Inn for a Surprise by Karen Witemeyer

Author:Karen Witemeyer [Witemeyer, Karen]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: historical fiction, FIC042110, FIC042030, FIC027360
ISBN: 9781493424962
Publisher: Baker Publishing Group
Published: 2021-02-19T00:00:00+00:00

eight

Barnabas pulled the pair of draft horses to a halt, set the brake, then did something so ungentlemanly that his mother would have taken a switch to his backside had she borne witness. Thankfully, she was half a state away. The female reaction he most cared about belonged to a woman much closer. One inside the green building in front of him.

As if he were Jesus calling forth the entombed Lazarus, Barnabas cupped his hands around his mouth and bellowed with absolutely no chivalry whatsoever. “Phoebe Woodward! Come out!”

He didn’t have long to wait. Less than a minute later, the door flew open, and an adorably bespectacled woman rushed out onto the porch. Her light blue skirt whipped wildly about her ankles until she reached the stairs. She grabbed hold of the railing with one hand and yanked herself to a halt.

“What on earth?” Her eyes widened. Her gaze drank in the conveyance he sat perched upon—­the yellow wheels, dark red body, three black leather seats, surrey top with rolled canvas curtains, and hefty rear luggage rack—­then finally meandered up to his face. “Barnabas? Is that a . . . a . . .”

“A Studebaker Mountain Passenger Wagon? Yes, it is.” He grinned. Smugly.

He’d been looking forward to this moment for weeks. He’d stumbled across this beauty in a carriage shop in Huntsville when he’d gone to find pieces for the room-­decorating contest. The vehicle had been a mess. A wheel missing. Paint worn clear away. Leather trim disintegrated from weather and heavy use. The owner had parted with it for less than $200. Barnabas had snatched it up without hesitation and delivered it to the carpenter who handled most of his restoration projects. A new wheel, fresh paint, reupholstered seats, a few repairs to the under­carriage, and he had the perfect coach for a budding hostler.

Phoebe crept down the stairs as if she were afraid the carriage would turn into a pumpkin if she approached too quickly. Barnabas disembarked and hurried around the team of draft horses he’d rented, eager to show off his acquisition.

“Father told me he wasn’t ready to invest in a carriage yet,” Phoebe said, her voice soft, her brow furrowed. She tentatively approached the carriage and ran her fingers along the red-­painted wood that formed the body.

Barnabas clapped a hand over the edge of the frame, a mere inch from where her fingers traced the wood grain. “I convinced him to reconsider when I found this lady for such a bargain. Barely one-­third the cost of a new one, even after all the repairs.”

Man, he wanted to hold her. To sweep her into his arms and celebrate their victory with gusto. To feel her wonder-­filled smile against his mouth.

The workmen might be gone after the month they’d spent painting, papering, and installing, but he and Phoebe weren’t alone. Even now, Mrs. Roberts, the widow they’d hired as the inn’s cook—­and unofficial chaperone for Phoebe once she decided to take up residence in the innkeeper’s personal chambers downstairs—­was walking out onto the front porch.

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