“Whew,” Sarah said, drawing out the chair opposite Heath’s.

Her pale complexion was flushed and the afternoon’s heat had dampened the tendrils hugging the nape of her neck where she’d pulled back her hair. “That was tough,” she added.

“I’d have thought you’d be an old pro at a simple lunch,” Heath said.

“Oh, sure,” she replied. “I just didn’t get much rest last night. But now that my right-hand person has finally gotten here, I’ve got time for a breather.”

After a few moments of awkward silence, he leaned forward, toying with his blue napkin. “Not that it’s my business, but why’d you get a lousy night’s rest?”

“Why do you care?”

“No reason,” he said. “Sorry I asked. I was just trying to make small talk, but maybe my question came out as invasive.”

“No,” she said, staring at Heath straight on, and then sighing. “Truthfully, I didn’t get a wink of sleep last night for a fairly simple reason—you.”

Dear Reader,

On the topic of twins, seeing as how I have a set of my own, I’m a bit biased. I love twin stories, which is what makes Heath and Sarah’s tale extra dear to my heart.

I suppose my fascination with twins started with Disney’s The Parent Trap (both the Hayley Mills and Lindsay Lohan versions). The whole concept of being able to exchange lives with someone is very intriguing! Alas, unless Mom and Dad are hiding a deep family secret, I’ll never get to discover how much fun this could actually be. And seeing as I was blessed with boy/girl twins, there won’t be any switcheroos going on at our house. Meaning my only shot for twin mayhem is in the pages of my books.

I so hope you’ll enjoy taking Heath and Sarah’s wild ride with me as they both try to convincingly fill their twins’ shoes—usually failing miserably in every area but love!

Best,

Laura Marie ;-)

The Right Twin

Laura Marie Altom

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

After college (Go Hogs!), bestselling, award-winning author Laura Marie Altom did a brief stint as an interior designer before becoming a stay-at-home mom to boy/girl twins. Always an avid romance reader, she knew it was time to try her hand at writing when she found herself replotting the afternoon soaps.

When not immersed in her next story, Laura enjoys an almost glamorous lifestyle of zipping around in a convertible while trying to keep her dog from leaping out, and constantly striving to reach the bottom of the laundry basket—a feat she may never accomplish! For real fun, Laura is content to read, do needlepoint and cuddle with her kids and handsome hubby.

Laura loves hearing from readers at either P.O. Box 2074, Tulsa, OK 74101, or e-mail: BaliPalm@aol.com. Love lounging on the beach while winning fun stuff? Check out www.lauramariealtom.com.

Books by Laura Marie Altom

HARLEQUIN AMERICAN ROMANCE

1028—BABIES AND BADGES

1043—SANTA BABY

1074—TEMPORARY DAD

1086—SAVING JOE*

1099—MARRYING THE MARSHAL*

1110—HIS BABY BONUS*

1123—TO CATCH A HUSBAND*

1132—DADDY DAYCARE

1147—HER MILITARY MAN

For my precious Hannah—you asked for it, you got it!

P.S. Buddy Love, you get the next one!

Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Prologue

Thursday

“Pop quiz. What’s the difference between Italian meringue and standard?” When Sadie Connelly’s sister Sarah’s only reply was a deer-in-the-headlights stare, her stomach fell more sharply than a jostled soufflé. “Sweetie,” she said with a moan, “this is elementary stuff. If we’re to have a chance at pulling this off, you’ve got to pay attention.”

“I am,” her twin said, fidgeting in her seat in the Blueberry Inn’s sumptuous dining room. A gleaming maple floor inlaid with cherry was softened in spots by colorful Persian rugs. Walls covered in a navy-and-white toile were accented by Sadie’s extensive collection of Blue Willow china and her nineteenth-century pastoral prints. Tall windows draped in navy velvet brought in the midspring morning sun and the heady scents of a freshly watered garden that was already riotously in bloom. In the distance, Blue Lake shimmered with the breeze.

All her life Sadie had dreamed of running such a fabulous inn. Maybe the desire had arisen from watching too much of that old nighttime TV soap Hotel, but years later, when their grandmother died and left Sadie the means to not just work in a country inn but actually own one, she’d jumped at the chance.

And jumped and jumped to restore the faded Queen Anne property to its former glory. Five long years later, sweat equity had turned the inn, an hour south of St. Louis, into the ultimate in refined elegance.

“All right then,” Sadie said, not sure her sister Sarah realized the gravity of this situation. “If you truly have been paying attention, name it.”

“What?”

“The difference.”

“In what?”

“Meringue,” Sadie said, slapping her palm on the linen tablecloth. “Meringue, meringue, mer—”

“Chill,” Sarah interjected. “Seriously. Your second-in-command will soon be here, hovering over me with her beady eyes.”

“Helga isn’t the least bit ‘beady,’ in fact, she—”

“Relax. When it comes to supervising me in your sainted kitchen, she’s not only beady-eyed, but she’s got that creepy stare that she does. As an added bonus, she’ll keep all of your other worker bees in line, too. And on top of that, you’ve laid in enough frozen dinners and pastries to feed ten times the amount of guests you’re expecting.”

“Yes, but…”

Sadie’s twin sighed, then reached for her hands, giving her icy fingers a reassuring squeeze. “I know how much this weekend with Trevor means to you. Trust me, I do. Otherwise you’d have never in a million, trillion years entrusted me with this pile of wood and bricks that you’ve made your life’s work.” Releasing her hands from Sadie’s in order to raise her right one, Sarah added, “That’s why, as my most solemn oath on the Royal Order of Cookie Thieves, I hereby promise to make each of your guests this weekend fall wholly, completely and madly in love with your inn and also you.”

Sadie’s throat tightened at the reference to the to secret club she and her twin had formed back in fourth grade for the purpose of launching stealth missions to nab the heavenly cookies their mother baked for wealthy St. Louis clients. Whereas Sadie had taken after their mother, Sarah had chosen their father to look up to and was now climbing a corporate ladder instead.

“Well…” Sadie said, biting her lower lip. “I very much want everyone to adore the inn, but they don’t particularly even need to like me—just see that I run a tight ship. And you know there’s still a chance the Zodor’s reviewer could show. Otherwise I wouldn’t have needed to involve you. But if by chance he or she does make an appearance and I’m not here…”

“Gotcha,” her twin said, executing a saucy salute.

For the umpteenth time since Sadie had formed the plan that would—if all went well—allow her to be in two places at once, she actually dared a normal breath.

For nearly two years now, she’d been engaged to Trevor.

The man was tall, dark, handsome and charming and yet he seemed utterly incapable of setting a wedding date.

Which was why, when he’d accused her of being responsible for the holdup on their trip down the aisle, she’d agreed to give up minding her inn this weekend and accompany him to his sister’s wedding in Tulsa in exchange for his promise to set a wedding date of their own. Sadie had to take the chance.

In Trevor she would have the perfect husband, as well as a superb host for her guests. Gorgeous, easy to talk to and successful in his own right, Trevor was a great catch. As much as she loved her inn, she loved Trevor even more. Otherwise she’d have never asked her twin to agree to such a drastic stunt.

For most inns—most innkeepers—it wouldn’t matter if they took time off even while they were being reviewed. But Sadie had worked so hard to get where she was and she took great pride in personally greeting each guest.

Granted, they probably didn’t care quite so much if they met her, but she did.

