Those Sweet Words (Misfit Inn 2)

“Yeah, but at least I came housebroken,” Ari said.

“Girl’s got a point. Men are so much harder to train than dogs,” Athena agreed. She patted her face dry. “Dude, my skin feels amazing.”

“Mine’s all tingly,” Maggie said.

Abbey set a small bowl on the table. “Here, each of you slather some of this on. It’s specially made moisturizer. No chemicals.”

“It feels wonderful. All of it does,” Pru said. “You know, a lot of my massage clients would love this. What would you think about doing some freelance spa treatments, while you’re here? We could set up some space for you to work out of.”

“That would be wonderful. The Babylon is holding my job, but it would be great to keep my hand in things. Plus, I’ll need a break from Granddaddy.”

“Great. We’ll set a time after the wedding to discuss terms.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Abbey removed the double boiler she’d had simmering at the stove. “Now, who wants a paraffin bath for your hands?”

~*~

Flynn Bohannon lived a gypsy’s life, traveling from town to town, venue to venue, sharing the music of his homeland. To his way of thinking, there was nothing better than seeing new faces, new places, every few days. If things began to feel a little stale, he picked up stakes and found somewhere new. Sometimes he traveled in a group, jamming with other musicians he met along the way. Other times, like now, he was a solo act. Either worked fine for him. It was all about the music.

He’d landed in Boston three weeks before and had been working his way down the Eastern seaboard, playing in pubs, bars, taverns, and coffee shops—a different town or city every night. Some shows had been pre-booked. Others, like the pick-up session he’d had in that pub in Baltimore, where the bartender had turned out to be the cousin of a friend of his mother’s, had been a delightful, impulsive surprise. Flynn liked surprises. Which was why he’d made his way to Eden’s Ridge, Tennessee a day early.

He’d wanted to surprise one of his dearest friends. And, he admitted, he hoped to catch her before she’d put on her everything’s fine face and get a real read on how she was doing. Kennedy Reynolds had been every bit the gypsy he was, and now she’d come home and decided to settle here out of family obligation. Not that he frowned on that. There was a child involved. But he wondered how long it would take her to feel choked by the roots she’d long ago escaped.

It was beautiful. He’d give her that. These were younger, wilder mountains than he was used to. There simply weren’t this many trees in the mountains of Ireland. At home, the peaks had been whittled down by wind and weather and time, until they’d been reduced to their bare essentials. Wild, yes, but often barren but for the grasses and scrub. Here the trees stretched in a lush, green blanket as far as the eye could see. As he navigated the switchbacks, he noted the crag

gy rocks peeking through here and there, but otherwise, everything was alive with the vibrant colors of summer.

The house was set back in the trees, a charming Victorian painted a mystical greenish gray, with crisp, white trim. He’d have recognized it from Kennedy’s description, even without the wooden sign above the porch proclaiming The Misfit Inn. It rose a towering three stories high, with a turret to one side. The porch wrapped all the way round, with fanciful scrollwork at the corners and various groupings of chairs or gliders set to take in the view, which was magnificent from nearly all angles. There was the old bodock tree Kennedy had used to sneak in and out of the house as a girl. And beyond it, the barn, doors thrown wide.

Flynn found a place to park and climbed out. He knocked on the big front door, and when no one answered, he circled around back, scanning for Kennedy’s familiar blonde head. He followed sounds of music—a cheerful country tune about some lass calling dibs—into the barn. The space inside was clear. White drapes had been hung above to block off what he presumed was a hay loft. Dozens of folding chairs were stacked to one side. And in the center of the barn, at the top of a ladder, a woman stretched to wrap white twinkle lights around a barn rafter. As he stood, undetected, she joined in the chorus with cheerful alto.

Charmed, he stayed where he was, watching. She was all soft curves, a fact made evident by the stretch of shorts across her perfect, lush backside. Flynn took a moment of reverence for that magnificent ass, captivated by the gentle flex of it as she worked and twitched her hips to the rhythm on the radio. Now that is a woman. He’d know, as he’d made quite the study of them the world over.

The ass ended in tanned legs and sport sandals. Stifling an appreciative murmur, Flynn lifted his gaze higher, noting the swatch of olive skin between the waistband of her shorts and the t-shirt riding high as she reached to continue the wrap. He realized then that she was far too short to be doing this. She’d gone above that last safety step of the ladder trying to reach the beam well above her head. Even as he thought to speak up, the ladder began to wobble. The woman sucked in a breath, flailing for any kind of purchase.

Flynn leapt forward as the ladder toppled and the woman screamed. He didn’t exactly catch her so much as break her fall, but he managed to wrap his arms around her as she crashed down, softening the impact as they both hit the ground. They both lay there, stunned, wrapped in a tangle. As she lifted her head and trained those wide, dark eyes on his, Flynn couldn’t help but think his breathlessness and pounding heart weren’t entirely from the collision.

I’m callin’ dibs, indeed.

He couldn’t stop himself from reaching out to brush the hair back from that exquisite face. “Are you all right, then?”

“Flynn?”

Well, and wasn’t it a fine thing to hear his name on those lips, in that soft Southern twang? As if she’d been waiting just for him, for this moment. The sound of it did something to him, plucking some chord deep in his soul until it sang. Could she feel it where her hands pressed against his chest?

“You’re early,” she said.

“Seems to me, I’m right on time.”

Her pupils sprang wide at that, and she sucked in a breath. His gaze dropped to those lips, and his hand tightened at the curve of her waist. Only the sound of running footsteps kept him from leaning in to taste her.

“I heard a crash. What—Oh my God, Pru, are you okay?”

Pru. Which made her Kennedy’s eldest sister.

Christ. He needed to get ahold of himself. Flynn relaxed his grip and leaned back. Seeming to collect herself, Pru shifted from his lap—more was the pity—and reached up to take the offered hand. That was when he realized the owner of the hand was a young girl.

“I’m fine. The ladder tipped.”