CHAPTER FOUR

Kaitlyn lay across the couch and yawned. She wasn’t ready to head to bed just yet. Not when there was so much to do. She pulled her sketchbook toward her and stared down at the basic layout of the house. It was two stories with the main entrance opening into a formal living room. To the right was the sitting room, where she was now, and to the left was a dining area. The B&B had five guest rooms upstairs and living quarters for the host on the first floor.

Most curious was the first-floor ballroom. What had her grandparents done with a ballroom? She never remembered seeing it when she’d come to visit as a child but those were very brief trips hallmarked by smiley face pancakes, piggyback rides, and Grandpa Henry reading her books by the fireplace.

Kaitlyn drew a question mark in the box on the inn’s layout that represented the ballroom. She’d keep that room closed off for now. Any guests that came to visit didn’t need to go there. All they needed were their own rooms, which she’d already started preparing. The rooms didn’t feel quite as romantic as she wanted them to yet. Grandma Mable had made them cozy enough but Kaitlyn wanted to make each one unique and unforgettable. She envisioned guests wanting to come again to experience a different room.

With another yawn, she traded her sketchbook for her laptop and settled it over her thighs. Then she opened a browser and searched for romantic interior designs on Pinterest. She’d always gained inspiration from what others had done before her. “Why reinvent the wheel?” one of her professors had liked to ask in college. “Just redecorate it.” Kaitlyn liked that philosophy. She’d loved everything about interior design school. Being there had only solidified her desire to create beauty in her environment.

Scrolling down the Pinterest search page, she looked for something that would catch her eye and then froze when she came across a design she’d done for Bradley Foster. With her design firm, she’d worked for lots of important people in New York—mayors, athletes, newscasters, business executives. But Bradley was her first celebrity job. Designing a room for him had been a dream come true. A step in the right direction for her career, or so she’d thought.

A sick feeling slithered through her stomach as she stared at his image. Being an action movie hero, he didn’t lack for muscles. He had dark hair and eyes that could intimidate any bad guy on-screen and make any female with one good eye swoon. Heck, his good looks aside, the man’s voice had enough appeal to attract the opposite sex from one end of the world to the other.

Below his photograph was a picture of a majestic-looking living room that Kaitlyn had helped design. Most clients didn’t get involved with the details of the work but Bradley had. He was always there, and at first, it was exciting. Then there was a moment when she’d thought Bradley might try to kiss her while working on that front room pictured on the computer screen, but she’d diverted his attention. She wasn’t romantically interested in Bradley Foster, world-famous movie star or not. For one, he was married with kids. He was just getting carried away from being in such close quarters, she’d reasoned, making excuses for him and putting it out of her mind. But his advances had only escalated after that. He’d hired her for another job, and she’d agreed because it was the opportunity of a lifetime. How could she possibly say no to Bradley Foster?

Kaitlyn closed her laptop with a huff. She was done with this walk down memory lane. She needed every bit of her energy—physical, mental, and emotional—to get the Sweetwater Bed and Breakfast up to par on a nickel-and-dime budget. And that meant not letting herself get sidetracked by thinking about her ex-client.

Or by drooling over Mitch.

*  *  *

Christmas music floated through the overhead speakers at the local hardware store as Mitch headed inside. Really? It was barely November. Plus, there was no need to put shoppers in a gift-buying frame of mind here. All he needed was a chimney brush and some pipe extensions to check off yet another item on Kaitlyn’s to-do list.

On his way through the aisles, he also grabbed a couple of large tarps to cover the living room, a pair of goggles, and a face mask to keep him from inhaling any smut or ash.

As he was heading to the checkout, he heard someone call his name.

“Last-Ditch Mitch!”

A groan settled deep in his throat. He hated that nickname. Turning, he saw Tucker Locklear grinning at him. Looking at his longtime friend, Mitch wouldn’t know that the last couple of years had been rough on him, losing his wife Renee. The only clue was the dark telltale shadows under Tuck’s eyes that even his Cherokee Indian complexion couldn’t hide.

“Hey, man. I thought the lighting in here was playing tricks on me,” Tuck said as he approached.

Mitch shook his head and then Tuck’s hand. “No, I’m home for a while.”

“Yeah? How long?” Tuck was a physical therapist now, which was fitting because, as an adrenaline junkie, Tuck knew injuries and how to treat them. He’d likely strained or broken every muscle and bone in his body over the years.

