Free A Dream Weekend: A Tale From Blythe Cove Manor by Lorraine Bartlett Page B

looked around for Paige, but didn’t see her among the throng of people making a beeline for the stairs that led to the car decks. Perhaps she was already waiting for him in the van. He joined the line and trundled down the steps, but when he got to the van, he found the passenger seat empty.
    The ferry docked and Alex had no choice; he had to move the vehicle. There were people parked behind it who would be irked to be held up from their weekend plans. Annoyed, he got in the van and started the engine. The cars ahead were already rolling forward and still there was no sign of Paige. His irritation began to ebb, replaced by growing concern. Where the hell was she?
    Putting the van in gear, he followed the car ahead and drove off the ferry, but pulled over at the first opportunity. Switching off the engine, he was about to get out of the vehicle when he glanced at the rearview mirror and saw a solitary figure disembark from the ferry, just as the cars heading back to the mainland began to fill the car decks once again.
    It was Paige, of course.
    Alex sat there, waiting, and finally Paige walked up to the van, opened the passenger door, and got in.
    “Sorry. I had to go to the bathroom and didn’t know how long a time it would take to get to the inn, so I figured I’d better go while I had the chance,” she said and buckled up.
    “Better safe than sorry,” Alex agreed, and then, impulsively, reached out to lay a hand on her arm. Paige pulled away. Well, what had he expected?
    Alex started the van, shifted to drive, hit the accelerator, and the van rolled forward once again.
    Alex was sure Paige no longer loved him, and some part of him couldn’t blame her, but a bigger part was angry. That bigger part of his soul was just as angry at her. Angry that she’d written him off. Angry that she blamed him for something that was not his fault.
    He wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to forgive her for that.
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    B lythe Calvert looked up from her position behind the front desk at the beautiful old inn the locals and visitors knew as Blythe Cover Manor. To her, it was simply home. The rambling old house had been in her family for more than two centuries—and sometimes it showed its age, like after a nor’easter hit and gripped the cedar shingles, wrenching them from the roof, or when one of the fireplaces would balk at digesting a load of firewood. But most of the time, the house embraced her with a sense of safety and security, as it had taken care of generations of her family.
    The sound of tires on gravel drew her attention, and Blythe peered through the storm door to see a blue minivan pull up in front of the house. She watched as the couple exited the vehicle, noticing the disconnect between the man and woman. They approached the house, but not as a unit. It seemed as though an invisible brick wall had been erected between them. They entered the lobby, looking around but not, Blythe noticed, at each other.
    “Hello. Welcome to Blythe Cove Manor. I’m Blythe Calvert, your hostess. You must be Alex and Paige Campbell.”
    “We are,” the wind-blown woman said and forced a smile that did not extend to her eyes. She crept closer to the reception desk. “We’re not exactly sure what to do. We’re the couple who won this weekend trip—”
    “Yes. We’ve had a chilly few days, but it should warm up later this weekend. I do hope you’ll enjoy yourself during your stay.”
    “Do you need a credit card to secure the room?” Mr. Campbell asked, even as he took in the antiques and bric-a-brac that decorated the eclectic lobby.
    “No. As I explained to your wife when we spoke on the phone last week, everything has been taken care of.”
    “Even the tax and so forth?” Mrs. Campbell asked.
    “Even that,” Blythe assured them. She reached for a skeleton key that was attached to a scallop shell etched with the number six and handed it to Mrs. Campbell.
    “Your room is down the hall to the left. We serve breakfast from