Aidan walked up the stairs, his one battered duffel bag slung over his shoulder, and watched a pretty, willowy woman with strawberry-gold hair step out on the porch.
“Mr. O’Connor? I’m Ophelia Bishop. Welcome to the Robin’s Nest B & B.”
“Nice to meet you, Ophelia.”
“I’m sure you must be exhausted after your long trip. Here, let me take that from you.”
“Thank you, but I can carry my own bag, umm—”
The owner’s sweet smile contradicted her no-nonsense movements as she deftly slid the bag from his shoulder and transferred it into her own grip. “Don’t be silly, I’ve got it. Come in. I have paperwork ready for you. There’s tea and cookies, but if you’d like a light lunch, I have a few menus of wonderful places in town that deliver.”
She swept him inside, and he was struck by the beauty of the interior, from its graceful, winding staircase to its smart antiques and soaring ceilings.
Ophelia walked to the French writing desk and began punching computer keys with a deft expertise, the large diamond ring on her finger flashing madly in the light. “You’ll be with us for two full weeks. I placed you in the Imperial Room, which will give you plenty of the privacy you requested.” She confirmed his payment and had him sign a few forms. “How was your trip?”
“I’m a bit knackered from the drive, but nothing a pint or a cup of tea can’t cure. Your inn is beautiful.”
She smiled. “Thank you. I’ll make sure you have both beverages handy. I’ve also stocked your refrigerator with water and light snacks. We serve a full breakfast until ten a.m., and I can make any of your reservations for activities or dining. I already booked you a few horseback rides and noted you were experienced for the trail.”
“Sounds grand.”
“No dietary restrictions?”
He appreciated her thorough knowledge and willingness to help. “Nope. Though I seem to crave pastries in the morning. Is there a bakery in town?”
Her blue eyes sparkled. “Do you like scones?”
He groaned. “I’d eat them every day, if possible. You wouldn’t tease a stranger, would you?”
She laughed and shook her head. “Never. Besides, once you stay at my inn, you’re no longer a stranger. What part of Ireland are you from?”
“Kildare.”
Her face lit up. “My mother was born there! She was the one who built this inn. I’ve always wanted to visit.”
“You should. It’s good to stand on the land your parents were from. And your mother built a fine place here. Is she here? I’d love to meet her.”
“Oh, she passed away a few years ago.”
“I’m sorry.”
Ophelia smiled gratefully. “Thank you. I feel like she’s with us every day, though. She taught me how to make her famous scones, and I make fresh cream in the morning to go with them.”
“Oh, I’m going to like you, Ophelia Bishop.”
“Not too much, I hope.”
Aidan turned his head. The man at the bottom of the stairs regarded him with a mixture of amusement and warning, a look that claimed his woman with no apologies. Aidan grinned. Ophelia was an interesting woman, but there were no sparks. Hell, even if there’d been any, he never encroached on committed relationships.
“I’m strictly interested in the scones,” he said.
Ophelia rolled her eyes. “Really, Kyle? The poor man just checked in and you’re already beating your chest like some ape?”
“Baby, I prefer the visual of a sleek predator just reminding another alpha what the deal is.”
Aidan choked on a laugh while Ophelia crossed her arms in front of her chest and glared at Kyle. “We’re not in the Bronx Zoo.” She turned back, her smile gracious and her face smoothed out. “I apologize, Mr. O’Connor. My husband is new at greeting guests properly. He may need further training.”
Kyle leaned against the railing and winked. “I think you’re right. The one-on-one lessons work best.”
Hmm . . . a married couple who still seemed crazy about each other. A good fight was as much fun as a good tumble in bed, at least in Aidan’s opinion. The air crackled between them, but he knew Irish women well, and he’d bet this one didn’t surrender easily.
She tossed her head, her red hair glinting like a matador’s cloak. “I’m glad you think so, because I signed you up for a class at the Culinary Institute in hospitality service. You’ll be quite busy for the next few weeks. I heard they give tons of heavy instructions and homework.”
Kyle’s shocked face was enough entertainment to make Aidan’s day. The lass ignored her husband’s bubbling protests and pressed a key into their guest’s palm with a bright smile. “Up the stairs, fourth door on the left. I’m here twenty-four seven if you have any questions. I hope you have a wonderful stay.”
“Thank you, I think I will.” This time, he was prepared and faster—snatching his bag up before she could protest. He headed toward the stairs, shooting Kyle a sympathetic look, man to man, but damned if his mood hadn’t improved in just the few moments of being here.
Aidan walked down the hall, his muscles finally relaxing, when the voice inside him rose up and whispered slyly in his ear.
Something is coming. You better be ready.
He gritted his teeth and wished to hell he’d never listened to the voice when he was a young boy. Yes, it had helped forge a career he loved. But it had also ripped his life away, leaving him to pick up all the pieces and wonder if they could even be put back together.
Pissed off, he entered his room and answered the voice.
Fuck you. I’m done.
After that, it was quiet.
Chapter Two
Harper strode into the barn, wiping her forehead with the back of her hand before realizing she’d only managed to spread the mud to her face. Ugh, what a morning. She was dirty, sweaty, and a bit pissy—the perfect trifecta.
She dropped the saddle and bridle on the cluttered table and made her way down the stalls, her boots crushing stray debris and clutter that had no business in her barn. Ridiculous. The place was a mess, and she’d specifically told Owen his main job was to keep her barn clean. Drawing in a deep breath for patience, she suddenly stilled as the smell hit her a few seconds after her boot settled into a pile of mush.
She’d just stepped in horseshit.
As if sensing her bad mood, a few of the horses whinnied, sticking out their noses for a stroke or a loose tongue for a carrot.
“Sorry, guys,” she said with a sigh. “Not sure I’ll be able to ride today. We’re still shorthanded, and our new helper is more interested in his phone than cleaning up the stalls.”
She hopped outside and dragged her boot across the grass. She noted a loose latch on the outside gate, the messy spill of weeds encroaching on her paved lot, and a thousand other tasks she’d never be able to get to in twenty-four hours. After a few more swipes and a mental note to wash her boot off with the hose, she perused the whiteboard posted with horseback-riding appointments and checked the voice mail messages that had piled up in the past few hours.
Her heart beat faster as she listened to a potential buyer for Little Foot, a tame little filly perfect for the buyer’s son. The rescue needed a family of regular riders to flourish, not a revolving door of bed-and-breakfast guests and workouts from the employees. Unfortunately, by the time she got to the thirteenth message, the buyer had backed out of the deal because Harper hadn’t called her back, so she’d gone and bought another horse from a different farm.