After her grandmother’s death, Holly Harker now runs the Lonely Hearts B&B, a place where widows and widowers can come to meet friends. The hotel has an illustrious reputation as a house of ill repute and things get even weirder when Holly hears strange voices coming from the rafters.
She enlists the help of long-time family friend and widower Bill O’Malley. He comes to her rescue and after healing from the death of his wife, finds new comfort in Holly’s arms.
Holly Harker stood on the porch of her hundred and fifty year old antebellum home in the Mississippi woods and gazed out into the early morning mist.
She always liked things around here this time of day. Quiet, peaceful, before everybody else was awake. A reflective time.
Within the hour, people would emerge from their rooms upstairs and descend on the dining room downstairs for coffee and fresh pastries, maybe a friendly game of cards and a little more southern hospitality before they headed home.
Although the sign out front read Lonely Hearts B&B, Holly provided more than just beds at her place. She provided companionship to people who were in need of some real human contact.
Her place was not a brothel. The girls who helped her clients were escorts, and more importantly, listeners, loving companions to provide a shoulder to cry on and a sounding board to people in need.
She inherited this place from her grandmother who passed on just over a year ago. Granny had a heck of a time with the local sheriff, trying to convince them to turn the other cheek rather than shut them down.
Over the years there was absolutely no evidence of anything improper going on around here. None whatsoever.
There were rumors, though, about strange noises coming from upstairs once in a while. Holly knew all about that, but she didn’t bother asking questions.
As long as her guests looked happy when they left, that was her only concern.
Holly finished her first cup of coffee and went back inside to finish rolling out the fresh cinnamon dough for her special rolls everybody raved about.
Nothing like a warm bed, a pair of loving arms and some good hot fresh pastries to send a man into a state of bliss.
Grandma’s recipes were famous around here. Almost as famous as the Lonely Heart’s reputation.
“Miss Holly?” A deep voice interrupted her while she was putting her rolls in the oven.
Holly turned around, as she wiped her hands on her apron.
Handsome Bill O’Malley stood in the doorway, wearing a plaid flannel shirt. His thick brown hair, combed perfectly on his head, with a slight smile on his face, looked good on him. It wasn’t too long ago that poor Bill was in quite a state, but now, thanks to his visits, he was finally on the mend.
“Yes? How can I help?”
“There’s that noise coming from upstairs again. I don’t mean to bother you about it, but…I know it has to be waking people up. It’s so loud. I surely can’t be the only one to hear it.”
“Thanks for that, Bill.” Holly walked toward the coffee pot, pulled a cup from the cabinet. “Want some?”
“Sure, thanks, but I can get that.” Bill walked over, grabbed the percolator from the stove and poured. He glanced at her half empty cup. “Refill?”
“Yes, thank you.” Holly liked Bill. He wasn’t like the other men who visited here. He always came at the crack of dawn, and stayed until just before eight. Then he went off to work. He never spent the night with the ladies, but enjoyed having coffee with them. Ever since his wife died two years ago. Poor dear. He just needed a little company to get himself going in the morning.
“Cream?” Bill offered to pour.
“Don’t mind if I do,” Holly smiled. It was nice to have somebody waiting on her for a change. “My rolls are in the oven. Want to wait for some?”
“I smell them, and of course I do,” Bill smiled.
Holly smelled Bill. His cologne drove her mad, as well as everything else about him. He was a real keeper, or would be, for the right girl. She carried her cup out to the porch. She and Bill sat together on the swing, drinking coffee and watching the sun burn the mist away.
“Nobody makes coffee like you do,” he said.
“Thanks.”
“It’s true,” he beamed.
“I’m sorry about the noise up there, Bill. I promise I’ll check it out later and see if I can get rid of it. Maybe there’s a squirrel in the attic, or another raccoon.” She shrugged. The complaints had been going on since she took over the place, and no matter what, she never found the source.
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