It wasn’t until a string got tangled in his fingers that he realized it wasn’t a spiderweb after all. With a nervous chuckle he gave it a jerk, and presto, the foyer lit up. Glaring at the wooden thread spool hanging from the end of the string, he said, “Enjoy this, because you will be rewired to a switch by the end of next week.”

It took a moment for his eyes to focus when he looked away from the light bulb, but when he did, both of his hands went up in surrender. Jolene stood in her bedroom door with a small pistol pointed at him.

“That cord is part of the old-time feeling, and something Aunt Sugar would never change. And neither will I,” she said.

“Whoa, girl! It’s just me,” Tucker said. “I didn’t know about the light, and I thought I’d run into a spiderweb.”

She lowered the gun. “Scared of spiders, are you?”

“Terrified,” he answered and wished he could cram the words back into his mouth. Melanie was the only one who knew about his phobia.

“Well, you’d better be more afraid of me mistaking you for a burglar and shooting your sorry butt. Turn out the light before you go to bed. No need in jacking the electric bill up—unless a big, brave cowboy like you is afraid of the dark, too,” she said.

“No, ma’am, just spiders. You afraid of anything?”

“Not one thing long as I have this little friend close by.” She kissed the barrel of the pistol and disappeared back into her bedroom.

He’d checked out the whole house earlier and knew that the other bedroom on the ground floor opened right across the foyer from her room. He felt around on the wall just inside the door and breathed a sigh of relief when he found the switch. One flick of the wrist and the room was lit up. Before he did anything else, he went back to the foyer, got his bag, and pulled the string to turn out the light.

“Save on the electric bill.” Melanie had said that too many times to count. He eased the door to his room shut and scanned the place, as much for spiders as for furniture placement. Antique lamps were centered on a couple of nightstands flanking the queen-size four-poster bed. A rocking chair snugged against a pole lamp, and a dresser provided four drawers and a mirror. No closet, so his clothing would have to be stored in the dresser drawers. Not that he had that much—one drawer would hold his work clothes, and one would take care of his two pairs of Saturday-night jeans and pearl-snap shirts.

Evidently, he and Jolene would share the tiny downstairs bathroom. He shook his head. “That ain’t goin’ to work. I’ll take one of the bathrooms upstairs. Maybe the one with HIS painted on the door. That way I’ll stay out of her way, and she can stay out of mine.”

He picked up his bag, left the light on in his bedroom, and made his way up the stairs. Even if the bathroom dated back several decades, he was grateful to find a light switch right inside the door. But no shower. He groaned. “I bet the guys who got dragged in here by their wives just loved that.”

He turned off the light and went back downstairs to the little bathroom that had a shower, a wall-hung sink, and a toilet crammed into what appeared to be the original linen closet. He bumped his shoulder twice in the process of getting his shoes and clothing off. By then the water had warmed up enough that he could at least get inside the smallest shower on the planet. Thank God there was soap, because he hadn’t thought to bring his from the trailer. When he had to bend just to rinse the soap from his hair, he swore that the first thing he would do was get a decent bathroom ready upstairs—one with a nice big walk-in shower. Besides, it would be good for any handicapped folks who stayed at the inn.

“No, that won’t work,” he grumbled as he got out and reached for a towel from the stack on the back of the toilet. “Without an elevator, we can’t say that we are equipped for handicapped folks, unless I take one of the upstairs rooms and open up the one on the ground floor for that.” The gears in his mind began to churn again, and by the time he finished drying off, he’d already redesigned the rooms.

He wrapped the towel around his waist and peeked out the door to make sure Jolene wasn’t in sight before he sprinted across the foyer. When he was safely in his room, he dropped the towel and crawled in between the soft white sheets. It had been a long time since he’d slept in a queen-size bed, and it felt like it covered an acre. He tossed and turned, wishing he had a switch to turn off his mind.

He laced his hands behind his head and decided that his plans for the private bathrooms had to change. Forget the claw-foot idea. Each bathroom would have a tub with a shower above it, giving the guests a choice. The vanity could still be an antique washstand or some kind of dresser like that—maybe with a bowl-type sink. But there was no way he was going to punish guys by not offering them a shower.

Finally, he drifted off to sleep, only to dream again of that last night he and Melanie had spent in the trailer before the accident that took her life. They’d been camping out by a lake near Dallas, and she’d wanted to make a grocery run into town. In the dream he told her they could live on love, and he’d go to get food later. When he awoke with a start, he wished for the hundredth time that he’d really done that.

He touched his phone and the screen lit up—six o’clock. The smell of coffee already brewing brought him fully awake. That’s when he remembered that he’d left his bag in the bathroom and he had nothing but a towel to wear. He pushed back the covers and shivered, picked up the damp towel, draped it around his waist, and hurried to the end of the foyer where the bathroom was located. He quickly dressed in well-worn work jeans and a long-sleeved shirt and almost shouted when his socks matched.