have your choice of rooms, but I think this one will best suit your needs.” Opening the door, she led the way inside.
“As you can see, being a corner room, it is quite large, and there’s a desk in the alcove that you may use. There’s also a private bathroom right through that door. The fixtures are antique but you’ll find the plumbing is sound.”
“I’m sure it’ll do fine.”
Kate stayed just inside the door as J.T. strolled to the center of the room. He looked around, impressed with the room’s size and immaculate condition. Even though heavy emerald-green velvet draped the four tall windows on the two outer walls, plenty of light streamed in through the lace panels that covered the panes.
The cabbage-rose wallpaper and the rose-patterned rug covering most of the oak floor were not to J.T.’s taste, but they were in keeping with the Victorian structure. So was the massive antique furniture. It was all right, he supposed, but not something he’d choose for himself.
Then the bed caught his eye, and he instantly revised his opinion. The thing was magnificent. The mahogany headboard stood at least eight feet tall and the footboard three and a half or four. Both were intricately carved. The mattress looked bigger than the king-size bed he’d just put into storage and was almost as high as his waist. For someone Kate’s size the small set of wooden steps beside the bed would be a necessity.
“Wow. Now that’s what I call a bed.”
“It belonged to Mr. Smithson,” Kate explained. “He was a big man. I believe he had it custom-made. It does have a new mattress, though. I’m sure you’ll find it comfortable.”
“No wonder he had eleven children.” J.T. sent Kate a flirtatious glance and winked. “A bed like that would inspire any man.”
To his amusement, the talk of beds seemed to make her uncomfortable. Color bloomed in her cheeks, though she held her head high and pretended to be unaffected.
“The closet is small, I’m afraid. They were added at the same time as the bathrooms, but between it and the armoire, I think you’ll have adequate space for your clothes.”
“I’m sure they’ll do fine.” He watched her fidget and struggle to cover her discomfort. Well, well, well. So Ms. Kate Mahoney was uncomfortable with the subject of sex, was she? Now that was a puzzle worth looking into.
He judged her to be in her late twenties. Most women her age were experienced and worldly and would have barely noticed the mild innuendo.
“Good. Then I’ll leave you to get settled.” She started to leave, then turned back. “Oh, by the way, Mr. Conway—”
“Please, call me J.T. We’re going to be sharing this house for the next six months, so I think we can dispense with formality, don’t you?” he said, giving her a coaxing smile.
An appalled look flashed over her face before she could control it. Obviously, the lady would prefer to keep a safe distance between them. The question was, why?
J.T. watched her frantically grope for a reason to refuse the suggestion and saw the instant when she realized there was nothing she could say without sounding like a stiff-necked prig. “Very well. If you insist.”
“As I was about to say, meals are served in the dining room. Breakfast is at eight, lunch at one and dinner at seven.”
“Okay. But if I don’t show up, go ahead without me. When I’m working and it’s going well, I don’t stop for anything.”
“But, you have to eat.…”
“Don’t worry about me. Just stick whatever you’ve prepared in the fridge and I’ll zap it in the microwave later.”
Kate looked horrified by the suggestion. He watched her struggle with the idea, but finally she nodded. “Very well,” she said, making no attempt to hide her disapproval. “If that’s what you wish.”
She turned again to leave, but he stopped her.
“Actually, I don’t like to be disturbed at anytime when I’m working. So if the sign is out,” he said, pointing to the small needlepoint Do Not Disturb sign hanging from the inside doorknob, “I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t knock on my door except in case of an emergency.”
“I clean the room every morning. How am I supposed to do that if I can’t get inside?”
“Don’t worry about it. I sure won’t. You can muck out when I come up for air.”
“Mr. Con—” One of J.T.’s eyebrows shot skyward, and she grimaced. “That is…J.T., the Alpine Rose has built a reputation on excellent service, good food and spotless accommodations. Guests don’t “zap” their own food nor are rooms allowed to get into a state where they require ‘mucking out.”’
“Don’t worry, your reputation is safe. I won’t tell anyone if you don’t.”
She didn’t look pleased, but after a moment she sighed. “Very well, if you insist. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.”
When she had gone, J.T. stared at the closed door, his expression thoughtful. Kate Mahoney was not at all what he had expected.
His mouth twisted ruefully the instant the thought ran through his mind. He wasn’t supposed to “expect” anything. He was a reporter. He was supposed to approach an investigative assignment unbiased, with no preconceived ideas or opinions. True, he wasn’t there to get a story, but he wanted to apply the same fairness.
The trouble was he was finding it wasn’t quite so easy to hold to that ethical standard when the matter was personal.
J.T. sighed and raked his hand through his hair. No matter how hard he’d tried to keep an open mind, the implication in that Internet message kept eating at him. Just the idea that a brother of his might be involved in something illegal colored his thinking—not only about Zach Mahoney, but Zach’s adopted sister, as well.
Because of that message, J.T. had been prepared to meet someone more hard edged and worldly, not a soft, fragile-looking beauty like Kate.
She wasn’t his type, of course. He preferred feisty, vibrant women with vivacious personalities—women like his new sister-in-law, Maude Ann. Looking into Kate Mahoney’s calm gray eyes was like gazing into the cool depths of a mountain lake. With her blond hair and pale coloring, she reminded him of the delicate angel his mother used to put on top of their Christmas tree every year—exquisite to look at, but untouchable.
Yet there was something about her that played havoc with his libido. The instant he’d gotten a good look at her, he’d felt as though he’d received a sharp blow to the gut.
Strangely, her quiet reserve intrigued him. She didn’t appear to be shy, exactly. She hadn’t seemed in the least timorous or skittish. A wry smile twitched his mouth. That is, not until he’d made that crack about the bed. She’d been calm and businesslike, her gaze direct and unflinching. No, he had a feeling her reserve had more to do with wariness than timidity.
The question was, what was the cause? Guilt? An innately suspicious nature? Or past mistreatment?
J.T. gazed at the bed once again. He pictured Kate lying there, those
