Cranberry Bluff Read online

  Molly heard footsteps from the hallway, and Sadie appeared, wine glass in hand. She’d changed from her earlier dress into black slacks and an emerald green cashmere sweater – a much better compliment to her red hair, Molly thought. Then again, who was she to determine what people should wear?

  “Such delicious wine!” Sadie said, extending her empty glass.

  “It’s a Chardonnay from Napa Valley, one of my personal favorites.” Molly poured Sadie a refill. The woman helped herself to more crackers and started back to her room, shrugging her shoulders in a “thank you” gesture as she started down the hall.

  Molly put away the cheese, crackers and wine and replaced them with the plate of baked treats. She looked over the remaining guest card, checking for any notes about late arrival. There were none. She skimmed the reservation book for incoming guests the next few nights. The book was clear of arrivals. It would be an easy weekend – no rooms turning over. Sadie Kramer was scheduled to check out on Tuesday. Mr. Miller had indicated he was there for either two or three nights, depending on his travel plans. The Jensens were there for several nights. And Bryce Winslow…. Molly paused. She’d placed a question mark in the departure date on his registration. Had his charm distracted her so much that she overlooked this detail? It wasn’t like her to get rattled easily. At least she never used to.

  Setting the paperwork aside, she made sure the front porch lights were on. A strong wind had started to kick up and Molly could feel rain in the air. She straightened the welcome mat and closed the door quickly.

  She pulled a current paperback bestseller from the parlor bookshelf and curled up on the couch, hoping the book would interest her more than the last time she tried to read it. She took another glance at the stately mahogany clock before turning to the book’s first page.

  Eight forty-five.

  Molly heard the front door open. Finally, she thought, putting the book down and heading to the entrance.

  Susie Jensen stood there, her feet swathed in white and pink terrycloth, an empty ice bucket in her hand. Seriously, bunny slippers?

  “I’m sorry, I hope I’m not intruding,” Susie said. “I didn’t see an ice machine out back.” The young woman’s smile struck Molly as fragile.

  “I’ll fill it for you in the kitchen,” Molly said. “And, no, you’re not intruding at all. The parlor is always open to guests. Once all the guests have arrived, I do lock the door at night. But that second key on your key ring will let you in.” Her words floated back over her shoulder as she went into the kitchen.

  “Oh!” The young guest seemed surprised. “I thought it was a duplicate, since there are two of us.” The sound of tumbling ice drowned out the comment.

  “Your suite is the only accommodation that’s separate from the main house,” Molly explained as she returned with a full ice bucket.

  Susie took the ice from Molly and thanked her. She turned and left through the front door, rabbit ears flopping with each step. Light raindrops began to fall as Susie followed the cobblestone walkway around the house. A strong gust of wind rattled the wind chimes on the porch. Molly shivered and closed the door, glancing again at the clock.

  Ten thirty.

  At this point, Molly was equally worried and annoyed. The confirmation sheet that she sent to guests clearly indicated check-in hours and stated guests should call ahead if they would be late so that she could arrange for their arrival. There weren’t enough dead cell phone areas along the coast to force an innkeeper to spend a night curled up on the couch for hours, waiting for a late guest. Yet hours passed without a call. Molly fought to stay awake, still disinterested in the paperback. But as the storm grew more intense, pattering raindrops lulled her to sleep.

  CHAPTER TWO

  A pounding on the door woke Molly. She sat up, disoriented, as the paperback she’d been trying to read slid off her chest and landed on the floor. She rubbed her eyes and looked at the clock.

  Midnight.

  Had she imagined the sound? She picked up the book and set it on a side table, then reconsidered and put it back on the bookshelf. If it hadn’t caught her attention by now, it wasn’t going to.

  A steady knocking, sounding louder than the pounding that woke her, confirmed that the last guest had arrived. Finally, she could check him in and retire to her room. She flung the door open and caught her breath.

  The tall man who stood on the front porch could have walked straight out of a romance novel, with his dark hair plastered to his forehead, tanned, chiseled features and coffee-colored eyes. He wore a tailored business suit that looked like it had just been pulled from a washing machine. A suitcase sat beside him, wet airline tag blowing sideways with each gust of wind.

