The Welcoming Read Online Free PDF Page B

delightful offer, but I have to get back and set up for breakfast.” Struggling with the dog, she started off at what she hoped was a dignified walk. “I’ll let you know if I can squeeze in, say, fifteen minutes later.”
    “Charity?”
    She turned her head and aimed a cool look. “Yes?”
    “Your shoe’s untied.”
    She just lifted her chin and continued on.
    Roman grinned at her back and tucked his thumbs in his pockets. Yes, indeed, the woman had one hell of a walk. It was too damn bad all around that he was beginning to like her.
    ***
    He was interested in the tour group. It was a simple matter for Roman to loiter on the first floor, lingering over a second cup of coffee in the kitchen, passing idle conversation with the thick-armed Mae and the skinny Dolores. He hadn’t expected to be put to work, but when he’d found himself with an armful of table linens he had made the best of it.
    Charity, wearing a bright red sweatshirt with the inn’s logo across the chest, meticulously arranged a folded napkin in a water glass. Roman waited a moment, watching her busy fingers smoothing and tapering the cloth.
    “Where do you want these?”
    She glanced over, wondering if she should still be annoyed with him, then decided against it. At the moment she needed every extra hand she could get. “On the tables would be a good start. White on the bottom, apricot on top, slanted. Okay?” She indicated a table that was already set.
    “Sure.” He began to spread the cloths. “How many are you expecting?”
    “Fifteen on the tour.” She held a glass up to the light and placed it on the table only after a critical inspection. “Their breakfast is included. Plus the guests already registered. We serve between seven-thirty and ten.” She checked her watch, satisfied, then moved to another table. “We get some drop-ins, as well.” After setting a chipped bread plate aside, she reached for another. “But it’s lunch and dinner that really get hectic.”
    Dolores swooped in with a stack of china, then dashed out again when Mae squawked at her. Before the door had swung closed, the waitress they had passed on the road the day before rushed out with a tray of clanging silverware.
    “Right,” Roman murmured.
    Charity rattled off instructions to the waitress, finished setting yet another table, then rushed over to a blackboard near the doorway and began to copy out the morning menu in a flowing, elegant hand.
    Dolores, whose spiky red hair and pursed lips made Roman think of a scrawny chicken, shoved through the swinging door and set her fists on her skinny hips. “I don’t have to take this, Charity.”
    Charity calmly continued to write. “Take what?”
    “I’m doing the best that I can, and you know I told you I was feeling poorly.”
    Dolores was always feeling poorly, Charity thought as she added a ham-and-cheese omelet to the list. Especially when she didn’t get her way. “Yes, Dolores.”
    “My chest’s so tight that I can hardly take a breath.”
    “Um-hmm.”
    “Was up half the night, but I come in, just like always.”
    “And I appreciate it, Dolores. You know how much I depend on you.”
    “Well.” Slightly mollified, Dolores tugged at her apron. “I guess I can be counted on to do my job, but you can just tell that woman in there—” She jerked a thumb toward the kitchen. “Just tell her to get off my back.”
    “I’ll speak to her, Dolores. Just try to be patient. We’re all a little frazzled this morning, with Mary Alice out sick again.”
    “Sick.” Dolores sniffed. “Is that what they’re calling it these days?”
    Listening with only half an ear, Charity continued to write. “What do you mean?”
    “Don’t know why her car was in Bill Perkin’s driveway all night again if she’s sick. Now, with my condition—”
    Charity stopped writing. Roman’s brow lifted when he heard the sudden thread of steel in her voice. “We’ll talk about this later, Dolores.”
    Deflated, Dolores