Matched by Moonlight Page 5

  “Am I interrupting a celebration?” Dan asked from the stairs.

  Bonnie giggled, but Kinley transitioned smoothly into business mode. “Dan and I are going to the cafe for lunch. Do you want to join us, Bonnie?”

  “Thanks, but I have things to do here. If you need anything or have any questions for me later, Dan, I’ll be around.”

  “Thank you. My room is very comfortable, by the way. You’ve done a great job decorating.”

  Bonnie’s face turned pink with pleasure. The way to her sister’s heart was definitely through compliments to the inn, Kinley thought with a slight frown. It didn’t hurt, of course, that the nice words came from a totally sexy guy.

  She cleared her throat and motioned toward the side door. “We’ll have to go out this way. Bonnie, I have my phone if you need me.”

  “I’ll take care of things here. You just go enjoy your lunch with Dan.”

  Something in Bonnie’s tone made Kinley eye her suspiciously, but her sister merely gave her a blandly innocent smile in return. With a slight shake of her head, Kinley led their guest outside, determined to remain in control of this somewhat hectic day.

  The chill of the spring morning had been replaced by a pleasant warmth fanned by a slight breeze that tossed Kinley’s hair around her face the moment she stepped out onto the side porch. She reached up to tuck a strand behind her ear, then pushed the sleeves of her light cardigan above her elbows. As always, she wore stylish but comfortable shoes, so the half-mile distance to the cafe wasn’t a concern when she asked, “Shall we walk or drive? Or we keep a half dozen loaner bicycles available for guests if you prefer to bike.”

  “Whichever you prefer,” Dan replied gallantly.

  “Let’s walk, then. It’s such a pretty day.” And she could use the exercise to clear her mind, she thought. For some reason, she had a little trouble thinking clearly when he looked at her with those strikingly blue eyes.

  Chapter Three

  As he and Kinley walked past the front of the inn on the way to lunch, Dan saw that some progress had been made in the repairs to the portico even during the relatively short time since he had arrived. The truck had been moved and the sagging portico had been jacked up to level again. A weathered-looking man who appeared to be in his late forties or early fifties, wearing faded, hard-used jeans and a stained gray T-shirt that displayed strong arms and a beer belly, balanced on a ladder, carefully reattaching dislodged gingerbread trim. A younger, thinner man in a Virginia Tech T-shirt and baggy shorts waited at the base of the ladder with a toolbox. Logan Carmichael stood nearby, talking on his phone.

  Logan completed the call as Kinley and Dan passed, shoving his phone into a belt holster and speaking gruffly to his sister. “The new post is on the way. Hank had a spare available, as I thought. Everything will be back in place in time for the wedding rehearsal tomorrow evening.”

  “That’s great news,” his sister said with relief. She motioned toward Dan. “We’re going for lunch. Want to join us?”

  Dan wasn’t surprised when Logan shook his head. “I’m going to finish up here with Curtis and Zach.”

  Kinley nodded as though she, too, had expected that reply. “Okay, see you later.”

  Logan had already turned away to get back to work. Shaking her head slightly in an apparent response to her brother’s brusqueness, Kinley fell into step beside Dan on the driveway toward the road. There was no sidewalk to the cafe, but the paved road was wide enough for pedestrian safety and dead-ended at the inn, so there was little traffic. Spring-flowering trees and native bushes grew on the hillsides along the roadway, and the sky above had deepened to a rich, cloudless blue. Dan couldn’t have special-ordered a nicer day for a leisurely walk with the oh-so-interesting Kinley Carmichael.

  He’d noticed the Bride Mountain Cafe on his drive up to the inn earlier. The diner was on the smaller side, nondescript in architectural style, but sparkling windows and fluttering green canopies gave it a welcoming appearance. It looked clean and inviting, with enough cars in the tidy lot to demonstrate its popularity with the locals. It also couldn’t hurt that the next closest eating establishment was probably a good three miles away, he thought.

