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  “I don’t see the point. We’ve already had the funeral. She’s gone and she’s not coming back,” he said, sinking back down in his own chair. That enormous burden was weighing on Quinn. From the moment he’d received Michelle’s call saying their grandmother had passed away in her sleep, he’d felt like yelling or screaming or punching something. Of course, he hadn’t done any of those things, but the tension was continuously building inside him. Verbalizing that his grandmother was gone almost broke him.

  “She’ll always be here,” Sylvester said, clapping his shaking fingers over his heart. “You need to remember that.”

  Before Quinn could say anything else Raine had returned with the glass of water. Sylvester politely took a sip then waved both of them away as he struggled to stand. Raine stood closest to him now, and the old man touched a hand to her cheek. “You’ve got lots of love in you. Janet knew it and I can see it in your eyes. Don’t wait forever to share it.”

  He limped away, leaving Quinn and Raine to stare after him. “Who was that?” Raine asked in a conspiratorial whisper.

  “A friend of Gramma’s,” he answered simply even though he was thinking the man may have been more than a friend to their grandmother. She had definitely provided him with some sort of companionship, and he’d most likely reciprocated. That was something neither Quinn nor his siblings had done since leaving town years ago. Now he could add guilt to the storm of emotions reeling through him. He would give anything to turn back the clock to when he was in Seattle, sitting in his office reading the latest in stem cell research. He was in his element there, safe from all the bad memories that wanted to haunt him, safe from the pretty little Bay town of Sweetland.

  And definitely safe from the picture of the pretty woman with the curly hair that kept entering his mind.

  Chapter 2

  Just put one foot in front of the other. That’s what Nikki Brockington whispered to herself as she walked out of the house and to her car this morning. The sun was shining way too brightly considering they’d just buried one of the best people she’d ever known.

  Mrs. Cantrell had been Nikki’s mentor, her surrogate grandmother, and just an all-around nice person. She’d given Nikki guidance when she hadn’t wanted it, a swat on the butt when she needed it, and a shoulder to cry on when Nikki didn’t know it was a good cry that she needed. She’d been a huge part of Nikki’s life and now she was gone.

  When she’d awakened this morning, she’d rolled over onto her stomach, burying her face in her pillow and seriously considering staying right there. But as she thought about how she could possibly make it into The Silver Spoon where she worked as assistant manager, she heard Mrs. Cantrell’s voice just as clearly as if the woman had been standing at the foot of her bed.

  You’re gonna get up and put one foot in front of the other.

  Nikki shook her head. It couldn’t possibly be that easy.

  Especially not after last night. After what might just be one of the most embarrassing moments of her life.

  Maybe he’d be gone. None of the Cantrell siblings lived in Sweetland so there was a good chance they’d all packed up and headed out early this morning. No, the will was being read today so they’d still be there. Dammit!

  She would just ignore him, that’s what she’d do. She hadn’t seen him in years, hadn’t heard a word from him, not that she’d expected to. To Quinn she’d been his sister’s friend. To her, he’d been everything. A foolish girl’s dream. But Nikki wasn’t a foolish girl anymore.

  Of course some would say differently considering her track record, but she didn’t care. They could all think what they wanted; she knew who she was and what she wanted out of life. At least she did now, and that was thanks to Mrs. Cantrell. So she wasn’t about to let Quinn waltz into town and throw her off track.

  This morning would be the first Sunday she’d walk into The Silver Spoon and not hear Mrs. Cantrell singing hymns as she moved about the dining room preparing for breakfast. This morning could quite possibly be the last Sunday Nikki walked into The Silver Spoon, but that was a whole other can of worms she didn’t want to open right now.

  It was better to keep focused on the here and now, the things she could control. As the restaurant was an integral part of the B&B, all the guests were offered a continental breakfast, Monday through Friday, which was included in their room rental, and a generous buffet breakfast on Sundays. Nikki usually arrived just as the setup was complete. Michelle supervised the kitchen and made sure everything was brought out, remained hot, and tasted marvelous. Nikki’s job was to make sure everything ran smoothly, and no matter what she swore to do just that today.

