In Search Of Dreams. Ginna Gray
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the banisters and the wainscoting in the library, stripping musty wallpaper and refinishing floors and woodwork and furniture.”
“They did a great job. But it’s kind of a big house for a family of four, isn’t it?”
“Yes, but from the start, the plan was to turn it into a bed-and-breakfast after Dad retired and Zach and I were grown and gone.”
Kate’s nostalgic mood faded. “The trouble was, he was killed in a mining accident before he had a chance to retire. He was just fifty-nine at the time.”
“I’m sorry. That must have been rough.”
“Yes. It was. Dad didn’t have much life insurance, and the mining company that owned the Shamrock at that time declared bankruptcy before a settlement could be made, so what had been a retirement dream became a necessity for Mom. A few months after Dad died, she turned the house into a B&B.”
“I see. Your guests must love this place. I’ll bet a lot of them come back year after year.”
“Yes, many do.”
J.T. looked around the room once more and mused, “A house this size must be a constant financial drain, though. Utilities alone must be staggering. It doesn’t seem like it would be cost effective. Especially since you’re not open year-round.”
Kate’s spine stiffened. She fixed him with a narrow-eyed stare. “Is there some reason you’re interested in my finances, Mr. Conway?”
“Uh-oh, we’re back to Mr. Conway, are we? Sorry, I didn’t mean to be nosy. Just a writer’s natural curiosity. It’s an occupational hazard, I’m afraid.”
“I see.” She scrutinized him for several moments, but after a while she gradually relaxed. “I suppose that’s understandable. Actually, operating expenses are not as much as you might think, thanks to an ingenious builder and my Dad’s innovations. A hot spring supplies water and radiant heat throughout. Dad had the foresight to install solar panels all along the back side of the roof and there are three wind generators behind the barn. Between the two I have plenty of electricity, but there is also a backup generator for those few times when the stored energy runs low. The summers here are comfortably cool so there is no need for air-conditioning and little for heat, but the fireplaces in every room handle what there is. In the winter I am here alone, so I close off the empty bedrooms and heat just the parts of the house that I use.”
“Mmm. Interesting.” He was quiet for a moment, then said casually, “You mentioned a brother. Does he help you run the place?”
Kate tensed again and shot him a sharp look, but J.T.’s expression was innocent enough. Apparently once again his question had been prompted by nothing more than idle curiosity.
“No. Zach hasn’t lived in Gold Fever for years.” Not since their mother married the Reverend Bob Sweet, and changed all their lives, Kate thought sadly. “He takes care of repairs and whatever needs doing when he’s here, but as I said, he has his own life.”
Time to back off, J.T. told himself, reading the suspicion in her eyes. You’re going to have to take it slow with this one, Conway. The lady is as wary as a gazelle in lion territory.
J.T. finished off his eggs and drained his coffee cup, and cocked an eyebrow at Kate. “Speaking of chores, can I give you a hand with anything today before I get started on my book outline? I’ll be glad to help you finish the composting, or whatever else needs doing.”
“No, thank you. I have everything under control.”
“You sure? I don’t mind lending a hand.”
“I’m quite sure, thank you.”
Chapter Four
Just over a month later Kate felt foolish for having worried at all. She rarely saw J.T.
Apparently the muse had him firmly in its grip. Every day, all day and late into the night, he was either in the library with his nose buried in a book or holed up in his room, tapping furiously on his laptop keyboard. Thanksgiving came and went, but J.T. hadn’t seemed to notice.
He showed up for meals only occasionally, and though it pained her to do so, she put his food in the refrigerator as he’d requested. Sometimes he got around to eating it and sometimes he didn’t.
Kate tried to tell herself it was none of her concern. If the man wanted to starve himself, it didn’t matter to her.
But it did. Like it or not, she was a born nurturer. A mother hen, her father and Zach used to call her, just like her mother. Which was why they had both taken so well to running a B&B, Kate supposed.
Taking care of people, seeing to their needs and comforts was a pleasure to her, and it came as naturally as breathing. Try as she might, she simply could not go about her business without worrying that J.T. wasn’t eating right.
In mid-December, when he failed to show up for dinner the third evening in a row, she could take it no longer. It simply wasn’t healthy to skip meals, she told herself as she marched up the stairs. For all she knew, he could be passed out on the floor from hunger at that very moment.
Pausing outside his door, Kate listened, but there was no click of the laptop keyboard from the other side, only silence.
Could he be asleep at seven in the evening? Oh, Lord, what if he really had passed out? Or was ill?
She raised her hand to knock, then hesitated. Shifting from one foot to the other, she chewed her bottom lip. Maybe she should leave him alone. After all, he had been emphatic about not wanting to be disturbed. But then, the Do Not Disturb sign wasn’t hanging on the doorknob.
Taking a deep breath, she tapped lightly on the door. When nothing happened she knocked again, louder this time. She waited for what seemed like minutes, but still the only response was silence.
Concern began to bubble up inside her, filling her chest. Kate looked around, as though help would appear out of nowhere. Should she go in? He could be ill. Or hurt.
“J.T.? J.T., are you in there?” She knocked again, then pressed her ear to the panel and listened.
Nothing.
Panicked now, she pounded the door with the side of her fists. Her hand was poised to deliver another round of thumps when J.T. snatched the door open and barked, “What?”
“I…I—”
He didn’t look anything like the cheerful man who had invaded her kitchen only six weeks ago. J.T.’s face was thunderous, and his eyes had a wild look, as though he’d just been jerked awake from a dream or a trance. Exhaustion had smudged dark circles under his red-rimmed eyes. His rumpled clothes looked as though he’d slept in them, his hair hadn’t been touched by a comb in Lord knew when, and at least three days worth of beard stubble shadowed his jaw. He looked untamed and fierce.
And dangerous.
“I, uh…I came to tell you that dinner is ready.”
“Dinner?” He stared at her. A low sound started deep in his throat and rumbled up. When it reached a crescendo he clapped a hand against his forehead and dragged it slowly down over his face. Against his palm, his beard stubble made a scratchy sound like course sandpaper.
He opened his eyes again, and they fixed on her like twin blue laser beams. “You interrupted me to tell me that dinner is ready? Dammit, woman, I’m working in here!” he roared. “I specifically told you not to disturb me when I was working except for an emergency. And by that I mean there’d better be fire or a helluva lot of blood involved. Got it?”
Kate’s first instinct was to take a step back. Instead she raised her chin and pointed to the intricate copper doorknob. “You said not to disturb you when the sign was out. It’s not. I thought perhaps you’d fallen asleep.”
He bent toward her until they were almost nose to nose and snarled through