On each bit of advertising was a likeness of Sadie, promising guests that she personally guaranteed they’d enjoy their stay or she’d gladly refund their money. And now, with the chance of being reviewed by a national publication in the wind, there was even more than usual at stake.

Bottom line, she wouldn’t have a bit of fun with Trevor if she spent her time worrying over whether or not her inn’s reputation was suffering due to someone feeling they hadn’t received top-notch personal service.

As for Sarah successfully replacing her, it was Sadie’s sincerest hope that she’d arranged enough help so that all her twin would have to do was stand around, smile and be charming.

“Trust me,” Sarah said. “Before the weekend’s over, you and Trevor will be more in love than ever. While I’m stuck here, coated in flour and slaving away.”

Seeing past her sister’s teasing grin to the sincerity that shimmered in her mossy-green eyes, Sadie swallowed hard.

Yes, it was sappy and stupid and sentimental, but the inn was like a child to her. A demanding spoiled child that she knew she’d have to relax her grip on one day. Until that day, however, she would be enormously grateful to her twin. “Have I mentioned lately how much I love you?”

“Nope. American Express will do nicely, though, to get your point across.”

“I’m serious,” Sadie said, giving her sister a gentle swat. “Thank you. Nobody but you could’ve ever pulled this off.”

“Thank you,” Sarah said.

“For what?”

“Trusting me. I promise I won’t let you down. This weekend will be perfect.”

With a lifetime of reading each other, they rose at precisely the same time, wrapping each other in teary hugs.

“For the record,” Sarah added, “Italian meringue is made by whipping a boiling syrup into the egg whites.”

And with that remark from her sister, Sadie finally relaxed. Her inn would be in excellent hands. As for the odds of a reviewer showing up? Nonexistent.

Chapter One

Friday

“Help!”

Heath Brown—identical twin to Hale Brown, who was the renowned food critic for Zodor’s International Country Inn Review Guide—rushed across Blueberry Inn’s reception area to aid a wobbling stack of towels that happened to have great legs. Dropping his black weekender on the floor, Heath grabbed the bulk of the folded laundry, in the process revealing a lovely surprise.

“Thanks, Kim.” The bearer of towels had been grinning, but now she frowned. “Er, you’re not Kim. Sorry.”

“No need for apologies,” Heath said. “We can all find ourselves in a laundry crisis now and then.” He repositioned his pile. “Where do you want these?”

“Oh…” Laughing, the woman lurched into action, setting her stack on top of an intricately carved walnut reception desk, then turning to face him again. “Here will be fine.”

Heath cozied his stack alongside hers.

“Thanks. I hadn’t realized I’d grabbed quite so much and I thought that Kim—the housekeeper—was right behind me.”

“Again, not a problem.”

“Now, how can I help you?”

“I just need to check in.”

“Then you’re in the right place.” Long, buttery hair eased over her shoulders, and her friendly smile crinkled the corners of her eyes. Intriguing eyes. Olive-green. As easy to lose himself in as one of the martinis Heath favored after a long day’s work. “Welcome to Blueberry Inn. I’m the owner, Sadie Connelly.” She held out her hand for him to shake. Which he did. And when the brief touch struck him as not too hard and not too soft but oddly just right, he was almost reluctant to let her go. Ludicrous in light of what he’d been through with Tess just six months earlier.

“Nice to meet you. I’m Shane Peters.” But for only one weekend. “I should, uh, have a reservation.”

“I know.” She winked and then rounded the desk’s nearest corner. “I recognize the name—only, isn’t your reservation for two?”

Heath’s heart lurched. To avoid suspicion, Hale always attached a fictional girlfriend to his fictional name. But for the life of him, Heath couldn’t recall the backstory Hale had told him to deliver to explain what had happened to the poor girl. “Um, yes, well, at the last minute Susie had something come up.”

“I’m sorry,” Sadie responded. “Hopefully even without her you’ll still manage to grab plenty of R & R.”

“That’d be great,” Heath replied. After meeting his hot innkeeper, he now gave the weekend at least a chance of being more entertaining than the two-day nap he’d imagined it would be.

“If you’ll give me a sec, I’ll find the—here it is.” She brandished a navy leather volume about the size of a high school yearbook. Embossed in elegant silver script across the front was Blueberry Inn.

“Now, if I could just find a pen…”

“Got one,” Heath said, reaching into the pocket of the sports jacket his brother had insisted he wear over his usual casual fare of jeans and a T-shirt. He handed over the pen, in the process, inadvertently brushing his fingers against Sadie’s. Instant chemistry tightened his stomach.

“Thanks,” his hostess said, her shaky grin somehow leaving him with the impression that all wasn’t quite right. Had she felt the same electricity? “I don’t know what’s wrong with me today.” She tapped herself on the forehead. “I can’t seem to pull it together—I haven’t even had time to dress myself properly.” She gestured to her frayed cutoffs and snug pink tee. She looked proper enough to Heath.

“Don’t sweat it,” he said, charmed by the warmth of her smile and her ability to laugh at herself. “I’ve had a few of those days myself.” Which was part of the reason he’d agreed to this stunt with his twin. Sure, there’d be some work involved in reviewing the inn, but mostly it offered Heath the chance for a much-needed break.

“Thanks for understanding,” she said, rifling through the desk drawers. Registration forms? “I know they’re here somewhere,” Sadie murmured to herself with a cute furrowing of her eyebrows.

Time for a reality check: the fact that Heath had even noticed her eyebrows, on top of her many other charms, could cause him nothing but trouble.

Heath was at Blueberry Inn for only one reason, and that was to bail his brother out of a jam. He owed his twin for the way Hale had ultimately opened his eyes to Tess’s deception. The least he could do was cover while Hale was off chasing his secret career dream of becoming a champion drag racer. Sure, most guys would just take time off work to pursue their dreams, but Hale’s boss was a hard-nosed taskmaster. He didn’t permit moonlighting, and when he made an unusual assignment such as this one—for Hale to go into an establishment ASAP—he meant business. Apparently that same boss’s wife—also the money behind the publication—had been so enchanted with the inn during a recent stay that she wanted it featured in a special pullout section on entrepreneurial women in the next edition. According to Hale, the inn’s perfection made the awarding of a top rating of five silver spoons a mere formality.

All of which was well and good for Heath’s brother to say, but insofar as Tess had taught Heath to despise liars, he hated the thought that his every word and action—even his name—over the long weekend would have to be false. Still, it couldn’t be helped.

Besides which, Heath’s falsehoods wouldn’t harm Sadie Connelly. Unlike Tess’s lies, which had cost him and his company millions through corporate espionage. If Sadie Connelly was even half as talented in the kitchen as his brother claimed, she had nothing to sweat.

As much as possible, Heath would relax and be himself, relishing the rare time away from what his brother referred to as his obsession of a career—video game designing. Heath would be the first to admit he’d put in hellacious hours of late, but what else did he have to do?

It wasn’t as if he had anyone waiting for him at home. He didn’t even have a pet. Just himself. And another in a long line of lonely nights, a bowl of ramen noodles and whatever happened to be on ESPN.

Boo hoo. Cry me a river.

After what Tess had put him through, why would he even want more? The question was logical enough. Trouble was, he very much wanted more. He wanted a wife and kids and a family to call his own so badly that the yearning brought on an embarrassing ache.

What was wrong with him?

