The Right Twin (Times Two Book 2) Page 7

  “Whoa. See that?” The water roiled alongside the boat.

  “Yeah, I saw it, but that didn’t look like a fish.”

  He groaned.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  A thunk sounded on the boat’s hull.

  “What was that?”

  “You don’t want to know.”

  “Probably not, but tell me anyway.”

  “Okay, don’t get excited, but I’m pretty sure there’s at least a twenty-pound snapping turtle on your line.”

  “A what?”

  “Hold the pole.” She did, while he fished in his pocket, then pulled out a knife.

  Thunk. Ker-thunk.

  “Wh-what’re you going to do?”

  “Cut the line.”

  “What about the hook?”

  “It’ll eventually rust out. Unless you want to yank it out of whatever part of him—or her—it’s stuck in? In which case, he might take a finger in revenge.”

  Thunk.

  “That’s okay,” she said, queasy to think that she’d actually contemplated a dunk in the snapping turtle’s domain. “Go for it.”

  He did, and though she’d have never admitted it aloud, something about his capable expression, the way he’d so calmly handled the whole turtle thing, made him even more attractive.

  She’d lived on her own for nearly a decade and she was more than capable of taking care of herself, but after all she’d been through recently, it seemed like a lovely, decadent thing to put even something as minor as reptile trouble into someone else’s hands.

  Before her mind’s eye flashed a wondrous image of the kind of husband or father Shane Peters would make. How sweet would he be, coming to his son or daughter’s rescue? Helping them bait hooks and reel in their catches. Along the way, teaching lessons on nature and life and the finer points of junk-food selection.

  Sarah knew that she and Shane were light-years from sharing that sort of family contentment themselves, but stranger things had happened. Trouble was, as perfect as all of that domesticity sounded, Sadie had made it plain that Shane Peters was off-limits.

  Hmph.

  Every bit of Sarah’s contentment sank to the bottom of the lake.

  Chapter Six

  “Thanks,” Heath said back at the boathouse, wrestling the life jackets out from under the boat’s front seat. “Even though the morning didn’t exactly go as I’d planned, it was fun.”

  “I’m still not convinced fishing’s the life for me.” Sarah grabbed the oars, but he took them from her.

  “Let me.”

  “I can handle them.”

  “I know,” he said, “but I’ve already kept you longer than I should’ve, and if you don’t get into that kitchen ASAP, there are going to be lots of starving guests. Fortunately,” he added, grabbing the picnic basket, too, “thanks to your thoughtful, always-prepared nature, I won’t be one of them. But still, I—”

  “Hush,” she said, casting him another of her unreadable expressions. “You are off-the-charts adorable.”

  “Adorable.” He winced. “I’ve been called lots of things, but never that—at least not since I was three.”

  She tossed her arms around his waist for a warm yet swift hug that he couldn’t return with his hands full, even though he wanted to. Bad. She felt so soft and warm against him. And she smelled like a sun-kissed dream. He knew she’d never lie to him—she didn’t have the capacity to lie. It simply wasn’t in her nature.

  “Thanks again for a wonderful morning,” she said, “even if we did almost get capsized by a killer turtle.”

  When she stepped back, he rolled his eyes, fighting every instinct in his body that screamed for him to kiss her forehead. Her nose. That full, gorgeous mouth.

  He shook his head. He had to pull himself together. For Hale and for himself. He wasn’t in any shape to fall for another woman.

  Yeah, but Sadie isn’t just any woman. She’s special. Better than Tess had ever even dreamed of being.

  “That turtle was a sweetheart,” he said.

  “He wanted to bite me. I know he did.”

  “How do you know it was a he?”

  Grinning, she said, “He looked a little like my old boyfriend.”

  Grinning right back, shaking his head, Heath said, “Go on, get out of here and into your kitchen to cook me something fabulous.”

  “Aye, aye, Captain.” She gave him a saucy salute.

  She was halfway to the gazebo when he called out, “Where do the oars go? They were just lying in the boat when I took it out.”

  “I don’t know.” She turned to face him. “Just stash ’em anywhere in the boathouse.”

  I don’t know? How could she not know where she stored her own oars?

