Matched by Moonlight

Kinley glanced at her watch. Breakfast would be served in the adjoining dining room at seven, just a few minutes away. “I’ll help you set up.”

Bonnie sent a smile over her shoulder as she carried the casserole dish into the other room. “Thanks. Rhoda seems to be running a little late this morning.”

“What else is new?” Kinley muttered under her breath, loading a tray with serving dishes. Helping with breakfast service was not on her tightly arranged agenda for the day, but she had a little extra time built in for flexibility. Her siblings teased her often about trying to schedule unexpected developments.

She and Bonnie were both fond of Rhoda Foley, the full-time housekeeper who had worked for them since they’d reopened the inn, but their employee definitely marched to her own drummer—not to mention her own clock. Rhoda was a hard worker, tackling everything from cleaning to decorating to helping with meal service, as needed, but she was a little quirky, to say the least. “You need to talk with her again, Bonnie. We have the Sossaman-Thompson wedding this weekend, and everything must run smoothly. You’re going to need Rhoda’s help. And that travel writer, Dan Phelan, is coming tomorrow. It’s important that everything has to look perfect while he’s here. We could get a ton of bookings from his article in Modern South magazine, assuming he enjoys his time here as much as we hope he does, of course.”

Bonnie chuckled. “Of course. Piece of cake.”

Placing the food in silver-plated chafing dishes on the antique serving sideboard, Kinley looked around in satisfaction at the airy dining room decorated in traditional Southern style. Rather than one long, stuffy table, they’d utilized four round tables in the big room, each seating six. Silver candlesticks, snowy linens and fragrant flowers in crystal vases decorated the tables, which sat on an antique carpet and were illuminated by an antique silver-plate and crystal chandelier salvaged from an old Virginia plantation house. The chandelier had hung in this room since her great-grandfather built the inn, though Bonnie had it refurbished when they’d restored the place for reopening.

Despite the formal touches, the room was cozy, warm, welcoming. As was the rest of the inn that had been lovingly and painstakingly restored before they’d officially opened for business just over a year ago.

“How could he not write a positive review?” Kinley smiled fondly at her sister. “Every inch of the inn is beautiful, the service is superb, the setting idyllic. There’s nothing negative to write. Almost all thanks to you, by the way. I plan to impress the old guy with my business facts and figures, you’ll charm the bow tie off him and Logan...well, maybe Logan should just work quietly in the background,” she added with a wry laugh.

Stepping back to eye the sideboard with a thoroughly appraising glance, Bonnie asked absently, “What makes you think he’s an easily charmed old man with a bow tie?”

“I have no idea what he’s like. I’m just teasing.” Kinley moved out of the way when the first group of four guests wandered in, a young couple who were checking out the inn as a potential site for their wedding in the fall and the bride-to-be’s mother and sister. Kinley had a meeting scheduled with them later that day, so she simply bade them good morning and left them to enjoy their breakfast. They were followed in not long afterward by Lon and Jan Mayberry, a blissful pair of honeymooners in their late forties, and by Travis Cross and Gordon Monroe, a pleasant couple enjoying a long-weekend escape from their stressful jobs in Richmond. A nice group, Kinley thought. She always enjoyed visiting with friendly guests of the inn, though Bonnie usually got to know them better than she did.

Two hours later she helped her sister clear away the remains of the breakfast buffet. Rhoda had still not made an appearance, nor had she answered her cell phone when Bonnie tried to call. They were going to get serious about trying to find her if she didn’t show up soon. Rhoda’s timing wasn’t exactly dependable, but she never just skipped a day at work without at least calling. Bonnie said she would drive to Rhoda’s house if she still hadn’t shown up by nine-thirty.

The last of the breakfast diners lingered over coffee at their tables, discussing plans for the day in low voices, admiring the gardens visible through the big dining-room windows, looking full and content. Four of the seven guest suites were occupied on this Thursday morning and all but one of the rooms were booked for the weekend, counting the one the travel writer had reserved. The Sossaman wedding would take place Saturday afternoon and the bride and groom had agreed to allow the writer to include photos from the ceremony in his article. The weather prediction was for a nice, clear day. Forsythia, irises, tulips, creeping phlox and early-blooming roses had thrived in the nice temperatures of the past couple of weeks in May, adding splashes of vivid color to the bright green leaves on the trees surrounding the wedding gazebo in the back garden.