“I’m helping the Russos’ granddaughter fix up the B and B for business.”

Tuck’s brow lowered. “Really? I thought that place was closed now that Mable has passed. I’m sorry about that, by the way. I know you thought a lot of her.”

“Thanks.” Mitch folded his arms at his chest, applying pressure to the ache there. He did miss Mable, more than he wanted to let on. Henry too. That old couple had been as good as family to him. “I actually inherited half the business,” Mitch confided. He hadn’t even told his own mother yet. If he wasn’t careful, she’d find out from someone in town before he got to tell her himself. That wouldn’t be ideal for either of them.

“Wow. That’s great, man. So you’re going to run a bed and breakfast now that you’re out of the corps? Is that the plan?”

“Not a chance,” Mitch said without hesitation. “Can you see me baking cookies and playing nice with difficult guests?”

“I don’t know.” Tuck shrugged a shoulder. “Your muscles are a tad oversized and maybe a little intimidating but you’re nothing but a big bear, in my opinion. I think you’d be good at it.”

Mitch narrowed his eyes. “Not happening.”

Tuck grinned wide. “So, at least a couple weeks, huh?”

“Something like that.”

“Great. I’ll call Alex and set up a night for us all to catch up. Maybe a case of beer over at the bluffs for old times’ sake.”

“That’s still illegal,” Mitch pointed out.

“True. And since you and Alex are both law enforcement now, I guess we’ll just knock a few back at the Tipsy Tavern.”

Mitch nodded. He and Alex had always wanted to be police officers growing up. They’d both been junior cadets in high school and had planned to attend police academy together. After the accident though, Mitch had needed the quick ticket out of Sweetwater Springs that the military recruiter had offered him. He’d achieved his dream of working in law enforcement by becoming a military police officer while Alex had stayed local.

“Did you hear that Skip runs the tavern these days? His Uncle Jake retired and handed over the reins,” Tuck continued, oblivious to Mitch’s mental sidetrack.

“Skip Mazer runs a bar?” Mitch asked, blinking his old friend back into focus. One Christmas tune in the background switched out for another as Tuck slapped a hand on his back.

“See what happens when you stay away too long? Everything changes.”

Not everything.

“I’ll bring you up to speed when we go out.” Tuck started to walk away and then jabbed a finger in Mitch’s direction. “I have your number, and you better answer. I can get Alex to put out an APB on you if you don’t.”

“Hanging out sounds good. I’ll answer,” Mitch promised, offering a wave and continuing toward the checkout again. A night of drinks with his old friends would be fun, he told himself. Catching up on the goings-on in Sweetwater Springs would also be good. There was never a risk of running into one of the Eversons at the tavern. Most of them were too good to hang out with the locals. At least that was Mitch’s perception. Except for his former classmate Brian Everson, who’d always been a nice guy.

Mitch got in line and shifted back and forth on his feet, trying not to let the guilt settle in around him like it usually did when he thought about Brian. The sweet holiday music compounded his agitation and chipped away at his patience as he waited in line. Bah humbug.

After finally purchasing his items, he climbed into his truck and drove to the B&B, where Kaitlyn was on a ladder leaning against the large wraparound front porch. She was at least ten feet off the ground.

Cursing under his breath, he pushed open the driver’s side door and headed over. “What do you think you’re doing?” he barked.

She whipped her head around to face him and squeaked as she momentarily lost her balance. Her body swayed in the air.

Mitch’s reflexes were primed. He took off running toward her and anchored the ladder as it shifted.

“You scared me to death!” she accused, white-knuckling the ladder’s rungs.

“Well, you shouldn’t be up there. Especially when there’s no one here to help if you get in trouble.”

“I was doing just fine until you shouted at me, thank you very much.”

He closed his eyes and took a steadying breath. One hardheaded female wasn’t enough in his life, apparently. Now he had both his mom and Kaitlyn Russo to deal with. “Please come down,” he said, tempering his frustration.

“I’m not done yet.”

“Done doing what?”

“There are a bunch of branches on the roof of the veranda.”

He followed her gaze and noticed that the second-story windows were open too. Wreaths now hung on each one. He imagined her dangling out the windows to hang them. A low growl emitted from his throat. “There are a dozen things to take care of and you decide to hang Christmas wreaths? It’s still two months away.”

