Chapter Six

 

Ian had driven to LA to pick up the rose bushes and trees he planned for the patio area in back of the inn. Reece finished his homework at school and took the long ride with him. Traffic was horrendous on the way back with bumper to bumper crawling at times. Reece fell asleep about a half an hour ago with his earplugs still in his ears. His brother carried the iPod everywhere. When he pulled into the inn's parking lot, he didn't have the heart to wake him. After he unloaded the plants, he'd head home and usher Reece into the house and to bed.

The cool sea breeze felt wonderful after the heat of the day pounded down on him as he worked. He lowered the door to the truck bed and reached for the potted plant closest to him. He looked toward the inn and caught sight of his granddad ambling out to greet him with a large paper bag in his hand.

"You're late and I bet you're nothing short of famished. I packed two meals to go."

"Thanks, Granddad. Reece's asleep in the front seat, but once I wake him, I'm sure he'll want to eat. I swear I don't know where he puts it all."

"A teenage lad's stomach is never full." His granddad chuckled. "I see you be forgetting that you were the same. Your mother would tell me she couldn't stock the cupboards fast enough for you."

Ian chuckled. "You're right, I do remember her complaining to Da." He placed the rosebush next to the potted plant. "Did the reporter you were expecting ever arrive?"

"Oh aye. She's staying on the second floor."

Ian paused and looked at his granddad. "She?"

"Didn't I tell you? A pretty lass, if I do say so myself." His hands jabbed into his pockets as he rocked on his feet.

He hadn't told him it was a woman reporter. His gaze turned toward the upper floor of the inn. For a moment he thought he caught a glimpse of someone looking out, but it must have been a trick of the light.

"She's going to be here until the end of the week," his granddad offered.

Good, Ian thought. It would give him a chance to question her. He couldn't help but wonder what kind of woman wrote for a paranormal magazine. Probably a social reject with nothing better to do than chase after Elvis' ghost or something just as silly.

"She's a smart one and a real looker," his granddad said as if he read his mind and wanted to correct his opinion of the reporter.

"Is that so?" His granddad tended to exaggerate and he gave him a leveled-eyed look.

"Oh aye." He nodded his head. "You'll know soon enough. I'll introduce you come tomorrow." His hand landed on his grandson's shoulder. "You go home now and get some shuteye. The dark circles under your eyes do nothing to flatter you. Don't want you scaring the poor lass."

Ian shook his head, his lips twitching at the corners. "I'm heading home now." He glanced back at the inn, where the light burned bright in the reporter's room. Good looking or not, he'd escort her out of the inn if she proved not to be legit.