Everything was perfect, she assured herself, refilling her coffee cup and taking a bracing sip. Or at least as perfect as she and her siblings could make it appear to be in front of their guests—one travel writer, in particular.

Lost in her fantasy of a glowing write-up followed by a flood of bookings and accolades, she jumped dramatically when a loud, jarring crash came from the front of the inn. A couple of guests gasped, and one gave a startled little screech. Hot coffee splashed over the rim of Kinley’s cup. She hissed a curse, quickly setting down the cup and shaking her stinging hand. She was running toward the front of the inn before the sound of the crash fully faded away.

Grimacing, she threw open the front door and viewed the scene outside as Bonnie groaned behind her in despair.

An old pickup truck had slammed into the front post of the portico that jutted out from the front of the inn to provide cover for unloading cars at the front door. The post had splintered in half and now that whole corner of the shingled portico sagged dangerously downward. The top half of the post, along with some small debris, had landed on the now badly dented pickup.

Rhoda climbed out of the driver’s seat of the truck, shoving a broken piece of gingerbread trim out of the way. Her curly salt-and-pepper hair was wildly disheveled around her plain face, but she looked uninjured, to Kinley’s relief.

“I’m so sorry,” Rhoda called out the minute she was clear of her wrecked truck. “I overslept and I’d forgotten to charge my phone so I couldn’t call you. I stupidly glanced at my watch just as I started to drive under the portico and I misjudged the turn. I’m okay, but I’m so sorry. I have insurance. It will cover the damage, of course.”

Reaching the older woman first, Kinley caught her nervously flailing hands in a calming grip. “You’re sure you’re all right? Should we take you to be checked out? I can drive or we can call an ambulance.”

Rhoda shook her head vehemently. “No, I’m fine. Really. I was wearing my seat belt and I wasn’t going very fast. The truck’s too old for an air bag, so at least I didn’t get hit in the face with one of those. Just got a fright when it hit, that’s all.”

“You’re lucky the whole portico didn’t come down on you.”

“I know.”

“Hey! Everyone get back.” Logan came running around one corner of the inn, waving an arm to punctuate his order to the gawkers now gathered in the open doorway. “No one should stand under the portico until I make sure it’s fully supported again. Bonnie, lock the front door and have your guests use the side entrance for now.”

“I’m so sorry, Logan.” Rhoda pulled her hands from Kinley’s comforting grasp and began to twist them in front of her. “I’ll move my truck.”

“No.” Stopping nearby, Logan pushed a hand through his slightly shaggy brown hair as he surveyed the damage with a frown. “Let me handle it.”

Having obligingly moved out from under the portico, Kinley turned to look again, wincing at the sight. It could have been much worse, she assured herself. At least only one post was broken, so the whole portico hadn’t come down. But still, it looked sad sagging that way, some of the delicate gingerbread trim dangling precariously.

“We have a wedding Saturday,” she reminded her brother. “Rehearsal is tomorrow evening.”

He nodded. “I’ll put in a call to Hank Charles. I’m pretty sure he made an extra post when we commissioned him to craft these, just so he’d have the pattern if he needed it again. If he still has it, we’ll get it delivered and installed as quickly as possible.”

Kinley put a hand to her head with a sudden groan. “That travel writer is due tomorrow morning. He’s going to be taking photographs of the inn. I don’t suppose there’s any way...?”

“Oh, hon, I’m so sorry,” Rhoda moaned again.

His unshaven jaw clenching, Logan nodded shortly. “I’ll do what I can.”

A black car came up the drive and stopped in the guest parking area. Wondering who would be arriving this early on a Thursday, Kinley glanced that way. A tall, dark-haired man who appeared to be in his early thirties—and in excellent physical condition, she couldn’t help noting—climbed out of the driver’s seat and paused to study the commotion around the front of the inn. She didn’t recognize him. He was dressed casually in somewhat rumpled khakis and a dark green cotton shirt with the cuffs rolled back at the wrists. He didn’t look like a salesman, nor a traveler looking for a room. After a moment, he moved toward them.