“I found the box of wreaths when I was in the storage building getting the ladder,” she explained. “And it’s only seven weeks away. Christmas will be here before you know it.”

He could only pray that was true as his hands anchored the ladder. Because the sooner the holiday got here, the sooner he could leave.

He looked back up where he had the perfect view of her perfect backside. A surge of unruly, unwanted attraction curled through him.

“You can let go. I’m not going to fall, you know. Unless you start yelling at me again.” She glared down at him.

He hesitated before stepping away. “I didn’t yell. I was concerned. Now, please come down. I’ll get the branches myself.” His shoulders relaxed as she started to do as he asked. She traveled down two rungs and then missed the third and her body went into free fall—straight into his ready arms.

He gripped her against him. “I got you,” he said, noticing how wide her brown eyes had become. And how delicious she smelled, like a rose garden in bloom. “If I hadn’t been here, you’d be laid up on the couch for the rest of the week.”

“I don’t have time for that.” She didn’t move to get out of his hold on her though. Not immediately. Resting against his chest, her face was dangerously close to his. They spoke in quiet voices because they were only inches apart. Close enough to lean in and kiss her, if he wanted to. And yeah, there was some foolish part of him that thought that was an excellent idea.

“How do the wreaths look?” she asked.

His gaze shifted momentarily. “Like you could’ve broken your neck putting them up.”

She smiled, and that spoke to the foolish part of him that desperately wanted to taste those lips. Therefore, the only reasonable thing to do was put her down and take a step back, which he did, quickly and efficiently.

“The front of the house is the first thing people see when they pass by,” she explained. “First impressions are everything.”

“How about this? From here on out, you take care of the inside of the house, and I’ll manage things out here,” he said.

“Okay. There are plenty more things to do in the guest rooms. But I might need your help with a few of them.”

“You got it. And next time you decide to climb up on the roof, don’t.” Not unless he was here to catch her, because he wouldn’t mind holding her in his arms again. What the hell was wrong with him?

He watched her stubborn chin tip up and fully expected those plump lips of hers to spout off something smart.

Instead, she whirled on her heel, turning her back to him. “Don’t fall,” she called back to him. But her tone of voice made him wonder if she wouldn’t mind seeing him bust his butt.

Mitch worked steadily until dark and then stepped inside to say good night. He purposefully walked with heavy feet on the hardwood floors to make his presence known. Kaitlyn had proved to be a little jumpy since he’d met her. Granted, her first impression of him had been to think he was an intruder. But every time he’d rounded a corner over the last week, she’d seemed to stiffen.

She turned to acknowledge him. “Hey.”

She had soft music streaming in from an old-time radio off to the side of the room. Thankfully, not Christmas tunes. A few of the tarps he’d gotten earlier were scattered on the floor along with a couple cans of paint.

“I found the paint and brushes in the laundry room closet. What do you think of the color?”

His gaze settled on the soft yellow of the walls. “It looks great. You did all this while I was outside?” he asked, winning a smile from her.

“It still needs a second coat but it’s amazing what a difference a little paint can make.”

“Seems so.”

“I also named a few of the guest rooms while I worked.”

He lifted a brow. “Have you been sniffing the paint too?”

She laughed. “All the guest rooms are going to be named after a famous couple in books or the movies. The whole room will have a theme to match.”

“I think that’s a great idea. Who do you have so far?”

She set her paintbrush in the roller tray and wiped her hands on the apron she was wearing. Then she ticked off her responses on her fingers. “I’m starting with my favorites. Anne of Green Gables and Gilbert Blythe. Scarlett and Rhett.”

“Good ones,” he said.

“Those are both books that were made into movies, so two birds with one stone. I was thinking Scarlett and Rhett’s room could have a Deep South décor. There is actually some Civil War–era furniture here that I can relocate to that room.”

“I’ll help you with moving furniture,” he said, enjoying how her whole face lit up as she talked about her ideas. Her passion was evident. “Any other couples?” he asked.

“Just one more right now.” She pulled her lower lip between her teeth. “Baby and Johnny.”

He shook his head, trying to figure out who she was talking about.

She gave him a look of total disbelief. “Oh, come on. From Dirty Dancing.”

“Oh, right.” He nodded. “Let me guess. That room will have a sixties vibe.”

She grinned. “Wouldn’t that be fun?”

“It would.”

“Any other suggestions for me?”

