A Christmas Bride in Pinecraft (11 page)

W
hen the doorbell chimed at three in the afternoon, Beverly rushed to answer it. This was it! The first guests since the break-in had arrived. A handful of emotions swirled inside her. She felt nervous and awkward, excited and worried.

But, of course, the guests could never know this.

Instead, she forced herself to smile and act gracious as she opened the door to the four Englishers on the doorstep.
“Wilcom!”
she said. “Welcome to the Orange Blossom Inn.”

“Thank you,” one of the gentlemen said. “I'm Bryan Evans. This is my wife, Betty, and daughter, Amy, and her husband, Colten.”

Beverly nodded and smiled at everyone as she introduced her
self. “I am Beverly Overholt, the manager of the inn.” Stepping back, she waved an arm with a little flourish. “Please, come in and make yourself at home.”

She knew everything looked as pretty and clean as it possibly could. Eric had painted trim for hours yesterday while she'd polished the furniture until every piece in the gathering room gleamed. On two of the tables sat new lamps. They were made of stained glass and looked perfectly elegant. Two fresh balsam candles scented the room.

As they entered and hung their jackets on the brass coatrack next to the door, Bryan looked around the entryway with a critical eye and said, “We were really glad one of your employees called and said that you were still open for business.”

“We've been planning to spend Christmas here in Sarasota for almost a year,” Betty said. “So when you emailed to say that you had decided to not host guests until January, we were devastated.”

Beverly thought about the evasive way she'd cancelled their reservation and realized that Sadie had been exactly right. It had been wrong for her to simply cancel without providing a good reason. “I'm glad you were still able to stay here.”

“It was a matter of us being pretty desperate. No place else had room in their inn,” her husband replied, smiling at his little Christmas-themed quip.

Beverly had a feeling she was going to be hearing comments like that a lot. “Well, you're here now. Please, come in. We have coffee and tea and some cookies that I baked fresh this morning if you'd like some. After you sign in, I'll show you to your rooms so you can get settled.”

“I'll take care of the credit card, Betty,” Bryan said. “You three go look around.”

While they walked around the gathering room and helped themselves to some snickerdoodles, Beverly guided Bryan to her small desk located along the side of the room. Soon she was running his credit card through the machine and having him sign the reservation form.

Less than five minutes later, she handed him their welcome packet. “Your keys are inside, Bryan. Please don't be afraid to let me know how I can help make your stay as pleasant as possible.”

“You can tell that rain to move out,” he said with a wink, referring to the rare December soaker outside. “We came from snow in Indiana. We're ready for some sun.”

“I'll do my best to get the weather to cooperate,” she joked.

After waiting for Bryan to get a cup of coffee and a couple of cookies, she walked them upstairs to their rooms. She'd worked hard on the rooms, or actually she and Tricia had. Usually Beverly felt a tremendous sense of pride when she showed her guests their quarters, but this time, she felt her smile grow brittle and a knot of tension settle between her shoulder blades.

This was the first time she'd ever had to act pleased about guests arriving.

A
BIT LATER, AFTER
Eric had joined her and then eventually escorted another set of people to their rooms, Beverly was feeling so stressed and agitated she was on the verge of tears. Instead of being grateful for the business, she secretly hoped that some of her other reservations never turned up. And knowing the way
she was scrutinizing every guest who walked through the door made her feel even worse.

Truly like Scrooge.

How was she going to survive the holiday season with an attitude like this? If she didn't find a way to cope with her negative thoughts, she was going to run off her guests. However, she feared that was easier said than done. It was likely going to be the longest December in history.

And the worst Christmas ever.

As Eric leaned against one of the pale blue walls in the laundry room, he realized something had to be done.

In front of him, Beverly was carefully ironing pillowcases. Every couple of minutes, she would spray starch on the cotton, glide the iron over the fabric, painstakingly fold it, then press the iron firmly down again. They were surely going to be the stiffest, best-pressed pillowcases in the state of Florida.

