Bed and Breakfast Read online

  GAIL ANDERSON-DARGATZ

  Bed and Breakfast

  Grass Roots Press

  Copyright © 2013 Gail Anderson-Dargatz

  First published in 2013 by Grass Roots Press

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

  Grass Roots Press gratefully acknowledges the financial support for its publishing programs provided by the following agencies: the Government of Canada through the Canada Book Fund and the Government of Alberta through the Alberta Foundation for the Arts.

  Grass Roots Press would also like to thank ABC Life Literacy Canada for their support. Good Reads® is used under licence from ABC Life Literacy Canada.

  Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication (Print)

  Anderson-Dargatz, Gail, 1963-, author

  Bed and breakfast / Gail Anderson-Dargatz.

  (Good reads)

  ISBN 978-1-77153-000-2 (pbk.)

  1. Readers for new literates. I. Title. II. Series: Good reads series (Edmonton, Alta.)

  PS8551.N3574B43 2013 428.6’2 C2013-902651-7

  For Vincent, my own handyman

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  I waved goodbye to my first guests of the summer. My busiest season had just started. I run a bed and breakfast in my big old house. Travellers rent my bedrooms, and I serve breakfast in the morning. I love welcoming visitors, but I don’t do it for fun. Without my paying guests, I would have to sell my home.

  The couple I was waving to was about my age, in their mid-forties. The man put a hand on his wife’s back as he opened the car door for her. Joe, my husband, used to do that for me, before he died.

  After the couple drove away, I stood on my porch, thinking of my husband. Joe was a handsome man who took pride in his appearance. Every Saturday night, we went out to dinner together. We often walked along the lakeshore later in the evening. We always stopped and kissed under the stars.

  But Joe was killed in a car accident five years ago. I had been alone ever since. Now I wanted to share dinner with someone. I longed for a man to talk to during the long nights of winter. I wished now for the kind of romance I had shared with Joe.

  I was lonely, but I wasn’t alone. I had friends. In this small town, everyone looked out for everyone else. Steve was my closest friend. Before Joe passed away, Steve was his best friend. Now that Joe was gone, Steve watched over me.

  In any case, this morning I didn’t have time to feel sorry for myself. I had dishes to wash and beds to make. I knew at least one new guest would arrive that day. A man named Brent Henderson would stay overnight at my bed and breakfast.

  I turned to get ready for my guest and walked right into Steve. “Steve!” I said, “You surprised me.” As always, he had come in through the kitchen door at the back without knocking. I hadn’t heard him walk through the house to the front porch.

  Steve was dressed in his grubby work jeans and T-shirt. His brown hair was a mess. There was stubble on his chin. He usually came to my place to repair something. Today, he looked the same as he always did, ready to get to work.

  Steve grinned and held out a handful of lilacs. “Here you go, Annie,” he said.

  I took the flowers. “For me?” I asked him.

  Steve brought me something from his garden nearly every day. I knew his gifts were an excuse for a visit. He also pretended to forget his tools at my place a lot. That way he could come back, pick up his tools, and have another chat over coffee.

  But this was the first time he offered me flowers, so I was a little worried. Steve and I were old friends. I didn’t want him to think we were anything more than that.

  He must have seen the concern on my face. “I thought you might like flowers for the guest rooms,” he explained.

  I blushed. I felt silly for worrying that the lilacs were just for me. “They’re lovely,” I said. “Thanks.”

  Steve and I went inside the house. I ran some water into a vase for the lilacs. Then I poured cups of coffee for Steve and me. We sat at the kitchen table to drink them and talk.

  “So I’m fixing the leak under the sink today?” he asked me.

  I nodded. Steve was the best handyman in town. He could fix anything that was broken. My house was a hundred years old. Guests said it had “character.” In other words, it needed a lot of work. Steve had to repair something almost every week.

  “I sure appreciate everything you do for me,” I said.

  “You pay me well enough,” he said. “Besides, what are friends for?”

  Steve and I were friends, good friends. We were best friends. That is, until Brent Henderson arrived.

  Chapter Two

  After I did my chores, I helped Steve with the plumbing under the sink. We had almost finished taking the old pipes apart before putting in new ones. I was on my hands and knees beside Steve when I heard an unfamiliar voice, a man’s voice.

  “Hello?” he said through the screen door of the kitchen.

  I jumped, bumping my head under the sink. “Oh!” I said, holding the back of my head.

  A very handsome man stood at the screen door. He was so good-looking that he could have been a movie star. His hair was blond and his eyes sparkled blue. Something about him made me feel both thrilled and nervous.

  “I knocked at the front door, but you didn’t hear me,” he said. He opened the screen door and came into the kitchen. “I phoned yesterday. I booked the night here.” He carried an overnight bag.

  Now I knew who he must be. “Mr. Henderson,” I said. I got up off the floor and offered him my hand. We shook hands before I realized that slimy stuff from the old kitchen pipes covered my fingers.

  “Call me Brent,” he said. He looked down at his hand. It, too, was now dirty with slime.

