Innkeeper's Daughter Page 9

  “Jacob and Marjorie Trudeau.”

  She could just faintly detect the sound of Stacy’s laughter.

  Some things never changed, she thought as she went down the list, searching for Trudeau.

  Right after graduation, the ink barely dry on her diploma, Stacy had gotten a job with a high-powered national marketing firm in San Francisco.

  She’d been envious of Stacy back then. Her friend was going to get to travel first-class all over the country for the firm, seeing exciting places while she worked with clients.

  When Stacy eventually landed her own international account, the postcards began arriving from more exotic locations. Places Alex knew she was never going to be able to visit because she had become all but indispensable to her father at the inn.

  “And you say this is a good hotel?” Jacob Trudeau was asking her, holding the sheet she’d given him with directions and the next day’s itinerary.

  “Absolutely, sir.”

  “Why can’t we stay here?” Marjorie Trudeau asked. She looked around the reception area and it was obvious she liked what she saw. “It looks so very charming and cozy. Doesn’t it, Jake?”

  “Uh-huh.” Her husband responded like a man who knew better than to disagree with his wife in public.

  Alex smiled at the compliment. “Thank you. We do our best, but I’m afraid we are completely booked right now. This...event...was rather an unexpected turn of events,” she explained.

  Trudeau, a retired journalist, his wife had proudly related while Alex was supplying directions to the Fairmont, appeared to be in no hurry to leave the inn.

  “Dan used to talk about this place,” he told Alex. “Said how much he looked forward to coming here every summer. Sometimes, he said, coming here was the only thing that kept him going,” Trudeau added. “He said that the man who owned the inn and his daughters were like his own family. Aside from his son, he didn’t really have any—but you probably already know that.”

  “Yes, I do,” Alex replied, doing her best to smile. She could feel herself tearing up. She expected she would do that, off and on, until Uncle Dan’s death was something she became accustomed to. Something that didn’t suddenly jump out at her.

  She’d gone through the same painful journey when her mother had died, so she knew exactly what she was up against.

  Though they were all mourning the loss of an exceptionally kind, decent human being, to Alex grief was private, something she might grudgingly share with family—on occasion—but not others.

  “We were all very fond of him, too,” she replied. “For years, I actually thought he was my uncle. I had been calling him Uncle Dan since before I can remember.”

  She could see Uncle Dan’s friend was trying to place her. “You’re...”

  “Alex,” she supplied.

  He nodded, sharing a look with his wife. “The energetic one who always kept everything running,” he concluded.

  “Is that how he described me?” Alex asked, unable to tamp down her curiosity. In a way, talking about Dan this way was like still having him around—at least for a little while longer.

  “Oh, that and a lot more.” Trudeau folded the page of directions in two and tucked it in his pocket. “Well, Alex, it was nice meeting you after all this time. Marjorie and I will be back tomorrow for the service.”

  “And don’t forget the reception,” Alex added. “It’ll be held outside near the ocean right after the service.” She smiled warmly at the couple. “We have no intentions of sending you away hungry. Uncle Dan would have never forgiven us.”

  Trudeau laughed. “Sounds good.” His arm around his wife’s shoulders, he began to usher her toward the front door.

  “Honey, maybe we can book a room for later this year,” his wife suggested.

  “That sounds like a good idea to me,” her husband agreed wholeheartedly. He glanced back at Alex, one eyebrow raised.

  “Come see me after the service,” she told the couple. “If you give me an approximate date, I’ll see what I can arrange for you.”

  Alex smiled to herself. Uncle Dan was gone and the man was still doing them good. Sending business their way at his funeral.

  She waited a few more minutes behind the desk. When no one else came in, she decided to go check on Stacy.

  As she turned to walk toward the right wing of the inn, where the Queen Victoria Room—and Stacy—were, she saw Wyatt returning. He had a very bemused expression on his face.

  “Is Stacy settled in yet?” she asked.

  “No,” he answered. “Not yet. I left her unpacking.”

