Linda Johnston - Operation - Reunited

Before.

Now, when customers called from outside the inn, the majority were told there were no reservations available, for meals or for rooms. A few exceptions were made most evenings so the place would still resemble a public restaurant. But those people were all served early, at six o’clock. The inn’s guests ate at seven.

Then, Vane was the one to move from table to elegantly set table, the consummate host. Alexa’s role was to provide the food and serve it with a smile, then fade back into the kitchen.

That was all right with her, at least most of the time. She didn’t want to socialize with their guests. Though she was filled with questions, she doubted any of them would answer—even those who spoke English.

Putting food on the eight tables kept her busy—especially that night. She’d had a college-age kid helping until a few months ago. Now, only Minos helped to wait tables. She didn’t know where he was that evening, only that he was not at the inn.

She didn’t miss him.

When John came downstairs, it was seven o’clock. She should, perhaps, have called him down earlier, since he had made it clear he intended to eat there that night. Perversely, she hadn’t. She wanted to see Vane’s reaction to having this guest join the rest.

At the time John arrived, all tables were occupied. Vane had just gone into the kitchen to open a bottle of wine.

Alexa approached John at the dining room door. “Sorry,” she said. “I’m afraid we’re full.” She felt self-conscious in the long, lacy apron she wore over her black slacks and sleeveless sweater. Though she was a gourmet cook, she was far from a neat one.

“That’s okay.” His eyes ranged over her, making her feel even more uncomfortable. But he raised his brows as if in appreciation and smiled. “My compliments to the chef.”

“You haven’t eaten anything yet.” She felt herself redden.

“I will.” He approached one of the tables. “Mind if I join you?” he asked two of the B & B’s guests, a young couple who sat at a table for four.

The two glanced at one another, then at the guests seated at the next table. Neither seemed certain what to do.

Apparently etiquette won out over whatever else warred inside them. “Please,” said the man, gesturing toward an empty seat. His accent was heavy, but Alexa didn’t know where he was from. His hair was dark, as was his complexion. Annoyance glowed from eyes too close together over a long, broad nose.

His female companion’s mahogany eyes took in John, who had dressed in a light blue sports shirt. She apparently liked what she saw, for she smiled.

The seductive smile annoyed Alexa. She was even more annoyed when John smiled back.

“I’m John O’Rourke.” He held out his hand.

His new companions gave their names, Ed and Jill Fuller. That was how they had registered, but Alexa suspected that the names were false.

When Vane reentered the dining room, his gaze landed on John. His demeanor grew stiff as he approached the table. “Everything okay?” he asked, including John O’Rourke in his gaze.

But Alexa knew the question was for Vane’s guests.

And if things were not okay with them, she knew who would pay. She tensed, recalling her earlier thought about wanting to see Vane’s reaction. Fool, she chided herself. Had she thought he’d be pleased?

But he might have been less irritated if John had been sitting by himself.

Before Ed Fuller could respond, Jill said, “All is good. We are friends here, yes?”

“Absolutely.” John winked at the woman.

It was Alexa’s turn to go rigid, but even with her stiff shoulders, she went about serving the others in the dining room.

Alexa kept an eye on Vane, as he watched that particular table. Closely. Now and then he joined the group.

If only Alexa could eavesdrop. In the low rumble of dinner chatter from all the other tables, she only caught snatches as she took orders, served food and cleared dishes. Was Vane making mental notes, preparing to take out on Alexa later any displeasure registered by his guests?

“Where are you from?” she heard John ask Jill, when Vane was at the far side of the room.

“I am from Bolivia,” she said very slowly and distinctly, in an accent that did not, in Alexa’s estimation, resemble Spanish.

If John thought he was being lied to, he didn’t show it. “You speak English well.”

“Not so good,” she replied with a self-deprecating smile that made it clear she enjoyed John’s attention.

Her husband was clearly displeased when he jumped into the conversation. “We are learning here to speak good,” he said, sounding defensive.

“I know how hard that can be,” John said. “Learning different languages is not something I’m good at. And believe me, I’ve tried.” His amiable grin encompassed both his companions. Ed Fuller’s glare eased a little.

“How did you try?”

Jill’s distinct and deliberate speech would have driven Alexa crazy if she’d been sitting with them. She gathered dirty soup bowls from a neighboring table, taking her time to prevent being obvious in her listening.

“I was a foreign exchange student in high school. I went to Switzerland, the French-speaking part. In return, my family had three different exchange students stay in our house for a few months at a time. I did a lot better helping them with their English than my host family did teaching me French.” Again he grinned, this time with an embarrassed shrug of his very broad shoulders—shoulders Jill apparently noticed, for her admiring smile was more feline than friendly.

Alexa refrained from slinging a bowl at the woman. It wasn’t her business if the guests chose to make fools of themselves. And a woman’s flirting with a man, no matter how great-looking and sexy he was, right in front of her husband—well, that was definitely foolish.

Unless they weren’t really married….

John took some taco chips that Alexa had baked from scratch, from a basket on the table. He barely looked at them as he dipped them in homemade salsa. That annoyed Alexa. She scooped up her handful of dishes and hurried into the kitchen. There, she ladled bowls of tortilla soup for John’s table. She had made it spicy. Now, she considered adding even more chili pepper to John’s. That would divert his attention from Jill Fuller.

Phantom was watching. In deference to keeping the food preparation sanitary, she blocked him into an adjoining room with a removable gate. As always, she spoke softly to him, and he greeted her in return by chuffing and dancing and wagging his tail.

“I’ll give you a big hug later,” she promised.

“Do you need any help, Alexa?” Vane stood in the doorway, his arms crossed. He appeared irritated.

She realized he wasn’t really offering help, just criticism. She was too slow tonight.

She had to stop allowing John O’Rourke to distract her.

“No, thanks, Vane,” she said. She picked up the tray with three soup bowls on it and hurried toward him. “I’m fine. Go ahead and entertain our guests.”

But he didn’t budge. As she approached him, he said through gritted teeth, “It appears that your friend O’Rourke is doing a good job of entertaining all by himself.”

Waves of panic shot up Alexa’s spine, but she stood still, balancing the awkward tray. “Yes,” she said with a forced smile. “He’s a salesman, and I guess salesmen like to talk.”

“This one likes to ask questions. Too many questions. I think we’d better suggest that he find someplace else to stay.”

In other words, she was to urge John to leave. Quickly.

“I don’t think he intends to stay long, anyway.” A little continued prevarication wouldn’t hurt, she hoped. She could tell Vane later that she hadn’t understood John’s intentions.