Free The Inn at Rose Harbor by Debbie Macomber Page A

roses. This garden was too important for me to willingly hand it over to the area wildlife.
    Peggy slipped her arms into her coat. “Be sure and give Mark a call. He’s always busy, so it would be a good idea to give him a heads-up about the sign. I know he’ll do a good job. Just don’t be offended if he barks at you.”
    “Okay, I won’t.” I held open the front door for her.
    I watched as Peggy quickly walked to where she’d parked her vehicle. Our visit had lasted less than thirty minutes, but I felt as if I’d gotten a year’s worth of information and advice. I planned to put everything into action as quickly as possible.
    Energized by Peggy’s visit, I headed back into the house and, reaching for the phone, punched in the number for Mark Taylor, the handyman she’d recommended.
    He answered on the fourth ring, just before the phone switched over to voice mail. “Yeah, what is it?” he demanded breathlessly, as if he’d rushed to get to the receiver in time.
    “Oh hi,” I said, “my name is Jo Marie Rose.”
    “Who?”
    “Jo Marie Rose. I’m new in town,” I babbled nervously. “Peggy Beldon gave me your name.”
    “What do you need?” he asked with more than a hint of impatience.
    “Well, as it happens, I need help with a number of projects.”
    “How old are you?”
    “Excuse me?” The man certainly didn’t lack for nerve.
    “Your age,” he repeated. “Frankly, you sound like you’re still in high school.”
    “Well, I’m not and what should that matter anyway?” I got the distinct feeling that I wasn’t going to like this man. He was far too brusque to suit me, but then again Peggy had warned me.
    “Your age will tell me how far down to put you on the list.”
    I grew more agitated by the moment. “I don’t think my age is any of your business.”
    “Okay, fine, don’t tell me.”
    “I have no intention of doing so.”
    I heard him mutter under his breath, “Would you like me to guess?”
    “No, what I’d like is an estimate for a new sign for the B and B I recently purchased from the Frelingers.”
    “When do you need it?”
    “The estimate or the sign?”
    “Both.”
    “As soon as possible.” I wasn’t sure I was going to be able to work with this man. “Have you done work for the Frelingers before?”
    “Plenty.”
    “When can I expect to see you?”
    “I’ll put you on the list. I heard the Frelingers had found a buyer,” he said.
    I noticed that he didn’t offer his welcome. What an unpleasant man.
    “You’re not from these parts, I heard,” he said.
    “From what I heard, neither are you,” I returned. I could give as good as I got.
    He ignored that. “I can probably stop by sometime later today.”
    “Okay, but call first. I have errands to run and I might not be here.” Nor did I have any intention of waiting around for him all afternoon.
    He chuckled as if I’d said something amusing. “Call first? Do I sound like the kind of man who enjoys making phone calls?”
    I had to admit he didn’t. “Take your chances then.”
    “I will.”
    I was tempted to make a sarcastic comment like “nice talking to you” but resisted. I did have to admit, though, that I was curious about Mark Taylor.

Chapter 8
    Josh stared at Michelle and wondered what she’d meant. She’d been a friend to Richard because of how she felt about Josh? That made no sense. They had no relationship. Oh sure, he’d been sympathetic when they were teenagers. He’d helped her dad paint the garage one summer and she’d brought him a glass of iced tea and they’d chatted a bit, but Josh had never thought of her as anything more than a friend—in part because he had always assumed she’d set her sights on Dylan. He looked at her with fresh eyes, somewhat astonished that he’d been so blind.
    For now, Josh decided to ignore the comment. It was better that way. Less complicated. Less troubling. He couldn’t focus on anything other than dealing with Richard; anything else