"Well?" Sherry prompted, her brows raised as she waited for news, good or bad.
"He's coming right over."
"Caught him before he got started on another job, then," said Sherry, looking as relieved as Gate felt.
Gate looked at the boys, who were both sitting watching her, their spoons held suspended. "You two need to finish your cereal, or you won't be able to watch Mr. Harris," she said sternly. That wasn't exactly the truth, since Mr. Harris would be right there in the kitchen with them, but they were four; what did they know?
"We'll huwwy," Tucker said, and both resumed eating with more energy than precision.
"Hurry," Gate said, emphasizing the r sound.
"Hurry," Tucker obediently repeated. He could say the sound when he wanted to, but when he was distracted - which was often - he fell back into babyish speech patterns. He talked so much; it was as if he didn't take the time to properly say the words. "Mistuh Hawwis is coming," he told Tanner, as if his brother didn't know. "I'm gonna play with the dwill."
"Drill," Gate corrected. "And you will not. You may watch him, but leave the tools alone."
His big blue eyes filled with tears, and his lower lip trembled. "Mistuh Hawwis lets us play with them."
"That's when he has time. He'll be in a hurry today, because he has another job to do when he leaves here."
When she first opened the B and B, Gate had tried to keep them from bothering the handyman while he was working, and since they'd been just one at the time, the job should have been easier, but they had shown remarkable skill in slipping away. As soon as she turned her back, both boys zoomed back to him like magnets to steel. They had been like little monkeys, poking into his toolbox, running off with anything they could pick up, so she knew they had been as severe a trial to his patience as they had been to hers, but he'd never said a word of complaint, and for that she blessed him. Not that his silence on the matter was surprising; he seldom said anything, period.
The boys were older now, but their fascination with tools hadn't waned. The only difference was that now they insisted on "helping."
"They don't bother me," Mr. Harris would mumble whenever she caught them, ducking his head as his cheeks colored. He was painfully shy, rarely looking her in the eve and actually speaking only when he had to. Well, he did talk to the boys. Maybe he felt at ease with them because they were so young, but she had heard his voice mixed with the boys' higher-pitched, excited tones as they seemed to carry on real conversations.
She glanced out the kitchen door and saw three customers lined up to pay their bills. "I'll be right back," she said, and went out to take their money. She hadn't wanted to put a cash register in the dining room, but her breakfast business had made it necessary, so she had installed a small one by the outside door. Two of the customers were Joshua Creed and his client, which meant the dining room would soon be emptying out, now that Mr. Creed was leaving.
"Cate," Mr. Creed said, inclining his head toward her. He was tall and broad-shouldered, his dark hair silvering at the temples, and his face weathered from the elements. His hazel eyes were narrow, his gaze piercing; he looked as if he could chew nails and spit out bullets, but he was always respectful and kind when he spoke to her. "Those scones of yours just keep getting better and better. I'd weigh four hundred pounds if I ate here every day."
"I doubt that, but thanks."
He turned and introduced his client. "Cate, this is Randall Wellingham. Randall, this lovely lady is Cate Nightingale, the owner of Nightingale's Bed and Breakfast, and incidentally the best cook around."
The first compliment was debatable, and the second one a downright lie, because Waller Karl's wife. Milly, was one of those natural cooks who seldom measured anything but could cook like an angel. Still, it couldn't hurt business to have Mr. Creed saying things like that.
"I can't argue with any of that," Mr. Wellingham said in his too-hearty tone, holding out his hand while his gaze swiftly raked down her before returning to her face, his expression saying that he was unimpressed with either her or her cooking, Cate forced herself to shake hands. His grip was too firm, his skin too smooth. This wasn't a man who did a lot of physical work, which would have been okay in itself if he hadn't plainly looked flown on all the other people there because they did. Only Mr. Creed was spared. but then only someone blind and stupid would treat him with disdain.
"Are you staying long?" she asked, just to be polite.
"Just a week. That's all the time I can manage away from the office. Every time I leave, the place goes to hell." he said, chuck ling.
She didn't comment. She imagined he owned his own business, considering the wealth he flashed, but she didn't care enough to ask. Mr. Creed nodded, placed his black hat on his head, and the two men exited to let the next customer step up to pay. Two more people joined the queue.
By the time she had taken their money and refilled the coffee cups around the room, Conrad and Gordon Moon had finished, and she returned to the cash register, where she fended off Conrad's heavy compliments and Gordon's amusement. He seemed to think it funny that his father had developed a tendre for her.
Gate didn't think it funny at all when Conrad paused after his son had stepped out on the porch. He paused and swallowed so hard his Adam's apple bobbed. "Miss Gate, I'd like to ask - that is... are you receiving visitors tonight?"
The old-fashioned approach both charmed and alarmed; she liked the way he'd done it, but was horrified that he'd asked at all. Gate did her own swallowing, then stepped up to the plate, on the theory that sidestepping the issue would only bring on more approaches. "No, I'm not. I spend the evenings with my boys. I'm so busy during the day that night is the only time I have with them, and I don't think it would be right to take that away."