Free Love Inn by Kim Smith Page B

Carla’s fault. She’d found something magical within the pages of the books the Beebe lady wrote. He was jealous that there was a part of his wife’s life he hadn’t been privy to.
    He strolled to the desk and picked up the novel.
    Maybe I’ll read it and find out .
    Ben tucked the paperback into the waistband of his jeans and humming some mindless tune, returned to the stove. When he had filled a plate with bacon, omelet, and toast, he carried the lot to the table. He placed the book by his plate, deciding to at least read the blurb on the back cover. He poured a cup of coffee, fragrant with a slight taste of vanilla and settled in. The slick cover made him think higher of paperbacks than he used to. He hadn’t really found time to read since he was a youngster.
    Sipping the hot liquid, he scanned the back cover. The author’s picture smiled at him, showing off porcelain skin, auburn hair, and rich blue eyes. He could dive into those eyes and take a swim.
    The first blurb made him forget the attractive face staring back at him.
    …Rose Perkins has the ability to make you live the life of her characters…
    He roughly pushed the book aside, suddenly made aware of why he hadn’t read anything for so many years. He had no desire to live life like the heroes in a romance novel. He’d had quite enough of the role of chivalrous male when Carla had been alive.
    Ben stood and scowled at the book, then his plate, before stalking off in the direction of his man cave. His appetite for everything disappeared.
    Damn all women.
    ###
    Kitty Beebe longed for adventure, and the winding dirt and gravel road she was traveling lived up to her expectations for such. She had seen three rabbits, two foxes, and a suspected deer that thankfully remained out of her way. But sparkling eyes flit toward her headlights as she maneuvered the rented Ford along.
    She considered turning back more than once as the car plunged into potholes, but the promise of country solitude and lavender scented sheets in the quaint bedroom of the bed and breakfast beckoned her onward. Her weariness got swallowed back a dozen times as she tried to focus on moving the car through the harsh environment.
    Being from Ireland meant troublesome roads were nothing new. The fact was, she wanted to taste Americana at its finest in the most historic places she could find. The advertisement in the popular Southern magazines caught her interest. Now as she bumped and jerked along toward her destination, she felt the serenity of the region ooze over her like a balm.
    My ridiculous restless spirit, again .
    Marge, her agent, had called her a gypsy. Well, she wouldn’t deny that traveling and seeing new and exciting places appealed. They were the very fodder for her career. New places made the best settings for her heroes and heroines to find love, laughter, and life together. She sent them all through a bit of hell first though.
    She smiled to herself. Yes, that element was what characters needed to be interesting.
    Kitty wondered what sort of dire circumstances would befall her latest creations. They hadn’t spoken entirely to her yet, but she wasn’t worried. They would, and when they did, she would be ready and waiting at The Inn.
    If she ever found it.
    “Oh,” she exclaimed aloud, as the road widened suddenly. The avenue of majestic oaks heralded her destination. She nodded at the elaborately decorated and well-lit sign: Welcome to The Inn.
    There were only a few cars parked around the front of the house in the guest parking. It was only ten p.m.
    Would the lady who ran the place still be awake?
    Tourism was light in March, Nikki Butler had told her. Things didn’t pick up until May when the children were out of school and families began their summer trips.
    Kitty parked the car and gathered her purse and an overnight bag from the back seat. She wouldn’t need her other luggage until morning. She shivered at a chill that had set in with the heavy dew and longed for a