As a relatively good-looking and successful bachelor, he should’ve been having the time of his life. Not moping about what might have been. Certainly not about whether or not he’d ever find a woman—or love—again. But for as long as he could remember, his mom had always called him her sensitive son.

Clear in his mind was the memory of riding his bike one flawless July afternoon when he’d been nine. Not a breath of wind, locusts troubling dusty weeds on either side of the dirt road and their monotonous hum. Riding along, counting the licks on a cherry Tootsie Pop, he’d come upon a bird, fluttering on the powdery shoulder. Pulling alongside to investigate, he’d seen that the small brownish-gray bird wasn’t indulging in a dust bath but was struggling at a far more solemn task. Its mate had been crushed.

The little bird tried and tried to wake its companion, thrusting its beak under a broken wing, urging the female to fly.

Fast as he could, Heath rode home to get his mother. She’d climbed on her own bike and dutifully followed. But now, as an adult, Heath knew there was nothing she could have done.

By the time they’d returned, the male had exhausted himself and he sat alongside his mate shuddering with each breath.

Heath had started to cry, begging his mom to do something, and she’d held him close, smoothing his hair and telling him love wasn’t easy. She’d promised him that one day, like the bird, he’d find a special girl, and when he married her, there’d be no guaranteeing forever. He’d just have to savor each day for the jewel it was.

In meeting Tess, Heath had thought he’d found his jewel, only to discover, instead, cold, unyielding stone. Hardening his jaw, he glanced over his shoulder to an eight-paned window. He hated to think that the woman still held emotional power in his life.

“Aha!” The innkeeper had found a stack of forms and now she took one from the top, shoving the rest behind the counter. “Once you fill this out, I’ll take you to your room.”

Heath made quick work of his assignment, glad for the distraction from memories he’d just as soon forget.

When he’d finished, Sadie retrieved a brass key ring with the number nine engraved on it, then stepped from behind the desk. “Want me to get that?” She nodded toward his bag.

“No, thanks.” A chivalrous streak had him reaching for it himself.

“Okay, then,” she said, making a sweeping gesture toward the stairs. “Follow me and we’ll get you squared away so you can relax before lunch.”

Considering the caliber of the present view, Heath was pleased to oblige. The woman his brother had described as one of the premier hostesses in the country, well-rounded in all types of cooking and the genteel manners of the sort to instantly put the most disgruntled guest at ease, was also a serious looker. At least five-ten with an abundance of curves.

Heath had been so busy admiring her endless legs that it had barely registered how tough a time she’d had checking him in. Not that it mattered—it just seemed odd.

Up curved stairs and then down a wide hall lined with antique side tables and chairs and bucolic landscapes. His guide stopped before a door, easing the key into the lock.

“Here you go,” she said, turning the latch and door, then stepping back with a flourish. “This is the Mark Twain Suite and features whitewashed walls in honor of Huck Finn and memorabilia of the author’s life. One of our most prized acquisitions is this letter to his daughter, Clara, written in 1904.”

“Um, thanks,” Heath said. Not that he wasn’t impressed with the room’s overall ambience, but Sadie’s delivery style sounded rushed—as if she’d been up all night memorizing the description. “How long have you been running this place?”

“Five years.” She flashed him a smile. “This inn’s my pride and joy.”

He nodded, unsure of what to say. Something about her mannerisms struck him as off—especially for someone who’d been following the same routine for so long. But then, lord knew he’d had a few off days himself at the height of his Tess fiasco. Maybe Sadie had just argued with a member of her staff? The other half of her towel team?

“Anyway,” she said with an awkward flap of her hands, “lunch will be served in the dining room at one. I hope you enjoy your stay.”

“Thanks. I’m sure I will.”

“And don’t hesitate to tell me or one of the staff if you need more towels or a snack—or whatever.” She flashed another of her cute toothy grins and then she was off, shutting the door behind her.

IN THE HALL, RESTING her shoulders against Shane Peters’s door, tightly shutting her eyes, Sarah finally exhaled. What a mess that had been. She’d expected him to arrive with a girlfriend in tow. Sadie had warned her to be on the lookout for single guests who could possibly be from Zodor’s, but the way Shane had leaped to her aid with the towels hardly made him seem the snooty reviewer type. Besides which, he’d planned to arrive with a weekend date. It would hardly be professional for a reviewer to bring a date, now would it?

Pulling herself together, she hustled down the hall to the back stairs. In Sadie’s room, as Sarah should have done an hour earlier, Sarah exchanged her comfy clothes for sharply creased khakis and a white blouse. The bulk of the inn’s guests would be arriving within the hour, and now that she’d worked out the registration process with gorgeous Mr. Peters, she hoped that from here on out her check-in duties would be smooth as silk.

Sarah added a string of her sister’s pearls and matching earrings to her ensemble, then swirled her hair into a French twist. With a spritz of a light floral scent and fresh lip gloss, she was good to go.

Mmm…Mr. Peters. Truth be told, her quick change had more to do with that one new guest than with the other anticipated arrivals. Had she only imagined the electricity between them when they’d touched? It had been so sweet of him coming to her rescue in the lobby. Then he’d been so patient while she’d fumbled for the registration forms.

All in all, he seemed like a nice guy—a drastic departure from Greg. It was even a relief that her attraction meter still worked.

Her cell chirped out the Gilligan’s Island theme song.

She glanced at the caller ID, only to roll her eyes. “Hey, sis. What’s up?”

“Not much. Just checking in. Have any of our couples arrived?”

“Half of one.”

“What do you mean half?”

“On Peters-plus-guest, the guest backed out on him.”

“You don’t think he could be the reviewer, do you? Pulling something sneaky?”

“Not a chance. Too good-looking, laid-back and not at all uptight.”

“Sarah…” her sister warned, her voice nearly a growl.

“What?”

“Just in case…don’t even think about starting something with him.”

“Good grief. I’m barely over Greg. What makes you think I’m anywhere near ready to jump in the dating pool again?”

“I don’t know. Something in your tone of voice.”

“My tone?” Sarah laughed.

“It’s me, remember? I have a sixth sense about you and men.”

“Right. Like Helga claims to have her all-seeing man eye?”

“That’s exactly right. Don’t knock it. And even if he is hot, you won’t have time for romance. And another thing—I don’t want anyone thinking I’m fraternizing with the guests. Or, for that matter, cheating on Trevor.”

Sarah sighed. “Again, after the head trip Greg pulled on me, I’m in no shape to think about any guy. Plus, I only said the guy was hot. Not that I’m going to marry him and have his babies.”

“There’s no need to get snippy. I have a reputation to uphold.”

“Which you will. Trust me, okay?”

After a few beats of silence, Sarah’s twin said, “I’ll think about it.”

TWO HOURS LATER, Sarah wished she were anywhere other than immersed in serving the inn’s hectic lunch. Backing against the kitchen’s pass-through door, Sarah took a deep breath, willing her pulse to slow as she pasted on one of her sister’s trademark serene smiles. One thing that helped her relax, at least partially, was that the sun-flooded dining room was a world away from the frenzied pace of the kitchen.

She took a deep breath and then headed for the man who had already become her least favorite guest.

“About time,” Mr. Standridge said. With his double chin, permed suspiciously black hair and small gold hoop earring, Sarah imagined the portly man as a retired pirate. Only that picture was somewhat skewed by the fact that Mrs. Standridge’s loose white bun made her a dead ringer for Mrs. Claus. Although, Sarah thought as she set two plates of roast beef in front of them, stranger things could happen than Mrs. Claus and Blackbeard having a scandalous affair at her sister’s inn.

