We pull into a bed-and-breakfast called the Sugar on Snow Inn. It sits across from the park and the center of town. Stepping out of the tank, I grin up at the converted Victorian with gingerbread trim and wraparound porch. It’s charming and hopefully a little haunted.
I love it already.
The guys follow me up the porch steps and into the foyer that holds a small library table with a bell that Valen brusquely taps.
“Ah, you must be the Stones. I’m Randi, the owner.” A woman with kind eyes and flour on her apron smiles as she slips behind the desk. “Last room available. You’re lucky you called when you did because I just happened to have a cancellation this morning, and that never happens. Fall’s our busiest season and we’re usually booked solid.”
“One room?” Valen asks carefully, glaring at Chief.
This is the last time we put Chief in charge of securing any rooms for us.
“Queen bed, but you do have a private bath. It’s the best I can do, I’m afraid. Every other room’s spoken for.” Her eyes sparkle even more than her mischievous grin. “Is that a problem?”
How the heck does Chief keep managing this?
“No,” I say quickly. “It’s perfect, thank you.”
Valen shoots me a look but doesn’t argue.
“I’ll take the tank,” Chief announces. He’s perfectly freaking merry right now. “Wrecks ate something bad. Think he needs some…space. And fresh air. Lots of fresh air.”
“Chief,” Valen warns.
“Nope. Already decided. You kids enjoy the inn. I’ll be fine in the tank.” He’s already heading back outside, Wrecks in tow.
That meddling?—
“He did that on purpose,” Valen says.
“Yup.”
“Wrecks didn’t eat anything bad, did he?”
I snort. “Wrecks’s digestive system is made of iron. He’s eaten six shoes in the last few weeks, so what do you think?” Jesus. Where did that sass come from?
Valen’s gaze rakes over my body like hot coals, and I shift my weight from foot to foot, but it does nothing to ease the ache that’s taking over my body.
“So,” I mumble.
“So,” he agrees amicably. Too amicably.
Randi clears her throat. Crap. I forgot she was still standing there.
“Rooms upstairs,” she says. “Second door on the right. Breakfast starts at six. I’ll make sure your friend is taken care of in your…” She glances out the window. “Vehicle too. We have fresh apple cider on the porch all evening. Enjoy your stay.”
She hands Valen a skeleton key, and my mind flashes with all kinds of story lines.
In my books, poor Randi would be the one to poison the cider. Now to figure out her motive…
“It’s…cozy,”I say, fighting to control my breath. If I extend my arms, I might be able to touch the opposing walls with my fingertips.
“Is that the polite way to say it’s a fucking shoebox?” Valen places his hands on my hips to shift me to the right so he can go left.
The queen-sized bed dominates the space. The one free wall has a dresser built into the closet that has no door. There’s a window overlooking the idyllic main street and a bathroom so tiny I think Valen will have to fold in half to wet his hair or risk banging his head on the slanted ceiling.
“It’s really clean,” I offer.
“It’s microscopic.”