  “Oh, god, I’m so sorry,” I said. Already I had embarrassed myself in front of my attractive guest.

  Brent looked disgusted. I gave him a towel, and he wiped the slime off his hand. He wore an expensive suit and a colourful shirt and tie. No one dressed like that in our town.

  I felt very poorly dressed next to him. I wore jeans and a T-shirt with a silly happy face printed on it. What would such a stylish man think of me?

  “I didn’t catch your name,” Brent said as he handed back the towel.

  “I’m Annie. Annie Clark.”

  I couldn’t take my eyes off Brent. He was tall, with broad shoulders, and he carried himself with confidence. He was clean-shaven and smelled good. Expensive aftershave, I thought.

  Steve was on his knees at my feet. He smelled like the slime in my old kitchen pipes. He looked like a plumber. When he saw me staring at Brent, he cleared his throat so I would notice him.

  “Oh, and this is Steve,” I said.

  “Steve Armstrong,” Steve introduced himself. Without standing up, he held out his hand to Brent. Slime from the pipes also dirtied Steve’s fingers. He knew it, too.

  Brent paused a moment before shaking Steve’s hand. He didn’t want to get his hands dirty again. But he shook Steve’s hand anyway.

  I handed Brent the towel again and apologized for Steve. Brent wiped his han
ds once more. “The drive up here from the city went faster than I expected,” he said. “There wasn’t much traffic. This town is pretty quiet, too, isn’t it?”

  I nodded. “For now,” I said. “The tourist season is about to start.”

  For most of the year, our town is so quiet that deer, rabbits, and foxes live here with us. They walk up the roads and come right into our yards. Then, in June, the tourists arrive. People travel here for the sandy beach and the sun. They come for the peace they don’t find in the city. Then they drive their motorcycles back and forth along our quiet country roads.

  “This is a great place to relax,” I told Brent. Then I couldn’t think of anything more to say. I just stood there, gazing at Brent like a love-struck teenager. Brent’s eyes were such a pure, clear blue that I wondered if he was wearing coloured contact lenses.

  Brent looked from me to Steve and back again. He smiled as if he thought we were very strange. I imagine we did look odd to him. We were two country bumpkins, staring at this handsome stranger from the city.

  “May I see my room?” Brent finally asked me.

  Steve elbowed me in the leg to get me to respond. “Yes, yes, of course,” I said. “This way.”

  Chapter Three

  Brent picked up his overnight bag and followed me down the hall. I put him in the largest guest room. The room had a queen-sized bed, a dresser, and a desk. My guests shared the main-floor bathroom. If they wanted to watch TV, they joined me in the living room.

  “I hope this is all right,” I said.

  “Its perfect,” he said. “It’s exactly what I pictured.” He put his bag on the bed. Then he looked around at the flowered wallpaper. “I feel like a kid on vacation at Granny’s house.”

  I was sure Brent didn’t mean to insult me. I didn’t take his comment that way, anyway. The house was old, so I had decorated it with antiques, flowered wallpaper, and matching bedspreads. The house was charming, but it did look like a granny’s house.

  “Your towels are here,” I said. I pulled out the top drawer of the dresser. “If you forgot to pack anything, let me know. You’ll find toothpaste and shampoo in the guest bathroom just down the hall.”

  “That’s wonderful,” he said. “Thank you.”

  He was politely sending me away. I knew I should have left the room at that moment. A good bed and breakfast host gives her guests privacy. But I felt drawn to the man. I struggled to think of something to say so I could stay with him a little longer.

  “Perhaps you’d like an extra pillow,” I said. Then I felt silly. There were already four pillows on the bed. “No, these are fine,” Brent said.

  “Well, let me know if you need anything,” I said.

  “Thank you, I will.”

  As he turned to look out the window at the lake, I glanced at myself in the dresser mirror. I had a huge black streak of slime from the sink pipes on my cheek. I quickly tried to rub it off. That only made it worse. I now looked like I had a black eye.

  Brent smiled when he turned from the window to find I was still there. I saw him notice the black under my eye, but he didn’t say anything about it. I knew Steve would have pointed it out. Brent, on the other hand, had manners.

  “I take it Steve is your husband?” Brent asked.

  I laughed. “No, no,” I said. “Steve is just here to fix the sink.”

  “My mistake,” Brent said. “You seem very comfortable together.”

  “We’ve known each other a long time,” I said. “Steve was my husband’s best friend.”

  “Your husband passed away?”

  I nodded. “He was killed in a car accident. A driver fell asleep at the wheel and ran into him.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  Brent looked so sad for me that I felt myself start to cry. But I brought my emotions under control. “The accident was a long time ago,” I said.

  “I just lost my wife this winter,” Brent said. “She died of breast cancer.”

  “Oh, no,” I said. I felt the tears return. I knew what losing a spouse was like. But I also thought, So, he’s single.

  “That’s why I’m here,” Brent said. “I just had to get away from our house in Toronto. Too many things there remind me of my wife.”