Not trying too terribly hard to hide her grin, she looked up to find herself face-to-face with Shane Peters. His angular features sported a half day’s stubble, and his smiling eyes were as blue as the berries on her sister’s stationery logo. Quite simply, the man was breathtaking. And the fact that she’d even noticed was a sure sign that, yes, stranger things than a pirate Mrs. Claus scandal could happen!

Mr. Standridge cleared his throat. “Freshly cracked pepper, please.”

“And I still haven’t gotten my Chablis,” Mrs. Standridge complained.

“Need more of my help?” Shane asked with a teasing grin, helping himself to the best seat in the room beside open French doors.

“I’m thinking maybe so,” she said with a discreet wink that she hadn’t intended on being flirty.

“Ma’am?” Mr. Standridge glowered.

“I would really like more tea,” Mrs. Helsing said with a wag of her empty glass. As robust as the Standridges were, the Helsings were stick-thin and white. Pasty yet slick. Complexions like Crisco.

“And when you get a chance,” Mr. Helsing said, “could I please get a new fork? The tines on this one are smudged.”

“Certainly, sir. Right away.”

“I hate to be contrary,” the woman who’d introduced herself as “the widow” Naomie Young said in a cottony tone that matched her fragile frame and pale blue eyes, “but I prefer white bread to pumpernickel.”

“Yes, ma’am. I’ll have fresh white bread right out.”

Sarah managed a feeble smile, took one last intrigued glance at Shane, then worked up a sweat attempting to fulfill her guests’ never-ending requests. If only the two of them had met under other circumstances.

“THAT WAS DELICIOUS,” Heath said, toward the meal’s end, to the couple he’d heard addressed as the Standridges. He introduced himself as his brother had instructed, being careful to maintain a chatty, conversational tone and not tipping off anyone as to the true nature of his visit. “So far, what do you think of the inn?” he asked.

“The decor’s lovely,” Mrs. Standridge offered, glancing over her shoulder before speaking again. Checking to see if Sadie was out of the room? “But the food…” She blanched.

“You didn’t care for it?” Heath asked, more than a little surprised, since he’d enjoyed his roast beef, mashed potatoes and gravy.

“It was tasty enough,” the woman said, “but a smidge heavy for my tastes. Reminiscent of a high-end TV dinner.”

“Not that we were eavesdropping,” the female half of the Helsing couple said, “but I booked this weekend because of fantastic recommendations from several of our friends. I enjoyed the meal, but the service seemed lackluster, if not altogether slow.”

Mr. Helsing nodded. “There were several times when my iced-tea glass was empty, and I had to wait a full three minutes or more for a refill.”

The horror.

Why, Heath couldn’t say, but as he made careful mental notes of a litany of bogus halfhearted complaints, he felt sorry for Sadie. According to his brother, the Blueberry Inn was one of the best-kept secrets in the Midwest—which was why the Zodor’s editor in chief was so hot to get the scoop.

Keeping that in mind—and registering the fact that he’d completely enjoyed his own lunch—Heath took his fellow diners’ complaints with a grain of salt. By the time the disgruntled bunch had wandered off to their rooms or the garden for reading or an afternoon nap, he’d pretty much decided that if dinner was as tasty as lunch, he’d simply strike the petty negativity from his files.

Experience had taught him that building your own business was tough. Other than the time it had taken Sadie to get him registered and that mile-a-minute room description, he hadn’t noticed anything even remotely remiss. And so what if she had ever so slightly fudged those couple of tasks? Just as he’d been burned by the discovery that it was his latest game design that Tess had really lusted after, maybe there was some sort of behind-the-scenes situation going on with Sadie. Something she had too much class to let him or any of her other guests see.

He’d just discreetly tucked his notepad into his jacket pocket when the woman at the center of his thoughts entered the dining room. The fact that the mere sight of her produced a pleasurable jolt set him on edge. The last time he’d felt an instant attraction had been with Tess.

“Whew,” Sarah said, drawing out the chair opposite Heath’s. Her pale complexion was flushed, and the afternoon’s heat dampened the tendrils that hugged the nape of her neck where she’d pulled back her hair. Would her skin taste salty? That tempting spot on her neck? As if it were possible to shake the thought from his mind, Heath shook his head, but the motion didn’t help. Big surprise. “That was tough.”

“I’d have thought you’d be an old pro at a simple lunch.”

“Oh, sure,” she said. “I just didn’t get much rest last night. But now that my right-hand person has finally fixed her car’s flat, I’ve got time for a breather.”

“Congratulations,” he said.

“Thanks.”

After a few moments’ awkward silence, he leaned forward, toying with his blue napkin. “Not that it’s my business, but why?”

“Why what? Why was Helga’s tire flat?”

“No,” he said with a laugh. “Why’d you get a lousy night’s rest?”

“Oh, that.” She leaned back in her chair.

Had his question been too forward? Probably. Regardless, Heath forged ahead. “Simple enough question.”

“W-why do you care?”

Would Heath’s brother care?

Who could explain it, but for whatever odd reason, Heath felt a compelling urge to know something more about what made the lovely innkeeper tick. From the time they’d met until now, her appearance had gone from frazzled to casual grace. Which image was the real Sadie? Over the course of the weekend, would he get the chance to learn the answer? With elegant fingers, she traced the floral-patterned white-on-white tablecloth.

“No reason,” he said, covering for himself when it seemed she preferred to avoid the topic. “Sorry I asked. I was just trying to make small talk, but maybe my question came out as invasive.”

“No,” she said, staring at Heath straight on and then sighing. “Truthfully, I didn’t get a wink of sleep last night for a fairly simple reason. You.”

Chapter Two

“Me?” Eyebrows raised, Heath said, “I’d like to be flattered, but judging by your pained expression, it wasn’t my devastating good looks that kept you up.”

Sarah laughed. “Not specifically you, per se, but folks like you. Guests.”

“Why? I mean, this is your livelihood. Has been for, what, five years you said?”

She nodded, leaning forward with her elbows on the table. “But I’ll let you in on a little secret.” One that Sadie had shared with her not too long ago. “The more I’m in the business, the more it seems my guests are getting harder to spoil. To well and truly please. The big chains have phenomenal employee bases, while I’m just me—and a few trusted employees who’ve become dear friends.”

“Friends who help fend off me? The enemy?” He laughed again, clearly poking fun at himself.

Was it wrong to be affected by the rich, mellow voice of the guy that your sister had specifically told you was hands-off? Probably, but Shane Peters’s laughter struck Sarah as delicious. Tempting. Like a superrich dessert you knew you shouldn’t have but were hard-pressed to resist. Alas, because of her deep sense of respect for Sadie, she would resist. Not only because the man was off-limits for the sake of her sister, but because of the pain she still felt from her involvement with Greg.

She wasn’t ready to open herself up to another man.

“You’re hardly the enemy,” Sarah said. “It’s just that…I’ve worked hard for this.” She gestured toward the opulence of the inn’s dining room. Antique tables, linens and china. Blue-and-white-toile walls and ornate moldings. Gentle sun slanting through open French doors, leading to a dreamy garden. A hundred varieties of blooms that Sarah couldn’t begin to name. Sweet and lovely, humming with butterflies and bees. Beyond that, a lake so crystalline and blue and in perfect harmony with the wedding cake of a house on its shore that her sister had said she’d shed a few tears the first time she’d seen it. And all of this—every last bit—was in Sarah’s hands right now.

