LITMIR.BIZ

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funeral home that had been part of the community for a hundred years, entering through the same white columns she’d passed through on the day of her father’s memorial service.

       One of the brothers who ran the place was at her side immediately, murmuring his condolences and ushering her to the salon where her mother was being honored today. They’d done a lovely job displaying portraits amid floral arrangements, but the overpowering scent of so many competing flowers in a closed space made Lorelei’s nose twitch and irritated her eyes.

       Ava and her husband arrived first, immediately followed by other people who had adored Wanda. A crowd gathered around Lorelei, men and women anxious to share their memories of her mother. All around her, the town’s citizens regaled each other with stories. The room took on a buzz that made her feel as if she were trapped in a beehive. Lorelei knew her mom had been a very gracious person, could remember the comfort Wanda had taken in those close to her when her husband had passed. Wanda had laughed with them, cried with them and hugged everyone.

       In contrast, Lorelei seemed to stiffen at contact. After thirty minutes, her head throbbed. She kept eyeing the door, wanting to escape and steal a few moments of peace for herself before the official service began.

       Halfway through yet another recollection from the head librarian, a woman who had helped Wanda do folklore research for the B and B, Lorelei finally interrupted. “I’m sorry,” she said, placing a conciliatory hand on the woman’s arm. “If you’ll please excuse me for a moment, I just need…” To get the hell out of here. Luckily, the circumstances didn’t require an excuse. The small circle of people who’d gathered around her nodded sympathetically and immediately broke formation so she could pass.

       Lorelei went as quickly as decorum allowed toward a side door that led into the employee parking lot. She figured there was less risk that way for running into anyone. The service started in fifteen minutes, and there might still be mourners arriving through the front door.

       She stepped outside, lifted her face to the breeze and inhaled deeply when the door shut, muffling the conversations she’d left behind.

       “How’re you holding up?”

       Whipping her head around, she spotted Sam Travis. He was perched on the ramp railing that ran the length of the building. She’d seen him earlier—without his cowboy hat, for once—talking to Clinton and Ava Hirsch, and she’d been relieved when he didn’t approach her. Sam made her…uneasy, a sensation she hadn’t experienced in a long time.

       By the end of elementary school, she’d known she didn’t fit in with other kids. They labeled her a math geek and didn’t invite her to the giggly slumber parties her female classmates later rehashed in the cafeteria. She’d told herself it didn’t matter. At thirteen, she’d decided she was getting out of town as soon as possible. In college, she’d bonded with students similar to her and had been comfortable in her own skin ever since. She knew who she was and what she wanted out of life. She made sensible decisions, such as dating imminently compatible men and not wearing ridiculously high-heeled shoes that could injure her joints or back.

       But something about Sam made her feel as if she were teetering even in her practical pumps. She swallowed. “Wh-what are you doing out here?”

       “Same thing as you. Hiding.”

       She bristled at the implied cowardice. “I’m not ‘hiding,’ Mr. Travis. I just—”

       “Easy, darlin’. I wasn’t criticizing. There are a lot of very emotional, very talkative people in that building. Enough to make anyone skittish.” He shook his head. “Not that Wanda would have bolted. She was damn good at listening to everyone, making them feel welcome. Special.”

       Lorelei was torn. She knew what he meant, yet how many times growing up had she tried to explain to her mother how she felt? How often had Lorelei retreated to her room, frustrated that her mother wouldn’t listen?

       “I’ve always felt so removed from her,” Lorelei heard herself admit. She wasn’t sure why she was confiding in him, but she’d be gone soon—back to her real life—so what did it matter? “I tried telling myself I take after Dad, but I don’t think it’s true. He and Mom were like two peas in a pod, and I was, I don’t know, some kind of changeling baby.” Of all the crazy legends her mom had ever voiced, that one Lorelei could have believed.

       Sam squinted at her from his spot in the shade. “You were how old when you lost your dad?”

       “Six when he was diagnosed, seven when he died.”

       “I was nine when I lost my father. I don’t know about you, but a lot of the memories I have are hazy. Maybe you’re more like him than you recall.”

       There he went again, knocking her off balance. She hadn’t expected him to try to comfort her. Nor had she expected them to have anything in common. She wondered how he’d lost his own father, if the tragedy had brought Sam and his mother closer.

       “I should go back inside,” she said, unenthusiastic about the prospect. “The service will be starting soon.” The hours she’d spent working on the eulogy had been grueling, but she didn’t back down from a challenge.

       Sam nodded. “I’ll be along in a minute. You look real nice, by the way.”

       Could he guess how many times she’d changed, trying to decide the right thing to wear? The navy-and-yellow print sheath dress allowed her to wear the big bright yellow earrings her mom had sent for her birthday; the cropped navy blazer helped subdue the outfit enough for the occasion.

       Wanting to downplay the way she’d overanalyzed her decision, she made light of Sam’s compliment, keeping her voice wry enough that he wouldn’t take her seriously. “I don’t think it’s appropriate to flirt with the deceased’s daughter.”

       He rolled his eyes. “I just meant it’s good to see you wearing some color. She would have liked that.”

       “Says the man in head-to-toe black?” She doubted Sam owned a suit. Today he was showing respect in black boots, crisp jeans that looked starched to within an inch of their life and a black button-down shirt that was a dramatic foil to his light hair and eyes.

       “Well.” His expression didn’t change, but there was a grin in his voice. “I had planned to accessorize with yellow, too, but I couldn’t find my headband.”

       Lorelei laughed before she could stop herself. “I’ll see you inside. And thank you.”

       He inclined his head in a silent “you’re welcome,” and she turned to go. When she’d fled the guests in the building, her body had been rigid with tension. Now, though far from relaxed, she felt calm enough to deliver her mother’s eulogy. How had a virtual stranger Lorelei didn’t especially like known what to say? He’d even made her laugh, which was a hell of a feat on this particular occasion.

       Lorelei still didn’t have the whole story on how Sam and Wanda had become friends, but she understood how much her flamboyant mother had appreciated people who were unpredictable. And Sam Travis was full of surprises.

      THE BARRAGE OF MOURNERS and conversation didn’t stop after the memorial service; it followed Lorelei back to the inn. She would forever be grateful to local B and B owners Clare Theo and Bertha Hoffman—women who’d respected Wanda enough to want to honor her without being so close to her that they were overcome with their own grief. They took point on making gallons of coffee and splitting hostess duties, managing the flow of traffic through the downstairs rooms.

       Though his truck was in its customary spot out back, Lorelei hadn’t spotted Sam in the throng. Was he avoiding the crowd, sequestered away in his room, or was he in this crush somewhere? People kept coming up to hug her and present her with foil-covered dishes. She had enough king ranch casseroles and pecan pies to last until summer. Thank God her mother had purchased a deep freeze, because the refrigerator was long past full.

       “Lorelei?” Ava’s voice broke through the hum of surrounding conversations. “Lorelei, dear?”

      

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