Dancing in the Dark

Clint looked at him. “What?”

“Nothing. I just...I was just remembering that I ate there the other night.”

“And? How was it?”

A sudden image of Wendy’s face, pale and distraught as she looked up at him in the darkness of the parking lot, flashed through Seth’s mind.

“It was—it was okay, I guess.”

“Not exactly what you hoped for, huh?” Clint shrugged. “Well, that’s life. Lots of things aren’t quite what you hope they’ll be.”

Seth nodded. “No,” he said softly, “they aren’t.” He looked up. Clint was eyeing him with concern. “Hey,” he said briskly, pointing his finger at a glass-fronted cabinet. “I just noticed—is that new?”

Clint smiled. “Maureen picked it up a couple of weeks ago. Nice, huh?”

“Very. You’ve done great things with this room.”

“Well, she gets all the credit. She was right. I mean, we both agreed to keep the stone floor, but pulling down the wallboard was Maureen’s suggestion.”

“Who knew we’d find that great fireplace, and all this old brick?”

“Our guests seem to like it, the feeling that you can step back in time without giving up twenty-first century comforts.”

“Bookings are good?”

“They’re great. First the leaf peepers, now the skiers. We’re off to a good start.” Clint pointed to Seth’s cup. “How’s the coffee?”

“Your one failing in the kitchen, right?” Seth teased. “It’s good enough so I figure it must be Maureen’s.”

“She insisted on making it,” Clint confessed. “I wanted her to stay in bed, but no way would she do that.”

“She’s feeling better today?”

“Yeah. Almost a hundred percent, she says. But she’ll need to get off her feet every now and then for a few days—when I can convince her to do it.” He hesitated. “Is there a way for me to build the new shed so the roof’s really tight?”

Seth studied his friend closely. “Clint, what’s on your mind?”

“Nothing. I guess I was a city boy for a lot of years. You live in a big city, you learn to be suspicious of damn near everything. Besides, what do I know about snow on a roof?”

“A lot, I’d bet.” Seth kept his eyes on the other man’s face. “An architect would know about rafters and roofs and bearing loads.”

“Theory isn’t the same as reality.”

“That’s true. These scones, for instance.” Seth reached for another buttery biscuit. “They don’t taste anything like the ones I buy at the supermarket.”

“Yeah, well, don’t buy ’em there. Stop by here and take home a doggy bag whenever you like.” The men ate and drank in silence for a couple of minutes. Clint got up, went to the stove, got the coffeepot and topped off their mugs. “You know, when Maureen and I first talked about opening this B and B, if anybody had asked me how to keep a houseful of guests happy, I’d have said, ‘Give ’em comfortable rooms and good food.’”

“Why do I hear a ‘but’ coming?”

“But,” Clint said, “I’d have been wrong. Nice rooms, homemade breakfasts are part of it, but there’s more. People are on vacation. They want to feel as if they’ve gotten away from their real lives.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning they need TLC. Tender loving care.”

“Ah. A piece of chocolate on the pillow at night.”

“More than that. A pot of coffee on the sideboard in the gathering room. An urn of tea, maybe another one filled with hot water and some packets of hot cocoa, especially in the evening when they feel like sitting around and winding down. A glass of wine, some crackers...”

“Yeah. I heard. The license came through, huh?”

“Yup. And it’s worked out just fine. All we’re serving is wine, brandy and cognac, but that’s what folks want when the fire’s going in the gathering room.”

“Well,” Seth said, crumpling his napkin and putting it on his plate, “it sounds as if you’ve got the TLC thing under control.”

Clint grinned. “We’ve just got one problem. We’re making our guests feel comfortable, but we’re shorthanded. I want Maureen to take it easy for a while—and if you quote me to her, I’ll deny everything.”

Seth laughed. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

“Actually, I’ve hired someone to come in evenings. You know, take phone calls, pour some vino, make sure the coffee’s hot, chat with guests who feel like chatting—”

“And leave alone the ones who don’t.”

“Uh-huh. Like Rod Pommier. The guy sure keeps to himself.”

“Well, I can understand it,” Seth said “The media drove him crazy in New York. Anyway, he’s not around now, is he? He told me he was going to spend a few days in Vermont.”

“Right. I forgot, you’re doing that chalet he bought. How’s it going?”

“Terrific. Pommier’s the best kind of client.”

Clint laughed. “An absent one.”

“No, seriously. The guy knows what he wants and what he doesn’t want. He trusts my judgment and he can afford to make that chalet into something special.” Seth took a swallow of his coffee. “So, did you run an ad in the paper for help?”

“Didn’t have to. You know how it is in this town. Say something to someone, the wind picks it up and it spreads. Matter of fact, she starts tonight.”

“Well, that should help smooth things for you.”

“Oh, it will. Now, if I could just find a way to keep Randi and Robin occupied for more than five minutes at a clip....”

“Maureen’s twins?” Seth’s eyebrows rose. “Yeah, I’ll bet. Those little girls have more energy than a tornado.”

“That they do, and here’s another reality bite. It’s tough to say ‘no’ or ‘in a minute, sweetheart’ to three-year-olds.”

“In other words, you need a baby-sitter.” Seth thought about Clint’s twelve-year-old son. “What about Keegan?”

Clint shook his head. “Keegan already helps out with the girls, and he’s got homework. The thing is, the girls are late-to-bed types. Always have been. From six to seven o’c

lock is when their energy levels are highest. I just need a breather once in a while. You know, find some way to keep one eye on them and one eye on business.”

“And a hell of a picture that makes, Cooper.” Both men chuckled. Seth lifted his mug and drank the last of the coffee. “How about if I lend a hand?”

“You?”

“Hey, I’ll have you know I’m great with kids. I volunteer an afternoon each weekend at Ski Wee—the ski program for kids, up on the mountain. And Randi and Robin know me. They like me.”

“Like you? They worship you. They’re out with Maureen or they’d be doing everything but climbing inside your toolbox.”

“Wrong. Randi did climb into it last time I was here. So, what do you think about me coming by to help out for a while?”

“I don’t know, Seth. That’s an awful lot to ask.”

“Okay. You’re right. It is too much to ask.” Seth’s lips twitched. “You’ll just have to pay me...say, a couple of scones a night.”

Clint tried to look serious. “Well, I don’t know. I don’t always have scones on hand. Could we negotiate? Would you settle for blueberry muffins? Or banana bread? That’s what’s on the menu for tomorrow’s breakfast.”

Seth stood up and put out his hand. “You drive a tough bargain, Cooper.”

“Yeah,” Clint said, clasping Seth’s hand in his, “so do you, Castleman. Seriously, though, this is great. But don’t feel you have to come by all the time. Two evenings...” He grinned. “Three evenings a week would be terrific.”

“No problem.”

“I mean, I know you have other things to do with your nights.”

Seth’s smile faded. “Not really.”

“What about Jo Cabot?”

“That’s over.”

“Hey, I’m sorry. I thought you and she—”

“So did I, for a while, but then I realized I wasn’t...she wasn’t...” He cleared his throat and reached for the toolbox he’d brought with him. “Got to run. I promised a guy over in New Ashford I’d stop by and give him an estimate on an extension.”

“Sure.”

The men walked to the back door. Seth took his jacket from a wooden peg and slipped it on.