  That struck her as odd. Stacy didn’t unpack. She traveled so much, she’d once confided that she just left her suitcase open on the luggage stand and kept it zipped against the possibility of bedbugs, only taking out what she needed as she needed it.

  “Your friend always hit on people she doesn’t know?” Wyatt asked out of the blue.

  Alex stared at him, trying to gauge whether Wyatt was amused or annoyed. She really couldn’t tell. Wyatt had that poker face on again, and she’d never been able to crack it.

  “She doesn’t see it that way,” Alex told him.

  Her answer didn’t make any sense to him. “What way?”

  “That she doesn’t know you. You asked if she always hits on strangers,” she reminded him. “She doesn’t think of you as a stranger.”

  If anything, that made even less sense. “Why would she know me?” And then an answer suggested itself. “Unless, of course,” he said slowly, even though he knew the odds of what he was about to propose being true were pretty slim, “you talk about me.”

  She snorted. “Sorry to shoot you down,” she told him, “but it’s not what you think.”

  “Oh?” he asked innocently, growing more convinced that maybe Alex did talk about him to her friends. Did that mean that she thought about him once in a while? Or did talking about him only involve complaining?

  “Stacy always says the only difference between a stranger and a friend is an introduction—and I took care of that part when I told you her name and gave her yours. In Stacy’s world, that makes you two old friends and hitting on an old friend is allowed.”

  Before she could stop herself, her curiosity got the better of her and she asked, “Was she successful?”

  When he looked at her quizzically, Alex wasn’t fooled. He knew exactly what she was asking, but for the sake of brevity, she spelled it out. “In hitting on you. Was she successful hitting on you?”

  “No. I pretended not to know what she was getting at.”

  Was that because he was honorable or because he was still hurting too much to think along those lines right now?

  “I apologize for her behavior,” Alex said earnestly. “This is a bad time for you—although,” she reconsidered, “maybe you could do with the distraction.”

  For a moment his eyes held hers and she realized that she’d stopped breathing for that tiny space of time. She chastised herself. Something was definitely off in her world.

  “When I want to be distracted, I’ll let you know,” Wyatt said. “And I think I can pick my own distraction.”

  Alex couldn’t shake the feeling that he was putting her on notice.

  CHAPTER NINE

  IT FELT, ALEX THOUGHT, much later that evening as she slid bonelessly into one of the wicker chairs on the veranda, as if every single second of her day had been stuffed to the breaking point with details. Details she couldn’t bring herself to delegate.

  She didn’t want to burden her father with them and she felt that Stevi wasn’t quite experienced enough. It would have been like throwing her sister into the deep end of the pool before she’d taught her all the fundamentals of swimming.

  What she did have Stevi doing was keeping Stacy company. Fortunately, her good friend understood the position Alex was in, and the last she’d seen of the pair, they were going shopping.

  As for Andy, she was making sure Ricky was taken care of so that Cris was free to devo
te herself to the food preparations.

  She’d touched base with Reverend Edwards to make sure that nothing had suddenly come up between yesterday and today that might keep him from officiating at the funeral tomorrow. And to make sure he had the correct time.

  She wasn’t about to leave a single thing to chance. Another reason why she had no social life, she thought, out of the blue. She had no idea how to let her hair down.

  She’d made sure to accompany her father to the funeral home when he went to pay his last respects to the man he’d known since they’d first ridden their tricycles together growing up on Balboa Island.

  She knew that her sisters had each made the pilgrimage from the inn to the funeral home and any one of them would have been willing to go with their father, but Alex felt that it was her responsibility to be there for him. That was her role, and she made sure she was there for him, to offer her moral support if he should need it.

  Stacy, bless her, took it all in stride. She’d initially informed her that she was very capable of entertaining herself, that she got around on her own in a great many cities across the country and didn’t need anyone to hold her hand. When Stevi told her that she had no intentions of holding her hand unless she tripped on the sidewalk, Stacy had grinned and announced that they would get along just fine.

