Page 2 of Moonshine and Magnolias (Just Add Peaches #1)

She closed her eyes, letting her mom stroke her shoulders.

Wetness gathered behind her lids, and she inhaled a slow, shuddering breath.

Tears and sorrow could come later, if she let them.

For now, she’d accept the pang of discomfort in her chest. And if her hands shook a little, she could blame her caffeine overdose.

Visits were starting in two hours, and there was too much to do to get caught up in her feelings.

She eased out from the embrace, then prepared herself to lock eyes with the man over the still-steaming crawfish.

He must have seen the question on her face. “I’m Rob.”

The name tweaked her memory. She brought up her list of things to do on her tablet.

Sure enough, under the column of tasks assigned to her cousin, there was a note to get in touch with incoming guests, explain the situation, and offer to find other accommodations.

Brandi had, once again, failed to follow through. “Dr. Robert Upshaw?”

He nodded.

“I’m Wendy Marsh. I’m so sorry no one was in the lobby to properly greet you.” She swallowed over introducing herself as the owner of Fountenoy Hall. It was still too new. “May I ask what you’re doing back here?”

His full lips twitched into a smile. “Making crawfish salad, apparently.”

“I can see that.”

“Wendy,” her mom interjected. “Sarah sent him.”

She raised her brow at Dr. Robert Upshaw to see what he’d say.

“Ah, actually, she didn’t.” He wiped his hands on his apron before he removed it. “My brother and I have a reservation.”

“Oh,” said Leslie. “Well, we appreciated the help.”

Wendy pulled on her experience of her early days working the desk at Steward Hotels International and offered him a placating smile. “I must apologize for the inconvenience. Would you mind stepping into the dining room?”

She held her arm out to direct the way through the swinging doors, then followed him into the next room.

If she’d been wearing heels, she’d almost be able to look him straight in his eyes.

“We have an event planned today, and we’ll be short staffed.

” What a way to describe the gathering for her grandma, but he didn’t need to know her personal business.

“You’re welcome to find other accommodations, since you weren’t expecting this when you reserved your room. ”

“Here’s fine.”

Fiddlesticks. She assessed the determination in his hazel eyes and nodded with reluctance. “We have you and an additional guest booked for a couple of weeks. If you decide you need more attention than what we can offer, you can leave at any time with no penalty.”

“Thank you. Right now, I’d just like to get to my room.”

“Very well.”

They continued through the dining room and down the long hallway.

She paused after opening the door that separated the lobby from the rest of the first floor.

The chairs were lined against the walls and soft music drifted in from the parlor, just as she had requested.

The pocket door of the library was open.

Mr. Rosario had handled all the flowers beautifully. Everything looked perfect.

Except there was no Grandma.

“I don’t mind being an extra pair of hands,” he said. “Since you’re short staffed.”

“Now what definition of southern hospitality means putting our guests to work?” Wendy slid around the desk and removed the old-school register from underneath. “May I see your driver’s license and credit card?”

He removed his wallet. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Oh…” She looked up from placing the manual imprint machine on the counter.

He knew. His face was touched with feeling, like he was truly sorry and not just reciting the words to be polite.

She cleared her throat and willed away the te ars that once again threatened to make an appearance.

She’d deal with them later. “Thank you.”

Wendy placed carbon paper on the credit card and pushed the handle of the archaic machine. The shucking sound broke the silence between them. She handed back his card and ID and added a pen so he could sign in. “All the rooms are on the second floor. Yours is Twelve Oaks.”

He flipped through the book, tracing along the signed names with his finger. “You have a signed registry?” His eyes brightened with boyish delight. “What a remarkable historical keepsake. Have you always done this?”

“As far as I know.” Though no one ever got as excited as he did. “It started when Fountenoy Hall became a boarding house in the late 1800s. The tradition continues to this day.”

“So you can prove claims that someone famous slept here long ago, like a president or celebrity.”

“I suppose so, if we still have the old books.”

“This is amazing.” His voice caressed the pages as he turned and scanned the list of guests.

“Ms. Marsh, my work is in historical research. People hire me to verify military service of their great-grandfathers, find details about a little known event that family lore claims happened, and things like that. If you have the registries, you may have just made my reason for being here a whole lot easier.”

