Love Inn by Kim Smith Page A

suits you?”
    “Sure.”
    “I want your opinion of the quality of this stuff. I’d like to do this more often over the summer. It’s quick to make, and healthy to boot. Besides, you have a big booking coming in soon.”
    “I do?” He strode to the light oak desk situated in a small nook of the kitchen, leafed through the mail—not really paying attention to any of it—and opened the date book where he kept appointments and reservations.
    “Yes, next week. I was pretty excited when I found out who she is. I looked her up on the Internet.”
    Kitty Beebe, he read. The name meant nothing to him.
    “Okay. If we have a celebrity or something coming here, I guess I should study up on her. Who is she?” he asked, turning toward Nikki.
    She shut off the water, and grabbed a striped dishtowel. “Oh, come on. You can’t mean the name means nothing? Think really hard.”
    He closed the book, stacked the mail, and leaned against the desk. Nothing about Kitty Beebe rang a bell.  “Sorry. Guess I’m not up on pop culture to any extent.”
    “Okay, here’s a hint. Galway House.”
    Ben crossed his arms and shrugged, hopelessly lost.
    “Connacht at Midnight?”
    He cocked an eyebrow and shook his head.
    “Gee, Ben, you don’t get out much, do you?” Nikki said with a laugh. She tossed the dishtowel on the counter and strode to the desk. After a moment of searching, she pulled a paperback novel out of the drawer and waved it at him. “Kitty Beebe, also known as Rose Perkins. She’s a famous romance author. Carla read everything she wrote and fretted like a wet hen when she had to wait on the next one to hit the stands. She was Carla’s absolute favorite. Big best-selling writer. I can’t believe you don’t know this.”
    He took the book, frowning at the near nude woman on the cover in the arms of a roguish looking male. “And she’s coming here?”
    “Yes. I took the call and booked it. She gave a credit card number to hold her spot and asked if she could stay longer than the usual weekend.”
    “Why?”
    “Said she’s working on a new book and needs inspiration. Thought your little place would do it for her. Was recommended by someone who stayed here.”
    “Well howdy. A real live one, eh?” He placed the book on the top of the mail. “I bet she’ll stay long enough to spend enough money with us to buy that fancy espresso machine Carla wanted.”
    Nikki patted his arm as she passed him going back to the sink. “Already did.”
    ###
    The weather turned mid-South nasty overnight. Heavy thunderstorms were expected and he shook his head as the black clouds scudded across the sky. It would be a gully washer, and if tornadoes didn’t accompany them, they’d be damn lucky.
    He maneuvered the wrought iron chairs, moving them closer to the house and under the awning where they would be out of the rain when it came. The back patio with his container garden and Carla’s decorating touches was one of the most sought out places at The Inn, even in the chilliest weather.
    He examined his plants.
    Nothing hurting for now.
    If the temperatures took a dive though, he would have to bring them into the mudroom to keep them from getting nipped. Springtime could be so unpredictable. Carla always loved it though, saying it was the best time of the year. She’d plant flowers and herbs and tend them all through the iffy weather.
    Ben entered the kitchen through the back door, closing it softly behind him. Nikki hadn’t arrived yet, so he went to the refrigerator and took out eggs for his breakfast. While he worked he wondered about the guest writer. Would she be locked in her room the whole time? What would she want for her supper?
    He continued making an omelet and considered inventing something with a southwest flair for breakfast while Kitty Beebe was in residence. He always tried to find a new recipe and try it out on new guests. They never seemed to mind.
    This guest intrigued him.
    He had to admit it was all