“Sure I can't help you with that, Bev?” he asked for the second time in five minutes.

“Positive. I like these pillowcases ironed a specific way.”

As he watched her frown and fold with the precision of a robot, Eric shifted. Something was bothering her and it was bothering her a lot. “What's wrong?”

She didn't look at him. Instead, she chewed on her bottom lip as she folded the white cotton pillowcase into thirds and pressed the iron to the fabric. “Nothing. I simply have a lot to do.”

Eric couldn't accept that answer any longer. For two days, now, Beverly had been acting out of sorts. Usually, she sipped coffee in the mornings and took time to relax with a cup of tea and shortbread cookies in the evenings. But now she was constantly on the go. It was as if she feared sitting alone or having too much time to reflect.

He could understand her need to stay busy, to a point. What concerned him more was the worry in her eyes. Even now, she was simply going through the motions of looking after guests. Even when he was standing by her side, Beverly didn't look all that pleased to see their customers. Everything that used to make her happy—baking, fussing over her flowers out front, chatting with guests in the morning—now seemed like a burden to her.

And, instead of allowing him to step in further, or accepting additional help from her large group of friends, she seemed intent on shouldering all those burdens by herself.

Yesterday, when Eric had walked down the second-floor hallway and seen her on her hands and knees carefully cleaning the wood trim, he'd gently tried to redirect her energies. That hadn't worked. When he'd mentioned reading about some various holiday events going on in town, she hadn't batted an eye.

“That's nice, Eric,” she'd said. “But I have too much to do around here. Plus, we have guests.”

“I know we have guests. But you've never let a full house prevent you from taking a break for a few hours.”

“I don't want to leave the inn.”

“Then let Tricia or Sadie fill in for you for a couple of hours.” When she still refused to budge, he'd nudged her playfully. “Come on, Bev. It's Christmastime.”

“It is, to be sure. But you forget, I'm an innkeeper. This is a mighty busy time for me.”

That had been when he'd realized she was in trouble. Beverly only used Amish expressions when she was feeling particularly stressed or anxious.

To make matters more complicated, he was starting to wonder if she was a hundred percent okay with his new, larger role at the Orange Blossom Inn. Though he'd stayed there before, of course, he now was attempting to be more involved. But instead of his presence easing her mind, it seemed to only fluster Beverly more. She often stumbled over whom to refer to as being in charge, which confused him. They both knew who the heart and soul of the inn was—and it definitely wasn't him.

Then, of course, there was the fact that the police still hadn't figured out who'd robbed the inn. Other than being fairly sure the culprits were teens, they were no closer to making an arrest than they had been on the day of the incident.

It was time to take matters into his own hands. Eric was going to make her take a break from this place, even if he had to pull her out the front door. He was just about to tell her to grab her purse because he was taking her out to lunch when one of the guests approached with a map of Sarasota and a long list of questions. Beverly had jumped up from the ironing, as if anxious to be of use—though, more likely, anxious to put some space between herself and his goals.

“Bev, we need to talk.”

She stared at him. She must have been struck by something she saw in his eyes because she sighed. “All right. Give me thirty
minutes to finish up these pillowcases. Then I'll meet you in the kitchen.”

“Can't we talk now?” he pressed, beginning to feel annoyed. “I'm sure you can iron and talk to me at the same time.”

“I can, but I'd rather not. Please, just give me a half an hour. That's not too long to wait.”

“All right, but I'm warning you now, I'm not going to let you push me away today.”

B
EVERLY LOOKED AT
E
RIC
in surprise when he strode into the kitchen a half an hour later. She'd pulled everything out of one of the cabinets and had a bottle of spray cleaner in her hands.

“Beverly, what are you doing? I told you we needed to talk.”

“We can talk while I clean the cabinets.”

“You suddenly decided you needed to clean them?”