  He cleared his throat. “May I come in?”

  Warmth crept up Molly’s neck. Yes, that was the voice she’d heard on the phone when the reservation was made. His voice was gorgeous. So was he.

  Molly snapped out of her daze and motioned him in out of the storm. “Of course! I’m so sorry, please come in.” She’d forgotten her annoyance over his late arrival, at least until she noticed his share of rain dripping off his trousers and onto the floor. Bryce ran a damp sleeve across his forehead, realizing immediately that it did nothing to dry off his skin.

  “Let me get you something to help dry off.” Molly slipped into the hallway’s guest bath and retrieved a deep burgundy plush hand towel.

  Bryce dried his face and hands, cleared his throat and glanced around. “Did I wake you?” His confused expression clashed with his otherwise attractive demeanor.

  Molly managed a simultaneous sigh and smile. Honestly, not even an apology for arriving so late? This was one of many reasons she’d jumped at the chance to take over the B&B. City folk took so much for granted.

  “Our check-in hours are usually from four to eight, Mr. Winslow,” Molly said. “But it’s no problem. I’m glad you made it safely. If I’d known a storm was coming in when you made your reservation I would have warned you about the long drive up here. It’s not too bad on a sunny day, but a rainy night is another story altogether.” Why was she chattering all of a sudden?

  “I assumed the registration desk was open late.”

  Molly didn’t reply. A city hotel might have a round-the-clock front desk, but a bed and breakfast wouldn’t. What was this guy doing way up in Cranberry Cove, anyway? He should have booked a room in San Francisco and saved himself hours of driving, not to mention a dry cleaning bill.

  She handed him a pen and pointed to the registration card on the hallway table.

  “Let’s get you into your room,” Molly said. “I’m sure you’re tired, not to mention anxious to get into dry clothes.”

  She watched as he signed the form with a bold, self-assured movement. Moisture covered his steady, well-manicured hand. This was not a man who did manual labor. And certainly not one who was accustomed to driving winding coastal roads at night.

  “Ocean view room, I believe,” Bryce said, picking up the suitcase. A trickle of water ran off onto the floor.

  “Not at night,” Molly quipped, catching the guest off-guard.

  “What?” he said.

  “We only have ocean view rooms in the daytime,” Molly said as she turned toward the stairs with his room key. She heard a light laugh behind her. “Follow me, Mr. Winslow. Your room is upstairs and to the right.”

  “Call me Bryce.” His footsteps echoed hers.

  “It’s our largest room, aside from the suite in the back building.”

  “Oh, you have a suite? Well then, I’ll take that, instead.” Molly heard the footsteps stop. She continued without looking back.

  “Mr. Winslow…”

  “Call me Bryce…”

  “Bryce,” Molly said. “The suite is already occupied, and besides, it has no ocean view, which is what you requested.”

  “Not even in the daytime?”

  She turned to face him as they reached the door to the Lighthouse Room, finding him only inches from he
r. She stumbled a little. For the first time since he’d arrived, he was smiling. Grinning would be a better description, she thought. Yes, a smug grin. The kind that should come with a warning sign, since trouble usually accompanied it.

  “No, Bryce,” Molly said, emphasizing his name, “not even in the daytime.” She smiled, but suppressed a full grin. She wasn’t going to fall for the charm, was she? She had sworn off his type years ago.

  “You’ll find everything you need in your room,” Molly said.

  “Dry towels?” Another grin.

  “Yes, dry towels,” Molly answered, fighting back a laugh. “Breakfast is served downstairs from eight o’clock to ten o’clock.”

  “I don’t eat breakfast.”

  What man doesn’t eat breakfast?

  “Feel free to help yourself to coffee then, any time after six-thirty, in the front hallway.” Molly handed him the room key, said goodnight and started back downstairs.

  “See you at breakfast.”

  “I thought….” Molly paused on the stairs. She could picture his grin without turning around.

  “I was kidding.”

  The door to the Lighthouse Room closed.