  That was the thought on her mind as she pulled into the B&B’s side driveway.

  They had two couples in residence this weekend. Both would be checking out later today. She’d wanted to cancel them when Mrs. Cantrell had been found dead, but she’d spoken to Michelle and they were both convinced she wouldn’t have wanted to turn customers away. So upon their arrival she’d been sure to greet them herself. Natalie, the part-time clerk, usually checked in their guests, but she’d already been summoned to help her mother with the cooking. Whenever somebody died in Sweetland, all the ladies of the town began cooking. Cakes, pies, casseroles, biscuits, fried fish—you name it, they cooked it. Then brought it all to the house of the dearly departed, for their family to either feast or faint.

  Nikki told the guests of their loss and they were all very consoling, just before they headed out to enjoy their cruise on the Miles River. For the most part their weekend had been full of excursions, which had worked out well for Nikki and the Cantrells, because citizens of the town piled into the big yellow house immediately after yesterday’s burial. Now, today should be quiet. No more food would be brought; the family had one big meeting this morning then they’d most likely be heading out of town themselves. None of them liked Sweetland much, or at least that’s what Nikki figured since they’d all left the second they were old enough to do so.

  “Breakfast is right on schedule,” Michelle said to Nikki the moment she walked through the back door.

  It led directly into the kitchen of the beautiful old house and right into Michelle’s domain. Just last year it had been remodeled to further suit Michelle’s needs. The floors were a retro black-and-white check with gleaming black countertops and pristine white cabinets. All of the appliances were stainless steel, including the huge industrial stove and ovens that had been shipped from Annapolis. The color came with a quick flash, just like Michelle’s smiles usually did. Bright yellow eyelet curtains hung at the long stretch of windows just over the sink and at the back door. All the dish towels and cloths were yellow, and there was a huge yellow sunshine magnet on the side of the stainless-steel refrigerator, courtesy of Godfrey’s Market and the special they’d run last summer on Morningside Orange Juice.

  “The meeting with Mr. Creed is in another half hour. You should be heading into the parlor with the others,” Nikki said while dropping her keys into her purse.

  After she’d closed the door behind her—because hopefully the air-conditioning was running, since outside the humidity was already rising—Nikki hung her battered old leather bag on one of the huge white pegs near the basement door.

  “I’ve got time. My siblings are not morning people,” Michelle said, pouring apple juice into a shiny white carafe.

  They always used the Haviland china for breakfast. Its cute and colorful peony design had been Mrs. Cantrell’s favorite.

  “Tanya’s helping out this morning. She’s already in the dining room setting the buffet. And the Smiths have already come down.” Michelle continued clamping the top on the carafe and putting it on a tray with a pile of saucers and linen napkins.

  “Then I’ll go in to greet them. Henry’s already out doing the omelets, I presume,” Nikki stated, moving to the counter to take the tray before Michelle could lift it herself.

  With a slight frown Michelle nodded. “Yes, he’s already in
there. I should go in just to make sure he’s offering the crepes with all the toppings.”

  Nikki shook her head. “I’m sure he’s offering everything on our usual menu. Now, you take off that apron and head on into the parlor with your family.”

  Again Michelle frowned. “They’re probably all packed and ready to catch the first thing smoking out of town.”

  Nikki couldn’t help but take a moment. She stopped her procession to the dining room and looked at Michelle Cantrell, who had been born Mary Michelle Cantrell: It was customary for all firstborn females in Sweetland to carry the name Mary in honor of the wife of the town’s founder, Buford Fitzgerald. She was six years older than Nikki, but Nikki had known her forever. Nikki had been working closely with Michelle these past eleven years so the two of them kind of leaned on each other here and there. Right now was definitely a here-and-there moment.

  “You don’t know that. From what I’ve seen of them these past few days, they’re all shell-shocked right now. They don’t look like they know what to do or where to go for that matter.”

