The Proposal at Siesta Key (7 page)

“Aunt Bev, I had to sit at the very back of the bus the whole entire time! And that meant I couldn't get off the bus until everyone else did. So, when I finally did, the crowd around the bus was so thick I couldn't find you. Then I had to get this bag and then the wheel popped off.”

“Goodness.”

“And I had no idea how to find you,” Tricia continued, barreling through her explanation, yet telling her nothing of consequence. “And Tony the bus driver didn't look all that excited to help me, neither. I sure wish he would have.”

“Tony is usually ready to get on his way home,” Beverly explained.

“So I had to ask everyone I could find where the Orange Blossom Inn was. And the first four people didn't know.” She glared at Beverly, as if it were her fault she'd been lost.

“You were heading in the right direction.” Hopefully Tricia's explanation was heading there as well. “So, did someone finally give you some help?”

“
Jah
. I ended up asking a pair of boys. They knew right where your inn was.” After sighing rather dramatically, she said, “I kind of thought one of them would have offered to help me with my suitcase, seeing how it is broken and all, but they didn't.”

“I can help you now, dear,” Beverly said soothingly, hoping her dear niece would finally understand that they had so much more to talk about besides luggage and Tony's grumpiness.

Tricia launched herself into Beverly's arms again. “Oh, thank you, Aunt Bev. I knew everything would be okay as soon as I found you. I knew it.”

Grasping the handle of the broken suitcase, Beverly positioned it so she could wheel it on just two of the three remaining wheels, and started walking. She realized she was going to have to push a little bit harder for information. “Tricia, dear, I must admit to being mighty surprised to see you. Did you, ah, write me a letter to tell me you were coming?”

“Oh,
nee
! I decided to surprise you.”

“You certainly did.” Beverly swallowed a retort. There was a time and place for everything and here on the sidewalk wasn't it. “Well, um, you have a fairly big suitcase. How long do you plan to visit?”

“For a while.”

Beverly prodded some more. “How long is awhile, dear? One week? Two?”

“To tell you the truth, I was thinking of staying quite a bit longer than that.”

Beverly stopped. “Dear, I'm always happy to see you, but now you're starting to confuse me. Why are you being so evasive? I mean, of course you purchased a return ticket?”

Tricia tilted her head down and nudged a pebble with her toes. “Um, actually I didn't do that.”

Beverly was at sea. “You didn't do what?”

“Buy a return ticket.” After taking a deep breath, Tricia said, “Aunt Bev, I've decided to live in Pinecraft.”

“Forever?”

“I had to get out of Sugarcreek and I knew you would take me in,” she said in a rush. “After all, if there was anyone who would understand, it would be you.” She smiled then. An angelic, lovely, beautiful smile. It was so sweet, so dear, that Beverly felt every retort, question, and comment in her head drift away. Tricia needed her. Tricia had left everything in the hopes that her aunt Beverly would help her.

What was she supposed to do about that?

It was a big question.

A half an hour ago she would have protested that she had no time. Her inn was as busy as ever. She had Eric Wagler, her new landlord, to deal with. She had the famous, attractive, and injured Michael Knoxx to look after. And one very shy, very needy Penny Troyer as her newest employee.

However, it seemed that the Lord had other thoughts about all that.

Beverly was starting to wish she'd said yes to Sadie's invitation to dine at Yoder's. Sometimes the only thing that made something bearable was a slice of coconut cream pie.

And she could surely use one right about now.

T
here was a crow outside Michael's window. Or maybe a seagull. Maybe even a pelican. Some kind of large, noisy bird that was enjoying the Florida morning and making it its business to let the world know.

Or, maybe it was in love.

Whatever it was doing, it was doing it noisily. Right outside Michael's window. And it had been doing it since daybreak.

The bird squawked again.

“You . . . You bird.” He was somewhat proud of himself for not calling it something else. Or adding a few choice adjectives. But if that creature didn't move along soon, Michael knew his restraint was going to fly out the window, no pun intended. If Michael had been able to easily get out of bed, he would have thrown open the window and shooed it away. Yelled at it. Shoot, he would have happily thrown a rock at it if it would have saved him from the continual squawking.

With a sigh, he shifted and tried to concentrate on how comfortable his bed was instead. If the Lord intended for him to be bound to a bed for the next month, at least He'd given Michael an exceptionally comfortable place to be.

Beverly Overholt's Orange Blossom Inn held everything any weary traveler could want. Fine, soft cotton sheets wrapping a pillow-topped queen-sized bed. Blankets that smelled fresh and clean. Quilts that were soft and pliable, their patches of fabric made of faded colors, evidence of frequent washings and hours spent fluttering in the warm Florida sun.

Beyond the bed was a desk, dresser, and bedside table stained in a pale, white-washed mushroom brown. There was also a comfortable-looking chair and ottoman upholstered in blue, tan, and ivory stripes. The walls were painted the palest blue, the ceiling a bright white. The floor was whitewashed wood. Thick, cream-colored area rugs were soft underfoot.

