guilty. She really had no right to judge Doug’s daughter. Her own life had been so good.
Beth was about to say something comforting when the front door chimes rang out. The new guests! Without thinking, she hurried out into the hall and down the stairs as the chimes rang out again. Almost at the door she remembered that she hadn’t combed her own hair, and she noticed that her gray skirt as well as her blouse was liberally splashed with water. Well, so be it. She pasted on her perfect hostess smile and opened the door.
“Mr. and Mrs. Driscoll,” she said brightly. They were a stocky middle-aged couple. Mr. Driscoll smiled but Mrs. Driscoll didn’t.
“Yep. We got here and only got lost once, finding the place.” Mr. Driscoll dropped the big suitcase onto the porch.
“Come in,” Beth said, smiling. “Everybody gets lost at least once finding this place. Didn’t you get the little map I sent?”
“He lost it,” Mrs. Driscoll snapped. She was looking at Beth’s wet skirt intently as they went into the entry hall. Mr. Driscoll had picked up the big bag again and dropped it inside the hall. It sounded heavy.
“If you’ll just register here…” Beth said, indicating the registration cards on the small neat desk. “And feel free while you’re here to take postcards and things as you need them. We have some good views of Seattle.” She was going automatically into her welcome-the-new guests routine. But she wished fervently that Doug would walk through the door. She had to at least offer to carry the big bag upstairs.
As Mr. Driscoll registered, Mrs. Driscoll finally said what was on her mind.
“Do you know there’s water all over your clothes?”
“Yes, I know it,” Beth said, laughing. “I was bathing our little grandson. I forgot how small children splash about. I’m going to change in a minute.”
Mrs. Driscoll’s face went dark and forbidding. “Are there children here? The bed-and-breakfast directory said there were no children here.”
“Th-there aren’t, actually,” Beth stammered. “I mean, he doesn’t live here. He’s just visiting.” As soon as she said it she thought, But he does, at least for a while. Was this going to be a problem?
Mrs. Driscoll was still worried. “Does he cry at night? I have a sleep disorder. I’m a very light sleeper. Anything—even the drop of a pin—wakes me up. Oh, dear, I really must get my rest. Is our room near his at all?”
“No, it isn’t,” Beth said quickly, instantly rearranging the room assignments in her head. She would put the Driscolls in the very front bedroom. And when Mr. Bryant arrived later, she would put him in the room next to Kayla and Adam. Justin Bryant was a regular who came up every spring from San Francisco to look for “collectibles” for his antique shop. He was a pleasant, good-natured man. He wouldn’t care about not getting his regular room for once.
“Well, we’ll just hope for the best,” Mrs. Driscoll said wearily, as if the weight of the world rested on her thick shoulders.
Beth reached the top of the stairs, out of breath from carrying the Driscolls’ suitcase. What did they have in it—lead weights? There were guests and then there were guests. She huffed her way to the very front bedroom, wondering what Mrs. Driscoll would find wrong with it. Mrs. Driscoll let her know immediately.
“Oh, dear, this bed has a canopy,” she said with a worried glance around the lovely room. “Canopies are pretty but they are dust catchers. I have several allergies. Dust is just deadly for me.”
“I don’t think you’ll find any dust in here,” Beth said briskly. “My cleaning service vacuums everything, including all fabrics, draperies, upholstered furniture and canopies. I’m sure you’ll be very comfortable here.”
“Well, we’ll just hope for the best,” Mrs. Driscoll said with weary patience.
Mr. Driscoll tried to help. “Oh, come on, Myrtle. This is a lovely old mansion. Be glad the lady opens it to the public.”
Whereupon Mrs. Driscoll turned to Beth and said with woman-to-woman frankness. “Actually, Bert is the one who likes these bed-and-breakfast places. I’d much rather have the anonymity of a motel—so much more privacy.”
Beth’s perfect hostess smile remained fixed while she wondered who in the world could possibly dream of invading this woman’s privacy. She indicated the small desk.
“You’ll find house stationery in there and postcards with a picture of the house on them. There’s also a city map and a what-to-see leaflet. Mrs. Driscoll, are your allergies food related, too? Our breakfast menu offers a fairly wide variety. Both for low-cholesterol people and high-cholesterol people. We have eggs, any style, with sausage or bacon. Plus a wide selection of muffins or home-baked bread. The muffins are small, two-bite sized, so you can have different kinds. Then, for those who need to eat more carefully, we have muesli, nonfat milk and, of course, lots of fruit and juices.”
“You’re very kind,” Mrs. Driscoll said sadly. “I’m sure I can find something.” And Mr. Driscoll patted her shoulder in a comforting manner.
Beth escaped into the hallway with a suppressed sigh as she heard Doug enter the front door. As always, her heart lifted and all fatigue vanished. She ran down the stairs like a teenager.
“Doug!” She flew into his arms and was held for a moment against his strong body, raising her face for a kiss.
“Where’s Kayla?” he asked anxiously, glancing around.
Beth drew back, letting her hands linger on his arms. “Upstairs resting a bit. She was tired from her trip.” Should she tell him about Adam? No. Let that come from Kayla. Presenting Doug with a grandson might be part of Kayla’s fence-mending with her father.
“Did I get here in time to carry suitcases?” Belatedly he kissed her, but it landed on her temple as she was drawing away from him.
“No. I did it all, and I’ll have you know it weighed a ton. Their name is Driscoll. Mrs. Driscoll requires pampering, so I put them in the front bedroom.”
He frowned. “Isn’t that Justin Bryant’s regular room? Isn’t he coming tonight?”
“I’ll explain later, darling. Why don’t you go up and see your daughter? They—she’s in the back bedroom. You two have a lot to catch up on and I have to change.”
“You’re all wet,” he said, suddenly noticing, and just then the doorbell chimed again.
“Go on up. I’ll get that. It’s probably Justin Bryant,” Beth said, touching the side of his face briefly. She found herself listening intently to Doug’s steps as he went up the stairs. She had an odd little sense of dread, which she quickly brushed aside as she hurried to open the front door. She knew Justin Bryant well and was ready to welcome him on his spring foraging among the collectibles of Seattle.
“Come in,” she said eagerly. “And yes, I know my clothes are wet. I was just about to change. I’ll show you up this time. I’m sorry, Justin, but I had to put you in a different room. I hope that’s all right.”
“Oh, I can’t stand that,” he said in mock despair. “You know how set in our ways we middle-aged guys get. Well, how many kinds of muffins will