  While Sarah headed for the kitchen, Heath frowned.

  “WHAT DO YOU MEAN I have to make lunch myself?” With barely an hour until lunch was to be served, this was the last thing Sarah had expected Helga to say. She was hot and sticky and stinky and needed a shower. The last thing Sarah had time for was cooking. In the hope that she’d have time to hang out with Shane after lunch, she’d planned to repair her hair.

  “I’m sorry, Sarah, especially after you and Mr. Shane had a romantic time with the fish. But my bubbka broke her hip. I’ve got to go to her.” Helga took off her apron, tossing it in the dirty-linen hamper beside the door.

  “But…That’s awful about poor Bubbka. I feel terrible that she’s hurt. But what am I going to do? You know I can’t cook. I mean, I guess I could resort to serving all that stuff Sadie froze, but the guests won’t like it near as much as what you prepare.” Helga had to be pushing late sixties, meaning that her grandmother must be coasting near a hundred. How could this woman who was devoted to Sadie just up and abandon her boss’s twin at her greatest time of need? Sadie was like family, too, wasn’t she? “All I’m asking for is an hour of your time. You said yourself your grandma’s already at the hospital. She’s not in pain and she’s receiving excellent care.”

  Fluffing her brilliant pink curls, Helga grunted. “Your sister would never be so insensitive. I see why you are still single. No man have you. My eye now sees truth. You and this man?” Helga made a choking noise.

  “Excuse me?” Hands on her hips, Sarah demanded, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  As she slung a sturdy brown leatherette purse over her shoulder, Helga said, “Your sister have nice man take care of her. You, she tell me, be a disaster at love.”

  “I am not. And anyway, what happened wasn’t my fault.”

  “No never mind. If my bubbka is all right, I see you in morning.” Chin high, keys jangling, Helga marched out the back door.

  Pressing her lips together and counting to ten, Sarah reminded herself that she loved her sister. Sort of. Sometimes. At the moment, however, she was ready to call pizza delivery and wash her hands of this whole mess. At least Coco was still here. The bookish teen helped clean rooms, do laundry and, as per Sadie’s written instructions, was currently popping fresh-cut tulips in the dining room’s vases.

  “Coco!” Sarah called, pushing open the dining room door. Ah, the girl was doing exactly what she should be doing and was even dressed neatly in starched khaki pants and a white blouse, with her long, dark hair pulled back in a neat ponytail. “Thank goodness you’re still here.”

  “Where else would I be? I work until after the dinner shift on Saturday.”

  “Of course you do,” Sarah said, thrilled to be in the reassuring presence of a junior Sadie. “Okay, listen, Helga had to leave, which puts us in serious trouble, so here’s what we’re going to—”

  “Everything all right in here?” As if summoned by Murphy’s Law, the last person on the planet Sarah would’ve wanted to overhear her strategy session appeared in all his dark-haired, blue-eyed glory. “Sadie, you sounded out of breath.”

  He was a sweetheart for caring, but just this once couldn’t Shane Peters have kept his worries to himself?

  Heart racing
and utter panic crashing down on her at the prospect of not only being the inn’s sole adult employee for most of the day but getting her cover blown to crumbs as fine as the ones in her sister’s delicious graham-cracker crust, Sarah had a tough time finding her words. “Um, Shane. Hi. I thought you were down at the lake.”

  “I was, but it got hot. And then flies found my night crawlers and I really needed a beer. Got any?”

  “Uh, sure,” she said, taking a moment to search his handsome face for signs he’d overheard any of her brief conversation with Coco. “Dark? Light?”

  “Dark, if you have it.”

  “Follow me,” she said, praying she could get him settled fast and then figure out what to do about lunch.

  On the way to the massive game room that Sadie had decorated to resemble an old-fashioned English pub complete with brass-railed bar and burgundy leather stools, Heath asked, “What was going on between you and your assistant? Not that I was eavesdropping, but I believe ‘serious trouble’ was mentioned? And why did Helga just peel out of the driveway?”

  Racking her brain for her next half-truth, Sarah told him about Helga’s bubbka, adding, “Not only am I short a kitchen helper but, um, I’m having serious trouble trying to decide whether to have flan or cheesecake for dessert.”

