Always A Mcbride. Linda Turner
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customers for her very successful antique store right next door to her house. Phoebe didn’t know how she did it.
“That’s all right,” her grandmother chuckled, refusing to rise to the bait, “go ahead and tease me. Liberty Hill might be little, but that just makes it easier for Mr. Right to find you, honey. So when can I expect you? You’re going to be engaged by the end of the year, so there’s no time to waste. Your mother will have a conniption if you even think about marrying someone you’ve known less than six months.”
“Gran!”
“I’m just being practical, dear,” Myrtle chuckled. “You want this marriage to work—”
“There is no marriage!”
“But there will be,” her grandmother said calmly. “You have to plan for these things, dear.”
Torn between amusement and frustration, Phoebe had to laugh. “You’re impossible. Do you know that? I’ll be there on the eighth. Is that soon enough for you and Mr. Right, whoever he is?”
She didn’t have to ask if her grandmother was pleased—she could almost feel her smile through the phone. “That’s perfect! I’ll have your bedroom ready for you.”
Hanging up, Phoebe had to admit she was as excited as Myrtle. And she immediately felt guilty for that. She’d worked at her father’s vending-machine business since she was eighteen years old, but she’d never liked it. It was a job, the family business, nothing more. Her father had always loved collecting the money from his vending machines around town and counting it, but she’d only seen that as a boring chore that had to be done every day. She’d hated it—though she’d never told her father that—and dreamed of quitting one day when he no longer needed her. But that day had never come. Six months ago, when her father had died unexpectedly of a heart attack, he’d left the business to her.
Even now, she couldn’t believe it. No! she’d almost cried at the reading of the will. She didn’t want the company! She had other plans. For as long as she could remember, all she’d ever dreamed about was having an old house like her grandmother’s, where she could sell antiques and have a bed and breakfast. She didn’t care about having a large place, just something cute and Victorian in a small town like Liberty Hill, where life moved at a slower pace and old-fashioned values still flourished.
She’d been saving for just such a house for years and had just enough money set aside for a decent down payment when her father had died. Just that quickly, with the reading of his will, everything had changed. Within the blink of an eye, she became the owner of her father’s business. If she lived to be a hundred, she didn’t think she’d ever forget the emotions that had washed through her at that moment. Dread, guilt, obligation. She’d felt trapped—she still did!—and there was nothing she could do about it. Her father had entrusted her with the business he’d spent his life building. She couldn’t sell it without feeling as though she was stabbing him in the back.
A loyal daughter, she hadn’t said a word to anyone about her true feelings, but with Myrtle, she hadn’t had to. Her grandmother knew her too well. She’d pleaded with her not to waste her youth protecting and nurturing someone else’s dream—she needed to follow her own heart and do what was right for her. What Myrtle didn’t understand was that was what she was doing, but on her own terms. She might not have her own shop or bed and breakfast, but she went antiquing with her friends, had guests over frequently, and surrounded herself in her apartment with the shabby chic decor that was all the rage and she just loved. Granted, that wasn’t the same thing as having her own bed and breakfast, but for now, at least, there was nothing else she could do.
Except step in and sub for Myrtle occasionally. Her eyes sparkling at the thought, she sent up a silent prayer of thanks for being blessed with a grandmother who understood her so well, then hurried into the kitchen. If she was going to be at Myrtle’s on the eighth, she had to get busy and plan the menu for the guests her grandmother had already lined up.
“Oh, goodness, Tom and Betty are going to be here any second and I haven’t even finished packing yet. I don’t know where the time went! Where did I put my spare set of glasses? You know, dear—the ones with the silver frames? I need them in case I lose my others. Oh, and I can’t forget an umbrella…it looks as if it’s going to rain. And Betty reminded me to bring my house shoes. They don’t take up a lot of room and I can shuffle around in them in the motor home. My blood pressure pills! Where—”
In a tizzy, her hair still in rollers, Myrtle scurried around the house as though she was twenty minutes late to her own wedding, snatching up things she had yet to pack, and Phoebe couldn’t help but laugh at her. “Stop, already! I’ve never seen you like this before. Will you slow down? This trip is supposed to be fun.”
Stopping in her tracks, Myrtle drew in a huff of a breath, a rueful grin tugging at her lips. “Sorry, dear. I guess I am a little frantic this morning. I thought we’d have more time to visit. I wanted to tell you about the rest of the guests I’ve got lined up. Don’t worry. You’re not going to be swamped with a houseful of guests before you even have time to unpack your bags. A week from Friday, I only booked two rooms—that’ll give you a little time to get your feet wet before the crowd hits. After that, you’re on your own. From then on, we’re booked solid all the way to Labor Day.”
Stunned, Phoebe couldn’t believe it. “You’re kidding! How did you manage that? You only decided to convert the boarding house into a B and B a couple of weeks ago.”
“You know how it is,” Myrtle said with a grin. “You call a friend, they call a few people, and before you know it, you’re talking to the head of the Aspen Visitor and Tourist Bureau, who turns out to have a grandmother who lives over in Wilson County. When I told her I was turning my boarding house into a bed and breakfast, she gave my number out to ten different callers by lunchtime. After that, I couldn’t keep up with the reservations.”
Suddenly realizing what she’d just said, she frowned at Phoebe over the top of her bifocals. “Am I putting too much on you, sweetheart? I was just so excited, I didn’t stop to think how much work this was going to be for you, especially when you haven’t done anything like this before. Maybe I should call Tom and Betty—”
Already guessing where her grandmother’s line of thought was going, Phoebe said, “If you’re thinking about backing out, you can just think again, Myrtle Henderson. You’ve talked about nothing but this trip for weeks! Don’t you dare disappoint the Walkers. They’re counting on you.”
“But I can’t just go off and leave you with all this work. It’s not fair. When I called and asked you to hold down the fort for me, I never imagined that I’d be swamped with reservations. I should have turned some of them down.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Phoebe scolded. “The more, the merrier. It’ll be fun.”
“But how are you going to take care of a whole houseful of people without any help?”
“I’ll just add a few more eggs to the skillet in the mornings and double the biscuit recipe. It’s no big deal, Gran. You know I love cooking for a crowd. I’ll be fine.”
When Myrtle hesitated, still unconvinced, Phoebe knew she was going to talk herself out of the trip if she didn’t do something to stop her. “You’re the one I’m worried about,” she said quickly. “Do you have your blood pressure pills? And your glasses? What about your clothes? Did you take a sweater? I know it’s summer, but the nights can still get cold in the mountains, and there’s no telling where you’ll end up with Tom at the wheel.”
Safely redirected, Myrtle laughed. “That’s because he leaves the navigating to Betty and half the time, she reads the damn map upside down. It’s a wonder they haven’t ended up in a ditch some-where.”
Phoebe could picture the Walkers crisscrossing the country, making wrong turns everywhere they went, and not caring. It sounded wonderful. “You’re going to have a great time,” she said with a grin, “but you’d better be prepared for anything. When Tom heads for L.A. and you end up