Since Michael traveled over two hundred days a year and had spent many a night in old guest rooms, dirty hotels, and once, a cabin infested with fleas, he could certainly appreciate his luxurious surroundings.

However, he couldn't recall being plagued by such an incessantly squawking bird.

Picking up his book, he attempted to get lost in the story of a man trying to discover himself in the darkest corners of Alaska, but the descriptions of the snow and ice didn't mean much to him. It all seemed too far removed from where he currently was.

Or maybe it was that bird pecking at his window.

So, he watched the clock's minute hand slowly inch around. And then he watched as it did it again.

The two timid raps at the door just then sounded like choir bells, they were so welcome. “Yes?”

“Michael? It's Penny,” she called through the door.

He couldn't resist smiling. “Yes, Penny?”

“Um, may I come in?”

“Jah.”

He sat up as the door slowly opened, and Penny stepped in. “
Gut matin
,” she said with a sweet smile.

“
Gut matin
to you, too.” He couldn't help but smile back. Today she had on a pale blue dress. It highlighted her blue eyes and the golden hair under her perfectly pressed white
kapp
. She looked pretty. Pretty as a picture, as his
daed
would say.

And as she quietly stepped closer, he found himself thinking that she walked with a rolling gait. Going forward but ready to backtrack at a second's notice. The closer she got to him, the brighter pink her cheeks became, finally allowing him to concentrate on something besides one annoying, tapping bird.

“Michael, how are you feeling today?” she asked as she approached. A new, almost clinical look of concern was in her eyes.

At this moment, he felt great. “I am
gut
,
danke
.”

“Are you sure? Your, ah, knee, isn't paining you too much?”

“No worse than usual.” He was about to describe his troubles with the squawking bird outside, just to see her grin, when he noticed that her serious expression wasn't actually for him. She seemed to be attempting to cover up her own pain.

And, he thought, doing a fairly poor job of it.

“Penny, I may be doing all right, but I don't think you are.”

She blinked those blue eyes, looked tempted to argue, then with a half smile, shook her head. “I'm afraid that is true.”

“Want to talk about it?”

“I do not.” Looking decidedly determined, she straightened her shoulders. “Miss Beverly sent me up to see what you would like to eat. Would you care for an early lunch?” Still studying him, she frowned. “Or would you prefer a late breakfast?”

Just as he opened his mouth to mention that he didn't care, she continued. “Downstairs, there are banana pancakes, fruit,
and coffee cake. Or Miss Beverly could make you eggs. Or grits,” she added eagerly. “Would you like some grits?”

“Definitely no grits.”

As he'd hoped, she relaxed a bit. “You haven't embraced Southern food yet?”

“Nope.”

“It took me some time after I moved here, too.”

He zeroed in on that like the bird's inordinate interest in his window. “I want to hear all about when you moved here, and I'll be happy to give you my order, but first I need your help.”

“How may I help you?”

He pointed to his crutches across the room. “I forgot to ask Beverly to set those by the bed last night. I need them.”

She rushed to get them and didn't blink when he slid to the side and carefully got upright. As he started making his way to the facilities, she merely stood to one side and didn't embarrass him by asking if he needed help. He did not.

She didn't even gape at the way one of his pajama bottoms had been cut and hemmed to just below his knee to account for the prosthesis. He'd long since given up the idea that he had to hang on to that extra fabric to save anyone else's sensibilities.

After he came out of the bathroom, he hid a smile when he saw that she'd straightened his sheets and fluffed his pillows. There was no need to draw attention to her kindness when she'd done so much to save his dignity.

Then he heard that blasted bird squawk again.

“Penny, come here,” he ordered as he crutched over to the window.

She rushed to his side. “What's wrong?”

After locating the string, he pulled open the blind and stared
at the small gray and white mockingbird that was standing on the windowsill, looking in. “This is what's wrong.”

Penny tilted her head to one side. “You don't care for birds?”

The small creature eyed them, pecked at the window, then squawked. “I don't care for
rude
birds. This little guy woke me up the moment the sun appeared on the horizon.”

She tilted her head. Then, for the first time, her expression became unguarded, transforming her from a rather charming girl into a particularly lovely woman.

His body jolted in response.

“What do you want to do?” she murmured.

He wasn't sure. Did he want to flirt with her a little? Attempt to make her smile again? Try to figure out why there were shadows dancing behind her eyes except when she spied noisy little birds?

“I can't decide,” he answered honestly.

When the bird pecked the window again, she clucked her tongue against her teeth and reached for the latch, which, of course, dislodged the annoying bird. After snapping the window shut, she located a sheet of the inn's letterhead on his desk, then slipped that into the window's wood frame so it was lodged there.

“What does the paper do?”

“Removes the reflection. The morning sun must hit your window in such a way that there's a good reflection on it. Birds are social creatures. When they see their reflections, they will peck and peck until they reach their new friend. This should do the trick.”

“That is clever.”

She chuckled. “Not so much. I just know birds, I guess.” After pulling the blind back down, she continued. “Now, Michael
Knoxx, you must tell me what you want for breakfast and do it quickly or Miss Beverly's gonna wonder what I'm doing.”