  Alex had every confidence that they would. She was even a little envious of Stevi.

  She was thinking about that just now when Stacy surprised her by sinking down into the wicker chair next to hers.

  “So, how’s it going with all the planning?” Stacy asked cheerfully.

  Alex had always been honest to a fault but she saw no point in saying she was bone tired. Complaining never remedied anything. It certainly wouldn’t help rejuvenate her, not tonight.

  So she offered a vague, “I’m holding my own,” and left it at that. Turning toward her, Alex said, “But I feel badly about not having any time for you today—or tomorrow.”

  Stacy waved her hand at the apology. “Hey, it’s not as if your dad’s friend died just to inconvenience me. I understand. We’ll catch up after the reception is over with. I’ve got five days.”

  “Only five?” That didn’t jibe with what they’d talked about earlier in the year, when Stacy’d told her she was planning to come out to see her. “I thought you had two weeks you absolutely had to take or you were going to lose them.”

  “Seems there’s a clause in my contract that says I can trade them in for pay if I’ve been with the company for five years—and I have.”

  “But you said that you really needed those two weeks to recharge,” Alex reminded her.

  Stacy nodded. “I know, I know.” She hesitated for a second, then plowed right in to give her the real reason for the abbreviated vacation. “But, Alex, if I step off that merry-go-round, even for a week, all these vultures are circling, just waiting to pounce, to take my place the second I’m not there. To do what I do—and maybe better. I can’t take a chance on that happening. I’ve worked too hard to let some eager go-getter usurp my job.”

  “But you have an incredibly solid work record,” Alex said. “You haven’t taken any time off since forever. Doesn’t that count?”

  “They have very short memories,” Stacy said with a sigh. “You’re only as good as your next project.”

  Alex looked at her. Until this moment she hadn’t realized just how good her life was in comparison to Stacy’s. Any envy she had harbored vanished for good.

  For a second Alex debated not asking her next question. But they were friends and she cared about the woman. “Doesn’t it ever get to you?” she asked Stacy.

  “What do you mean?”

  “That your life isn’t your own? That they can send you off to any place they want at what amounts to a moment’s notice, without any regard for any plans you might have?”

  Against the backdrop of crickets chirping, Stacy took in a deep breath and shrugged.

  “Yes, maybe a little, but then everyone’s got something they don’t like about their job, right?” She smiled uncomfortably. “You’re thinking about that emergency trip I had to make to that New England plant on Christmas Eve, aren’t you?”

  Stacy had told her all about it—after the fact. “You had plans,” Alex reminded her.

  Rather than agree, Stacy became defensive. “I’ve also got a long-range goal and that trumps spending Christmas with my family. It’s not like I’ve never spent it with them before—or won’t again.”

  It was easy to take life for granted, Alex thought. But faced with Uncle Dan’s funeral the next day, that was something she promised herself she was never going to do again. Moreover, Alex felt compelled to point out the obvious to her friend.

  “That’s probably what Wyatt thought about spending the summer here with his father. And now he won’t get the chance anymore. The only thing definite about the future, Stace,” she said, “is that there’s nothing definite.”

  Stacy shifted in her chair and stared off into the darkness.

  “Maybe,” she finally said. “But I’d rather think that the future is whatever I make it. And I intend to make it absolutely fabulous.” She emphasized the last word with feeling and then turned to look at Alex. “By the way, what’s the story on Wyatt?”

  “What do you mean?” Why she suddenly felt protective of Wyatt didn’t quite make sense to her. But she did. “His father just died.”

  “Yes, I got that.” There was a smattering of impatience in Stacy’s voice. “But is he married, engaged, living with someone, something like that?” she asked. And then a thought hit her before Alex was able to answer. “You and he aren’t involved, are you?” she asked. “Because if you are, I’m sorry. You know I wouldn’t poach.”