  Michelle shook her head. “You don’t know my siblings. They’re all too intelligent and too headstrong for their own good. They always know what they want and how to go about getting it. That’s why they never stayed in Sweetland.”

  “But they’re all back now. That’s something, isn’t it?” Nikki tried to sound optimistic for Michelle’s sake. She wasn’t sure how being back in Sweetland was going to help them keep the B&B.

  “Only because Gramma died,” Michelle continued. “Believe me, I’ve tried and tried to get them to come back before. They just hate it here.”

  “Did you tell them what’s going on?” Nikki asked.

  From the look Michelle gave her, she’d say the answer to that question was a resounding no.

  “They won’t care,” Michelle said with a huff. “It’s not their responsibility.”

  Nikki strongly disagreed, but wisely kept her two cents to herself.

  “Go on.” Michelle waved her away. “Take that out there before Tanya comes back here screaming that we’ve run out. I swear that girl’s as nervous as a baby chick.”

  Nikki laughed as she pushed through the swinging kitchen door that led directly into the dining room. “That’s why you’re the one in charge of training her. You’re the best mother hen around these parts.”

  The last had at least made Michelle smile. Nikki and some of the other staff at The Silver Spoon often joked with Michelle about being a mother hen to anyone who walked into this place. She’d gotten that honestly from Mrs. Cantrell. Two more caring and compassionate people, Nikki had never met.

  Immediately upon entering the dining room, she was assailed by the smell of breakfast food. It reminded her that she hadn’t eaten anything before leaving the house this morning—too busy convincing herself she needed to come to work, most likely. Two long buffet hutches sat permanently along one side wall. An eight-foot-long cherrywood table was in the center of the room with ornately designed chairs to match and the fifty-year-old Victorian lace tablecloth Mary Janet had received as a wedding present on top. Glasses, plates, silverware, and napkins were on a smaller hutch on the opposite wall. Straight to the back of the room was a set of bay windows with potted plants soaking up the morning sun.

  Nikki headed right to the buffet to replace the just-about-empty carafe of juice with the now-full one. They offered a choice of Grand Marnier blueberry cheese blintzes, caramel French toast, made-to-order omelets and crepes with all the freshest toppings, eggs Benedict, cheese grits, Belgian waffles, and the area’s fluffiest pancakes. There was more by way of breakfast meats, bagels, and of course Michelle’s famous cheddar cheese biscuits. Nikki almost swooned she was so hungry.

  Mr. Sylvester walked in with his usual morning banter.

  “Good morning to all who were blessed to see another day,” he said in his crackly voice.

  Mr. Sylvester had been here for a few years now. He’d simply showed up one day, no reservation, and hadn’t left. Nikki got the impression, sometimes, that he was sweet on Mrs. Cantrell. She’d often wondered if Mrs. Cantrell had any idea.

  The Smiths—Robert and Laurie—both smiled over cups of coffee. Sylvester walked past them with a nod. He normally used a cane to get around, but didn’t lean on it much; sometimes Nikki thought he could actually go without it. This morning, however, without the cane, he would have surely fallen over. His eyes looked red-rimmed, like he’d already been crying. Instinctively Nikki reached out a hand to touch his shoulder.

  “How are you this morning, Mr. Sylvester?” she asked, knowing he wasn’t doing nearly as well as he planned to tell her.

  “I’m just fine, pretty lady. Just fine,” he said with another nod.

  He reached for a glass, and Nikki helped by pouring him some orange juice. He always had orange juice before his morning coffee.

  “That lawyer fella’s coming this morning,” he told her after two short sips.

  “I know.” She nodded, taking the napkins from the tray and placing them on the table. She offered the Smiths a smile as they continued eating. “Let me know if you need anything else,” she told them.

  “Gonna be something for those kids to hear, you know.”

  He was moving right behind her now, haltingly but still there. Nikki slowed her steps as she checked the dishes on the other side of the room and then moved to the windows to make sure the plants didn’t need any watering.

  “Well, we don’t know what’s in the will. And they’re adults. I think it’ll be okay,” she said even though she wasn’t totally sure. There was bound to be something in the will about the taxes that were owed on this property and the town council’s threat to foreclose if the bill wasn’t paid soon.

