Felicia Mason - Sweet Harmony

Marcus ran a hand over his face. He sighed.

Instead of reaching for one of the newspapers or even his fork, Marcus pulled his Bible from his suitcase and settled in the comfortable chair at the window. But before he even opened the Bible, a knock sounded at the door.

“It’s open, Nadira.”

The door swung open a bit. “Mr. Ambrose?”

Marcus rose at the innkeeper’s polite inquiry. “Hello, Mrs. Younger. Come in.”

He liked Ophelia Younger. In looks and temperament she reminded him of Mayberry’s Aunt Bee.

“Mr. Ambrose, I’m honored that you’ve chosen to stay at Wayside Inn, but we just aren’t prepared or equipped to deal with this. Had we had some advance notice of your needs, maybe I could have worked something out.”

He took the older woman’s hand in his. “Not to worry, Mrs. Younger. I’ve just found a house to rent for the duration of my stay here. It’s over on Brandywine Street.”

Tension drained from the innkeeper’s face. “Oh, thank goodness. It’s not that we don’t love the idea of a celebrity here. The reporters, though, and the girls, they’re all camped outside and it’s been a distraction. I’ve gotten complaints from other guests.”

He apologized for that, even though he himself wasn’t to blame. Then he added, “Reporters? How’d they find out I was here?”

“Well, it isn’t every day that a white stretch limousine is parked in front of the inn. We’re more of a sedan and minivan place.”

Kara’s words came back to him. A little ostentatious.

“She was right.”

“I beg your pardon?”

Marcus shook his head. “Just thinking out loud.”

“Your assistant told me to tell them you’d be over at the college at three-thirty.”

He took both her hands in his. “Thank you. I’m sorry we’ve put you out.”

Ophelia shook her head slightly. “Those people wonder why the media gets a bad rap. Someone’s trampled my impatiens.”

Marcus went to the window, but didn’t see or hear the circus she described. “Are they all gone now?”

“Goodness, no. But I did send someone out with brownies and pecan rolls. For sale, of course.”

Marcus grinned.

“This room is at the back of the house, so you can’t see them,” Ophelia explained. “I thought you’d like a garden view. The trucks and the girls and my ruined flowers are outside in front.” The innkeeper twisted her hands together. “I don’t think the nasturtiums will ever recover.”

“I apologize. And I promise to make it right, whatever damage has been done,” he said. “The entertainment reporters and paparazzi can be pretty relentless until they get what they want.” He shrugged. “Some people think it’s news every time an entertainer sneezes. I’d hoped for a nice quiet month here in your town.”

The innkeeper grinned. She hooked her arm in his. “You said your house is on Brandywine?”

He nodded.

“To my recollection, the only empty one over there is Mrs. Abersoll’s house, God rest her soul. It’s a lovely home. And it’s next to Kara Spencer’s place.” As soon as she said it, a sly smile crossed her mouth. “I saw the two of you on the news last night. Kara’s a nice girl. And she’s single, you know.”

Marcus got more than a whiff of preliminary matchmaking in the works and decided to remain neutral. “The forum was well attended and she was on the panel.”

The innkeeper chuckled. “Umm-hmm. But the electricity between you and our Kara was pretty intense.”

“Well, uh…”

“I know how to outsmart them,” Ophelia said.

“Who?”

She jerked her head toward the front end of the house. “Here’s what you have to do.”

“I don’t have a comment,” Kara kept trying to tell the smiling reporter. The card the woman had thrust into Kara’s hands announced that she was a field correspondent for All Urban Entertainment, a cable program Kara had never heard of.

This was the third crew she’d dealt with already. At this rate, she’d never get any work done today.

“Don’t be shy, Dr. Spencer. All of Marcus Ambrose’s fans want to know what’s at stake in your challenge. Is it true that you’re the reason he abruptly broke it off with actress Cameron May?”

Another name she failed to recognize. “Who? No, I—”

“He proposed to you last night and if he wins the challenge you’ll marry him? Is that it?”

“What?”

The cameraman leaned forward, zooming in first on Kara’s waist and then her ring finger.

“What are you doing?”

“Dr. Kara, it’s obvious—”

“That you all shouldn’t be picking on the good doctor.”

Three heads snapped toward the deep drawl behind them.

Marcus leaned against the railing leading to Kara’s front porch.

“Good morning, Dr. Kara.”

She narrowed her eyes at him.

The reporter whipped around. “Marcus, delighted to see you again. We understand you’ve found a new love.”

While they were preoccupied with Marcus, Kara slipped back into her house and closed and locked the front door. In the kitchen she put a kettle on a burner to boil water for tea, then dumped cut-up apples into a cast-iron skillet. Water, sugar and cinnamon followed.

She should toss a load of clothes in the wash and eat a late breakfast, but that grant application still waited.

She’d just put a foot on the first tread of the stairwell when the front doorbell rang. Again.

Kara wasn’t a swearing woman, but a few choice words came to mind. She snatched the door open. “I have no comment!”

“All right, then. I do. I’m sorry about all of this.”

Her gaze rose and met Marcus Ambrose’s. She hated the way her breath caught.

“This is exactly the point I was making last night before the forum turned into a Marcus Ambrose fete.”

“May I come in? If they swing back and see me here they’ll just keep ringing the bell.”

“I’ll call the police.”

“May I come in?”

Kara nodded. Just as soon as she acquiesced, she wondered why she didn’t send the man packing. He’d disrupted her entire morning.

“Wow. Something smells great.”

“My casserole,” she said.

He followed her to the kitchen. Decorated in blue and white, the room had a country chic look and feel to it. Blue-and-white gingham curtains fluttered at open windows at the sink and behind a table with four chairs. The pattern repeated on the chair pads and place mats. But the appliances and all the kitchen accoutrements were top of the line.

She checked the breakfast casserole in the oven. Five more minutes.

“About last night,” he began. “It was great meeting you.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I told you. The music and film festival.”

Kara shook her head. “No. I mean here.” She pointed to the floor. “In my kitchen.”

He shrugged, and Kara got a glimpse of what he might have looked like as a boy. Ready to charm his way out of anything.

“The inn was overrun with media.”

“And so you led them here? How could you?”

“Mrs. Younger showed me a shortcut.”

Kara nodded. “Through the alleys?”

“Bingo.”

“Well, thanks for getting rid of that reporter. You may leave now.”

“Aren’t you going to invite me to breakfast? Whatever’s in that oven smells too good to miss.”

The look on Marcus Ambrose’s face held such little-boy longing that Kara couldn’t resist.

He had rescued her, after all. Though, she reminded herself, she wouldn’t have been in need of rescuing—and she could take care of herself, thank you very much—if it hadn’t been for him. Still, there was plenty of sausage casserole. Would it kill her to be nice to him?