“I'm, uh, taking stock, too.”

“Bev.”

She kept her eyes focused on something just to his left. “You know I've been going through everything since the robbery.”

“Nobody stole anything from the cabinets. We both know that. Besides, you organized it the other day. I stood here and watched you.”

Those green eyes of hers that he loved so much filled with distress. “I need to keep busy, Eric.”

His heart softened as he heard the distress in her voice, too. He walked to her side and took the bottle of cleaner out of her hand. Then kept his hands on hers and gently squeezed. “I can appreciate that, but you aren't behaving rationally. I'm worried about you.”

“Thank you for that, but there is no need to worry. I am fine.”

“You are not fine at all. You're working yourself into a dither, and I'm concerned.”

She pulled her hands from his and crossed them over her chest. “I don't get into
dithers
, Eric. I have merely been cooking and cleaning and getting the inn organized.”

“That's
all
you've been doing.”

“We had a robbery. Strangers went through the whole inn. They stole a television, remember?”

“I bought a new one.”

“Things are a mess.”

“No, things
were
a mess. Now everything is bright and shiny. It looks as pretty as I've ever seen it.”

She looked up at him in wonder. Her wide-set eyes appeared even greener than usual, thanks to the forest-green dress she was wearing. And though her brown hair was pinned up, more than a couple of strands had fallen around her face, making her appear younger. And to his surprise, even prettier. Bemused, he found himself leaning against the doorjamb that led to the back patio, content to simply admire her—which wasn't good, seeing as how it was absolutely
not
why he'd wanted to talk to her.

“Eric? You are staring.” She fidgeted, pushing a lock of hair back behind her ear and smoothing her dress.

“I know.” Unable to keep a straight face, he grinned.

“Why are you staring at me? And smiling? What's wrong?”

“Not a single thing. I'm simply taken with you.”

“Surely not. Have you never seen a woman organize a kitchen before?”

He honestly couldn't say that he had. He'd never dated a woman seriously enough to be around her when she was simply doing chores at home. But he couldn't say that. “Not one who wore a pretty green dress while she did it.”

Now she was looking flustered. Which was good. Now, at least, they were on even ground.

She brushed back another strand of hair. Honestly, every strand looked in serious danger of escaping from its pins and falling around her shoulders.

“Let's go play hooky for a little while.”

“I'm not going to the beach, Eric.”

“I wasn't thinking about Siesta Key. I was thinking that we should go shopping.”

“I can't go shopping for groceries until I finish this inventory.”

“Not for food.” Suddenly the perfect idea came to him. “Let's go get a Christmas tree.”

“A what?” Her eyes were wide and a look of true dismay filled her expression.

He chuckled. “Beverly, you do know what a Christmas tree is, right? One of those green things you put lights on? Decorate with bright, shiny ornaments?”

“There's no need to use that tone. Of course I know what a Christmas tree is. It's just that the Amish don't have Christmas trees.” Standing up a bit primly, she said, “The Amish don't believe in the need for all of those commercial entrapments to celebrate Jesus' birthday.”

She looked so earnest, it took everything he had to keep from smiling. “I know that.”

“If you know that, then you must also know that I do not want a Christmas tree in the inn.”

It was time to pull out the big guns. “Did you forget that this is technically my inn?”

“
Nee
. Of course I didn't forget that.”

Taking care to keep his tone light, he added, “And, I don't know if you've noticed, but I'm not Amish.”

“I know you aren't.”

“And, last time I checked, you weren't, either.”

After staring at him a moment longer, Beverly turned to the refrigerator, pulled out a pitcher of cold water, poured herself a tall glass, and drank half of it. “Eric, I may not be Amish anymore, but that don't mean I want to start adopting all kinds of fancy English traditions.”

Though Eric had wanted a Christmas tree anyway, he'd suggested it mainly as something they could do to get her mind off the robbery. But now he was starting to think that they needed one really just to shake things up a bit.