Barefoot Season Part 22

"I'm glad you're not scared of the cranes, and not being scared of the water is probably a good thing. We do live on an island."

Carly had always been terrified of the water. As a kid, she'd refused to put even a toe into the Sound. No matter how hot the day, she wouldn't go into a pool. Had Gabby learned that from her?

"Did you see it's sunny?" Gabby asked.

"I did."

"I like sunny days. And we're planning our summer movies. We go every week in the summer." She danced in place as she spoke.

She and Carly had gone to the movies weekly during summer, Mich.e.l.le thought. They'd walked to the only movie theater in town and stood in line with the other kids. When the multiplex had been built, they'd thought it practically a theme park, it had been so thrilling. Ten choices at the same time.

She could see Carly in Gabby. The same shape and color of eyes, the smile. There were probably bits of Allen in her, too, but they seemed less important.

"The movies are great," Gabby was saying, "Mom says I get lip gloss when I turn ten."

"Good for you."

Gabby nodded. "I want a phone, but Mom says no to that. Most of my friends don't have phones, either." She paused. "I wanted to tell you that I'm sorry about Nana Brenda. That she died while you were away. You must be sad about it."

"Thank you," Mich.e.l.le said, surprised Gabby would mention her mother. "Do you miss her?"

Gabby hesitated. "Sometimes she made Mom cry and I didn't like that. But she could be nice, too. We were friends, I think."

Mich.e.l.le felt a combination of compa.s.sion and rage. Even from the grave, her mother was doing damage.

She put her hand on Gabby's small shoulder. "It's okay to be confused. You love your mom and want to protect her. Just like she protects you. You can remember the good stuff about Nana Brenda, too. People are complicated."

"I'm not supposed to talk about it," Gabby admitted in a whisper. "Mom said."

"I won't tell."

Gabby blessed her with a wide smile.

They headed back toward the inn, Gabby chatting about her friends and the summer camp she would attend. That she didn't like the outdoor stuff, but the computer programming was fun. Once they were inside, Gabby scampered off to find Carly. Mich.e.l.le moved toward the front desk and saw Ellen Snow walking into the lobby.

"Hi," Ellen said with a smile when they'd spotted each other. "I'm running errands this morning and thought I'd stop by to see how things are going."

Mich.e.l.le wasn't sure if this was a social call or more about business.

"We're doing great. Full for the weekend."

"I'm not surprised," the tall blonde said. "You have such a beautiful place. I love it here. I always have my friends from Seattle stay here if they want a fun getaway."

"I'll take the business."

They gravitated toward the sofas by the front window and took a seat across from each other. Ellen wore jeans and a light sweater over a tailored s.h.i.+rt. Her boots had three-inch heels. Mich.e.l.le wasn't sure how she could walk in them but she was willing to admit they looked good.

"I've been meaning to come by sooner," Ellen admitted. "Time gets away from me. Maybe we can go to lunch or something."

"Sure," Mich.e.l.le said, deciding it was better to be polite than admit the fact that she wasn't much for "going to lunch." She had work to do.

Ellen glanced around, then leaned forward. "Is everything all right with Carly?"

"Sure. Why?"

"I know the two of you don't get along. Who could blame you?"

Mich.e.l.le s.h.i.+fted in her seat. "You're the one who insisted I work with her. That she stay on."

"No," Ellen said quickly, her gaze sympathetic. "It wasn't me. Our loan committee said it was important. I tried to talk them out of it. I couldn't make any headway and I didn't want to get into Carly's past, so we're both stuck."

Ellen crossed her legs and shrugged. "I know you're the one who really runs this place. Carly's great at smiling at the guests. As long as she doesn't make it obvious she's sleeping with them, I guess that works."

Mich.e.l.le nearly fell off the sofa. "Excuse me? Carly's not sleeping with the guests."

Ellen laughed. "Well, sure. Not all of them. But she keeps her hand in, so to speak."

"I've been back a few weeks now and I can tell that Carly does a good job."

Ellen sighed. "You're amazingly loyal. I admire that. I would have cut her loose years ago. You remember what she was like in high school." There was another laugh, this one a little sharper around the edges. "She practically came to school with rug burn on her back. Is there even one guy she didn't sleep with?"

"That was a long time ago."

"People don't change." Ellen's expression sharpened. "Trust me on that. Carly is as she always was. My point is, I'm sorry you're stuck with her. I'll get that changed as soon as possible and then you'll have the satisfaction of firing her."

Mich.e.l.le felt uncomfortable. Ellen was doing her best to bond and show she was on Mich.e.l.le's side, but nothing about this conversation felt right.

"We have an employment contract," Mich.e.l.le said, her voice quiet, her mind conflicted.

Ellen grinned. "And I have a lawyer. Don't worry-we're friends. I would never stick you with someone like that even a minute longer than necessary." She rose. "I have forty million things to do this morning. I just wanted to stop by and say hi. Let me know if I can do anything to help."

Mich.e.l.le stood, nearly stumbling as pain jabbed her in the hip. Ellen gave a quick wave and walked out.

Mich.e.l.le was left wondering what Carly had done to make the other woman dislike her so much and, oddly enough, trying to figure out how to make it all better.

Nineteen.

Carly grabbed an armful of linens and backed out of the storage room. She couldn't see where she was going so when she b.u.mped into something solid, she a.s.sumed she'd misjudged the path and had run into a wall. Then large, warm hands settled on her waist. Masculine hands.

The unexpected contact made her jump. She spun around to see who was touching her only to find Mich.e.l.le's friend grinning down at her from the hallway.

