The Welcoming Read Free Page B

it forks off to 4, 5 and 6.” She stepped out and waited for him to join her. “Most everyone uses the back entrance. I can show you around the grounds later, if you like, but we’ll get you settled in first.”
    â€œIt’s a nice place.” He said it almost without thinking, and he meant it. There were two rockers on the square back porch, and an Adirondack chair that needed its white paint freshened. Roman turned to study the view a guest would overlook from the empty seat. Part forest, part water, and very appealing. Restful. Welcoming. He thought of the pistol in his backpack. Appearances, he thought again, were deceiving.
    With a slight frown, Charity watched him. He didn’t seem to be looking so much as absorbing. It was an odd thought, but she would have sworn if anyone were to ask him to describe the inn six months later he would be able to, right down to the last pinecone.
    Then he turned to her, and the feeling remained, more personal now, more intense. The breeze picked up, jingling the wind chimes that hung from the eaves.
    â€œAre you an artist?” she asked abruptly.
    â€œNo.” He smiled, and the change in his face was quick and charming. “Why?”
    â€œJust wondering.” You’d have to be careful of that smile, Charity decided. It made you relax, and she doubted he was a man it was wise to relax around.
    The double glass doors opened up into a large, airy room that smelled of lavender and woodsmoke. There were two long, cushiony sofas and a pair of overstuffed chairs near a huge stone fireplace where logs crackled. Antiques were scattered throughout the room—a desk and chair with a trio of old inkwells, an oak hat rack, a buffet with glossy carved doors. Tucked into a corner was a spinet with yellowing keys, and the pair of wide arched windows that dominated the far wall made the water seem part of the room’s decor. At a table near them, two women were playing a leisurely game of Scrabble.
    â€œWho’s winning today?” Charity asked.
    Both looked up. And beamed. “It’s neck and neck.” The woman on the right fluffed her hair when she spotted Roman. She was old enough to be his grandmother, but she slipped her glasses off and straightened her thin shoulders. “I didn’t realize you were bringing back another guest, dear.”
    â€œNeither did I.” Charity moved over to add another log to the fire. “Roman DeWinter, Miss Lucy and Miss Millie.”
    His smile came again, smoothly. “Ladies.”
    â€œDeWinter.” Miss Lucy put on her glasses to get a better look. “Didn’t we know a DeWinter once, Millie?”
    â€œNot that I recall.” Millie, always ready to flirt, continued to beam at Roman, though he was hardly more than a myopic blur. “Have you been to the inn before, Mr. DeWinter?”
    â€œNo, ma’am. This is my first time in the San Juans.”
    â€œYou’re in for a treat.” Millie let out a little sigh. It was really too bad what the years did. It seemed only yesterday that handsome young men had kissed her hand and asked her to go for a walk. Today they called her ma’am. She went wistfully back to her game.
    â€œThe ladies have been coming to the inn longer than I can remember,” Charity told Roman as she led the way down a hall. “They’re lovely, but I should warn you about Miss Millie. I’m told she had quite a reputation in her day, and she still has an eye for an attractive man.”
    â€œI’ll watch my step.”
    â€œI get the impression you usually do.” She took out a set of keys and unlocked the door. “This leads to the west wing.” She started down another hall, brisk, businesslike. “As you can see, renovations were well under way before George hit the jackpot. The trim’s been stripped.” She gestured to the neat piles of wood along the freshly painted wall. “The doors need to be