  Completely caught off guard by the question, Alex could only stare at her friend, stunned. “Wyatt and me? Oh, no, no,” she denied vigorously. “There’s nothing going on between the two of us and the only understanding he and I have is that we stay out of each other’s way as much as possible whenever he’s here. Most of the time when we were growing up, one of us would be looking for a way to torment the other.”

  Stacy didn’t seem convinced by her protest. “From the way it looked to me, you’ve obviously outgrown that phase.”

  “His father just died, Stacy,” Alex pointed out again, this time more firmly. “This isn’t exactly the time for me to slap a Please Kick Me sign on his back.”

  Stacy was smiling to herself. “If you ask me, this is the time to be very, very sympathetic to the man. Offer him a shoulder to cry on.” Her smile widened.

  Her protectiveness raised its head again. “Stacy, he’s off-limits.”

  “Then you do have something going on.” This time, Stacy made it sound more like an accusation.

  “No,” Alex emphasized with feeling, “but the man is grieving. I wouldn’t exactly call him vulnerable, but maybe he is under that thick layer of barbed wire he’s wrapped up in. I don’t want you messing with his feelings, Stacy. Not at a time like this. Wait until he can hold his own with you.”

  “Now you’re coming off like his big sister,” her friend observed, tilting her head to study Alex.

  “No, not a big sister,” Alex denied. “For one thing, he’s older. But maybe like a friend.”

  Alex tossed the idea around for a moment. Friendship. It wasn’t entirely distasteful. Maybe she was mellowing—or just growing soft in the head.

  “Maybe, after all this time, that’s what I’ve become,” she said. “At least, that’s what I am at this moment. He needs to get through this with as little outside interference as possible.”

  Alex tried to appeal to her friend’s kinder side. “Wyatt’s already lost his mother. She died last year. His father was the only family he had left. This is a hard transition for him. With his father’s death, he’s officially nobody’s kid. I mean, he hasn’t said as much—and fortunately I’m not in a position to understand how hard that must be—but it’s surely a difficult reality t
o accept.” Stacy, unlike her—and Wyatt—wasn’t close to her family, and never had been. “All I’m doing is just backing off and letting him cope and find his way.”

  “Well, look at you, all philosophical and everything. You always were a poet,” Stacy recalled.

  “No poet,” Alex contradicted, uncomfortable with the description. “I just put myself in his shoes.”

  “Well, I can see how he must feel very alone right now,” Stacy said thoughtfully. She seemed almost intrigued by the notion.

  “Stacy...” Alex warned.

  “Did I say anything? I’m merely sympathizing with his lonely situation. Anyway—” she yawned “—I think I’m going to turn in. See you in the morning, Alex. Try to get some sleep. You don’t want to look like hell tomorrow.”

  Alex wondered if that was Stacy’s subtle way of saying she looked like hell now.

  “See you tomorrow,” Alex echoed as her friend squeezed her shoulder and went inside.

  Alex closed her eyes. She’d come out here to grab just one peaceful moment for herself.

  That’s what bedrooms are for, she upbraided herself.

  Spreading her hands on the white wicker armrests, she was about to push herself to her feet when she heard a deep male voice say, “I never thought I’d see the day—or night—when you ran interference for me.”

  Her eyes flew open instantly and she found herself staring up at Wyatt, who was standing over her. Where had he come from?

  “How did you overhear?” she demanded.

  He pointed to the side of the house. “The neat thing about a wraparound veranda is that if you pick just the right place to sit, no one can see you.”

  “So you were spying,” Alex concluded. That was so like him, she thought, annoyed.

  “No,” Wyatt contradicted. “I was sitting. Alone, I might add, until you claimed a chair by the door and your little friend found you.”

  She wasn’t finished being annoyed with him. “I thought you outgrew eavesdropping.”

  He laughed. “I’m a writer, remember? I eavesdrop for a living. It’s how I’m able to imitate people’s cadences, make the things they say sound natural. I’m always searching for decent inspiration. Listening supplies me with input.”