The Welcoming Read Free Page A

conversation. The sunlight played on her earrings and refracted into brilliant colors. “You should have plenty of free time to knock around. The view from Mount Constitution’s really spectacular. Or, if you’re into it, the hiking trails are great.”
    â€œI thought I might spend some time in B.C.”
    â€œThat’s easy enough. Take the ferry to Sidney. We do pretty well with tour groups going back and forth.”
    â€œWe?”
    â€œThe inn. Pop—my grandfather—built a half dozen cabins in the sixties. We give a special package rate to tour groups. They can rent the cabins and have breakfast and dinner included. They’re a little rustic, but the tourists really go for them. We get a group about once a week. During the season we can triple that.”
    She turned onto a narrow, winding road and kept the speed at fifty.
    Roman already knew the answers, but he knew it might seem odd if he didn’t ask the questions. “Do you run the inn?”
    â€œYeah. I’ve worked there on and off for as long as I can remember. When my grandfather died a couple of years ago I took over.” She paused a moment. It still hurt; she supposed it always would. “He loved it. Not just the place, but the whole idea of meeting new people every day, making them comfortable, finding out about them.”
    â€œI guess it does pretty well.”
    She shrugged. “We get by.” They rounded a bend where the forest gave way to a wide expanse of blue water. The curve of the island was clear, jutting out and tucking back in contrasting shades of deep green and brown. A few houses were tucked high in the cliffs beyond. A boat with billowing white sails ran with the wind, rippling the glassy water. “There are views like this all around the island. Even when you live here they dazzle you.”
    â€œAnd scenery’s good for business.”
    She frowned a little. “It doesn’t hurt,” she said, and glanced back at him. “Are you really interested in seeing whales?”
    â€œIt seemed like a good idea since I was here.”
    She stopped the van and pointed to the cliffs. “If you’ve got patience and a good set of binoculars, up there’s a good bet. We’ve spotted them from the inn, as I said. Still, if you want a close look, your best bet’s out on a boat.” When he didn’t comment, she started the van again. He was making her jittery, she realized. He seemed to be looking not at the water or the forest but at her.
    Roman glanced at her hands. Strong, competent, no-nonsense hands, he decided, though the fingers were beginning to tap a bit nervously on the wheel. She continued to drive fast, steering the van easily through the switchbacks. Another car approached. Without slackening speed, Charity lifted a hand in a salute.
    â€œThat was Lori, one of our waitresses. She works an early shift so she can be home when her kids get back from school. We usually run with a staff of ten, then add on five or six part-time during the summer.”
    They rounded the next curve, and the inn came into view. It was exactly what he’d expected, and yet it was more charming than the pictures he’d been shown. It was white clapboard, with weathered blue trim around arched and oval windows. There were fanciful turrets, narrow walkways and a wide skirting porch. A sweep of lawn led directly to the water, where a narrow, rickety dock jutted out. Tied to it was a small motorboat that swung lazily in the current.
    A mill wheel turned in a shallow pond at the side of the inn, slapping the water musically. To the west, where the trees began to thicken, he could make out one of the cabins she had spoken of. Flowers were everywhere.
    â€œThere’s a bigger pond out back.” Charity drove around the side and pulled into a small graveled lot that was already half full. “We keep the trout there. The trail takes you to cabins 1, 2 and 3. Then