Page 29 of The Magical Bed & Breakfast

She laughed, “I remember.”

“You remember everything?”

“Well, I am a librarian and the keeper of the historical archives.” With a smile, she left him to it.

Rory shut the door behind him and paused to take it all in. He took another long breath and let it out, giving his system a moment to adjust to everything old and wonderful. All the scents of the room flooded his senses. So much history, and all here and available to anyone who was willing to take the time. But that was the issue, as always. Time was a commodity and easily eaten up by what was urgent instead of what was important. History was important. History held the answers to now. But he could wax philosophical until…the prodigal musician came home to stay?

That wasn’t happening.

Right now, he needed to get to work. Rory made his way to the very back of the room where the oldest documents were stored. He spotted the computer where items had been scanned in, and while that was interesting, it was not what he wanted today. He took the gloves Whitney had given him and slipped them on. He studied the years listed on containers before him and pulled down the one that said 1776, setting it on a long table reverently. Holding his breath, he flipped the lid open. It was packed tight with folders and family trees. Rory pulled out a straight-back chair, sat, and began to read.

*

Kate leaned back,disconcerted by what she had found. Rory Throckmorton was clearly Rory Rollins. There was no mistaking the pictures she found online. Oh, he looked different in his rock keyboardist garb, true enough. His hair all spiked up instead of flopping adorably on his forehead, his bare arms showcasing those fabulous biceps she had felt through his long-sleeved tee when she had nearly climbed his body in her fright in the tunnel. Tight leather jeans showcased that perfect derriere, instead of the relaxed denim he wore around her at the inn, but it was definitely him.

And RoryRollinshad a notable career as a musician. He had worked his way up, working as a keyboardist for a number of small rock bands that had played locally in the greater Manhattan area at venues she was well familiar with. She was certain their paths had never crossed prior. She wouldn’t have forgotten meeting him, of that she was certain.

Kate had spent eight years working in her father’s business fixing the messes wealthy socialites and local celebrities found themselves in. She had covered up indiscretions and paid off blackmailers and provided cover stories to the media explaining away the DUIs and property damages and broken hearts wreaked by her father’s clientele. She had cleaned up hotel rooms and worked with concierges and hotel staff to maintain their discretion. She had greased many a palm. She was grateful it had not been on Rory’s behalf. That small blessing aside, she did not like what she read about Rory’s band.

One former member had quite a scandalous history, leaving substantial turmoil in his wake. The current band members weren’t wild partiers, though, and that was a relief. They had the occasional mention in the tabloids, sure, but none of the circumspection resulted in hardcore evidence. But in her experience, where there was smoke…

One particular account of a crazed fan disturbed her. She had seen how quickly that type of situation could go awry.

She listened to a day-old podcast interview given by one of Rory’s bandmates. When queried about his cohorts, he was notably vague about Rory. His phrasing set alarm bells ringing in Kate’s head, and she rubbed the spot between her eyes to chase off the headache about to start. She had lots of experience with the artful language of avoidance.

Rory was hiding.

That was the takeaway from the interview with the lead singer and guitarist. But hiding from what? She spent another hour trying to find out but came up with nothing, which only increased the tension in her shoulders. She despised scandal.

With all her stone-cold heart.

It’s why she moved here to Hazard, bought the inn, and was creating a new life for herself—so her cynical heart could heal. So she could lose the skepticism and that hard edge she had crafted within herself just to make it through each day of working for her father.

Had her old life chased her down? Was it, even now, grasping at her ankles to trip her up and drag her backwards kicking and howling into the realm she had finally shucked off?

Her very first guest belonged to that world. How could this be happening?

She needed a break, and decided a brisk walk would do her good. She grabbed a light jacket, locked up the inn, and took a stroll around the green. It wasn’t hard to keep a brisk pace. Wind gusted, hustling her along like it knew just where she should go. As she came upon the cute little chocolate shop she had yet to visit, she reached for the curved brass door handle and the wind pushed her on, urging her past it.

“Oh, not that way?” Kate said to the wind in a moment of whimsy. “All righty then.” Gusts rushed her along, past the local bar, Toby and Mac’s, toward Community Projects, the local thrift store. When she moved to enter it, thinking she could learn a bit about the town’s current funding of local nonprofits, the wind propelled her on, and she kept going, making her way around the square, past Throckmorton grocery, the Town Hall, and Leo’s Diner, until she came to the florist.

The wind died down instantly, so Kate took that as a sign. Walking in, she entered into a veritable jungle of plants and blossoms. She blinked at the botanical menagerie before her, breathing in the amazing scents of roses and chrysanthemums combined with an earthiness from the plants towering around her. It was remarkably appealing. She wound her way over to the counter and greeted Lydia LaFleur.

Standing rigidly straight with a solemn expression, she nodded at Kate. “Welcome, how can I help you?”

“I was just out for a walk, but now that I’m here, can I open an account?” It was an impulse born of the moment, but Kate longed to add a bit of this place to her inn.

“For the inn? Of course, what are you thinking?”

“To start, I’d like a weekly arrangement of fresh flowers for the dining room, something seasonal and grand to brighten it up each week.”

After a long discussion, Kate worked out a plan with Lydia for a weekly arrangement in a particular price range to be delivered every Thursday. She would start with that. If the inn did well, she could expand into more fresh flowers, perhaps for the entry and the parlor. She decided she could justify the expense starting now since she had the one guest. Besides, she knew the flowers would cheer her, and she needed the pick-me-up. Pleased, Kate left. Wind quickly gusted her next door to the tea shop.

She entered to the delightful tinkling of a door chime swinging on a dark green, velvet ribbon. A teenage girl with a name tag that read Rebecca escorted her to a table where she had a view of the square through a large plate-glass window. Kate settled gratefully into a padded, floral-patterned, chintz chair with a curved wooden back. She gazed out at the trees swaying in the breeze, and some of her tension left just from surveying the serene setting. Leaves in bright yellow and orange swirled merrily to the ground as she became aware of the teenage chatter coming from the table next to hers, and Kate turned her focus there.

A pretty strawberry blonde gushed, “Becca, Becca, how did you get a job here? This place is thebest.” Two brunettes nodded in agreement, waving Rebecca over. One added, “You should come to homecoming with us.”

The server blinked, surprised and pleased. “Thanks, Marik.”

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