  I nodded. I understood. There were reminders of my husband all over my old house, even in that very guest room. There was the trim Joe had nailed around the doorway. There was the light fixture he had hung up. Joe and I had papered the walls together.

  “I know exactly how you feel,” I said. “I sometimes feel like Joe is still here with me.”

  “You never remarried?” Brent asked.

  “No.” Brent’s eyes were so beautiful. When he gave me his full attention, as he did now, I felt warmed inside, but also shy. “I don’t get many chances to meet new people here,” I said.

  “Except during tourist season,” Brent said. He winked at me. His smile made my heart beat faster. Was he saying what I hoped he was saying? Could he possibly be interested in me? I said a hasty goodbye and left the room before he could see me blush.

  Chapter Four

  I went back to the kitchen and wiped my face clean with a paper towel. I checked in the mirror over the sink to make sure I had removed all the black stuff. My face was still dirty. No, I thought. A man like Brent Henderson could not possibly be interested in me.

  “Well, I just made a complete fool of myself,” I told Steve. I meant talking to my guest with slime on my face. But that wasn’t what Steve heard.

  “Couldn’t keep your eyes off him, eh?” Steve asked.

  I looked down at Steve. He was still kneeling, working under the sink. “I was that obvious?” I asked. If Steve had noticed my interest, Brent must have noticed it, too. Heat rose up my neck and over my face. I was blushing.

  Steve sat back to look up at me. “I suspect he’s used to women staring at him,” he told me. “He’s the kind of man who wants that sort of attention. Look at him. All dressed up like that.”

  “Shush,” I said. “He might hear you.” I glanced back down the hall to Brent’s room. “Anyway, I like how he dresses. I appreciate a man who keeps himself clean-shaven and tidy.”

  “Like Joe did,” Steve said. I paused, thinking of my husband. “Yes, like Joe.” My husband shaved every morning. He ironed his own shirts. He worked at a bank, so he wore a suit to work every day. But he was gone now.

  Steve ran a hand over the stubble on his chin. He seemed to think about what I had said for a minute. Then he stuck his head back under the sink. “Brent isn’t a plumber, that’s for sure,” he said. “What does he do for a living?”

  “I don’t know. He didn’t say where he worked.”

  “He probably sits at a desk all day. I couldn’t live like that. Imagine being shut up in some office building in the city. I would feel trapped.”

  Normally, I would have agreed. I didn’t want to live in the city. But I wasn’t really listening to what Steve was saying. I looked back in the mirror.

  “Look at me,” I said, mostly to myself. I rubbed more dirt off my face. “I didn’t even put on makeup today.” How could a man like Brent possibly find me attractive? I felt dowdy in that moment, middle-aged, with no sense of style.

  But then Steve said, “A woman as beautiful as you doesn’t need makeup.”

  I was stunned. Steve had never said anything like that to me before. “You think I’m beautiful?” I asked him.

  He bonked his head on the underside of the sink as he turned to look at me. His face was red. He was embarrassed, too.

  “Of course you’re beautiful,” he said. “Didn’t you know that?”

  No, I thought, I didn’t.

  I looked back at myself in the mirror. My hair was messy from working under the sink. I still had a little black slime on my face. But I did have lovely green eyes. My reddish brown hair framed my pretty, heart-shaped face.

  Even though I had already turned forty-five, I looked as if I was still in my thirties. I didn’t have any
grey hairs. My figure was still trim because I walked or biked nearly everywhere I went. Steve was right. I guess I was pretty good-looking for my age.

  “You’re not just beautiful,” Steve said. “You’re smart and funny.” Steve hid back under the sink. “Brent would be lucky to have you,” he muttered.

  I saw myself differently then. I was beautiful, and I was smart, too, about some things at least. When my husband died, I had turned our home into a bed and breakfast to support myself. I used my computer to promote my business on the internet. People from all over the world saw my ads on websites and came to stay here. Some of my guests came back every year.

  Steve was right. Brent would be lucky to have me, I thought. I would just have to help Brent figure that out for himself.

  Chapter Five

  Brent wandered back into the kitchen as I wiped the last of the slime off my face. When I saw him smile at me in the mirror, I quickly stepped away from it. I was embarrassed that he caught me looking at myself again. I tried my best not to look at Brent, either. When I snuck a glance at him, he smiled at me, clearly amused by my behaviour.

  He clapped his hands. “So, what do people do for fun around here?” he asked.

  “Fun?” said Steve. He looked up at Brent from under the sink. “We haven’t had any fun around here since 1985.”

  “He’s joking, of course,” I said. Then I played host and told Brent what I usually told my guests. “You could drive over to Bridal Falls,” I said. “The waterfall is lovely. Or you could head into town to shop.”

  “Or you could just take a hike,” Steve said. I gave him a warning look. He seemed to be telling Brent to get lost. I should have known then that something was up. Steve wasn’t behaving like himself; he was rarely this impolite.

  I tried to smooth over Steve’s rudeness. “Yes, there are many places to hike,” I told Brent. “Or you could take a quiet walk on the beach. The water is just a few steps down that way.” I pointed towards the front door and the road that led down to the lake.