"You looked like you were in trouble," he said, his blue eyes sparkling with humor, a slow, s.e.xy smile curving his mouth. "It's my sworn duty to help a lady in distress."

She shoved the stack of linens at him. "Good to know. Want to carry these?"

"It's what I live for. Where are we going with them?"

"The end of the hall."

"I'm Sam," he said as he fell into step with her.

"Carly."

He was tall and lean, but with plenty of muscle. Good-looking enough to be interesting but not so handsome that a woman would have to worry he would want more bathroom-mirror time than her. What intrigued Carly the most, though, was his air of competence. He seemed like a man who knew how to take charge. After years of being on her own, that was pretty s.e.xy to her.

They reached the supply room, where the housekeepers collected what they needed every day.

"You can put those on the counter," she said.

He lowered the linens, then stepped back while she sorted them.

"You're probably not sure what to ask next," he told her. "Let me help. I'm a friend of Mich.e.l.le's and I'm in town for a job interview. I just got out of the army after serving twenty years, mostly as an MP. I call my momma every week, I prefer to hold doors open for women and believe on a first date the man should pay. So I guess that makes me old-fas.h.i.+oned."

Carly separated the sheets from the pillowcases and stacked them neatly. She made sure there were enough towels, little soaps and lotions. Finally she turned to Sam.

He stood confidently, aware of what he offered. She knew the type-he liked women and they liked him back. Which should have reminded her of Allen. Except her ex had been more interested in what he could get and she'd heard rumors not every guy was like that.

Funny how she'd gone nearly ten years without so much as a s.e.xual twitch and in the s.p.a.ce of a couple of weeks she'd met two guys who appealed to her. She wanted to do a little "my girl parts aren't dead" dance, but knew that would only be frightening for anyone watching.

"You think you're charming," she said.

"I've heard that a time or two."

"Married?"

"Divorced."

She crossed her arms over her chest and waited.

"Twice," he added with a shrug. "Okay, so sometimes I'm not the fastest learner. Both were impulses. I'm taking things slower, now. Settling into a new town. Speaking of which, I'd love to see more of it. What with you being a native and all, maybe you could show me around." The charming, seductive smile returned. "Just to be neighborly."

His voice held a hint of the South, as if he'd either been born there or spent a lot of time there. She had a feeling he was interested in more than a tour of Blackberry Island.

She hadn't been on a date since she'd first gone out with Allen. Her last s.e.xual encounter had been when she was five months pregnant and had been with her husband. Since then there had been a long, barren desert when it came to men and s.e.x.

Mango had reminded her of possibilities. Sam made her want to take a test drive. He made her aware of her body-especially the aforementioned girly parts. She wanted to shut the door, pull the fresh, clean towels onto the floor and invite him to a party. At the same time she knew there were a lot of reasons why she should resist. In the interest of not being stupid, she took a step back.

"What's a man like you doing settling down in a place like this?" she asked. "How'd you even find us?"

"Mich.e.l.le talked about the island a lot. It sounded nice. I came and checked it out and decided to stay."

Mich.e.l.le. Carly had nearly forgotten about her, about her reunion with Sam.

"You're with Mich.e.l.le," Carly said, telling herself her job was more important than any man and having no trouble believing that. Unless she changed her form of employment, getting laid would not pay the bills. More important, she cared about Mich.e.l.le.

"We're old friends." One eyebrow went up. "We're not together, if that's what you're thinking. We were, a long time ago. It was hot and heavy for about fifteen minutes. I wouldn't have asked you out if we were still involved. I'm not that guy."

He held up both hands. "We're just friends, I swear. You can ask her."

"That would be a little awkward," Carly murmured, wanting to believe him, but not completely convinced.

He dropped his hands to his side. "I'm one of the good guys. You can ask my mom."

"I don't know her."

He pulled out his cell phone. "We could give her call."

"I'd rather ask Mich.e.l.le."

"You do that. Once she confirms what I said, you'll show me the town?"

"Sure."

He grinned. "I look forward to it."

Carly did, too, and she wasn't sure if that was good or very, very bad.

Mich.e.l.le started every day the same way. She got to the inn early, parked her truck, then went into the restaurant and had breakfast with Damaris. The cook always had a plate ready and there was lots of coffee. Great food, great conversation and caffeine. She doubted there was any way to improve the morning.

Today, she paused in the dining room and looked around. Every table was full, she thought happily, practically hearing the sound of money falling into the register. Conversation competed with the clink of flatware and soft music playing in the background.

While it was currently cloudy, the weather guy swore the sun would be out later. More important, he'd promised a rain-free Memorial Day weekend.

Mich.e.l.le wanted to believe him, but she'd grown up here. Rain loved to attend all the big summer weekends. Still, the thought of a full inn over a sunny weekend was enough to make her giddy.

She crossed toward the kitchen, smiling at customers as she went. Back when she'd been in high school there had only been twelve tables, she thought absently. Now there were at least double that. She reached the door for the kitchen, then turned and did a quick count.

More than double. There were thirty-two tables. a.s.suming at least half of them turned over, that was forty-eight checks for the morning. And it was only going to get busier over the weekend.

"Don't talk to me," Damaris said as she entered the kitchen. "What? Are we giving away breakfast? I'm getting too many orders."

Mich.e.l.le laughed. "Don't forget, that's a good thing."

"For you. For me, it's more work." But the cook was grinning as she spoke. "You'll have to get your own breakfast this morning."

"I don't mind."

Mich.e.l.le poured herself a mug of coffee, then used the tongs to grab a piece of bacon.