Millie Criswell - Asking For Trouble

“That’s okay. It’s not—”

“Sorry.” The young girl’s apology lacked conviction.

“Come in,” Beth said, remembering her manners and leading them into the front parlor. It was a cozy room, decorated in rose-and-green-floral chintz; the walls were painted a warm buttery yellow, with pretty lace curtains hanging at the double-hung windows.

“Actually, Stacy, this house is really old, over a century old, as a matter of fact. And the smell you’re referring to is probably the incense my aunt is burning upstairs. I’ll speak to her about it. I’m not crazy about the smell, either.”

Her gaze lifted to the girl’s father, and Beth had the strangest sense of coming home as she stared into Bradley Donovan’s warm, comforting eyes. She shook her head to dispel the notion. “I’m very sorry about not returning your phone calls, Dr. Donovan. I’m not usually so inconsiderate, but I had several pressing business matters to attend to and forgot to check my answering machine.” Not to mention, there’s a pile of buried bones in my basement, which may or may not belong to Lyle McMurtry. And for all I know, your father might be down there, too.

Seating himself on the colorful sofa, Bradley Donovan yanked his daughter down beside him. “My father left our home in Charlottesville about six weeks ago. I know he stopped here because I received this postcard.” He removed the card from his pocket, handing it to her; she recognized it at once.

“We give these postcards to the guests. They’re in all the rooms. But I can’t recall anything unusual about your father’s departure. Perhaps my aunts know something. They may have spent some time with him. I really can’t be sure. I was just on my way upstairs to visit them when you arrived. I’d be happy to ask.”

Momentarily appeased, he nodded, and then went on to talk about the attractiveness of the inn, the traffic he’d encountered on the interstate, and the weather. Though she did her best to listen intently, nodding at the appropriate times, she found herself oddly mesmerized by the color of his blue eyes. Beth had met many men since her divorce and had never given a hoot about the color of their eyes, or any other part of their anatomy, for that matter. Her relationships hadn’t lasted long enough to find out if size really mattered.

Unfortunately, Stacy Donovan’s eyes were shooting daggers at her. If looks could kill, Beth would have been buried in the cellar, right next to whoever was down there.

“The woman thinks you’re hot, Dad. Let’s get outta here.”

Brad flashed his daughter an annoyed look. “That’s enough, Stacy! What’s gotten into you today?”

“I do not!” Beth shook her head in denial, her cheeks flaming bright red. “That never entered my mind.” Nor would it. Fool me once was her motto.

The doctor looked amused by her discomfort, and his dimpled grin made her eyes widen. “I’m sure it didn’t, Ms. Randall.”

Assuming a businesslike posture, she folded her hands primly in her lap. “Will you need to book a room, Dr. Donovan? I have several vacancies at the moment and can accommodate you.”

He nodded. “I’m not sure how long we’ll be here. I need to make inquiries about my father, talk to the local authorities, that sort of thing.”

The authorities! Beth swallowed her fear and forced a smile. “I can put you and your daughter in a lovely twin-bedded room on the second floor. It has a view of the pond.”

“That’ll be just fine. And call me Brad.”

“Hope our room’s not next to yours!” Stacy told Beth, her pert nose wrinkling in disgust. “I don’t want you bothering my dad. He doesn’t like women.”

Beth’s right eyebrow arched, her attention shooting to the doctor, whose face was turning all sorts of interesting colors. “Oh? Well, I—”

“Stacy doesn’t know what she’s talking about.” His daughter opened her mouth to say something else, but he cut her off. “Go out to the car and get your bag. Now!”

The girl heaved a dramatic sigh and sulked off. Beth wasn’t sorry to see her go. She didn’t have a great deal of patience when it came to children, especially mouthy, gum-smacking teenagers.

Unlike most women, Beth had no desire to have children. Her childhood had been so unhappy, her marriage such a disaster that she didn’t feel qualified to dispense motherly advice. She enjoyed being an independent businesswoman with no husband to dictate and no children to tie her down.

“Don’t pay any attention to Stacy, Ms. Randall. My wife died four years ago, and she hasn’t adjusted very well. My daughter sees every woman I meet as a threat.”

Beth smiled in understanding. “No problem—and it’s Beth. I was twelve once, much to everyone’s horror.” And she’d grown up without a father since the age of ten, so she understood the girl’s need to keep her dad close.

Their eyes locked and held for a brief moment, making Beth’s heartbeat quicken, then the front door opened and Brad’s daughter returned, breaking the spell, which relieved her to no end. She was already up to her armpits in complications; she didn’t need another one, especially a handsome doctor with a missing father!

As she ushered Brad and his daughter up the stairs to their room, Beth wondered what she was going to tell the man about his father’s disappearance. Obviously, her suspicions about the bones in her basement would not—could not—be a topic of discussion, not if she wanted to keep her aunts safe.

She felt the weight of the locket burning into her flesh, a painful reminder of gruesome possibilities.

Despite her best efforts not to, Beth found Bradley Donovan quite likable. He seemed kind and caring, and she couldn’t help but notice how muscular his body was, how blue his eyes were. Of course, Greg was handsome, too, and he’d turned out to be the world’s biggest rat bastard.

“Handsome is as handsome does,” her aunts were fond of saying, and she wasn’t about to forget that lesson.

Besides, she needed a man in her life right now like she needed another dead body in her cellar.

“OH, THERE YOU ARE, Beth dear. Ivy and I were wondering what was keeping you so long. The tea is getting cold.”

Just the good doctor and his nasty daughter, she was tempted to say, trying hard to remember that she’d once been a pubescent child with a big mouth. Though she was positive she hadn’t been as rude as Stacy Donovan, who had seen fit to flip her off when her father’s back was turned. The young girl had passed annoying and was heading straight for unlikable. And though she knew there were reasons for her behavior, Beth had a difficult time accepting them.

“Sorry I’m late. Some unexpected guests just arrived—a Dr. Donovan and his daughter. I’ve been getting them settled in their room.”

“I saw them out the window when they drove up,” Ivy stated, perching primly on the edge of the red velvet settee and crossing her ankles, looking like everyone’s idea of the perfect granny and making it hard to believe that the old lady had a salacious side.

“The man is quite handsome. You’d be wise to take notice, Beth. It’s been a while since you’ve indulged, if you get my meaning, and he looks to be very well—”

“Aunt Ivy!” She held up her hand to cut off whatever suggestive comments her aunt was about to make. Beth had enough problems at the moment; she didn’t need a matchmaking old lady meddling in her affairs.

“I’m not interested in Dr. Donovan, or any man, for that matter. I’ve told you both countless times that I’m content as I am. Besides, Brad Donovan’s daughter hates me, so there’s not really much point in pursuing any fantasies about him, if one were into fantasies, which I’m not.” She lived vicariously through the heroines in romance books and movies. It would have to be enough.