  ****

  It was nearly one in the morning and Molly was barely into her flannel nightshirt. Her alarm would be ringing in five hours. Worse, now she was wide awake. That book! If that book had been the least bit interesting, it might have kept her awake until Mr. Winslow – Bryce! – arrived, and she wouldn’t be awake now.

  Who was she kidding? She wasn’t irritated at the book. It was that arrogant, smug, inconsiderate, self-obsessed…. She was running out of adjectives! But Mr. Winslow – Bryce! – had all the traits that she tried to avoid in men. His late, unapologetic arrival alone was rude, and now it would take her an hour to get to sleep and three cups of coffee to wake up in five hours.

  She checked the alarm on the nightstand clock and flopped down on the bed. She closed her eyes. They popped right back open. Closed them again, opened them again and sat up. Still awake!

  He reminded her of Franco, a foreign exchange student she’d dated in high school. That was more years ago than she cared to count. But Franco’s classic Italian features and lady-killer demeanor were still freshly imprinted in her mind. No question, it had been exhilarating to loop her arm through his while he carried her books through the school hallways. She’d been the envy of half the senior class whenever he’d cast his sexy eyes sideways at her. His return to Italy had been her first real heartbreak, which was compounded by his broken promises to write. She never heard from him again.

  That should have been enough for her to steer clear of handsome smooth talkers. But it wasn’t. Ron in grad school, for example, had smothered her with affection – between clandestine visits to his other girlfriends. And Harrison, a big shot manager at one of her first jobs. She’d been flattered that he’d taken her under his wing to help her career, plying her with roses and romantic dinners. That ended on a bad note when she caught him in bed with a sexy new hire. No, she wasn’t going to reminisce about past relationships. She had five mouths to feed in the morning and needed to sleep. She forced herself to mentally prepare the breakfast, her own version of counting sheep. Pre-heat the oven. Grind the French roast beans and start the coffee maker. Fill goblets with fresh melon and berries. Slide the mushroom and cheese frittata into the oven. Double-check the place settings in the breakfast room…

  CHAPTER THREE

  Sadie was the first to arrive at breakfast, not at all a surprise. She looked well rested, Molly thought, though compared to the way Molly felt, anyone would. It had been nearly two in the morning before she’d been able to fall asleep.

  The lemon colored jogging suit Sadie wore added warmth to the table, which was otherwise framed by a picture window displaying the town’s usual morning fog. With a touch of luck they’d get sunshine in the afternoon, but Molly wasn’t betting on it.

  “What a beautiful table arrangement!” Sadie exclaimed. Molly stifled a yawn and thanked her, setting a cup of honeydew melon and blackberries in front of the smiling woman. A mint leaf garnished the dish. She set an identical cup at each place setting.

  “Where did you get such a gorgeous china set?” Sadie asked.

  “From my Aunt Maggie,” Molly said. “It was her inn before she passed away. I inherited the belongings, as well as the inn.”

  Sadie scooped a spoonful of fresh berries into her mouth, closed her eyes, swallowed and sighed.

  “Well, you can’t go wrong with this type of pattern,” she said. “Petite flowers and gold trim are so elegant – very English, if I may be so bold.” Sadie tried, poorly, to mimic a British accent. “My mother had a pattern like this, except with different flowers and a silver trim. I just love the gold!”

  Molly left Sadie to admire the place settings and finish her fruit. When she returned with two baskets of cranberry scones, Mr. Miller had joined Sadie, who was trying to start a conversation with him. It was clear she wasn’t making much progress.

  Molly placed a basket of scones at each end of the table and picked up a coffee pot from a warming tray on a side table.

  “Coffee for you, Mr. Miller?” Molly asked. Receiving no answer, she poured the beverage into the man’s coffee mug, watching for a response. “Thank you,” he said, without looking up. Molly watched Sadie eye him curiously. My reaction, exactly, she thought.

  “So, where are you from, Mr. Miller?” Sadie reached for a cranberry scone, knocking over a saltshaker in the process. She pinched salt from the table with her fingers. “Can’t ever be too careful!” she said.

  Mr. Miller frowned as he watched Sadie throw salt over her left shoulder. “Bakersfield,” he replied.