Granted, her sister was arguably deranged when it came to her love for the place, but Sarah knew that Sadie had worked hard to achieve all this, and out of love and respect for her twin, Sarah intended to maintain her sister’s standards. Even if the dreaded reviewer never showed.

“Sometimes,” Sarah said, again sharing more of Sadie than herself, “I want perfection so much, that I…” She shook her head. “Sorry. I’m just rambling on about nothing, when you’re here to relax and not listen to me whine.”

Shane flashed her a smile of such warm concern Sarah knew in a heartbeat he was sincere. And then she swallowed a sour taste in her mouth over the notion that at the moment she was anything but sincere.

Oh, she was sincere in terms of being nervous. But it pained her to think that this compassionate man was actually sympathizing with her over a lie.

“Relax,” he said. “From all I’ve heard, this place is a little slice of heaven, right here in your corner of Missouri. And, you know, maybe this bout of nerves is your body’s way of telling you you’ve been working too hard. Maybe if you’d try stealing a few minutes for yourself here and there, you’d be back to business as usual.”

Great theory. Trouble was business as usual for Sarah consisted of working from eight to six at the accounting firm of Geoffrey, Deloite & Bartholomew. It was Sarah’s dream to one day have her name added to the list of partners. Numbers were her game, whereas for as long as she could remember, Sadie had been into the whole hearth-and-home thing.

Like her father, Sarah had toyed with the idea of going into physics, but seeing how she also had a thing for nice shoes and expensive handbags, she’d opted for accounting over science. Where Shane had been telling “Sadie” to relax, the reality was that the real Sadie was thrilled with her life. It was Sarah who needed rest and relaxation to put things into perspective. What had happened with Greg had shaken her to the core, had made her distrust not only other people but herself.

“What’s the matter?” her new friend asked in a light tone. “My pep talk was supposed to bring back your smile—not make you scowl.”

“Sorry,” she said with a hesitant laugh. “Promise, I’ll try to do more guffawing.”

“You’d better,” Heath teased. “Otherwise I just may remind you of that full-satisfaction clause in your ads. You know, the one that promises guests will be one hundred percent thrilled with their stay or you’ll give them a full refund?”

Groaning, Sarah said, “I know the one.” That silly clause was another reason that she was having to step in for her sister. God forbid any guest should have a complaint and not be able to deliver it to the inn’s owner herself. “Dumbest thing I ever did, making that promise.”

“Oh, I don’t know…” Heath toyed with a silver-and-crystal saltshaker. “That phrase strikes me as pretty sexy. The confidence behind your statement shows you to be a powerful woman. Wholly in control.”

Ha! Her sister was all that.

Sarah, however, had never felt more out of control.

Pulse racing, mouth dry, head spinning—she had serious problems. Not the least of which was that just this once she wanted to feel that way again. Powerful and in control. She used to, but then Greg had gone and done a number on her head. Lying about so many things that her whole life had been turned upside down. Leading her to this moment, when here she sat with an amazing guy and was actually afraid to like him!

Beyond the primary fact that Sadie would disapprove, Sarah knew she wasn’t ready for even casual flirtation, let alone anything more serious. Like the kind of deep-seated emotions called for in mutual trust.

“Sadie?” he prompted. “You’re scowling again.”

“Yes, I am,” she said, “and it’s getting tiresome.” Determined to cast aside doubt and worry for the few remaining minutes she had before she needed to help her sister’s crew get started on dinner, Sarah said to her guest, “Let’s change the topic to something more lighthearted. Like you telling me what you do for fun?”

Glancing out at the garden, then looking up at the ceiling and ultimately giving her a shrug, he said, “Work keeps me busy.”

“Oh, come on,” she teased. “Don’t tell me you’re one of those guys for whom work is his entire life. What’s your passion? What do you do for a living that’s so all-consuming?”

“I’m a computer game designer. Ever heard of Seether?”

“Heck, yeah. That’s only like PC Gaming’s game of the year. You designed that?”

“You don’t have to sound so shocked.”

“I’m not, it’s just that I’m a huge fan. That’s one of the best games ever.”

“And you’ve had time to play…when?”

“Very rarely,” Sarah quickly volleyed, remembering that she was temporarily her sister, who had never in her life played a computer game other than solitaire. “But when I have, those three-headed nanobeasts are hell. Meeting the guy who actually dreamed them up is a thrill.”

“Wow, thanks,” he said, his gaze darting away, as if her praise embarrassed him. “Talking to you could be seriously good for my ego.”

“With your talent, I wouldn’t think you’d need an ego boost.”

Grinning and shaking his head, he admitted, “That used to be the case, but then, I met up with a woman who—”

“Sadie, hon,” Helga called through the kitchen door. “When you get a sec, I need your help with the dinner menu.”

Sarah groaned. “Be right there!” Why did Helga the Horrible need her right now? Just when the conversation had taken such an interesting turn? “Sorry. If you wouldn’t mind, I’d love to continue our chat later.”

“Sure,” he said, dazzling her with his smile. “Just so happens I’ll be around till Sunday.”

“WHAT?” HEATH BARKED into his cell upon recognizing the caller ID. He was intent on finishing his run around the inn’s lake. Even more, he was intent on working his body so hard that his brain would no longer have the energy to dwell on Sadie’s fascinating smile.

“Ouch,” his twin said over the crackling static of a bad connection. “Is that a sign that things aren’t going so great?”

“No,” Heath said, bare-chested, hunched over and breathing hard alongside a pile of boulders. The blazing afternoon sun bore down on him. His memory of his hostess dressed in denim Daisy Dukes made him hotter still. “As far as you’re concerned, everything’s fine.”

“So, then, what’s your problem?”

“You know the owner?”

“Sadie Connelly?”

“Yeah. What’s the scoop on her?” Heath wanted to know.

“I don’t know. I mean, she’s supposedly a great chef and all. Why?”

“No biggie,” Heath replied. It was just that for the first time since Tess had crushed his spirit he felt like his old self—at least in terms of his manhood. If manhood was even a word? Something about Sadie Connelly intrigued him. Attracted him. Made him want to slough off the funk he’d been mired in and take another chance on life. All of which should have been a good thing. But seeing how the last time he’d felt any of that he’d been burned, Heath wasn’t sure whether he should be happy about rejoining the land of the living or scared as hell.

“You still there?” A car revved in the background.

“Uh-huh.”

“You don’t have a thing for this woman, do you? I mean, you’ve only been there a few hours.”

“No. No way, man. She’s a looker and all, but you know me. I’m single and lovin’ it.”

Hale snorted.

“What?”

“Layin’ it on a bit thick, aren’t you? From the few pictures I’ve seen of her, you could do worse. Only, seeing how you’re supposed to be me, kindly refrain from fraternizing. It’s against my professional code of ethics.”

“Who said anything about fraternizing?” Heath asked, scooping up a stone and skipping it across the lake’s glassy surface.

“Okay, great,” Hale said over more engine noise. “Look, I’ve got to go, but I did remember one thing about Miz Sadie and that’s that I’m pretty sure she’s engaged, which definitely puts her off-limits. Meaning, you might wanna check for a ring before trying out any more of your patented moves.” Hale, who was the family playboy and knew full well that Heath didn’t have any such thing as moves, patented or otherwise, finished by laughing.

