shoulder.
Hayley bit her lip to keep from saying, I didnât ask you. Instead she closed the door firmly behind her and went home. If Sam stayed, either he and Mattie would kill each other or theyâd achieve some kind of working arrangement. She had to hope for the latter, but she couldnât do any more about it today. Her nerves were shot, her heart was pounding and she dreaded the arrival of Sam at her house.Why had she ever volunteered to put him up? Why hadnât she found him a room somewhere else? She knew the answer to that one. She just didnât want to admit it. She was still in love with him.
Three
T here was a sport utility vehicle parked in the circular driveway in front of the Bancroft House, which was unarguably the biggest, the most beautiful and the most prominent house in town. Sitting on a knoll, with a view of the ocean from every window, it was a monument to the past, a tribute to Hayleyâs ancestors, the early Bancrofts whoâd made their fortune in lumber. Way too big for a single person, even way too big for a family with two children and a grandfather who had lived on the third floor. Hayley still loved living there.
But she couldnât afford to live there much longer unless she earned some money. Turning the house into a bed and breakfast seemed like an obvious solution for a woman with no discernible skills except doing community development in Africa and volunteer work in Portland, cooking and running a house. Sheâd done the latter for her husbandand got no credit for it, why not do it for profit? Only there was no profit. Not yet.
That was the cry all over New Hope. No business. Young people were leaving for Portland and Seattle. Old people were leaving for L.A. and Phoenix. No, a doctor wasnât going to turn New Hope into Newport, that quaint seaport with the new aquarium and the chic shops. Thatâs not why sheâd gone after a doctor. It wouldnât solve all their problems. As Sam had suggested, it was probably not going make a damn bit of difference economically. But if he saved one life, eased one personâs pain, then it was worth it, she knew.
âHi, you must be the Kirks. Iâm Hayley Bancroft,â she told the woman who was standing in front of the house with a baby nestled against her in a front carrier and the Guidebook to Oregon Bed and Breakfasts in her hand. Hayley told herself not to act too eager. Not to act as if they were the first guests sheâd seen in two weeks. Maybe they werenât the Kirks after all. Maybe they were lost tourists.
âIs this the Bancroft House?â the woman said.
âYes, it is,â Hayley said with a smile. âAnd Iâm the owner.â
âThank heavens. Weâve been driving for seven hours. You did say you take kids, didnât you?â
âOf course we do. A baby is no problem. I have a crib and a high chair.â
âAnd baby-sitting is available?â
Hayley hesitated only a moment. âDefinitely.â She hadnât planned on it, but sheâd do it herself. She had nothing else to do.
The woman heaved a sigh of relief and beckoned to her husband, who was still behind the wheel. He got out, slidthe door to the back seat open, and two small children jumped out.
Hayleyâs eyes widened. When sheâd said she would baby-sit, she was thinking baby. One baby. âOh,â she said. âTwo more. Youâll want the two rooms, I think.â
âKids can sleep on the floor,â the man said.
âI see,â Hayley said, glad sheâd replaced the pristine white carpet that used to be on the floor of the master bedroom, where her parents once slept in the four-poster on satin sheets. Where she and her sister were not allowed to enter in case theyâd get footprints on the rug or drool on the sheets or put their little fingerprints on the woodwork. Where the walk-in closets held a huge selection of garments for every
Learning to Kill: Stories