  The cafe was busy, but not overly crowded on this Thursday lunch hour, so he and Kinley were seated immediately. She seemed to know everyone who worked there and several of the other diners, as she was greeted by name with smiles and waves. A thirtysomething woman with intricately styled hair and warm, dark chocolate eyes, wearing a plastic tag engraved with the name Mary, handed them each a menu.

  Kinley introduced him to the server, then asked, “Is Liza here? I want Dan to meet her.”

  “No, she had to leave for a little while. She had an appointment in town,” Mary replied. “I’ll give y’all a couple of minutes to look at the menu and then I’ll be back for your orders. Not that you need to look at the menu,” she added with a wink for Kinley. “I imagine you have it memorized.”

  “Pretty much,” Kinley agreed with a laugh. She looked across the table at Dan when the server moved to another group of customers. “Liza Miller owns the cafe. She’s a good friend. I hope you have a chance to meet her while you’re staying at the inn.”

  “I’m sure I’ll be back here in the next day or two. I’ll introduce myself to her if you aren’t with me, and I’ll definitely mention the diner when I write the article.”

  His words obviously pleased her. She explained that Bride Mountain Cafe was best known for its soup-and-sandwich combos, and everything was made in-house, even the bread. The cafe was open for lunch and early dinner, from eleven until eight Monday through Saturday. “Though we serve only breakfast at the inn most days, we provide a big brunch and a light supper on Sundays,” she added. “Between our schedule and the cafe hours, our guests can enjoy every meal without getting into a car, if they like.”

  His mouth quirked into a half smile in response to her practiced spiel. “You’ve thought of every detail, haven’t you?”

  She seemed oblivious to his irony. “We certainly try.”

  Glancing at the menu again, he asked, “What do you recommend?”

  “I really like the chicken tortilla soup with a quesadilla, which is today’s special. My brother is partial to the loaded-baked-potato soup with a Virginia ham sandwich. Bonnie loves the minestrone with the eggplant-and-artichoke panini. Honestly, you can’t really go wrong. It’s all good.”

  Dan had listened attentively to her recitation. When she finished, he said, “You actually have memorized the menu, haven’t you? You sounded like a radio ad.”

  She frowned just a bit, as if trying to decide if he was making fun of her. He wasn’t mocking her, of course, but he couldn’t help teasing her a little, just to try to coax her out of that strictly business mode she seemed to fall into so naturally.

  Quickly smoothing her expression, she gave him a bland smile. “All entirely sincere, I assure you. I wouldn’t eat here so often if I didn’t genuinely enjoy the food.”

  “And you wouldn’t have brought me here if you didn’t think I’d like it, too.” He had no doubt that her invitation to lunch had been as much a marketing move as a gracious one.

  “Um, right.”

  Only when they’d ordered and their food had been served did Kinley get around to asking something she’d probably been wondering all morning. “So how did you end up arriving here a day early?”

  He chuckled. “Long story. Short version is, I drove up from Atlanta to Charlotte yesterday expecting to spend at least part of today interviewing a museum curator in Charlotte. That interview fell through at the last minute. I woke up in a particularly uncomfortable motel bed at five this morning and decided on impulse to make the drive to the inn. As I said earlier, I figured I’d either spend an extra night at the inn or find a room nearby until my scheduled arrival time. I’m glad you had a room for me. The bed looks a heck of a lot more comfortable than the one I tried to sleep in last night.”

  “I hope it wi
ll be.” As if she were suddenly a bit too warm, she pushed up her sleeves. “If there’s anything at all you need to make your stay more pleasant, please let us know.”

  “You’re certainly making it very pleasant so far,” he said, unable to resist adding a smile just a touch too personal to be considered strictly business. Maybe she already sensed he was attracted to her. Was it strictly wishful thinking on his part that she was aware of him in that way, too?

  His instincts were usually pretty good in that regard, but Kinley was a bit hard to read. She was so intensely, almost amusingly, focused on presenting a positive spin for his article. And even though he told himself to follow her lead and keep his own feelings reined in, there was just something about her that tempted him to forget he was with her only on assignment for his job.