  From beyond tall windows framed by burgundy velvet drapes, there came the unmistakable sound of the Standridges clomping onto the inn’s front porch.

  The doorbell gave a happy jingle.

  “What a wonderful walk,” Mrs. Standridge said. “Quite invigorating.”

  “Yes,” Mr. Standridge agreed. “It certainly stirred my appetite. I wonder what delicacies our innkeeper has planned for lunch?”

  “Crap,” Sarah said, accidentally giving voice to her feelings of panic. To Heath, she said, “Beer’s in the fridge. Help yourself. Let me handle this dessert crisis and I’ll be right back.”

  “Okay.”

  Dashing out of the game room and down the hall to the dining room and kitchen, Sarah threw open the kitchen door to find Coco by the sink, rinsing out the flower bucket.

  Out of breath from her brief canter, Sarah blurted out, “Help…thaw…one of…those meals that Sadie froze. We’ll have to work quick. Now, what time does Carly get here?”

  Carly was Sadie’s Saturday helper and the other waitress. Saturday night, the inn was open for business to anyone who happened to stop by—not just the overnight guests. Sarah’s heart lurched, remembering her sister’s fear that a reviewer might just drop in for a surprise inspection.

  “Usually,” Coco said, “Carly gets in around one, but last week she said she might be late this weekend. Her sister’s having twins, and the shower was this morning.”

  “Ugh.” Time ticking on the countdown to lunch, twins were the last thing Sarah wanted to discuss. Especially if the topic was her own twin, whom she currently despised! “Okay, Sadie gave me a list of what goes with what, but with Helga here I didn’t figure I’d need it. Consequently, it’s lost. Do you know enough about meal planning to cobble together a lunch?”

  Coco tightened her face into a frown. “I suppose, but—”

  “Fantastic. That’s just what I needed to hear.”

  “But—”

  “No time,” Sarah said, hustling to the freezer.

  “All I was going to say is that every once in a while Sadie calls in a guest chef. Maybe you could do that?”

  “Seriously?” Sarah asked with her head still buried in the arctic deep freeze.

  “What’s it going to be?” Heath asked, popping his head through the kitchen door.

  “What’s what going to be?” Sarah asked, popping out. How was it fair that he looked gorgeous after his morning in the sun, when she felt frazzled and sweaty?

  “Flan or cheesecake?”

  “Strawberry shortcake,” Coco blurted.

  Sarah made a mental note to see that the girl got a raise.

  “Sounds great,” he said after a long swig of beer. “Glad you got it figured out, otherwise I’d’ve felt a gentlemanly obligation to help.”

  “I don’t think so,” Sarah said, clear of the freezer now and giving those solid shoulders of his a nudge. “You’re an honored guest, and as such you will not be slaving away in here.” Though it warmed her to think that he’d offered.

  “I was only thinking of performing a few taste tests for you. You know, so I’d be qualified to give you an opinion of what dessert works best.”

  He dazzled her with a smile of such genuine intensity that her pounding heart altogether stalled. Attraction to the man flowed through her like sun-warmed honey, deliciously numbing her panic to the point where she almost forgot that she still had to find a guest chef for lunch.

  “Listen,” she said with her hand on his steely forearm, “I hate abandoning you again, but duty really does call.”

  Seeing how his free hand held his beer, he used the soft inside of his wrist to brush the top of her hand, making her wonder why she’d ever touched him. Was she now completely insane, on top of bedraggled? The chemistry between them was a living, palpable thing that she wanted so much to explore. Why couldn’t she have met him under any other circumstances?

  “Relax,” he said, calming her icy panic. “You’re amazing. I’ve never seen anyone juggle as many tasks as you, yet you always seem to top your previous efforts. Even without Helga’s help, lunch will be awesome.”

  Nearly choking, Sarah said, “I appreciate your vote of confidence, but if I don’t get in the kitchen ASAP, the only lunch I’ll be serving is a platter of peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwiches.”

  He laughed. “No doubt with homemade potato chips, heart-shaped pickle wedges and an edible flower garnish.”