As harried as she was by Rhoda’s accident and the resulting mess, Kinley was startled by the instant jolt of pulse-tripping physical awareness that shot through her when the newcomer smiled at her. She’d have thought she’d be too distracted to be dumbfounded by a sexy grin, but apparently her recently dormant feminine instincts were still alive and healthy. Shoving those ill-timed responses to the back of her mind, she pasted on as professional an expression as possible under the circumstances and greeted him. “May I help you?”

He met her eyes, and she noted that his were very blue, intriguingly so in contrast with his longish dark hair and tanned skin. Wow. She had to force herself to resist automatically checking his ring finger. When he spoke, it was in a pleasantly deep voice that only strengthened her immediate attraction to him. “Are you Kinley Carmichael?”

Even the way he said her name gave her a little thrill. How odd. “Yes, I am. What can I do for you?”

Something about his sweeping glance before he answered made her self-conscious—but not in a bad way. The hint of reciprocated approval in this great-looking guy’s expression was a nice little boost to her ego.

His smile deepened, pushing a slash of delicious dimples into his tanned cheeks. “I’m Dan Phelan. I know you didn’t expect me until tomorrow, but I found myself ahead of schedule. I—ah—hope I didn’t arrive at an inconvenient time.”

Kinley felt her heart sink abruptly. The quick flush of pleasure changed abruptly to dismay. The travel writer hadn’t been scheduled to arrive until tomorrow. She had wanted everything to be so perfect when he arrived. Why had he shown up at just this inopportune moment?

It was only nine o’clock, she thought in silent despair. What more could possibly go wrong today?

* * *

Though she immediately schooled her expression, it was apparent to Dan that Kinley Carmichael had recognized his name, and that she hadn’t been happy to hear it. Considering he’d obviously shown up in the middle of a crisis, he couldn’t blame her, but he had to admit it piqued his pride to have an attractive woman appear so distressed by meeting him.

He wouldn’t have labeled Kinley a classic beauty, but he liked the look of her oval face framed by an angular, gold-streaked brown bob, gray-blue eyes that met his with a directness he found refreshing and a mouth with a full lower lip that could only be described as kissable. She was on the tallish side, maybe five-eight, with long legs and a slender figure more aptly defined as athletic than voluptuous. Just his type—though the way her eyes had darkened when he introduced himself was hardly an auspicious beginning.

A fiftysomething woman in a peasant top, faded jeans and sandals, her wildly curling hair more gray than dark, looked from Kinley to Dan and then gasped in sudden comprehension. “You’re not the travel writer, are you? The one who’s supposed to come tomorrow?”

He nodded. “My itinerary changed unexpectedly. If there’s no room available for me here tonight, I’ll stay somewhere nearby and come back tomorrow.”

Her smile firmly in place again, Kinley spoke up. “Of course we have a room for you, Mr. Phelan. We’re delighted to have you.”

He had to admire the warmth she managed to inject into the welcome despite the dismay he’d seen pass fleetingly through her eyes. Though it had caught her off guard when he’d shown up a day early, his first impression of Kinley was that she was not easily rattled.

“Please, call me Dan.” He glanced again at the damaged truck and portico. “I seem to have arrived at a bad time.”

“It’s my fault,” the older woman said firmly. “I hit the post. The inn is usually immaculate. Beautiful. The Carmichaels run a first-class operation. Don’t you dare write a bad review because of my negligence!”

The way she shook her finger at him reminded him of his favorite childhood nanny, Adele. She’d had a way of making her displeasure known with just a judicious wave of that slightly bent finger. Of all the string of nannies his generally disengaged parents had hired to look after him, Adele was the only one he recalled very clearly. That memory made him smile as he murmured, “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

Kinley placed a hand on the woman’s shoulder and Dan saw her give a little squeeze. “It was an accident, Rhoda. No one is blaming you. We’re all relieved that you weren’t hurt. Dan, this is Rhoda Foley, who works with us here at the inn.”