  “Congratulations on your new wedding booking, by the way.” He could still easily picture the jubilant, unself-conscious smile she’d exchanged with her sister when she’d closed the door behind the future wedding party, before she had realized he was there to see her. He’d like to see that carefree side of her again.

  “Thank you.” Setting down her tea glass, she picked up her soup spoon. “Are there any other questions I can answer for you now?”

  “A few.” There was quite a lot he’d like to know about her, but he’d content himself with a few random queries now.

  She nodded encouragingly. “Feel free.”

  He asked the first thing that popped into his head. “What’s your favorite color?”

  The faintest of frowns appeared between her tidily arched brows. “Moss green. The color we chose for the upstairs hallway of the inn, actually. Bonnie let me pick that one.”

  “Favorite candy?”

  “My sister’s homemade peanut brittle. She makes it sometimes for our guests to enjoy in the evenings around the game tables. We—”

  “Favorite musical group?”

  “I, uh—Black Lab.” She couldn’t seem to think of a way to turn that answer into a plug for the inn. “What do these questions have to do with—”

  “Which do you like better, football or soccer?”

  She laughed softly then, as if she couldn’t quite help doing so, and the musical sound was a nice reward for his persistence. “I grew up in Tennessee. So, football. Is there a point to this interrogation?”

  He flashed a grin at her. “Just checking to see if you’re always in business mode. So you do have outside interests?”

  “Of course.” She touched the corners of her mouth with her napkin. “But you aren’t here to write about me. My sister, brother and I are equal partners in the inn.”

  “One more personal question?”

  She eyed him warily. “That depends on what it is.”

  “Is there a Mr. Kinley?” The answer to this question, of course, was more relevant than his professional ethics to whether he would continue flirting with her. He might be somewhat lax in his work habits, especially compared with what he’d seen of Kinley thus far, but he wasn’t a jerk.

  “Not anymore, there isn’t.” She changed the subject with a firmness that told him there was a lot more to that story. “What else would you like to know about the inn?”

  Sensing the invisible barrier she’d just erected between them on that personal topic, he obligingly backed off. “Tell me more about the inn’s history. You said your mother’s uncle inherited it from his father, the original owner.”

  Looking relieved to be back on topic, Kinley nodded and spoke more comfortably. “Yes. My great-grandfather Finley had two sons, Leo and my mother’s father, Stuart. Stuart died when my mother was just a toddler. Her mother wasn’t interested in staying in Virginia, so she moved back to Tennessee to be closer to her own family. My grandmother remarried and settled down in the Knoxville area. She had two more children with no biological connection to the inn. Every summer during her childhood and teen years, my mother came back here to Virginia to stay with her paternal grandparents and with Uncle Leo and Aunt Helen, who were all running the inn together during that time. When Mom’s grandfather died, he left the inn to Uncle Leo, who had been running it almost exclusively for several years by that time.”

  “And your great-uncle, who had no children of his own, kept it in the family by leaving it to his niece’s kids when he passed.”

  She nodded in approval that he’d followed along. “Yes.”

  “It’s great that you have that connection to your family’s past. I’m sure your mother would have been very proud of what you and your sister and brother have accomplished in the past two and a half years.”

  He’d spoken somewhat artlessly and almost immediately second-guessed his words, hoping she didn’t take them as patronizing. But she seemed pleased, instead, by the sentiment, seeming to sense his sincerity.

  “I think she would be proud,” she said quietly. “Uncle Leo, too.

  Dan reached for his tea glass. “Must be a nice feeling. Knowing your parents are proud of you, I mean.”

  She cocked her head, and he wondered if she’d heard more in his offhanded comment than he’d intended to reveal. “Are your parents still living?”

  “Yes.” He saw no need to elaborate just then about his father’s rapidly failing health, nor to go into details about his strained relationship with them.

  “I’m sure they’re proud of you, too. After you contacted me, I read quite a few of your articles. You have a very nice way with words. It’s obvious that you work hard to bring the venues you’ve visited to life for your readers.”