“Screw you.”

“Lighten up. I’m just joshing, man. I’m sure you’ve got all the right stuff to make Miz Sadie swoon. Only, don’t do it. It’d be bad for business.”

“I’ve gotta go,” Heath said, eyeing the idyllic inn across the lake. Maybe two more times around the dirt trail would make his head a little clearer. Sadie engaged? No way. But then, if she was well on her way to tying the knot, that’d probably be best for all concerned. Especially him!

“Fine,” Hale said. “Only, don’t let me down, bro. I’ve got a lot riding on this review.”

Then you should be here, doing it yourself.

“I’M IMPRESSED,” SARAH called from the lakeside gazebo, where she stood with a cold bottle of water in her hand. “You’re speedy.”

Heath gave her a nod, stopping to brace his hands on his knees. “And if that water’s for me, you’re my new best friend.”

“Mmm…” She wagged the bottle, then tossed it his way. “Looks as if you just got yourself a pal.”

He twisted open the white plastic top, then half emptied the bottle in three swigs. “This hits the spot. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. I was picking herbs when I spotted you across the lake. I figured you’d need a cool drink when you finished.”

“You figured right.” He eased onto the wide gazebo steps, rolling the sweating bottle across his forehead.

Sarah tried doing the polite thing, looking away from his chest, but up close and personal like this, well…She licked her lips. The man was magnificent. Broad shoulders, sharply defined abs and pecs. Shane might design computer games for a living, but he certainly wasn’t your garden-variety computer geek.

Trying to play it cool, Sarah said, “I’m pretty much a slug.”

“Oh?” Shane arched a brow.

Her cheeks reddened when she caught him appraising her form.

“Looks like you do all right in the gym to me.” Had it not been for the playful light in his eyes and the fun in his tone, she’d have—what? Thought that he was flirting? So what if he was? Bringing him water hadn’t been entirely altruistic. Yes, it might have been something her sister would’ve done, but Sadie would have already been on her way, eager to meet the next guests’ needs before they’d even known they’d had them.

Sarah, on the other hand, found herself wanting a little more than to pick up their earlier conversation right where they’d left off. “Thank you,” she said at last. “I think.”

“You’re welcome. So…” He took another swig of water. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your company? I’d’ve thought you’d be knee-deep in inn business all afternoon.”

Sadie would have been. Not entirely trusting Sarah’s innkeeping prowess, however, her twin had made certain extra help was on hand, so that the demands on Sarah would be kept to a minimum. “I, uh, have the pleasure of having a full staff tonight, leaving me to spend more time getting to know my guests.”

“And have you?”

“What?”

“Gotten to know anyone especially well? Say, Mr. and Mrs. Standridge?” The twinkle in his eyes let her in on a secret. That apparently he, as well as she, would rather eat tacks for dinner than spend free time with the disagreeable couple.

“They seem sweet,” she said, slipping into the perfect-innkeeper role, in which she enjoyed all her guests’ company. “Just a little demanding.”

“Uh-huh.” He bottomed-up the water.

“What are your plans for the rest of the afternoon?”

He shrugged. “Nothing much, just lazing around. Unless…don’t suppose you’d want to show me around the place? Give me an exclusive into the behind-the-scenes gossip? Who’s dating whom?”

“I’ll be glad to show you around, but if it’s gossip you want, the place is pretty dull. Aside from a part-time gardener and the guy who tends bar Saturday nights, it’s an all-women staff.”

“Damn.” He feigned disappointment.

And Sarah feigned not having delirious butterflies winging about inside her at the prospect of getting to know Shane Peters better.

“THIS…” HEATH’S TOUR guide said with a flourish, “is our world-famous Tennessee Williams Suite. He dropped in himself to give it his official seal of approval.”

“I thought you’d only been in business five years?”

“True.”

“But he died, like, in the early eighties.”

“Your point?” She asked the question with a straight face, but crinkles at the corners of her pretty eyes told him she knew she was full of bologna.

“I stand corrected.” He also stood in awe. He’d never noticed decor one way or the other before. Don’t get him wrong—he appreciated a comfy sofa the same as the next guy, but whether that sofa was red, yellow or purple didn’t make a difference. This room, however—make that the entire inn—proved to him that Sadie wasn’t only a great cook and gardener but an interior designer, too. Was there anything the woman couldn’t do? “You must’ve meant that Mr. Williams’s ghost gave the room his endorsement.”

“Yes. That’s absolutely what I meant.” She made no effort to hide her grin, for which—as cute as it was—he was appreciative.

The suite had been done in a New Orleans French Quarter theme, with plenty of deep red velvet and a black wrought-iron bed. The combo sounded risqué, but Sadie had made it work, right down to the gold satin tassels on the drapes.

“Do you put a lot of couples in here?”

“Why do you ask?” she teased. “Find it steamy—just like the city?”

“A wee bit.” Reddening, he fanned the neck of the white St. Louis Cardinals T-shirt he’d donned for the tour. “What’s our next stop?”

“Well,” Sarah said, stepping out of the bedroom and closing the door. “You’ve now seen the whole place. What do you think?”

“Pretty sweet. I’m still in awe that you did all of this yourself.”

“My parents helped when they had time—and my sister, Sarah. She’s awesome. Very handy with a hammer, nails and paintbrush.”

“She older or younger?”

“Younger, but not by much. How ’bout you?” she asked, leading him down the back staircase. “Have any brothers or sisters?”

“One slightly older brother. And when we were little, he lorded it over me.”

“I know the feeling.” Glancing over her shoulder, she shared a laugh with him, and in that moment something about her smile, her bright eyes, gave him the keenest craving to kiss her. Yes, it was bad for business, as his brother had said, but seeing how the woman need never know of the switch or the review, would just one kiss hurt?

His conscience said yes.

The part of him that was eyeing her sweet derriere screamed for him to go for it.

“There you are,” a sixty-something bottled redhead said from the bottom of the stairs. Not that he was a hair-color expert any more than he was an interior designer, but the orange-pink glow kind of gave it away. “Where’ve you been? If you plan on serving anything beyond peanut butter and jelly for dinner, girl, you’d best be movin’ along.” The woman’s all-white chef’s garb, combined with an ample figure, called to mind the Stay-Puft Marshmallow Man. But then, he didn’t have a middle-European accent, did he? Did he even speak at all?

“Sorry,” Sarah said. “I lost track of time.”

“Easily done with a good-looking man by your side. Introduce me.”

Heath tried to ignore their proximity in the cramped hall outside the kitchen.

“Helga,” Sarah began, “meet Shane Peters. He’s the current resident of the Mark Twain Suite.”

“Nice to make your acquaintance,” the older woman said, oddly rubbing the center of her forehead. “Are you alone here at the inn?”

“’Fraid so.”

“Then it’s a good thing our Sadie has been keeping you company.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Do you have a girlfriend?”

“Helga!” Sarah protested. “That’s completely out of line.”

“What?” the woman complained. “My all-seeing eye says the two of you may make a good couple. It never lies, you know.”

“You can’t just go around asking men questions like that,” said Sarah. “And, Shane, just to let you into the loop, Helga comes from a long line of Gypsies.”

“Not just Gypsies,” Helga corrected. “True visionaries who hold the power to see deep into the future. Therefore it is my obligation to tell a man and a woman whether or not they would be suited for marriage.”