  Sadie nodded as she broke the scone in half and slathered the middle with butter. Mr. Miller frowned again.

  “Bakersfield,” Sadie repeated. “I’ve never been there. It’s small, right?”

  “Not really,” he said. He shook his head as Molly offered him a scone. He sipped his coffee.

  “I’m from San Francisco,” Sadie said. “I don’t know how I’d survive in a little place like Bakersfield, though I’m sure it’s charming!” She beamed at Mr. Miller, who stared back blankly. “I love the hustle and bustle of the city! We have so many fabulous stores, though I suppose you’re not much of a shopper, Mr. Miller.” She paused for a response, getting none. “And the museums and shows – there’s always something to do! A person could never be bored in San Francisco. Why just last week….”

  Sadie continued her ravings about San Francisco life while Molly slid hot plates of frittata in front of both guests. Mr. Miller didn’t refuse the food, but didn’t pick up his fork. Sadie attacked it immediately. “Delicious!” she said.

  The Jensens entered the dining room with fingers intertwined, just as they had been when they checked in. Susie had the bright, beaming look of a high school cheerleader.

  “I hope you slept well,” Molly said.

  “We did!” Susie looked shyly at Dan, who kissed her hand.

  “Mr. Miller,” Molly addressed the silent man, “these are two of my other guests, Dan and Susie Jensen. Dan and Susie, this is Mr. Charlie Miller.”

  “Nice to meet you,” Susie said. Mr. Miller sighed into his plate and didn’t acknowledge the introduction.

  “Have a seat,” Molly told the young couple.

  Susie smiled coyly as she requested breakfast to go. Dan stood obediently by her side in a way that only a henpecked husband in training could.

  “Absolutely, it’ll be no problem at all.” Molly retreated to the kitchen and returned with two more frittata servings. She motioned to the basket of scones on the table.

  “How was your evening?” Molly asked. “Did you find one of the local cafés?”

  “We did,” Dan answered as he added cranberry scones to the plates. “It was called…what was it called, again, sweetheart?” He directed his question to Susie.

  “Eleanor’s,” Susie said. “
Just a couple blocks down the road. It was very good.”

  “That’s one of my favorites,” Molly said. It was actually her absolute favorite. Eleanor Merkin had been a fixture in Cranberry Cove for decades. Molly had heard Aunt Maggie rave about Eleanor’s cooking many times. It had been an obsession of her aunt’s to find out Eleanor’s recipe for chicken potpie. She’d never succeeded. Molly had always hoped Eleanor would publish a cookbook with her recipes. It was a good bet that it would sell well with customers of the much-loved café.

  “Oh, I love that place! I try to go at least once every time I come to Cranberry Cove. Eleanor is such a dear,” Sadie exclaimed. “What did you order? Appetizer? Salad? Entrée? Dessert? Do tell!”

  “We had…what did we have, sweetheart?” Dan deferred to Susie, who detailed their order perfectly.

  “Stuffed mushrooms for appetizer, cranberry kale salad, roast turkey with cranberry relish for Dan, pasta with a pesto sauce for me, and cranberry pear walnut cobbler with vanilla bean ice cream for dessert.” Susie gave Dan an adoring look as she recited the meal choices.

  “It sounds divine!” Sadie grabbed another scone. “I must go there tonight. Maybe you’d like to go, too, Mr. Miller?”

  “I don’t think so,” he said. He stood, set his fork at a diagonal angle across his plate and pushed in his chair. He bowed slightly in Molly’s direction and left the room.

  Odd little man, Molly thought as she watched him walk away.

  Susie thanked Molly and pulled Dan out through the breakfast room’s French doors. The two disappeared down the side pathway as quickly as they had arrived.

  She checked her watch. Another thirty minutes remained for breakfast service. Four guests had been fed, which left just one more to go: Mr. “Call me Bryce” Winslow, of course. He’d probably slide in at the last minute, she thought as she stepped back into the kitchen for more coffee.

  As if to defy her, she heard Bryce Winslow enter the room at that moment. He greeted Sadie, introducing himself. “How nice to meet you, Sadie – quite a becoming color you’re wearing there!”