  Her compliment pleased him more than it probably should have. His overachieving, overdemanding parents would beg to disagree with her reference to his hard work, but he was glad to hear her acknowledge that writing travel articles wasn’t quite the fluff job his folks considered it to be. He did work hard at crafting his articles, whether they focused on pretty wedding venues or Southern adventure vacations like white-water rafting or mountain biking. Maybe he preferred to be on a bike or in a kayak rather than talking about rose gardens and Queen Anne gazebos, but he put equal amounts of effort into the stories. He labored as diligently with those articles as he did with the novel he’d wanted to write for a long time, having just been waiting for what seemed like the right time to dedicate himself to completing the project.

  Because he wasn’t particularly comfortable discussing his complicated standing with his parents, he was rather relieved when Mary appeared at their table just then to collect their plates. “Did you save room for dessert? We make the best pies in the whole state.”

  “They do,” Kinley seconded. “I’m partial to fruit pies, myself, but their cream pies are especially popular with the majority of their customers.”

  Dan declined politely. “I’ll try the pie another time. I’m a little full right now.”

  “You should come back,” Mary encouraged with a big smile. “It’d be a shame if your article didn’t mention our famous pies.”

  “Then I’ll be sure and try a slice or two before I leave the area,” he promised.

  Kinley laid her napkin on the table. “I’ll take the check, Mary.”

  Mary placed the vinyl folder into Kinley’s open hand. “Did you tell your writer friend about the ghost?”

  Ghost? Intrigued, Dan lifted an eyebrow.

  Kinley made a little sound that might have been a swallowed protest. That tiny frown was back between her eyebrows. “We haven’t talked about any old legends of the area,” she said lightly. “That’s not really the type of story Dan is here to write.”

  Taking Kinley’s payment, Mary winked at Dan. “Ask her to tell you about the bride. There’s still a few folks around here that are fascinated by the old tale. Some even claim to have seen her. If you can’t get the story out of Kinley, come back tomorrow and I’ll tell you while you sample our pies.”

  “I’ll tell him about it.” Kinley pushed back her chair. “It’s just a fanciful old story, Dan. I doubt you’ll find it particularly interesting.”
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  “I’d like to hear it.” He rose as she did, speaking to Mary on the way out. “The food was delicious. I’ll definitely be back.”

  “I’m sure Liza would love to meet you. Bye, now. Y’all have a nice afternoon.”

  He recognized the middle-aged couple who entered the cafe as he and Kinley were leaving. They were guests at the inn. Honeymooners, he’d been told. He nodded to them as Kinley greeted them in passing, pausing long enough to recommend the tortilla soup and quesadilla combo. The cafe owner really should reimburse Kinley for her endorsements, he thought with a private smile. She was almost as enthusiastic about the cafe menu as she was the inn’s offerings. He hoped her friend Liza reciprocated the business plugs.

  “So about this ghost bride…” he said when they were headed back toward the inn.

  Kinley wrinkled her nose. “Like I said, it’s just an old legend. I’m not even sure when it started. Decades ago. Probably someone’s whimsical way of explaining the name of the mountain, since no one seems to know exactly when or why it got the name Bride Mountain. I’ve always suspected it evolved from the name of an early landowner. There are several McBride families found around this part of the country. Or maybe someone built an early house here for his bride and called it that. Or maybe someone thought the morning fog looked like a bridal veil around the top of the mountain. Who knows?”

  “The ghost?” he prodded gently, risking another frown.

  He got a faint sigh, instead. “Some people claim to have seen the spirit of a woman in bridal white on the mountain, usually on the grounds of the inn. Legend has it that couples who see her are destined to be together in a happily-ever-after union. Part ghost story, part fairy tale, right?”

  “Have many people claimed to see the woman in white?”

  She appeared to concentrate very hard on where she placed her steps as they trudged up the hill. “Not many. A few over the years.”

  “Anyone you know?”

  He heard her clear her throat before she answered. “Uncle Leo swore that he and Aunt Helen saw the bride the night he proposed to her in the rose garden behind the inn.”