“M-marriage?” Sarah sputtered. “Helga, stop this right now.”

“It’s all right,” Heath said, fighting to hold back a laugh. “As a matter of fact,” he said to the older woman, “in answer to your prior question, yes, I am very much single. But what about Sadie here? Seems like I read somewhere that she’s engaged.”

Chapter Three

It took Sarah a good five seconds after Shane Peters had asked the question to remember to breathe. What should she say? Yes, Sadie was very much engaged, but if she said so, there went her opportunity to get better acquainted with a seriously cool guy. Then again, beyond casual conversation, she wasn’t supposed to fraternize with the guests. If she admitted that her sister was engaged, then that gave her a noble “out” to keep things on a strictly professional level, instead of pulling him in for a forbidden kiss.

Something her guilty conscience had been contemplating for at least the past fifteen minutes!

“She was getting married,” Helga said, “but that boy turned out to be no good. I say, Sarah—I mean, Sadie—forgive me, I’m all the time getting them confused. I say, that boy, he’s no good for you. You must break up right away. My eye sees all.”

Nodding, Heath said, “Sounds like sage advice.”

“Oh, it was,” Helga said with a firm nod. “Now you two go drink some lemonade—or whatever it is you do these days.”

“Helga!” Sarah’s cheeks flamed.

The cook, who was like a second mom to her sister, waved off Sarah’s concern. “I thought you were loafing, which is why I asked for help. But if you have romance, then I say focus on that.”

“Helga!”

“Thank you for your concern,” Heath said to the woman, who was clearly deranged. His hand clamped Sarah’s shoulder, giving her a gentle squeeze. Awareness sparked through her. “And also for the offer of lemonade. But I need to make a few calls and take a shower before dinner. After that—” he cast Helga a wink “—I just might take you up on the offer of romance.”

“For Miss Sadie—not me.”

“Aw…why would I want her now that I’ve met you?”

As Helga shot him a dirty but pleased look, then hustled back to the kitchen, Sarah said, “I’m so sorry about that. Usually she reserves all that seeing-eye mumbo jumbo for family. Who knew she fancied herself a matchmaker?”

“Question is,” he asked, “do you want to be matched?” After a quick kiss to her cheek, he was off, whistling his way back up the stairs, as she stared rapturously at his departing backside.

One hand on her hip, the other cupping a tingling cheek, Sarah pondered the question. Helga barging in on them had been both good and bad. While it was annoying and highly unprofessional of her to have stuck her nose where it didn’t belong, she had, in a sense, cleared the way for Sarah to pursue Shane—if that was what she wanted. So was it?

Greg hadn’t just made a mess of her heart but of her head, too. How many times in recent months had she told herself she’d never, ever trust another guy? And yet here she was, unfathomably intrigued by this man whom she hardly knew yet felt as if she’d always known.

Could Helga’s all-seeing eye be right? Was it fate that had led Shane Peters’s date to turn down this weekend, so that the two of them could meet?

Sarah groaned and headed for the kitchen.

After Helga chewed her out for letting Shane go—even temporarily—she assigned boring cutting, chopping and dicing tasks that required no talent and left plenty of time for thinking.

Sarah had spent her entire career exploring other people’s hopes and dreams, doing the necessary math to estimate how much money it would take to make those dreams reality. She’d heard about everything from retiring to a remote tropical island to refurbishing railway boxcars and turning them into mountain or backyard retreats.

She’d always been fascinated by people’s dreams. The secret, giddy goals that drove a person out of bed each morning and into the rat race of modern life. Everyone had a different pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. But what was hers?

In the beginning, she had wanted the usual. Hubby, kids, white picket fence. But then she’d gotten burned and her world had crumbled.

Everything that she’d thought was real had turned out to be a lie.

Until now, when a gorgeous, funny, warm guy named Shane had kissed her. And she wasn’t even sure if that was a good or bad thing.

“C’EST MAGNIFIQUE,” Mr. Standridge said, smiling with a flourish of his fingertips to his lips. If Sarah did say so herself—though she hadn’t had a blessed thing to do with it—Helga’s painstakingly prepared flan au saumon et aux asperges tasted divine. Thank God, on her latest trek around the dining room all guests present seemed to agree. “My wife and I have traveled the whole of France, and never have I experienced anything quite so exquisite.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Mrs. Standridge said, placing her hand on Sarah’s arm. “Truthfully, honey, after the slow service at lunch, I was a bit concerned. I see now you must have been having an off moment. Everything all right?”

“Couldn’t be better,” Sarah said with an airy smile, brimming with confidence—easy enough to do with the kitchen in Helga’s more-than-capable hands. Sarah was especially relieved to have spotted Shane with her peripheral vision, wolfing down his meal. At least Helga hadn’t sent him packing. Lord, the man was gorgeous—in a strictly professional way.

“If it’s no bother,” the widow Young asked in a wavering whisper as she pushed aside her plate, “may I inquire as to what’s for dessert?”

“Of course,” Sarah said, giving the Standridges one last smile before moving to the other woman’s table. Schmoozing was much simpler now that she’d relaxed, trusting Sadie’s planning to make everything work. The slow service Mrs. Standridge had complained about had been the result of nerves, but plainly all Sarah’s fears about running the inn had been a waste of energy. “For dessert, we’ll be having fraises à la maltaise, which is a fancy name for strawberries marinated in orange juice and Cointreau.”

“Wonderful.” The widow actually clapped her hands with glee. Sweet as the woman was, Sarah refrained from rolling her eyes. These foodie types took their dessert seriously.

“Perfection,” Mrs. Standridge tossed into the conversational salad.

Eyeing Shane, Sarah caught him grinning. Their gazes met and the result was exhilarating. That shared sense of consciousness. Even though they were a room apart, she felt as if he were right beside her—sharing her happiness in a job well done.

The meal wound on with the guests oohing and cooing over the gorgeous, meticulously carved orange bowls of marinated strawberries garnished with fresh mint. The honest part of Sarah wanted to drag Helga into the dining room to accept the praise she deserved, but instead the portion of Sarah that had sworn to imitate her sister graciously nodded and smiled, acting as if such wonders were all in a day’s work. Which for Sadie, of course, it would have been.

Had Sarah tried something this fancy on her own, the guests would have ended up with results closer to runny Jell-O!

“Lively yet soothing,” Mr. Helsing announced after his first bite.

His wife, after taking her first taste, closed her eyes and sighed. “Utterly dreamy. I agree that after lunch I thought for a minute about repacking our bags, but now I see how everyone who’s raved about this place has been right. How do you do it?”

“I’m not sure I know what you mean,” Sarah said, doing her best to imitate her sister’s modest poise.

“I think what she means,” Heath said, deftly sliding aside his empty plate, then dabbing that gorgeous, sexy grin of his with a white linen napkin, “is how did you manage to turn out a meal like this when you not only look cool and composed but have had so much time to fulfill our every need?”

“That’s my job,” she said, ignoring the way her stomach lurched at the lie. “Over the years, I’ve become a master of prep work. You know, chopping and dicing late every night, to ensure I can present my guests with unrivaled tastes and luxury they won’t soon forget.”

“I’d say you are now fully succeeding in achieving your goals. Well done,” Mrs. Standridge pronounced.

“Here, here,” said Mr. Helsing with a show of applause that his wife joined in on.

“Well,” Mrs. Helsing said, “now that our appetites have been properly sated, would any of you care to join my husband and me for a round of canasta and a liqueur in the game room?”

