THERE WAS A thin line of perspiration running along Alex’s hairline. “Maybe you should see your doctor,” Andy suggested, as they all remained huddled around the worktable in the kitchen, partially finished potpies forgotten in the scare of Alex’s possible labor pains.
Back to her old self, Alex shook her head. “I’m not due until the end of the month, and right now I don’t have the time,” she said, brushing the incident off.
“Make the time,” Cris told her pointedly.
“What I’m going to make is tracks before you all gang up on me,” Alex replied. Using the worktable for support, she began to push herself up to her feet.
“You’re as bad as Dad,” Cris continued. “How can you even think of forcing him to go to the doctor when you won’t consider going yourself?”
Stevi placed her hand gently but firmly on Alex’s shoulder. “Sit,” she ordered. “Finish eating.”
“I have to get back to the reception desk,” Alex argued.
“No, you don’t,” Andy said. She had finished both her impromptu lunch and feeling sorry for herself. It was time to make herself useful. “I’ll go.” She stood. “Take as long as you like. Great potpie, Cris—as always.”
Cris merely smiled as she reached for the empty pie plate.
Jorge managed to insert himself between the pie plate and the woman he considered his boss. He deposited it in the sink and proceeded to wash it.
“You are working too hard, Miss Cris,” he told her simply.
Cris knew better than to argue with Jorge. Given the opportunity, he could go on and on for hours until he won his point. It was far easier just to go along with him.
“Thank you, Jorge.”
It was the last thing Andy heard as she left the kitchen.
* * *
SHE HURRIED THROUGH the dining area, noting that several of the inn’s guests had trickled into the room. Jasmine, the college student who was their part-time waitress, was busy taking their orders.
It looked as if Cris was going to be busy for a little while, Andy mused. It was a good thing her sister had Jorge as her assistant. He was quick and competent and, most important, he wouldn’t allow Cris to work too hard no matter what she said.
The only person currently in the reception area when Andy got there was Dorothy.
Like most of the small staff at the inn, Dorothy had a story. The woman had checked into the inn for an overnight stay—the last one, she had believed, that she would spend on this earth. It had been luck that brought Richard Roman to her door to check on her before he turned in for the night.
And instinct that had kept him there, talking with the lonely, distraught woman until well past dawn.
That dawn had signaled a new beginning for Dorothy. Richard Roman had a knack for sensing who needed support and who needed nothing more than a meal and a pat on the back. He offered Dorothy a place to stay for as long as she needed it. More than that, he had offered the woman hope.
Twenty-five years later, Dorothy was still living and working at the inn. Along the way, she had become part of the family in every sense of the word.
Seeing Andy, the woman looked at her with concern. “Is Alex all right? She was a little pale when she left here.”
“Alex is pale. But I think she’s just very impatient to have all this behind her,” Andy confided.
Dorothy chuckled under her breath. “You’re probably right.” She tucked the well-worn paperback novel she’d been reading back into the oversized pocket of her apron. She didn’t like being idle for long. “What can I do for you?”
“It’s what I can do for you,” Andy corrected her. “I’m here to take over the desk.”
Had this been in the middle of the morning, she would have quickly relinquished the duty.
“If you have something else you need to do, I can stay here a little longer,” Dorothy said. “I don’t mind. All the beds are made, the rooms are cleaned.”
They were almost booked up, which meant that most of the various rooms and suites were filled.
“I don’t know how you do it, Dorothy.” Andy shook her head. “Anyone else would still be making beds. If I ever move away, I’m taking you with me.”
“Are you?” Dorothy asked before clarifying, “Moving away?”
“Maybe,” Andy replied.
Wasn’t that what people did after graduation? Moved away? Of course, none of her sisters had. They’d just become integrated into the business of running the inn. Alex handled bookings and the business end, Cris manned the kitchen and Stevi did the on-site event planning.
With her future in a state of flux, Andy shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know. Everything’s such a big question mark.”
“You have one semester to go before you graduate.” It wasn’t a question. Dorothy kept close tabs on everything that went on in the lives of the family she’d adopted. The family that had taken her in when she most needed to attach herself to something solid. She was certain that Richard, and subsequently his daughters, had saved her life. As far as she was concerned, her life was theirs.
“I know,” Andy replied. Even to her own ears, her tone didn’t reflect an eagerness to get her degree and get on with her life. Her voice sounded rather hollow and empty.
“It’s only natural to be confused, dear, frightened of what lies ahead of you in the next few months and years.” Dorothy gave her a heartening smile. “Feeling that way, Andy, doesn’t mean that you’re going crazy.”
Andy’s eyes widened. “How did you know?” she asked incredulously.
“Because almost everyone goes through that—if they’re lucky. The future can be a scary place.”
“Lucky?” How could feeling this nameless confusion be considered lucky?
“Yes. The ones who aren’t lucky, who don’t feel scared, are the ones whose future has been dictated and sewn up for them right from the moment they first drew breath. They’re the ones whose choices are limited and whose options are nonexistent.”
Andy considered what she’d said. “Put that way, I guess I am lucky.”
“Absolutely,” Dorothy confirmed with a good measure of enthusiasm. “The whole world is opening up for you, Andy. You can be anything you want to be.”
“Anything, huh?” Andy asked, a touch of mischief shimmering in her eyes. “What if I want to be a six-foot-tall, skinny brunette model?”
“You can be almost anything you want to be,” Dorothy amended without skipping a beat. Twenty-five years in the family had taught the woman to be ready for anything.
Andy laughed, brushing her lips against the housekeeper’s soft cheek. “I love you, Dorothy.”
The housekeeper looked immensely pleased. She’d heard this declaration from the girls more than once. However, each time was special, as touching for her as the very first time she had ever heard the words.
Andy, barely a toddler, had been the first to say I love you. They were grown women now, but they were her grown women even if she didn’t share a surname or their blood.
“I love you right back,” Dorothy told her, slipping off Wyatt’s stool. “Remember, call me if you need anything.”
“Don’t