“Not at all. It was more like white noise in the background. My project is absolutely not work related. Not engineering either. I’m on total vacation, kind of a personal sabbatical. No work calls, no texts, no emails. It was difficult to get my boss to agree to me leaving for so long without being able to contact me, except in emergency, but I have a competent assistant who’s ready to manage investigations. She can handle things alone.”
“Investigations?”
“I’m a forensic engineer. I investigate technical accidents and disasters and find the cause. I analyze the failures and write reports and recommendations. I also do a lot of pre-project work, looking for design flaws and potential pitfalls.”
“You mean you’re like an air crash investigator? For engineers? That sounds totally cool.” What thrilling work. He’d have to be brilliant and analytical to do that. Way out of her league.Stop it. Just because he’s here for dinner doesn’t mean he wants a date.
“I actually helped with an airline investigation last year. I helped them discover the cause of an engine failure. Not my usual work, but it was fascinating. What about you? What does Miss Clara do when she’s not running a hospitable bed and breakfast?”
She blushed. “Nothing really. I spend most of my time working.”
“I don’t believe you. That blush tells me otherwise. ’Fess up. What’s your dirty secret?”
His bold wink stirred desires long forgotten. Zane Ryder could be dangerous to her heart if he was affecting her after only a few hours. She could already hear a unique melody when she looked at him. He inspired song. It had been months since she heard the music in her soul and a few minutes in Zane’s company had a melody ready to burst forth.
“Seriously, it’s nothing.”
“Come on, Miss Clara, tell me, what do you do when nobody is around?”
It was weird that he called her Miss Clara. Formal. A bit awkward too, but she appreciated the distance the title gave her as it reinforced their business relationship. “I play the piano a bit. I’m no concert pianist, but I enjoy it. Though I don’t often play when anyone is around. I find music soothing.”And inspiring, relaxing and exhilarating. It fueled her soul, but she’d never tell him, or anyone else. She’d loved her career as a studio musician, but never craved the spotlight. Music was for her heart, not her pocketbook. She’d fallen into a musical career by chance, not desire.
“Will you play for me sometime?” His expression morphed from playful to serious. “Please.”
“Maybe,” she hedged, reluctant to commit to anything. She’d play when she was alone. When everyone was gone or asleep, at least for now. She was practicing her Christmas carols and trying to write her own holiday piece. She might not be eager to play in front of guests, but she would never quit playing; she needed the music, even if she couldn’t create it anymore.
“Maybe I’ll play for you someday, but not today.” He accepted her statement, probably assuming she’d cave in. It wasn’t that she didn’t have the skills, it was that her music was deeply personal and too intimate to share.
“That was delicious.” He rose and carried his plate to the sink. “Thank you for feeding me. I’ll help you clean up.”
“No, you won’t,” she countered. “You’re a guest. You’ve already put in a full day’s work. I’ve got this. Please, go enjoy the rest of your evening. Help yourself to tea and cookies in the dining room. Watch television. Read a book. Work on that secret project. I’ve put fresh cookies in the sunflower jar in the breakfast room. What time would you like breakfast? Any special requests? She’d grabbed some basic groceries when she was shopping for a new tap. She was set until she put in an order with the company she’d be using as her regular supplier. They promised delivery in twenty-four hours.
“How about eight? I don’t eat very early. Most days I skip breakfast, so I don’t need anything fancy. Muffins or pancakes maybe? Whatever you’re having will be perfect. I eat pretty much everything. Thank you.”
His words were stilted. She’d offended him by turning down his offer to help with dishes. They’d gone from friendly, slightly less than casual conversation, to stiff and awkward.
“Tell you what. Come to the kitchen when you’re ready to eat in the morning and I’ll find something. Before I get to these dishes, let’s fill out your paperwork before I forget again.” She really was going to have to figure out a proper check-in routine, so she didn’t miss important steps in the future. She loved her routines; they kept her mind on track.
Clara could already see how running a B&B could play havoc with routines and schedules, not that she had either, yet. She better perfect a system so she had the skills set hard enough that she could deviate without problems.
In moments, he was checked in. She’d confirmed his credit card information and told him where to park. If he wanted to get off the front street, she had a small lot on the side of the house.
“Shoot. I need to make your bed. Gah. I’m forgetting everything today.” At this rate, Zane was going to think she’d lost her marbles. “Give me five minutes. I won’t touch your things. I’ll be back in a jiffy.” She yanked her keys out of her skirt pocket and rushed upstairs.
It took only minutes to make his bed, refresh his towels, and grab his wet clothing. She turned around and he was lounging in the open doorway, watching her work.
“Oh. You startled me. I thought you were downstairs.” She clutched the damp towels and wet clothing to her chest; the sodden mess soaking her and bringing chills.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you. Thanks for the dry towels and the sheets.” His smile was wide and warm.
“Have a good night, Zane. I’ll see you tomorrow.” She pushed as much warmth and honesty into the words as she could. He had her a little flustered, but she didn’t want him to know.
Clara knew she should get used to people watching her and catching her unaware. She wasn’t alone in this enormous house anymore. All the books she’d read hadn’t prepared her for this job. This career. No, this lifestyle. But she would adapt. She’d make a success of this and make Aunt Tilly proud. She’d prove to herself, and her father, that she could do anything she set her mind to.
And she’d put a set of chimes, or a bell, on the front door so she’d hear people come in.
“Good night, Miss Clara,” he said softly. “Sweet dreams.”
She scurried past him, brushing against his heat on her way out. His warmth sent a different type of chills coursing down her arm.