Sarah crossed her fingers behind her back, hoping that everyone would agree—especially Shane. She’d only known him for one afternoon, and yet her awareness of him was all-consuming. She wanted nothing more than to spend the rest of the night—oh, heck, who was she fooling, the rest of the weekend—getting to know him better. Trouble was, she’d also fallen for Greg this fast, and look where that had ended up.

Could anyone say disaster?

After all the inn’s guests had thanked her again for a lovely meal and then chattered their way into the game room where she’d promised to bring an assortment of after-dinner liqueurs, Heath held back.

Once they were alone, he cleared his throat. “You know, Sadie Connelly, I’m liking your smile as much as your fancy strawberry stuff. What was in it again?”

“Grand Marnier.”

“That’s funny,” he said, scratching his head. “I thought it was OJ and Cointreau?”

Pulse racing at her stupid mistake, Sarah said, “Oops.”

“Yoo-hoo! Mr. Peters!” Mrs. Young had found her voice. “I need you to be the other half of my pair.”

“Duty calls,” he said. “I presume your having forgotten your dessert’s main ingredient was a simple mistake?”

“What else would it have been?” Her heart thundered.

“Relax,” he said with a slow, sexy grin. “I’m totally joshing you. But just in case there’s a hidden controversy afoot and there is more you need to confess, how about we meet up later so you can tell all?”

“KNOCK, KNOCK,” HEATH said in the balmy darkness. While his head told him to steer clear of his beautiful hostess, the quickening of his breathing whenever she was near told him full speed ahead.

“Who’s there?”

“I wanna,” he said, strolling around the edge of the back porch, mounting the three stairs.

“I wanna, who?”

“I wanna congratulate you on having a bunch of happy guests.”

From her seat on a padded wicker bench, Sarah laughed. “Congratulations to you for obviously having the great taste to have come to my fabulous inn.”

She was surrounded by clay pots of sweet-smelling white, red and purple phlox. The only light was indirect and golden, escaping the kitchen, casting her in a soft glow. Heath hadn’t thought it possible for her to look prettier than she had while she’d served their dinners, but he’d been wrong. At this moment, her smile shone radiant against the night.

He cleared his throat, then gestured to the wicker armchair across from her. “May I?”

“I don’t know…This area is generally reserved for employees. You know how it is. I don’t like my employees mingling with guests.”

“Fair enough,” he said, sitting anyway, crossing his legs so that his left ankle rested atop his right knee. He’d changed from the suit and tie he’d worn to dinner into faded jeans and a retro black Rolling Stones T-shirt. “But, you know, seeing how I helped with all those towels this morning, I think that qualifies me for back-porch privileges.”

“I think you’d be right. But if you want a raise, forget it. Some of those towels had to be refolded.”

“Ouch.”

“Hey, I am the boss. If folks see me going easy on you, they may want the same special treatment.”

“That means I already am getting special treatment?” He dodged when she tossed a floral throw pillow in his direction. “You are so getting reported for employee abuse.”

The size of her grin said she didn’t care.

Neither did he.

He should have been back in his room, making sense of the hasty notes he’d discreetly scribbled for Hale during dinner. But where was the fun in that? So far, his brother was right in that giving Sadie her five-spoon review was a no-brainer, leaving Heath with plenty of time to better acquaint himself with the brains and beauty behind the inn’s perfection.

“Fan of Mick?” she asked, nodding toward his shirt.

Shrugging, he said, “More old-school than new.”

“Me, too.”

A few minutes’ companionable silence was disturbed only by chirping crickets and an owl’s lonely call.

There were lots of things Heath wanted to ask Sadie Connelly, but should he? After all, he’d already worked out the fact that he wasn’t over Tess. What good would it do him to get to know Sadie better when he still had so much to figure out about himself?

“I know what you do for a living,” she said, her voice quiet in the chilly night air, “but what do you dream about?”

Forehead wrinkled, Heath said, “I don’t get the question.”

“Come on, play with me. Everyone has dreams. Since you’re in computers, do you want to be the next Bill Gates, for example?”

“No,” Heath answered truthfully.

“Then what do you want?” Leaning forward, Sarah rested her elbows on her knees. The pose unwittingly thrust certain womanly parts of her anatomy up and out, making it hard for Heath to focus on those dusky martini-olive eyes of hers instead of the plunging vee neckline of her white blouse.

What did he want?

At the moment, he wanted a fantastic night with Sadie Connelly. Hot and wild. No strings. Because when strings broke, he was the one who got hurt.

Come on, his conscience ragged. What happened with Tess was a one-time deal.

Yeah, he fought back, but that one time, I gave her my heart and soul. I wanted to have kids. Set up housekeeping. Buy a dependable car.

Even worse, Sadie Connelly was off-limits. His brother might love racing on the side, but until Hale made enough cash with his car to quit his day job, Heath owed it to his twin to keep this gig strictly professional.

“I’m waiting,” she said in that throaty tone of hers that was starting to be a major turn-on. “Dreams?”

This was sticky. Not only was Heath supposed to keep it casual between them but he hated lying. And so, on the fly, he carefully crafted a mingling of half-truths and deceptions, saying, “What I want is pretty simple. A few lucky career breaks have landed me more than enough in the bank, so…” He paused a moment to try and calm the nerve that was ticking in his jaw over the entirely true admission he’d decided to make. “Get out your violin, but deep down I guess I just want what lots of folks want. Security. To carry on the species.”

“Kids? You want a wife and kids?”

“You don’t have to sound so shocked,” he said, frustrated with himself for being so honest. Hating to realize that her eyes, her voice wielded such power. Knowing that her disapproval would hurt him.

“No,” she said with a rapid shake of her head. “You misread me. I meant it as a compliment. You’re a good-looking guy, and I had you pegged for a party boy. You’ve probably got gorgeous women lined up to accompany you to glitzy parties all the time.”

“Been there, done that,” he said with a wry grin. “I’m getting old. Like a tortoise. Time to bale hay and mend fences and all that crap.”

“For the record, you’re hardly grizzled or old, and baling hay isn’t crap,” she said with conviction. “Thank you.”

“For what?” Heath looked out to the brick patio, unable to deal with the impossible-to-read emotion that shadowed her expression.

“Being open with me.” She fidgeted in her chair. Sighed. “Since you’ve been so straight with me, I guess I owe you the same courtesy. I used to want the same. Nice house. Two-point-five rug rats. I’d met the perfect guy—tall, dark and handsome, with this little dimple in his right cheek every time he smiled.”

“Uh-oh,” Heath said with a groan. “I’m taking it from your pinched expression that this story has one of those Oscar-type tragic endings—as opposed to the summer blockbuster happy type?”

“You like movies?”

“Love ’em. But back on topic. This guy break your heart? Want me to arrange a fish picnic for him at the bottom of the lake?” He nodded toward the breeze-dappled water that glistened in the moonlight at the garden’s edge.

“How chivalrous of you,” she said with a flirty bat of her eyelashes. “But he’s long gone. Not quite as satisfactorily as the method you proposed. But I suppose the state pen has a certain charm all its own.”

“Prison?” Heath whistled. “Damn, girl. What’d he do?”

“Oh.” She absentmindedly twirled a lock of her hair. “Just a little embezzling on a pretty major scale. Throw in a dash of mail fraud, and he’s vacationing behind bars for quite some time.”

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