The Welcoming

I’d wish him well, except we were in the middle of renovating the west wing. Of the inn,” she added, pointing to the logo on the van. “If you know your way around two-by-fours and drywall I can give you room and board and five an hour.”
    “Sounds like we’ve solved both our problems.”
    “Great.” She offered a hand. “I’m Charity Ford.”
    “DeWinter.” He clasped her hand. “Roman DeWinter.”
    “Okay, Roman.” She swung her door open. “Climb aboard.”
    She didn’t look gullible, Roman thought as he settled into the seat beside her. But then, he knew—better than most—that looks were deceiving. He was exactly where he wanted to be, and he hadn’t had to resort to a song and dance. He lit a cigarette as she pulled out of the parking lot.
    “My grandfather built the inn in 1938,” she said, rolling down her window. “He added on to it a couple of times over the years, but it’s still really an inn. We can’t bring ourselves to call it a resort, even in the brochures. I hope you’re looking for remote.”
    “That suits me.”
    “Me too. Most of the time.” Talkative guy, she mused with a half smile. But that was all right. She could talk enough for both of them. “It’s early in the season yet, so we’re a long way from full.” She cocked her elbow on the opened window and cheerfully took over the bulk of the conversation. The sunlight played on her earrings and refracted into brilliant colors. “You should have plenty of free time to knock around. The view from Mount Constitution’s really spectacular. Or, if you’re into it, the hiking trails are great.”
    “I thought I might spend some time in B.C.”
    “That’s easy enough. Take the ferry to Sidney. We do pretty well with tour groups going back and forth.”
    “We?”
    “The inn. Pop—my grandfather—built a half dozen cabins in the sixties. We give a special package rate to tour groups. They can rent the cabins and have breakfast and dinner included. They’re a little rustic, but the tourists really go for them. We get a group about once a week. During the season we can triple that.”
    She turned onto a narrow, winding road and kept the speed at fifty.
    Roman already knew the answers, but he knew it might seem odd if he didn’t ask the questions. “Do you run the inn?”
    “Yeah. I’ve worked there on and off for as long as I can remember. When my grandfather died a couple of years ago I took over.” She paused a moment. It still hurt; she supposed it always would. “He loved it. Not just the place, but the whole idea of meeting new people every day, making them comfortable, finding out about them.”
    “I guess it does pretty well.”
    She shrugged. “We get by.” They rounded a bend where the forest gave way to a wide expanse of blue water. The curve of the island was clear, jutting out and tucking back in contrasting shades of deep green and brown. A few houses were tucked high in the cliffs beyond. A boat with billowing white sails ran with the wind, rippling the glassy water. “There are views like this all around the island. Even when you live here they dazzle you.”
    “And scenery’s good for business.”
    She frowned a little. “It doesn’t hurt,” she said, and glanced back at him. “Are you really interested in seeing whales?”
    “It seemed like a good idea since I was here.”
    She stopped the van and pointed to the cliffs. “If you’ve got patience and a good set of binoculars, up there’s a good bet. We’ve spotted them from the inn, as I said. Still, if you want a close look, your best bet’s out on a boat.” When he didn’t comment, she started the van again. He was making her jittery, she realized. He seemed to be looking not at the water or the forest but at her.
    Roman glanced at her hands. Strong, competent, no-nonsense hands, he decided, though the fingers were beginning to tap a bit nervously on the wheel. She continued to drive fast, steering the van easily through the switchbacks. Another car approached. Without slackening speed, Charity lifted a hand in a salute.
    “That was Lori, one of our waitresses. She works an early shift so she can be home when her kids get back from school. We usually run with a staff of ten, then add on five or six part-time during the summer.”
    They rounded the next curve, and the inn came into view. It was exactly what he’d expected, and yet it was more charming than the pictures he’d been shown. It was white clapboard, with