  Reluctantly, she released his tanned forearm, wishing and hoping that someday, somehow, they’d get their chance to meet again. The next time, with her being start-to-finish genuine. Beginning with her real name.

  “NOW, MIND YOU,” Branson Polk—the beefy, middle-aged redheaded chef from Catfish Heaven, said. “I don’t do fancy. Sadie’s the one ’round these parts who gets into all that flowery stuff. But if you want good pan-fried catfish, slaw and hush puppies, I’m your man. Otherwise closest you’re gonna get to your twin is flying in some high-and-mighty muckety-muck from St. Louis or Kansas City.”

  Leaning against the stainless-steel counter with twenty-five minutes until her guests strolled in from their various pastimes for lunch, Sarah said, “You cook it and I’ll decorate it. At triple your normal wage. Do we have a deal?”

  They shook on one Southern-style catfish lunch with all the nonfancy trimmings.

  While the chef organized the three assistants he’d brought along for the lunch battle, Sarah cut butcher paper to fit the kitchen door’s tiny window and then took a deep breath. Crisis averted.

  Now, with a little plate-decoration creativity and plenty of help from Coco, Sarah thought she just might ensure the survival of the Blueberry Inn’s reputation after all.

  FOR LUNCH, HEATH AGAIN found himself seated across from Mrs. Young, whose pale blue eyes looked so light that he wondered if she’d spent too much time in the morning sun, somehow making them paler still.

  “Isn’t this lovely?” she said, viewing her plate. What Sarah had managed to throw together on such short notice was nothing short of a miracle. Catfish nuggets rested in a boat made of a quartered pineapple. Alongside that were steaming hush puppies and coleslaw garnished with white, yellow and purple flowers that he’d seen in the garden just that morning. To complement the classic Southern meal, lively jazz flowed out of concealed speakers, spicing up the mood.

  “It’s pretty,” he said. “But is it edible?”

  “For shame, Mr. Peters. I’d thought you were more sophisticated.”

  Damn. Apparently not only were the dainty little things edible but everyone in the room seemed to know it except him. Winking, he said, “Of course I knew. I was just testing you.”

  She howled with laughter—we
ll, as much of a howl as her reedy voice could produce. “Mr. Peters, really, I never suspected you for the type to have a wicked sense of humor.”

  Whew. Neither had he.

  “Curious, though.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Why the kitchen door’s window is covered. Do you think our Sadie’s back there, whipping up some fabulous surprise?”

  “Maybe,” he said, not sure what to make of that bit of information. There’d been times when he was a kid that company had dropped in, catching their house at less than its best, and his mom had just shut bedroom doors—wishing that the kitchen had had one. Maybe Sadie hadn’t had time to tidy the kitchen as much as she’d have liked and this was her solution. “I’m sure there’s a logical explanation,” he said. “Nothing overly mysterious.”

  Although now that he’d had a second to think about it, was it a good thing for a public establishment to have a kitchen so messy that it needed hiding?

  Out of deference to Sadie, for the moment he’d let the question lie, but he’d take a look later—just in case.

  “You know,” his dining companion said, “last time I was at an inn that served flowers I had dandelions, but these look to be a lovely allium mix. Wouldn’t you agree?”

  “Absolutely,” he said, braving a bite. He was surprisingly pleased to find the little devils had a mild onion-and-garlic tang that was great with the slaw. Shaking his head and grinning, he found himself in awe of Sadie Connelly on so many levels that it scared him.

  Somehow, some way, when this weekend was over, he had to get to know her as himself. Easily said, except that he’d made a big, hairy deal out of telling her how much he despised liars. Which was true, but seeing how he’d become one, it made for a bit of a problem.

  The fact that he was lying for what was essentially a good reason, wouldn’t make it any more palatable to the woman on the receiving end. Even though she didn’t know it, Sadie Connelly had a tremendous amount riding on his—or rather his brother’s—review.

  When you thought about it, Hale was pretty much a jerk for even suggesting this switch. Granted, he’d said he wouldn’t have done it if the Blueberry Inn’s reputation hadn’t already been so stellar as to be a guaranteed perfect rating. But still. Having gotten to know its innkeeper a bit, Heath felt dirty for duping her this way.