He scratched his chin beneath his beard. “I prefer action movies,” he said, noting how her smile wilted just slightly. He guessed she stuck strictly to romance. “Also nonfiction books. The books I read don’t really talk about well-known couples. How about I handle the repairs and you do all the decorating, including naming the guest rooms?”

She nodded, smiling easily again. “Seems like we make a good team.”

He was usually more of a solo kind of guy. As an MP, he’d never had a partner, unless one counted his police dog, which he did. Scout was retired a few months before Mitch got out of the corps. The lucky canine now lived with a nice civilian family, hopefully spending his days chewing bones and barking at birds.

“Yeah,” Mitch said, knowing he should say his goodbye and walk out the front door. Instead, he stared at Kaitlyn for a moment longer. She was marked with paint and beaming with creative energy. Seeing her in her element unhinged something inside him. There was nothing more attractive than a woman having fun. It made him want to stay and have fun with her.

Bad idea.

He cleared his throat. “Okay, well, I’ll see you in the morning. Don’t climb any tall ladders while I’m gone,” he teased, and then grinned as her mouth dipped into a playful frown.

“I won’t. And come hungry. I’ll have breakfast and coffee waiting for you.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I figure I better get used to serving others. I’ll practice on you.”

When she put it that way, it was hard for him to say no.

*  *  *

Kaitlyn had been up since five thirty. She’d grabbed a few groceries the day before, hoping they’d last a week, but she’d already burned the toast, twice, and was on her second batch of scrambled eggs because the first batch had been a disgusting mush.

She glanced at the clock above the stove. Mitch would be here any minute. She pulled a cast-iron frying pan to one of the vacant burners and began placing sliced bacon inside.

“You’re supposed to wait until it’s hot first,” a voice said, coming up behind her.

She jumped and whirled in one simultaneous motion while also pulling a hand to her chest. “You snuck up on me!” she snapped, suddenly buzzing with adrenaline.

Mitch stopped for a moment, giving her an unreadable expression, and then stepped beside her. “You should lock the doors.”

“I did last night but I guess I left it unlocked when I went out to get the newspaper this morning.”

He surveyed her breakfast display. “You didn’t cook the eggs long enough. It helps to add a little milk if you want them fluffy. Maybe put in some shredded cheese for flavor too. Did you add salt?”

She pressed her lips together. “I grew up with two working parents. They were always in a rush so breakfast was usually a Pop-Tart on the way to school.”

The corner of his mouth twitched. “I would’ve given my right arm for a Pop-Tart. They were too expensive. Our neighbors had chickens and gave us eggs in exchange for my mom doing odd jobs for them. So that’s what we had every morning.”

He took a commanding step closer, causing her to move aside. Then he began lifting the bacon off the pan and placing it on a napkin. He adjusted the dial from high to medium heat.

She watched him work, taking mental notes and trying not to let her emotions get in the way. So she wasn’t a fantastic cook—yet. She’d learn. She’d do whatever it took. How hard could cooking for a house full of guests be?

“Eggs, bacon, what else?” he asked, grabbing a mixing bowl from one of the cabinets. He expertly cracked several eggs with one hand.

“What do you mean what else?”

“Well, if I were a guest, this wouldn’t be enough. You usually want a starch as well. Mable was famous for her made-from-scratch biscuits but I don’t expect you to tackle that.”

Kaitlyn shoved her hands on her hips. “Why not?”

“No offense. Mable used to say it took her the better part of a decade to get them right. It’s not fancy but you could serve grits.”

Kaitlyn wrinkled her nose, which made him chuckle. It was a reserved, quiet sound that reverberated through her. She liked it and suddenly longed to hear it again.

“You are definitely not from the South, are you?” He splashed some milk with the egg yolks and beat them with a wire whisk that he’d located in a drawer beside the stove.

She was amazed at his cooking skills. A man who knew his way around a kitchen was a definite turn-on. And a woman who didn’t…probably not so much.

“Did my grandmother teach you how to cook?” she asked.

He looked almost apologetic as he nodded. “Yep. She ran the gamut with her meals. Sometimes she offered up a simple country sampler breakfast like this one. Other times, she treated guests to gourmet omelets and pastries. She was a talented chef.”

“And you know how to make her famous made-from-scratch biscuits?”

“I’ll teach you,” he said. “Mable tended to exaggerate. It only took me a couple years to master her biscuits.” He winked in Kaitlyn’s direction.

