The Right Twin

Sarah added a string of her sister’s pearls and matching earrings to her ensemble, then swirled her hair into a French twist. With a spritz of a light floral scent and fresh lip gloss, she was good to go.

Mmm…Mr. Peters. Truth be told, her quick change had more to do with that one new guest than with the other anticipated arrivals. Had she only imagined the electricity between them when they’d touched? It had been so sweet of him coming to her rescue in the lobby. Then he’d been so patient while she’d fumbled for the registration forms.

All in all, he seemed like a nice guy—a drastic departure from Greg. It was even a relief that her attraction meter still worked.

Her cell chirped out the Gilligan’s Island theme song.

She glanced at the caller ID, only to roll her eyes. “Hey, sis. What’s up?”

“Not much. Just checking in. Have any of our couples arrived?”

“Half of one.”

“What do you mean half?”

“On Peters-plus-guest, the guest backed out on him.”

“You don’t think he could be the reviewer, do you? Pulling something sneaky?”

“Not a chance. Too good-looking, laid-back and not at all uptight.”

“Sarah…” her sister warned, her voice nearly a growl.

“What?”

“Just in case…don’t even think about starting something with him.”

“Good grief. I’m barely over Greg. What makes you think I’m anywhere near ready to jump in the dating pool again?”

“I don’t know. Something in your tone of voice.”

“My tone?” Sarah laughed.

“It’s me, remember? I have a sixth sense about you and men.”

“Right. Like Helga claims to have her all-seeing man eye?”

“That’s exactly right. Don’t knock it. And even if he is hot, you won’t have time for romance. And another thing—I don’t want anyone thinking I’m fraternizing with the guests. Or, for that matter, cheating on Trevor.”

Sarah sighed. “Again, after the head trip Greg pulled on me, I’m in no shape to think about any guy. Plus, I only said the guy was hot. Not that I’m going to marry him and have his babies.”

“There’s no need to get snippy. I have a reputation to uphold.”

“Which you will. Trust me, okay?”

After a few beats of silence, Sarah’s twin said, “I’ll think about it.”

TWO HOURS LATER, Sarah wished she were anywhere other than immersed in serving the inn’s hectic lunch. Backing against the kitchen’s pass-through door, Sarah took a deep breath, willing her pulse to slow as she pasted on one of her sister’s trademark serene smiles. One thing that helped her relax, at least partially, was that the sun-flooded dining room was a world away from the frenzied pace of the kitchen.

She took a deep breath and then headed for the man who had already become her least favorite guest.

“About time,” Mr. Standridge said. With his double chin, permed suspiciously black hair and small gold hoop earring, Sarah imagined the portly man as a retired pirate. Only that picture was somewhat skewed by the fact that Mrs. Standridge’s loose white bun made her a dead ringer for Mrs. Claus. Although, Sarah thought as she set two plates of roast beef in front of them, stranger things could happen than Mrs. Claus and Blackbeard having a scandalous affair at her sister’s inn.

Not trying too terribly hard to hide her grin, she looked up to find herself face-to-face with Shane Peters. His angular features sported a half day’s stubble, and his smiling eyes were as blue as the berries on her sister’s stationery logo. Quite simply, the man was breathtaking. And the fact that she’d even noticed was a sure sign that, yes, stranger things than a pirate Mrs. Claus scandal could happen!

Mr. Standridge cleared his throat. “Freshly cracked pepper, please.”

“And I still haven’t gotten my Chablis,” Mrs. Standridge complained.

“Need more of my help?” Shane asked with a teasing grin, helping himself to the best seat in the room beside open French doors.

“I’m thinking maybe so,” she said with a discreet wink that she hadn’t intended on being flirty.

“Ma’am?” Mr. Standridge glowered.

“I would really like more tea,” Mrs. Helsing said with a wag of her empty glass. As robust as the Standridges were, the Helsings were stick-thin and white. Pasty yet slick. Complexions like Crisco.

“And when you get a chance,” Mr. Helsing said, “could I please get a new fork? The tines on this one are smudged.”

“Certainly, sir. Right away.”

“I hate to be contrary,” the woman who’d introduced herself as “the widow” Naomie Young said in a cottony tone that matched her fragile frame and pale blue eyes, “but I prefer white bread to pumpernickel.”

“Yes, ma’am. I’ll have fresh white bread right out.”

Sarah managed a feeble smile, took one last intrigued glance at Shane, then worked up a sweat attempting to fulfill her guests’ never-ending requests. If only the two of them had met under other circumstances.

“THAT WAS DELICIOUS,” Heath said, toward the meal’s end, to the couple he’d heard addressed as the Standridges. He introduced himself as his brother had instructed, being careful to maintain a chatty, conversational tone and not tipping off anyone as to the true nature of his visit. “So far, what do you think of the inn?” he asked.

“The decor’s lovely,” Mrs. Standridge offered, glancing over her shoulder before speaking again. Checking to see if Sadie was out of the room? “But the food…” She blanched.

“You didn’t care for it?” Heath asked, more than a little surprised, since he’d enjoyed his roast beef, mashed potatoes and gravy.

“It was tasty enough,” the woman said, “but a smidge heavy for my tastes. Reminiscent of a high-end TV dinner.”

“Not that we were eavesdropping,” the female half of the Helsing couple said, “but I booked this weekend because of fantastic recommendations from several of our friends. I enjoyed the meal, but the service seemed lackluster, if not altogether slow.”

Mr. Helsing nodded. “There were several times when my iced-tea glass was empty, and I had to wait a full three minutes or more for a refill.”

The horror.

Why, Heath couldn’t say, but as he made careful mental notes of a litany of bogus halfhearted complaints, he felt sorry for Sadie. According to his brother, the Blueberry Inn was one of the best-kept secrets in the Midwest—which was why the Zodor’s editor in chief was so hot to get the scoop.

Keeping that in mind—and registering the fact that he’d completely enjoyed his own lunch—Heath took his fellow diners’ complaints with a grain of salt. By the time the disgruntled bunch had wandered off to their rooms or the garden for reading or an afternoon nap, he’d pretty much decided that if dinner was as tasty as lunch, he’d simply strike the petty negativity from his files.

Experience had taught him that building your own business was tough. Other than the time it had taken Sadie to get him registered and that mile-a-minute room description, he hadn’t noticed anything even remotely remiss. And so what if she had ever so slightly fudged those couple of tasks? Just as he’d been burned by the discovery that it was his latest game design that Tess had really lusted after, maybe there was some sort of behind-the-scenes situation going on with Sadie. Something she had too much class to let him or any of her other guests see.

He’d just discreetly tucked his notepad into his jacket pocket when the woman at the center of his thoughts entered the dining room. The fact that the mere sight of her produced a pleasurable jolt set him on edge. The last time he’d felt an instant attraction had been with Tess.