“What is your reason for being here?” She didn’t necessarily care at the moment. Her work at Steward’s Hotels was more behind the scenes, but she knew the desk clerks kept cheerful conversation going for the more chatty guests. Good customer service and all that.

He signed the registry and handed back the pen. “My client is confidential, but I’m here to track down the path of one of his ancestors. He believes his uncle was here in the years between the two world wars.”

“I’ll ask my aunt about the older books when the event is over.” If she hadn’t been standing in front of a guest, she would have taken out her phone and made a note. “Do you need to get your bags? ”

“My brother will bring them in when he gets back.”

“If you’ll follow me.” She hiked up the plush blue carpet of the grand staircase with Dr. Upshaw right behind her.

His woodsy scent was a complete contrast to her preferred refined cologne, but it suited him well.

“There’s a welcome packet on the bed with information on breakfast, dinner, and drinks.

Staff is available until ten at night or if there’s an emergency. Here we are.”

She unlocked the door and stood aside so he could enter, then handed him his key. “Can I help you with anything else?”

“Not right now, thank you.” He took a look around the room and ran his hand over the smooth surface of the replica Queen Anne desk. “Nice.”

“Press zero on the phone if you need anything.” She closed the door behind her and paused, her hand still on the knob. She had noticed way too much about that man to be comfortable.

Didn’t matter. Nothing would get done if she daydreamed about a pretty face.

She headed to the third floor and pounded on Brandi’s door.

When no one answered, she peeked inside.

Mid-morning light drifted in from the slats covering the window and covered her cousin in stripes.

She lay on her stomach, still in her black skirt and dark top, her arms and legs splayed across the mattress.

Of course. Why do any work when good ol’ Wendy will fill in the empty time slots. “Brandi!”

“Go away,” came the muffled response.

Wendy marched to the blinds and hoisted them up. “What are you doing in bed? Grandma’s friends are going to be arriving soon and there’s still a lot to do.”

Her cousin raised her blonde head and narrowed her unusual eyes. It galled Wendy that she still managed to look pretty, even covered with pillow creases. “I’ve been working since we got back. I needed a break.”

They all did, but Wendy didn’t bother stating the obvious.

A hitch formed in her throat as she looked down on her cousin. Everyone grieved in their own way. Maybe avoidance and sleep was Brandi’s way of dealing. She was used to being taken care of, not the one working .

Wendy forced down her annoyance and softened her tone. “Are we going to see you downstairs?”

Brandi heaved herself up and scrubbed at her face. “Yeah. I’ll be there.”

“Aunt Eulalee and Mom are going to need support. There will be a lot of people.”

“I saw the legions at the cemetery.”

“Do you want me to come up and—”

“For Christ’s sake, Wendy, I said I’ll be there!”

Wendy nodded and left her cousin alone. She leaned against the wall and waited for the tightness in her chest to subside, taking slow, deep breaths.

By the time she was back in the kitchen, her mom had taken over peeling duties.

Wendy checked the clock on the microwave and glanced at the printed agenda posted next to the dining room entrance.

If the morning was to remain on schedule, the salad should be finished and the biscuits about done baking.

“Wendy, stop making sure everything is all on time.” Her mom lifted the colander of naked crawfish and slid them into a bowl.

“I swear, you’d want minute rice done in thirty seconds.

Fountenoy Hall’s been running just fine for the past century and a half without a written itinerary.

We’re not your big, fancy hotel in Atlanta. ”

“I know, Mom.”

Leslie placed the strainer in the sink and stared at it. She gave a sniffle, then enveloped Wendy in a hug. “I’m sorry, sweetie. I just need to get through today, okay?”

Wendy held on to the scent of lemons and sunshine in her mom’s embrace. “I know. We all do.”

“You’re going to be great here.” Leslie smiled down at her daughter and brushed her hair away from her face. “You and Brandi, running the Hall together. Imagine that.”

She didn’t want to imagine it. She wanted Steward Hotel. She wanted the promotion for the project in Indiana. The papers shoved into her dresser drawer that declared her new immediate future weighed her down like an albatross after a seafood buffet.

“With your experience and Brandi’s charm and ease with people, this here is going to become the place to be for Georgia vacations.” She kissed Wendy’s forehead and went back to the crawfish.