Chapter Six
The din in her kitchen was deafening. The industrial fan roared in one corner and the dehumidifier in another. Already, the air was less clammy against her skin.
“Hand me that wrench, will you?” Zane called from under the sink.
Clara jumped up from the white wooden kitchen chair she’d been resting on. The day had lasted an eternity and it was only five o’clock. She was starving and couldn’t wait to cook supper. Riley and Robert had delivered the dehumidifier and taken off. A rancher’s work was never done. Assured that Zane had everything he needed for an hour or so, she’d hit Frank’s Hardware and grabbed a new set of taps and the shutoff valves he’d requested. She’d been under the cupboard trying to install them when Zane came down from his room in search of coffee and had taken over.
“Oh sure.” She grabbed the tool from the floor and pressed it into his outstretched hand.
“You didn’t have to do this. I would have gotten it.” She was uncomfortable that he was doing her maintenance chore but thrilled that he’d taken over. She wasn’t mechanically inclined, instead, she was more musically gifted. At least she had been. But surely she could install a tap. She’d watched a video on how it was done. It didn’t seem that complicated. Especially since she had a complete set of tools. Including pipe wrenches, a pipe cutter, torch and solder.
“I’m sure you could have. But why wouldn’t I help. Isn’t that what friends do?”
Friends did help friends. She’d only known him a couple hours, and it felt like she owed him too much. She didn’t like being beholden to anyone, especially a guest. She couldn’t see what he was doing, but tools clunked and banged for a moment. She stared at the length of his legs and the hint of abdomen that showed from under the sink.
“Okay, that should do it. Let’s turn on the water and give it a test drive.” He slid gracefully from beneath the sink, his T-shirt riding up to reveal lean, flat, well-defined abs. Her fingers itched to trace their contours.
She jumped back, out of his way, and raced toward the basement. “I’ve got the tap; you watch for leaks.” She thundered down the stairs toward the shut off valve.
What was wrong with her? Staring at her guest? She was practically drooling. Not good. She had to get her mind back into hostess mode. Back into? Ha! Just into period. It was time to get her hostess ducks in a row. She turned the water back on and called out. “How’s that?” Water rushed through the pipes, the sound instantly bringing her smack dab into the earlier disaster.
“No leaks.” Zane’s words sent relief coursing through her, relaxing her shoulders and soothing the unease weighing down her stomach.
“Yes!” She rushed back upstairs and gave him a high five. “Thank you so much. I’d have been lost without you.”
“You would have gotten it. All of it. You wouldn’t be running a bed and breakfast if you weren’t capable.”
A sour taste rose in her mouth. “Ha. I inherited this place. I’ve never worked hospitality. I have no idea what I’m doing.” She instantly regretted the words. Zane didn’t need to know about her problems, even if he’d spent the day fixing them.
“What does that have to do with anything?” he asked. “You’re here, you’ve made me feel welcome and fed me coffee and cookies. From this end, you’re doing great. Don’t let one disaster steal that success from you. Everything we do has a learning curve.”
Buoyed by his praise, she smiled. “You know what? You’re right. I’m going to ace this. And, in repayment for your help, I’m feeding you dinner. Does lasagna work for you?”
“You don’t have to feed me, that’s not in our agreement, but I graciously accept. I love Italian. How can I help?”
“You can get off your feet. I’ve got this. Why don’t you come back around six-fifteen? Oh wait. Why don’t I give you the tour you didn’t get when you arrived? I’ll show you the amenities. Come on, we’ll start at the front door.” He followed her out of the kitchen into an enormous room-sized entry hall.
“Welcome to Sweet Dreams Bed and Breakfast. Nice to meet you, I’m Clara Everett. Please, come in.” She waved toward the interior of the house. “I’ll give you a quick tour and we’ll get you registered.” She stood in front of the inner oak and frosted glass doors. Outside the doors was a small room that served as weather block and boot room.
The entry hall, or as she called it the foyer, glistened in the late afternoon light. Soon it would be dark, and the automatic lights would come on and shine off the oak hardwood she’d worked so hard to restore.
To the left of the entry a wide staircase led up. Further along that wall were two sets of double doors. One open, one closed. The opposite wall only held one set of double doors. The foyer itself housed two sets of wingback chairs and small side tables. Thick accent runners kept the large space from being an echo chamber.
Clara’s favorite part of the room was the wide railing circling the upper floor with a banister, perfect for sliding down, to the main floor. Above the foyer, two enormous skylights let in the sunshine and starlight.
In a small alcove to the right of the front door was a built-in oak roll-top desk with a leafy fern and vase of holiday greens and roses sitting on top. She loved the way the small floral arrangements subtly scented the house like Christmas. She’d tried those plug-in air fresheners, but their odor was overpowering.
Clara led Zane past the desk into an enormous sitting room featuring a fieldstone fireplace and a battered piano. “This is our community room. There are movies in that cabinet. You can watch them down here, or up in your suite. Feel free to play the piano, work down here, or sit and relax. It’s open twenty-four hours, just keep the noise down when the other guests are sleeping.”If she ever had other guests. She ran her hand across the fireplace mantle, taking a second to admire a couple pictures of her aunt with celebrities who had stayed at the inn. There was so much history here. Her family history.
“I don’t play piano, but I can promise to keep the noise down.”
She led him through a door on the far side of the room into a café style eating area. Ten tables were spread out in the space. Each was covered with a white tablecloth. One wall featured an antique sideboard and a matching open front shelving unit that held mugs and a selection of tea. “Breakfast is served here. Usually, it will be continental style with selection varying by day. Let me know if you’ve got any food sensitivities. You can eat from six until nine. Later breakfasts can be arranged in advance. I also sell take-away lunches if you have the need. There’ll be coffee in the kitchen all day, and on that sideboard during breakfast. Help yourself to tea anytime.”
Good grief, she sounded as stiff and nervous as she felt. “Sorry, I’m probably boring you. You’re my first tour.” She shrugged and stared out the window at the snow-covered side yard. Her home sat on an enormous triple lot with plenty of space on all sides. She’d be able to create a stunning floral display in summer. Now, it was a pristine landscape of undisturbed snow, except for the shoveled walkways. She was almost as excited for summer as she was for Christmas.
“Relax, Miss Clara. I’m happy to be your test guest. I like the way you’re setting clear boundaries and expectations. Your guests will need that, especially once you start filling up.”
“Thanks. I am nervous.” She sucked in a breath and huffed it out. “Okay then. Through this door, is the kitchen. Except for coffee later in the day, it’s not open to guests. I provide breakfast and cookies; you’ll need to plan for your other meals. Except for tonight. You mentioned loving Italian food, you’ll want to check out Tuscan Gardens, best Italian for two hundred miles. They also do pizza, but Guido’s makes better pizza. The nightstand drawer in your room has a list of restaurants and amenities. There’s a laundromat downtown, but if you bring your wet clothing down later, I’ll wash them for you. It’s the least I can do.”
