chain of vines near the ceiling.

Two bedrooms occupied the back, one tiny and the other large enough for a double bed and a painted chest of drawers. The bed, covered in a faded quilt, had a curved iron headboard painted a soft yellow with a flower basket motif worked in the center. A small milk-glass lamp rested on the bedside table.