Southern Hospitality by Sally Falcon Read Free Book Online Page B

Planchet was just an ordinary woman.

Chapter Three
    “Morning, Arnette,” Tory announced the moment she walked into the kitchen early the next morning. The wonderful smell of fresh baking filled her senses, but she was here for one reason and wouldn’t be sidetracked. “What’s the old buzzard up to this morning?”
    “Just let me get this last batch out of the oven, hon. You know where the coffee is,” Arnette answered with a welcoming smile as she took a tray of warm cookies from the oven.
    Tory crossed to the coffee maker under the clear-glass cupboards. She followed the cardinal rule of the kitchen as she poured herself a cup of rich, fresh ground coffee; never bother Arnette when she was in the middle of anything. But when she idly glanced at the cookie sheet that Arnette was deftly balancing, every other thought went out of Tory’s head.
    “What is T.L. wearing this morning, and why are you making snickerdoodles?” Tory shot out, looking at the sugar-and-cinnamon topped confections with horror. They were T.L.’s traveling snacks.
    “If you want to know anything about your daddy, just march yourself into the dining room, young lady.” Arnette didn’t bother to look up from her task. “These cookies have to be ready when he is. So, go ask him what you want to know.”
    Tory turned on her heels, careful not to spill her coffee, and made a beeline for the dining room. The old goat was going to sneak out of town and leave her with Logan without so much as a goodbye. She was brought up short on the kitchen’s threshold at the thought of Logan. Spinning around, she said, “Is our resident royalty out of bed yet?”
    “If you mean Mr. Herrington, no, he isn’t. What have you got against that nice young man?” Her curiosity pulled Arnette’s attention away from the cookie sheet to give Tory a searching look.
    “You wouldn’t understand.” She tossed the words over her shoulder, needing to escape the older woman’s eagle eyes. As soon as she was out of sight in the hallway, Tory hesitated. She wasn’t sure exactly what T.L.’s game was, but it certainly had something to do with the mysterious purpose of Logan’s trip, which wasn’t to report on any car rally. The most obvious motive of matchmaking simply didn’t apply. T.L. wasn’t a parent who insisted that marriage was the answer for his offspring, with two of his three marriages ending in divorce. He was pleased that Sanders and Curtiss had started families, but he didn’t harangue Trevor or Tory continually about their single status.
    She took a deep breath to help collect her thoughts. This had to be handled with a level, cool head. She couldn’t let T.L. think she had an inordinate interest in Logan. T.L. didn’t need to know that she’d tossed and turned all night long with countless dreams about their visitor. First the disgruntled traveler at the airport, then the nice man that Amanda Sue commandeered as her willing slave, followed by the arrogant, demanding man in her cottage. The most prominent image was Logan stripped to the waist, only he wasn’t standing framed in his bedroom window. He was standing at the end of her bed.
    The sounds of Arnette bustling around the kitchen behind her brought Tory out of her dangerous memories of the night. It wouldn’t do for the other woman to find her daydreaming in the hall. With a deep swallow of Arnette’s coffee, Tory headed for the dining room.
    T.L. sat in solitary splendor at the head of the long, mahogany table. “Well, darlin’, what has you up this early?” he exclaimed in greeting before taking a bite from the ham biscuit in his hand. He was dressed in a subdued brown-and-pale-blue plaid suit that allowed Tory to relax her fixed smile slightly. He was dressed for a fairly rational discussion.
    “Seven-thirty seems late, since I’m usually up at five to get the baking started. Even with three months off, I can’t seem to shake the habit,” she said, slipping into the chair next