The Red Door Inn by Liz Johnson Page B

as I can tell, we still only have the sheets Jack picked up and a handful of blankets in the entire house.”
    â€œWell, the quilts are still there. And so beautiful.” She squeezed her hands together. “And I told Aretha that we’d be back to look at them again.”
    Seth recoiled like he’d been struck. “You did what? Wecan’t afford eight hundred dollars a room on bedding. You had no right to promise something like that.”
    Her heart stopped, and her words in the antique store settled like a brick in her stomach, bile rising in the back of her throat. It had all seemed so right at the time. That morning Jack had been on board with the idea of adding an island-made quilt to every bedroom.
    But that had been before he’d seen a price tag.
    He’d been careful about giving her 225 dollars. How ridiculous to hope he’d be willing to part with three times that much for just one quilt.
    Tears pricked at the back of her eyes, and she tried to blink them away, but they rushed in again and again. Her cheeks burned, and she covered them with fingers cold as icicles.
    Now she’d have to either break her promise to Aretha or spend money that Jack didn’t have.
    Jack cleared his throat, tilting his chin toward the open package on the island and tapping his cheek. “No harm in looking. I’ll have to think about those quilts a bit then.”
    â€œOh, Jack. I didn’t—” Her lip shook so hard she had to bite deep into it to keep the tears from flowing, to keep her fears from showing.
    His rich baritone laugh echoed through the room. “Don’t worry, my dear.” He patted her hand. “We’ve a name for the Red Door Inn and a connection at the antique store. Worth the trip, don’t you think?”
    She shook her head, still pinching her lip between her teeth for fear that the rush of tears would spill if she let go. Silence fell over them, the weight of four eyes trained on her sending sharp pains down the middle of her chest.
    Her breath vanished in an instant, and she wheezed twicebefore dark spots flashed in her periphery and her skin lit from a fire within.
    She pointed to the hallway, dashing away before they could object.
    Down the stairs. She had to make it down the stairs to her room. She’d be safe there, protected from Jack’s curious stares and Seth’s . . . Seth-ness. Those disapproving glowers and crossed arms, like a sentry standing at the inn’s entrance, keeping the unwanteds at bay.
    She pushed the door closed behind her, crashed onto the pillow-soft mattress in the center of the bedroom, and pressed her arms open as wide as possible. Air had vanished, replaced only by the binding around her lungs. She tried again and again to find any trace of oxygen left in the room until her line of vision narrowed, then vanished altogether.

    â€œWhat was that all about?”
    Seth paced the narrow confines of the kitchen, the hair on his arms on high alert. Though Jack’s tone wasn’t sharp, the seriousness underlying the words was clear. Or maybe it was his own regret at the way he’d spoken to the girl. “I might have been a little hard on her.”
    Jack stepped in his path, standing firm despite giving up at least three inches and thirty pounds of muscle. But his eyes flashed like he had the entire United States Navy backing him up. He waited for the artillery to sound, for Jack to lay into him like he deserved.
    He’d been downright mean to Marie. And why? Because he didn’t want to be near a pretty woman? Because it might remind him of what he’d lost when Reece ran out on him?
    Those excuses were weak.
    The truth stung more than Jack’s next words.
    â€œYou think you were a little hard on her?”
    â€œI’m sorry.”
    â€œWhat’s gotten into you, boy? I know you’re hurting, so I’ve let you be sour. But this”—he waved to the door where