Heather Horrocks - Who-Dun-Him Inn 01 - Snowed Inn by Heather Horrocks Page A
Authors: Heather Horrocks
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did have a small to-scale Ferrari in a glass display case on the mantel.
Calabria seemed impressed with the rooms, BJ delighted. Even Garrett complimented me.
The Calabrias hardly noticed when we left, which we did the instant they started looking at each other with bedroom eyes. After reminding them of dinner in an hour, I was out of there. Outside, I yelled to Garrett over the wind. “Thanks.”
“Sure thing.” Garrett pointed. “Who’s that?”
A small figure was running pell-mell from the main house toward me, wearing Zach’s bright yellow coat and hat, calling out, “Mom!”
Something must have been wrong.
Beginning to panic, I caught him up in my arms, afraid to let him speak. Had Grandma fallen? Paul’s baby come? Something more dark and ominous than the storm? “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong, Mom.” My son caught his breath. “Shelby just had babies. And we get to have one.”
“Who the heck is Shelby and why is she giving away babies? How many babies did she have, for Pete’s sake?”
“You never remember anything, Mom.” Zach struggled from my embrace and yelled slowly, as if I were the child and he the exasperated parent. “Shelby is Jeremy’s dog. She just had five puppies. And he said I can have one.”
“You want a puppy?” Garrett chuckled.
I glanced at Garrett, trying to hide my irritation.
He shrugged. “Every kid should have a puppy.”
My relief at there being nothing wrong warred with my desire to kick Zach’s little tush for scaring me so badly. I took the high road all parents have to tread and forced a smile. “We need to talk more about it.”
“Let’s talk in the house.” Zach tugged on my arm. “It’s too snowy out here.”
I caught Garrett’s eye. He grinned and said, “Who knew?”
* * *
Thirty minutes later, I made a final circuit of the main floor, grateful for the momentary solitude. Zach ate an early dinner and was downstairs, only slightly mollified with no dog by playing his favorite game. The guests were in their rooms, dressing for dinner. The actors were downstairs, applying makeup and donning costumes. Liz and Grandma were in the kitchen, fussing over the final details of a dinner I had no doubt would be delicious and impressive, mainly because I wasn’t involved in fixing it.
And the smells were making my mouth water. Burgundy Beef was one of Grandma’s specialties when she ran the Ross Mansion bed-and-breakfast, and always a hit.
I opened the door to the dining room. The long, rectangular table was set with the good china and three pumpkins intermingled with silk flowers were arranged down the center of the linen tablecloth. Marissa Ross’s antique silver candlesticks stood at each end of the long table.
I opened the lower china cabinet doors, placed the iPod I loaded earlier with classical music onto the stereo dock, adjusted the speakers, and pushed PLAY. The sounds of Mozart lightly filled the room.
The table was set with ten place settings: two for the guru and his wife; one for his sister (after she made her grand entrance); one for Clark Harmon, who hadn’t yet arrived; five for the authors I’d met; one for Lonny; and the one I was forced to promise to Grandma.
Finally, everything was ready for the first big dinner in my Who-Dun-Him Inn. My grandmother had served countless meals over the years, but this was the first on which my success depended. That had to explain the somersaults my stomach was performing.
I peeked into the kitchen. Grandma was doing her cooking thing and Liz was helping. It smelled fabulous. Grandma frowned at me. “What’s the big idea sending Liz after me upstairs?”
I chuckled. “Grandpa George would have wanted us to make sure you are only fraternizing with good men.”
Grandma harrumphed. “Dr. Ray is a good man.”
Liz shook her head. “How can you tell after just one hour?”
“I can tell.”
“You dated Grandpa for three years.” Liz took the lid off a pot on the
Calabria seemed impressed with the rooms, BJ delighted. Even Garrett complimented me.
The Calabrias hardly noticed when we left, which we did the instant they started looking at each other with bedroom eyes. After reminding them of dinner in an hour, I was out of there. Outside, I yelled to Garrett over the wind. “Thanks.”
“Sure thing.” Garrett pointed. “Who’s that?”
A small figure was running pell-mell from the main house toward me, wearing Zach’s bright yellow coat and hat, calling out, “Mom!”
Something must have been wrong.
Beginning to panic, I caught him up in my arms, afraid to let him speak. Had Grandma fallen? Paul’s baby come? Something more dark and ominous than the storm? “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong, Mom.” My son caught his breath. “Shelby just had babies. And we get to have one.”
“Who the heck is Shelby and why is she giving away babies? How many babies did she have, for Pete’s sake?”
“You never remember anything, Mom.” Zach struggled from my embrace and yelled slowly, as if I were the child and he the exasperated parent. “Shelby is Jeremy’s dog. She just had five puppies. And he said I can have one.”
“You want a puppy?” Garrett chuckled.
I glanced at Garrett, trying to hide my irritation.
He shrugged. “Every kid should have a puppy.”
My relief at there being nothing wrong warred with my desire to kick Zach’s little tush for scaring me so badly. I took the high road all parents have to tread and forced a smile. “We need to talk more about it.”
“Let’s talk in the house.” Zach tugged on my arm. “It’s too snowy out here.”
I caught Garrett’s eye. He grinned and said, “Who knew?”
* * *
Thirty minutes later, I made a final circuit of the main floor, grateful for the momentary solitude. Zach ate an early dinner and was downstairs, only slightly mollified with no dog by playing his favorite game. The guests were in their rooms, dressing for dinner. The actors were downstairs, applying makeup and donning costumes. Liz and Grandma were in the kitchen, fussing over the final details of a dinner I had no doubt would be delicious and impressive, mainly because I wasn’t involved in fixing it.
And the smells were making my mouth water. Burgundy Beef was one of Grandma’s specialties when she ran the Ross Mansion bed-and-breakfast, and always a hit.
I opened the door to the dining room. The long, rectangular table was set with the good china and three pumpkins intermingled with silk flowers were arranged down the center of the linen tablecloth. Marissa Ross’s antique silver candlesticks stood at each end of the long table.
I opened the lower china cabinet doors, placed the iPod I loaded earlier with classical music onto the stereo dock, adjusted the speakers, and pushed PLAY. The sounds of Mozart lightly filled the room.
The table was set with ten place settings: two for the guru and his wife; one for his sister (after she made her grand entrance); one for Clark Harmon, who hadn’t yet arrived; five for the authors I’d met; one for Lonny; and the one I was forced to promise to Grandma.
Finally, everything was ready for the first big dinner in my Who-Dun-Him Inn. My grandmother had served countless meals over the years, but this was the first on which my success depended. That had to explain the somersaults my stomach was performing.
I peeked into the kitchen. Grandma was doing her cooking thing and Liz was helping. It smelled fabulous. Grandma frowned at me. “What’s the big idea sending Liz after me upstairs?”
I chuckled. “Grandpa George would have wanted us to make sure you are only fraternizing with good men.”
Grandma harrumphed. “Dr. Ray is a good man.”
Liz shook her head. “How can you tell after just one hour?”
“I can tell.”
“You dated Grandpa for three years.” Liz took the lid off a pot on the
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