Her insides turned mushier than her eggs. “Hopefully it won’t take me that long to master them.” She needed to learn fast, before the guests started making reservations and Mitch left. “I’m expecting customers to start booking after next week. Josie told me that the magazine hits stands and mailboxes a couple weeks before each new month.”

She stepped aside and watched as Mitch took over preparing the bacon and eggs. Then he set a saucepan of water to boil and retrieved a cream-colored bag from the pantry. “You can’t move south and not love grits. I’ll make them, and you’ll wonder where you’ve been all your life.”

She folded her arms across her chest, watching him work. “I’ve been in New York having my food delivered. I have all my favorite places on speed dial.”

“Well, today is the day you’ll learn the art of making breakfast, the most important meal of the day,” he said, measuring out the contents of the bag of grits.

Twenty minutes later, they sat down together at one of the dining room tables with full plates. The aroma wafted under her nose and made her mouth water. So did the man in front of her. She’d been snuffing out little fires in her belly ever since he’d entered her kitchen this morning. Ever since he’d walked into the B&B a week ago.

She picked up her fork and stabbed at a fluffy lump of perfectly golden eggs. “Long jog this morning?” she asked, making small talk. There was something about that strong, silent alpha vibe Mitch had going that made her uncharacteristically nervous. She could usually talk to anyone. But the man sitting across the table had her stomach fluttering and her tongue leaden.

“Only about seven miles.”

She choked on the lump of eggs that she’d just forked into her mouth.

Everything in Mitch seemed to stiffen as he watched her. She held up a hand to ward him off, guessing he was about two seconds away from hopping over the table and performing the Heimlich. And while the thought of his arms wrapped around her again was appealing, having her breakfast fly across the room in front of him was not.

“I’m fine,” she choked out. She took a drink from her glass of orange juice. “Just surprised that you jogged so far.”

“You wouldn’t believe how good it feels when you’re done. Better than sex.”

She started to choke again. “You…did not just say that,” she said on a laugh.

A smile crept through his angled features. “Sorry. I’m used to being around a bunch of marines, I guess.”

“Well, if you’re going to be helping me with the B and B, you can’t talk to the guests like they’re marines.”

“I’ll just try not to talk to them at all. I’m good at flying under the radar.”

She raised both brows. “I’ve noticed. You’ve been sneaking up on me ever since we met.” She bit into a piece of salty bacon, chewed, and swallowed. “You said your mom still lives in town?”

He nodded while continuing to eat. “Yep.”

“What about your dad?”

His fork paused momentarily. “He died when I was nine.”

Her heart broke a little for him. “I’m sorry. That must’ve been hard for you.”

“It was. And watching my mom work two jobs to make sure we had what we needed was hard too.”

“Is that why you’re so set on leaving again?” She regretted asking as soon as the question had come out of her mouth. It was none of her business why he wanted to leave. He’d agreed to the stipulations of the will, and that’s all she needed to know.

“It’s more complicated than that,” he said after a long moment. “Sweetwater Springs represents my past. Not my future.”

“I see.”

“My turn to ask questions,” he said, locking her gaze and holding it captive.

“Okay.”

“Who hurt you?”

She nearly choked again. “Excuse me?”

“Every time I walk into the room, you stiffen. Why?”

Her heart was beating fast now. Thanks to Bradley Foster, she was jumpy. He hadn’t gotten what he’d wanted but he’d still taken something from her. Her trust. “No one. I’m fine,” she lied, pulling her gaze to her plate. But she had every intention of making that lie a truth. Her nerves would eventually settle. Her memories of Bradley’s hands on her would soon fade—hopefully.

Mitch didn’t speak again until she looked back up at him. “You don’t have to worry about me,” he said in a quiet voice, his eyes steady and sincere.

She nodded. “I know.”

“A friend of mine says I’m just a big bear.” The hard angles of his face softened as he smiled.

Her insides turned to mushy eggs again. “Well, I’ll try not to poke you.”

One of his eyebrows shot up, and heat flooded her cheeks. That comment had unintentionally sounded sexual. The entire vibe between her and Mitch was unintentionally sexual, and that’s what she had to worry most about with him. He was temporary, and she wasn’t looking for a relationship. It wasn’t the right time in her life to get romantically involved. She had a life to reconstruct, one room at a time.