him toward the common parlor, she shook her head. “I spend the night downstairs occasionally, especially when we want to get an early start the next day, but I rent a house nearby.”
“And your brother?”
“Logan lives in the caretaker’s cottage at the back of the property, just down the hillside from the gazebo.”
Dan nodded thoughtfully. “So you all work together but you’ve managed to maintain private residences. Good idea.”
She smiled over her shoulder before entering the room they called the parlor. “We know that even the closest of siblings should give each other plenty of space, especially if they want to remain close.”
“I don’t have any siblings, myself, but that sounds like a reasonable philosophy.”
“We think so.” Entering the parlor, she greeted the couple who sat on one of the comfortable sofas, both studying the screen of a tablet computer one of them held. They looked up when she and Dan came into the room. “Dan, this is Travis Cross and Gordon Monroe, who are visiting us for a few days. Guys, meet Dan Phelan, a travel writer who’s staying in room 203.”
After exchanging polite greetings, Gordon explained, “Travis and I were just looking at a list of nearby attractions, trying to decide how to spend the day. We’re thinking about driving down to Wytheville and checking out a few of the museums.”
“Good choice,” Kinley assured them. The inn was located close to the Blacksburg-Christiansburg-Radford area, bordered by the Blue Ridge Mountains on the south and the Allegheny Mountains to the north. Historic Wytheville was less than an hour’s drive south. She would be sure and encourage Dan to mention the many local attractions in his article.
Travis and Gordon obligingly posed in conversation with Kinley for Dan to snap a few photos of the common room in use. Dan thanked them for their cooperation, but Kinley could tell the couple rather liked the idea of appearing in the magazine. Dan chose several angles to maximize the view of the room Bonnie had decorated in inviting Southern style. Kinley considered igniting the gas logs for the photos, but decided to leave it alone for now. Maybe they would take more photos in here before he left, perhaps with a crackling fire in the background.
Two games tables were positioned at the far side of the room, and an eclectic assortment of games were displayed on nearby shelves. As Travis and Gordon departed for their museum outing, Kinley explained to Dan that almost every evening guests gathered around those tables for games and socializing. “They tell us it’s nice to simply unplug their electronics for a few hours and play some old-fashioned board games, face-to-face with other people.”
“I’d like to get a shot of your guests playing the games, if no one objects. I happen to like game nights myself.”
That didn’t particularly surprise her. Dan seemed like the social type. That was probably a benefit to him in his travel-writing job, making it easy for him to draw out his interview subjects. Not that he’d had to resort to that talent with her. She’d had her sales spiel ready from the moment she’d received notice that the inn would be featured in the magazine.
Continuing in that vein, she motioned toward the doorway. “Ready to see the grounds?”
“Absolutely,” he assured her with a smile that almost made her forget her practiced presentation.
Okay, so she hadn’t expected the writer to be quite this interesting on his own. Hadn’t been prepared to get so lost in his vivid blue eyes that she had to pause for a moment to remember which way to turn upon leaving the parlor. Could not have predicted that her skin would warm and her breath would hitch a bit when he reached around her to open the back door, his arm brushing her shoulder with the gesture. It was so very rare that anyone managed to sidetrack her that she wasn’t quite sure how to process that.
* * *
Dan was obligingly attentive as Kinley led him along the paths through the gardens. She pointed out the invitingly placed swings and benches and the secluded, nicely shaded nook that would eventually be called the Meditation Garden, which would incorporate a koi pond and perhaps a couple of nice sculpture pieces. Beyond that section was the starting point for a moderately challenging hiking trail through the woods to the peak of Bride Mountain and then around to the bottom and back up to the inn, just over six miles start to finish.
He snapped a photo of the trailhead sign. “I suppose you’ve made that hike a few times.”
She chuckled. “I could just about walk it blindfolded by now. My brother and sister and I used to love hiking the trail when we visited here as kids.”
Lowering his camera, he turned back to her, studying her face as he leaned one shoulder against an oak tree trunk in a casually comfortable pose that suited his easy tone. “The inn was closed during most of your childhood, wasn’t it? Do you remember it being open to guests?”
She glanced toward the back of the inn. A row of wooden rockers lined the long back porch. Only the honeymooners sat there now, rocking, sipping tea, chatting and watching Kinley give the tour. She could almost picture her younger self and her late mom sitting there rocking and drinking lemonade and enjoying the sounds of a lazy summer afternoon while Logan tagged behind Leo doing maintenance chores and Bonnie played innkeeper with her dolls. The image was bittersweet, making her smile even as her heart ached with missing her mother.
“I was eleven when my great-uncle closed the place after my great-aunt died, so I have some vague recollections of it being open to guests.”
“Do you remember your great-aunt well?”
“Yes. She was a very sweet woman. Uncle Leo adored her. He never fully recovered from losing her, though he led a quiet, comfortable life here after she died. He always seemed to enjoy our visits. He and our mother—his only niece—were close, and he was very fond of us. He and Aunt Helen never had children of their own, so he sort of claimed our mom as his honorary daughter and us as surrogate grandchildren.”
“Does your mother still spend time with you here?”
“We lost our mother three years ago, a little less than a year before Uncle Leo died. She was only fifty-eight. It was very unexpected.” She had tried to speak matter-of-factly, but she suspected he heard the faint catch of grief in her voice. She was still feeling a bit misty about that mental image of her mother on the porch.
The quick look of distress in his blue eyes let her know that he had, indeed, heard her pain. He reached out automatically to lay a hand on her shoulder, his palm warm and comforting through the thin fabric of her spring clothing. “I’m sorry, Kinley. I didn’t realize—”
With a hard swallow, she shook her head. “Thank-you. I guess I thought you already knew, for some reason.”
“No.”
She bent a bit too nonchalantly to gently brush a grasshopper off one leg of her slacks, which served the purpose of dislodging Dan’s hand from her shoulder. She found it difficult to think clearly and professionally with him touching her that way. Not that she minded, exactly, but better to choose prudence than to let an unguarded moment get away from her.
He shifted obligingly away from her, putting a more comfortable distance between. “Is your father still living?”
Nodding, she straightened, tucking her hands into the pockets of her sweater. “Dad’s somewhat of a restless
