got the nightgown for Christmas from my mum, who thinks I should be a nun since I’m a widow. She also thinks I’m a size bigger even than what I am. You’ll swim in it, but your virtue will be protected for all time.”
Kate hugged her. “Bless you, Marce.”
She took a bath, feeling small and forlorn in the big claw-foot tub. She washed her hair under the faucet, sniffed it and washed it again. The smell of smoke was pervasive, seeming to have seeped into her very pores as she stood on her muddy lawn and witnessed the end of yet another dream.
The rose scent of the lotion in the silk pouch of necessities seemed almost incongruous, but she breathed in deeply, thinking maybe in the greater scheme of things, inner peace smelled of roses.
She hadn’t thought she’d be able to sleep, but she laid her still-damp head on one goose-down pillow and hugged another to the chest of the borrowed gown and fell into an instant dream about Ben McGuffey and Tark Bridger. They were fighting over her, with Ben wearing a lab coat with his skis and Tark dressed in a gray three-piece suit and red canvas high-tops. His wife stood to one side holding his briefcase.
* * *
WHEN KATE WOKE, with her caramel-colored hair standing straight up on one side of her head where she’d slept on it, she felt rested and unafraid despite the headache that scratched along the edges. She was also obscurely pleased that the man she had loved to distraction and the one she hadn’t loved enough had cared enough to fight over her. The only problem was she didn’t know who’d won. Dreams were that way, ending ambiguously.
Looking in the framed mirror over the bathroom sink, she thought of her house with its flower boxes and pretty shutters. Sometimes dreams just ended sadly. One thing you could count on, though, was that they did indeed always end. A soft fleece robe lay across the foot of her bed. She drew it on over the voluminous gown and went downstairs, trailing her hand along the worn-smooth wood of the curving banister. The dining room was empty, so she pushed open the swinging door into the kitchen.
“Sleep okay?” The innkeeper handed her a cup and gestured toward the double-carafe coffeemaker. “Coffee’s ready and water’s hot if you’d rather have tea.” She smiled. “No wine before dinner if you had in mind to continue your wicked ways from last night.”
Ah, that explained the niggling headache—it wasn’t a product of fires or dreams but of three glasses of supermarket wine. “Coffee works.”
The brew was half gone when she lowered the cup from her mouth. Yes, it certainly did work.
“Marce—” she went back to the coffee, refilling the cup “—are you really thinking about leaving the inn?”
“Only for the summer,” said Marce. “I need to be away from it for a bit, but I want it to come home to. I can run the inn and still go to school.”
The knock at the back door announced the arrival of Joann Demotte, Penny’s older sister, carrying Kate’s insurance policy and a bulging briefcase. “Coffee?” she pleaded, before sitting down and diving into her bag to emerge with a laptop and a yellow legal pad.
After a few minutes and a cup and a half of Marce’s breakfast blend, Joann looked over the top of her purple-framed reading glasses at Kate. “The good news is that you weren’t underinsured the way a lot of people are, and the cause of the fire was cut-and-dried.”
Kate tensed. “And the bad news?” Not more. Please not more.
“The house is a total loss. Nothing was saved that can be restored. But you knew that.”
Kate drew a deep breath. The lead was back in her chest. She thought of the heirloom quilts that had covered the beds and the Blue Onion and Blue Willow dishes she’d collected one by one at garage sales, and she nearly wept. They hadn’t been family treasures—her mother and grandmothers would have eaten glass before they’d have sewn or kept old dishes—but she’d enjoyed them. They’d kept her warm and made her poky little house into a place of welcome and comfort.
She remembered the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves in the den. She’d filled them with well-read paperbacks, not worth much in the used-book trade, but priceless to her. Her knuckles turned white where she gripped her cup in both hands. But then she remembered the contents of the safe-deposit box, the laptop on the seat of the car and the fact that no one had been hurt.
Even Dirty Sally had been visiting the Siamese next door at the time of the fire. Sally had never had kittens, but she was totally captivated by the neighbor’s litters. Kate knew exactly how she felt.
“It’s all right,” she said. She took a deep breath. And another. “Yes, it is.” Or it will be. I’ve made a life without babies or Ben McGuffey—I can make one without my house. Or handmade quilts or dishes that are blurry blue and beautiful.
“You can have the lot cleared as soon as it cools down.” Joann’s voice was brisk, bringing Kate out of the tunnel grief was taking her into. “The fire marshal and my adjuster have promised to release their reports ASAP. This, by the way, is unheard-of—normally they don’t do it until I’ve called at least five or six times, begging and weeping and threatening to do dire things to them. Are you dating anyone interesting?”
“No. Not even anyone boring.”
“Too bad, I was looking for some good gossip to spread around the tavern at lunch.” Joann’s eyes widened when Marce set a huge slice of coffee cake in front of her. “Oh, Marce, you shouldn’t have.”
“It’s your reward for taking care of Kate,” said Marce airily. “If there’s nothing else I can do for you two, I’m off to make the beds.”
Kate watched the woman leave the kitchen. “How much money will I get?” She turned her attention back to Joann.
“Lessee....” The agent put on her glasses and clicked computer keys, pausing to frown, ask questions and shake her head at Kate’s answers.
Several computer screens later, Joann gave her a number. “That’s ballpark. We don’t know how much your contents will be yet, so it will probably be more. Plus we’ll put you up here for thirty days—longer if you need it. Your car wasn’t damaged, was it?”
“No, it’s in Penny’s driveway. Dan always says it won’t run when I’ve been drinking.”
Joann smiled fondly. “Dan Elsbury is a nice man, isn’t he?”
“He is,” said Kate. “Of course, he’s also a cop. He knows Penny wouldn’t like it if he arrested me. Especially at their house.”
“So.” Joann shuffled the papers into a folder and turned off her laptop. She closed it and slipped it back into her briefcase. “Any ideas? You’re not going to rebuild, are you?”
“Probably not.” Kate’s street had gone from being beginner-home-cozy to a row of buildings that mostly contained small businesses with second-story office or living space. The single-family dwellings and duplexes that were left didn’t seem to belong anymore. While it still wasn’t a bad place to live, she didn’t want to spend the rest of her life there, either. At least, she didn’t think she did.
The back door opened and Penny came in, wearing a ragged sweater over jeans and a T-shirt with a slogan proclaiming it had been stolen from the Fionnegan Police Department. “You’re all right?” She took Joann’s
