The Welcoming by Nora Roberts

rooms.”
    â€œAll right.”
    â€œThe brushes and pans and rollers are down there, too. Everything’s on the workbench on the right as you come down the stairs.”
    â€œI’ll find them.”
    â€œGood. Cabin 4 has a dripping faucet.”
    â€œI’ll look at it.”
    She didn’t want him to be so damn agreeable, Charity thought. She wanted him to be as tense and out of sorts as she was. “The window sticks in unit 2 in the east wing.”
    He sent her an even look. “I’ll unstick it.”
    â€œFine.” Suddenly she noticed that Dolores had stopped complaining and was gawking at her. Even Mae was frowning over her mixing bowl. The hell with it, Charity thought as she shoved her plate away. So she was issuing orders like Captain Bligh. She damn well felt like Captain Bligh.
    She took a ring of keys out of her pocket. She’d just put them on that morning, having intended to see to the minor chores herself. “Make sure to bring these back to the office when you’ve finished. They’re tagged for the proper doors.”
    â€œYes, ma’am.” Keeping his eyes on hers, he dropped the ring into his breast pocket. “Anything else?”
    â€œI’ll let you know.” She rose, took her plate to the sink and stalked out.
    â€œWhat got into her?” Dolores wanted to know. “She looked like she wanted to chew somebody’s head off.”
    â€œShe just didn’t sleep well.” More concerned than she wanted to let on, Mae set down the mixing bowl in which she’d been creaming butter and sugar. Because she felt like the mother of an ill-mannered child, she picked up the coffeepot and carried it over to Roman. “Charity’s not feeling quite herself this morning,” she told him as she poured him a second cup. “She’s been overworked lately.”
    â€œI’ve got thick skin.” But he’d felt the sting. “Maybe she should delegate more.”
    â€œHa! That girl?” Pleased that he hadn’t complained, she became more expansive. “It ain’t in her. Feels responsible if a guest stubs his toe. Just like her grandpa.” Mae added a stream of vanilla to the bowl and went back to her mixing. “Not a thing goes on around here she don’t have a finger—more likely her whole hand—in. Except my cooking.” Mae’s wide face creased in a smile. “I shooed her out of here when she was a girl, and I can shoo her out of here today if need be.”
    â€œGirl can’t boil water without scorching the pan,” Dolores put in.
    â€œShe could if she wanted to,” Mae said defensively, turning back to Roman with a sniff. “There’s no need for her to cook when she’s got me, and she’s smart enough to know it. Everything else, though, from painting the porch to keeping the books, has to have her stamp on it. She’s one who takes her responsibilities to heart.”
    Roman played out the lead she had offered him. “That’s an admirable quality. You’ve worked for her a long time.”
    â€œBetween Charity and her grandfather, I’ve worked at the inn for twenty-eight years come June.” She jerked her head in Dolores’s direction. “She’s been here eight.”
    â€œNine,” Dolores said. “Nine years this month.”
    â€œIt sounds like when people come to work here they stay.”
    â€œYou got that right,” Mae told him.
    â€œIt seems the inn has a loyal, hardworking staff.”
    â€œCharity makes it easy.” Competently Mae measured out baking powder. “She was just feeling moody this morning.”
    â€œShe did look a little tired,” Roman said slowly, ignoring a pang of guilt. “Maybe she’ll rest for a while today.”
    â€œNot likely.”
    â€œThe housekeeping staff seems tight.”
    â€œShe’ll still find a bed to make.”
    â€œBob