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Authors: Jodi Thomas
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thinking Martha Q could use a lot more work than a face-lift. Her entire body seemed to be moving south. “Your business will be in good hands.” He offered his scraped hand. “Thanks for the offer.”
“Don’t thank me until the job is over. Running a B&B, even an empty one, is not easy. I’ll expect you to let the cat in and out. Which is a constant problem. You’ll have to wake the housekeeper up and tell her to go home every afternoon, and my house is a hundred years old, sosomething is constantly breaking, leaking, stopping up, or cracking. I’ll leave numbers of who to call when problems come up and they’ll know to bill me.” She took his hand carefully. “I’ll expect you tomorrow. Your room will be ready.”
Without another word, she waddled out.
“I don’t know about this,” Hank whispered just in case she’d stopped on the other side of the door to listen.
“What could go wrong?” Rick answered. “I’ll watch over her house, have a security system, be able to walk to work, and have Mrs. Biggs to cook me breakfast. This deal was almost worth the fall.”
Hank frowned. “On the downside, you’re in an old house and you’re barely mobile. Mrs. Biggs won’t be any help if trouble comes, and the place is haunted, according to the bookstore owner downtown.”
Rick grinned. “I’ll be fine. Look at the bright side, all I have to do is call and Alex or one of her deputies can be at the bed-and-breakfast door in five minutes.”
Chapter 8
M ONDAY
E MILY TOMLINSON WALKED INTO THE NURSING HOME FEELING like she was doing something wrong. Tannon asking her to come visit his mother was one thing, but Emily just deciding to go was another. Before Saturday night, she’d said nothing to the woman in more than ten years. That didn’t exactly make her a close friend, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that the visit was something she should do.
Maybe now was the time to start the friendship over. Monday was her only early day off and three o’clock seemed like a good time to pay a visit. She knew deep down she wasn’t there to visit Paulette Parker so much as to visit the memory of her mother.
With all her family gone, Emily had no one who could answer her questions. Paulette Parker might be half out of her mind, but she was the only person who would know what her mother had truly been like. Emily had her childhoodmemories, but they were scattered and disconnected like random toys tucked away in an attic box.
She remembered summer mornings in the garden working beside her parents. Her mother’s easy laugh. Her father’s gentle smile. Late-night movies with her parents cuddling. Shopping at farmers’ markets. Vacations to historic sites. Her mother was always there, always dear in those growing-up years. Emily felt like she knew her mother, but she didn’t know Shelley Tomlinson, the girl, the young woman, the dreamer.
She took a deep breath and pushed Paulette’s door open hoping to see one more glimpse today of the way her mother had once been.
The thin woman sat in a wheelchair by the window staring out at nothing but a garden wall. Someone had dressed her, with little care, in a plain cotton blouse and dull brown pants. Her collar was turned up on one end and one of her socks caught the leg of her pants. The Paulette that Emily remembered would never have looked so unkempt. She dressed in colorful outfits to garden, and everything about her matched.
“Morning, Mrs. Parker, are you feeling up for a visitor?”
Paulette turned toward her, and for a few seconds her eyes were dull, unseeing, but then she smiled. “You do look like your mother, child. I see her kind brown eyes in your gaze.”
Emily pulled up a chair close enough to almost touch knees with the older woman. “I’ve heard people say that, but I don’t see it.” She put her hand over Paulette’s wrinkled fingers. “Is it all right if I’m here? I don’t want to bother you while you’re resting.”
“It’s
“Don’t thank me until the job is over. Running a B&B, even an empty one, is not easy. I’ll expect you to let the cat in and out. Which is a constant problem. You’ll have to wake the housekeeper up and tell her to go home every afternoon, and my house is a hundred years old, sosomething is constantly breaking, leaking, stopping up, or cracking. I’ll leave numbers of who to call when problems come up and they’ll know to bill me.” She took his hand carefully. “I’ll expect you tomorrow. Your room will be ready.”
Without another word, she waddled out.
“I don’t know about this,” Hank whispered just in case she’d stopped on the other side of the door to listen.
“What could go wrong?” Rick answered. “I’ll watch over her house, have a security system, be able to walk to work, and have Mrs. Biggs to cook me breakfast. This deal was almost worth the fall.”
Hank frowned. “On the downside, you’re in an old house and you’re barely mobile. Mrs. Biggs won’t be any help if trouble comes, and the place is haunted, according to the bookstore owner downtown.”
Rick grinned. “I’ll be fine. Look at the bright side, all I have to do is call and Alex or one of her deputies can be at the bed-and-breakfast door in five minutes.”
Chapter 8
M ONDAY
E MILY TOMLINSON WALKED INTO THE NURSING HOME FEELING like she was doing something wrong. Tannon asking her to come visit his mother was one thing, but Emily just deciding to go was another. Before Saturday night, she’d said nothing to the woman in more than ten years. That didn’t exactly make her a close friend, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that the visit was something she should do.
Maybe now was the time to start the friendship over. Monday was her only early day off and three o’clock seemed like a good time to pay a visit. She knew deep down she wasn’t there to visit Paulette Parker so much as to visit the memory of her mother.
With all her family gone, Emily had no one who could answer her questions. Paulette Parker might be half out of her mind, but she was the only person who would know what her mother had truly been like. Emily had her childhoodmemories, but they were scattered and disconnected like random toys tucked away in an attic box.
She remembered summer mornings in the garden working beside her parents. Her mother’s easy laugh. Her father’s gentle smile. Late-night movies with her parents cuddling. Shopping at farmers’ markets. Vacations to historic sites. Her mother was always there, always dear in those growing-up years. Emily felt like she knew her mother, but she didn’t know Shelley Tomlinson, the girl, the young woman, the dreamer.
She took a deep breath and pushed Paulette’s door open hoping to see one more glimpse today of the way her mother had once been.
The thin woman sat in a wheelchair by the window staring out at nothing but a garden wall. Someone had dressed her, with little care, in a plain cotton blouse and dull brown pants. Her collar was turned up on one end and one of her socks caught the leg of her pants. The Paulette that Emily remembered would never have looked so unkempt. She dressed in colorful outfits to garden, and everything about her matched.
“Morning, Mrs. Parker, are you feeling up for a visitor?”
Paulette turned toward her, and for a few seconds her eyes were dull, unseeing, but then she smiled. “You do look like your mother, child. I see her kind brown eyes in your gaze.”
Emily pulled up a chair close enough to almost touch knees with the older woman. “I’ve heard people say that, but I don’t see it.” She put her hand over Paulette’s wrinkled fingers. “Is it all right if I’m here? I don’t want to bother you while you’re resting.”
“It’s
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