  Behind her she heard him clucking his teeth, something he did when he was about to go into a rant about the good old days, which Nikki did not have time for. She had some receipts to look over today, and then she’d have to help Tanya with the rooms as soon as both guests had checked out. The Cantrell siblings were staying in the remaining four rooms at the B&B. The twins, she thought, were sharing the biggest room, while the others had their own space and of course Michelle lived just down the street. Mr. Sylvester had the only first-floor room, which was toward the back of the house. It had once been a pantry, but Mrs. Cantrell had the contractors knock out the back wall of the house to extend it enough so that now it looked more like a one-bedroom apartment. She’d said it was meant for long-term guests—which turned out to be exactly what Mr. Sylvester was.

  “I think they’re all in for a surprise,” Sylvester told her.

  He was trying to keep his voice low, but it wasn’t working too well. The best Nikki could do was steer them away from the table and the ears of their guests.

  She turned around and almost knocked him over. “Whoops, excuse me,” she said and backed up because it didn’t seem like he was going to move. “Do you know what’s in the will?” she asked even though she stood firm that it was none of their business.

  Just because they’d loved Mrs. Cantrell as much as her blood relatives didn’t mean they had a right to know her personal business. Nikki’s mother, Odell, had always been firm about minding their own business and leaving other folks’ alone. Even when you lived in a town the size of Sweetland. Or especially so.

  Sylvester shook his head. “Don’t know. But I did know Janet and there was nothing more important to her than getting these kids together and keeping them here in Sweetland.”

  Nikki nodded because that sounded right. “Yeah, but they’re adults. You can’t make people do what they don’t want to do,” she said, using her shoulder to push through the kitchen door.

  “You never know.” Sylvester kept right on talking, mostly to himself now. “You just never know.”

  * * *

  Morning came as they tend to do in the grand scheme of things. Joy will come in the morning—Gramma used to say that a lot, Quinn remembered. Heading to the show
er, he thought about his grandmother and things she’d tried to teach them while they were growing up. It was a welcome change from the lustful thoughts he’d had all night.

  It was the girl from the kitchen, the one with the smile and the obvious curves. Late into the night he’d thought about those curves and his hands having their own meet-and-greet with each and every one. He’d moaned with his eyes closed because his body had reacted to the thought of the curves and his hands and the ultimate outcome of said interaction. Then he’d decided to open his eyes, to stand at the window and look out into the quiet of the night in the sleepy Bay town.

  That hadn’t worked, either.

  He could hear her laughing, saw her as she was last night in the arms of that cop, and wanted to tell the guy to get his grubby hands off her. Crazy, yeah, he knew that. And nobody had ever called Dr. Quinton Cantrell crazy. Sleep had finally come amid thoughts of the curly-headed vixen and the mountain of work he’d left back at his office.

  Now morning was here and a new wave of concerns had hit him. They all circled around his family.

  For all intents and purposes Mary Janet had been more of a mother to Quinn and his siblings than Patricia ever had, though that was no fault of Patricia’s. Quinn did not blame his mother for her shortcomings. She was not cut out to be a mother, but his father loved her and she apparently loved him—that’s why she’d left her big-city home of Chicago to come here. But this town wasn’t for everyone. Quinn had learned that the hard way.

  Sweetland was located in the heart of Maryland’s Eastern Shore, nestled quaintly along the Miles River. If ever there was a town removed from the big-city life, this was it. With only about a thousand residents, the feeling that whatever you said or did was known to every one of them could get kind of claustrophobic after a while. When his father died, twenty-two years after Patricia had come here, she’d left. Quinn always thought that decision had been made long before his father’s death. Still, her leaving hadn’t mattered that much to Quinn because he’d already been away at college. On the other hand, losing his dad before he graduated had been devastating. The fact that the loss came four years after Sharane’s death had only pushed him deeper into his own depression—too much loss, too young to know how to handle it, too long ago to think about it right now.