“I'll have the pancakes, juice, and
kaffi
.”

“Do you take cream?” Her eyes widened. “Or sugar? Do like sugar in your
kaffi
, too?”

She was too cute. Obviously Miss Beverly had coached her to ask guests how they wanted their coffee.

“Just cream.”

She turned toward the door. “I'll be back soon with your plate.”

“Wait.”

“Yes?”

“Help me with the crutches, would ya?” he asked as he hobbled over to his bedside and lowered himself onto it.

Her hand hovered. “Where do you need me to place them?”

“Against the wall is fine. Usually, I simply lay them on the floor and kind of scoot down to pick them up myself. But my knee is hurting too much for that.”

She took the crutches and set them against the wall near the bed's headboard. “How's this? I'll be happy to help you with them if I'm here. But if you have an emergency you can reach them without putting pressure on your knee.”

“That is perfect, Penny.”

And when she smiled back at him, looking pleased with herself, he couldn't resist teasing her some more. “Penny, you are turning out to be a woman I can't live without,” he announced in a dramatic way.

“Is that right?”

“Absolutely! You're able to solve my problems, solve the bird's problems, and make my life easier. All in one very affable way.”

“Affable, hmm? You make me sound so special.”

He grinned. “You, I think, are more than that.”

She rolled her eyes before striding out the door.

But in the quiet of his very comfortable, now very peaceful room, Michael realized that he'd been tempted to say that his words couldn't have been truer. Her presence in his life was serving to lift his mood. A reminder that he wasn't always a speaker or a motivator, or anything special. Really, he was simply a man. Just a man who was kind of, sort of, developing a crush on a girl in the middle of Pinecraft, Florida.

Which, in many ways, was far more discomfiting than a noisy bird outside his window.

B
Y THE TIME
P
ENNY
finally made her way back to the kitchen, Miss Beverly was waiting for her at the foot of the stairs. Inwardly, she winced, trying to come up with an excuse, but having no idea how to explain herself.

Luckily, Beverly started talking before Penny had a moment to even think. “Penny, at last!” she exclaimed with what looked to be a very relieved sigh. “I've been standing here for the last five minutes, debating about whether to go upstairs and see what was taking you so long or to simply be patient and wait.”

The comment was so endearing, Penny took the chance to tease her. “I hate to say it, but you don't look like you've been waiting all
that
patiently.”

Beverly smiled, tucking her chin in embarrassment. “You are right about that. I've been more than a little bit concerned.”

“I'm sorry. Michael had some things he needed me to do,” she said evasively. She didn't want to embarrass him by sharing too much information.

“Like what?”

Well, at least she'd tried to give him a little bit of privacy.
“Michael needed to go to the bathroom. Then, well, then he had some trouble with a bird.”

“What kind of trouble?”

“A lonely mockingbird.” Penny smiled. “Michael said she'd been pecking and squawking at his window all morning. She woke him up.”

“Perhaps he can now count birds among his number of fans,” she joked. “I'm surprised he didn't call me to help him shoo it away.”

“His crutches were out of his reach. I'm afraid he was stuck in bed.” Penny had a feeling that Michael wouldn't have been in a hurry to reveal more weaknesses to Miss Beverly, anyway.

Her expression fell. “Oh, that poor boy. I remember now. I set them next to the door after I checked on him last night. I don't know what I was thinking.”

Penny didn't know what to say to that. On one hand, Miss Beverly was exactly right; she hadn't been thinking. Poor Michael had been stuck in bed, which was a difficult thing for any man, let alone a man like him who was no doubt used to his freedom. In fact, he seemed determined to prove his independence at every turn.

On the other, he was definitely not helpless. Which meant that he should have remembered to make sure his crutches were nearby.

“Everything's taken care of now,” she murmured, “so there isn't anything to worry about.”

“You're right.” She clapped her hands lightly together. “Now, what would he like for breakfast?”

“Pancakes, juice, and
kaffi
.”

“Right. Let's go to the kitchen. I'll make his pancakes, you can get him a carafe of
kaffi
.” As she walked, she added, “He's
not an easy guest, Penny, but you're doing just fine with him. He said you have a way about you that's warm and pleasing.”

“He said that?”

“Oh,
jah
. I must tell you, I'm impressed. I know of too many girls who would be treating him like a celebrity and making him feel self-conscious.”

She couldn't help but smile at that. This morning, she hadn't even thought of him as “Michael Knoxx.” Instead, he'd been simply Michael. The more they'd gotten to know each other, the less she'd thought about how famous he was. Little by little, she was starting to appreciate his kindness and his humor. “We seem to get along well enough.”

“Hiring you was the right decision, Penny. Michael is so used to being independent, I feared he was going to have a hard time recovering from surgery. However, he might let down his guard if you two are friends.”

“I'm not sure if we are actually friends. . . .”

“If you two aren't exactly friends yet, you're at least developing a relationship, right?”

Penny supposed so. “Right,” she agreed.