Into the Storm (Signal Bend #3)(29)
It was bound to be an interesting week, one that might be a harbinger of even more interesting times to come.
And that was good; it would keep Shannon’s mind off more personal concerns. It wasn’t just Show, though that was bad enough. This was a tiny town she’d moved to, a few hundred people. Not only would everyone know that she’d gone back to Show’s room—they probably already did, had probably been sitting at Marie’s talking about it over their ham and eggs this morning—but it would be impossible not to see him everywhere, all the time. God, he was at her work, her home, regularly, for one reason or another. The inn was practically an annex of the clubhouse. So she could relive her embarrassment over and over and over.
It wasn’t just embarrassment. She really was disappointed. Her chest ached with it. She liked him so much. No rhyme or reason to it—until last night, their relationship had barely even existed. She’d told him last night that she could feel him, and that was true. When their eyes met, something happened inside her.
And last night had been…well, beautiful. Perfect, even, if she let herself get dreamy about it. He’d made her feel special. And then he’d made her feel worthless.
She had no business letting a man make her feel anything, giving somebody else so much power over her self-esteem. What the hell was wrong with her?
And that’s what really had her down. For a week now, she’d been faced by all the ways she was just wrong. That she couldn’t be satisfied with a man like Keith, who loved her and didn’t crowd her and wasn’t threatened by her success or her power. That she’d lived in Tulsa for twenty years—her entire adult life—without forming a solid bond with anyone. That she’d run, again, from her past with nary a pause.
And now, that she was so twisted up over a man she hardly knew, a lachrymose biker who ran a feed store and was clearly, seriously f*cked up. How on this verdant earth could she possibly feel the way she did for Show when she couldn’t feel anything like it for Keith?
And what kind of name was “Showdown” for a grown man, anyway?
Shannon felt her throat tightening again, and she swallowed hard. She’d had her cry. Enough of that nonsense. Show didn’t want her? Fine. Or even if he wanted her and was too screwed up to deal with it.
Fine. She would not be treated the way he’d treated her this morning. She did not get bailed on. Period. She would focus on work and keep her head high in town. No one would know that she’d had this day and let a man make her feel less than she was. She captained her own damn ship.
It was nearing nine o’clock, so she closed her laptop and headed out to the parlor. The inn was full of weekend guests seeking the tail end of the fall weather—a traditional B&B crowd, the lot of them, who’d spent this Saturday antiquing, hiking, and riding the trails. Those who stayed in for the nightcap would want a traditional B&B ending to their Saturday, which meant conversation, maybe some games, possibly some music on the upright piano. Shannon wasn’t a fan, actually; it struck her as aggressively precious. But she ran a B&B, and there was a cultish kind of B&B crowd, who wanted everything quaint and precious.
Just please not charades. She didn’t think she had enough in her tonight to fake her enjoyment of charades.
oOo
When she woke the next morning, snug in her comfy bed, cocooned under her favorite down comforter, she felt better. Still a shuddering pang of regret if she thought about Friday night, but she was able to push Show into a cupboard in her head and lock him away. She got up and started her day. It was going to be a busy one, with the first wave of movie people checking in in the afternoon.
After she’d showered and dressed, she heard Weasel, Badger’s pup, barking outside. So Badge was already in. He hadn’t been in at all yesterday, so he was probably worried about the baby goats he was working into the herd. Shannon hoped he’d gotten their feed right—Show had been around almost daily last week, helping Badger out with those damn goats.
Nope—not thinking about…that guy. Nope.
The morning was busy with breakfast and then checkouts. By eleven, the inn was empty and ready to turn. She wasn’t one to micromanage her staff, but on this day, she went in and double-checked the rooms their California guests would be staying in. Barring any unlikely drop-ins or late reservations, they would be the only guests until Thursday.
Satisfied that the rooms showed their best, Shannon went down to check with Beth in the kitchen. This week, she’d be making dinner on request as well as breakfast every morning, and she’d be challenged every meal, unable to prepare her usual country-style menu. She was crabby and snarky, barking at her assistant.
She bitched that quinoa bread tasted like the cardboard her old man kept on the garage floor to soak up oil, except not as moist. But she had everything under control. Shannon, who had eaten quinoa bread before, tasted Beth’s loaf. It was good. Nothing would ever be as good—in taste, smell, feel, or sight—as an old-fashioned loaf of country wheat or white, but Beth’s quinoa would pass muster in any high-end restaurant in Tulsa.
With the kitchen well in Beth’s hand, Shannon grabbed a jacket and went to sit in one of the rockers on the front porch. She needed a minute of quiet—and she got five before Lilli’s SUV crested the hill on the drive. It wasn’t surprising that Lilli would make an appearance today; their guests were a big deal, and Shannon had noticed some unease in Lilli that didn’t seem to be about their stay at the inn.