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full of gray hair was at the center island, also stainless steel, boasting a six-burner gas range, grill, and another two feet of counter space.
    “You would be Rachel. I’m Annie,” the woman stated before Melinda could make introductions, all the while deftly wrapping a mouth-watering sandwich teeming with turkey, cheese, tomato, and lettuce. “And from the look of you, you’re about ready to drop from fatigue.”
    “Annie.” Melinda shook her head. “A warning, Rachel. Annie speaks her mind and there’s nothing anyone can say or do to stop her.”
    Annie laughed, the sound practically a cackle. “I only call them as I see them. And this one,” she nodded at Rachel “is asleep on her feet.” She put the sandwich into a wicker basket, next to a bag of chips, a banana, an orange, a bottle of water, and two cookies the size of Rachel’s hand.
    Rachel forced her eyes from the sandwich to Annie’s unflinching, clear eyes. “I am a bit tired.”
    “Hungry too, I imagine. Coke, Sprite, or Dr. Pepper? You don’t do that diet crap, do you?”
    Rachel blinked. “Uh. No. No diet. Dr. Pepper works for me.”
    “Good. That fake stuff will kill you.”
    Katie popped two sodas into the basket along with a small tub of ice. “Glasses are in the room.”
    “Okay.” Stunned, Rachel accepted the basket.
    Melinda ran a soothing hand down Rachel’s back. “We figured you might not make it to dinner, but you’re more than welcome to join us at six thirty. No guests tonight or tomorrow so it won’t be a full house.”
    Why did that not seem likely? Rachel considered and mentally totaled the people she’d met or knew of and the smallest number she came up with was seven, and that was adding the one who placed the wedding ring on Rome’s finger.
    Seven people plus a baby wasn’t a full house?
    Rachel cuddled the basket to her chest. “I appreciate it. Thank you.”
    “Welcome.” Annie bustled over to the sink and washed her hands. “You’ll get the rest you need here.”
    “I’ll show you to your room.” Melinda’s touch on Rachel’s back firmed and she steered her out of the kitchen. “Breakfast is between seven and nine. Buffet style, same as dinner, which is at six thirty.”
    It wasn’t until they started climbing the wide, elegant stairs that Rachel halted. “Oh. My bags. My purse.”
    “Are already in your room.” Melinda continued up without pause. “You don’t have any food allergies, do you?”
    “What?” Rachel tore her gaze from the reception area and scurried after Melinda. “Oh. No. But I don’t like salmon and detest olives of any kind.”
    Melinda came to a sudden stop at the top of the stairs. “You don’t like olives?”
    Rachel might as well have said she didn’t like chocolate from Melinda’s incredulous tone. “No. Never have.” Too late she remembered the Orchards grew olive trees as well as avocado and, of course the main produce, oranges. “But I like oranges. And love anything with avocados.”
    Melinda smiled gently at the rushed words. “It’s okay, Rachel. I’m not offended. Personally I’m not fond of avocados but adore guacamole.” She turned and headed down the hall, leaving Rachel to sigh with relief. “Our guac is fabulous. We sell it in the local grocery store and often have people drive from all over to purchase jars if the stores are low or out of stock.”
    Melinda opened a door second from the end on the left side of the hall and stepped back. “This will be your room. We have free wireless connection if you brought a computer. However, we do block any viewing or downloading from any sites we feel are inappropriate. Basically, no porn or pirating.”
    Rachel could understand that. Walking past Melinda and into the room, she looked around the suite that would be her home for who knew how long. It was bigger and homier than what she’d thought.
    At the far wall under a window was a tan leather sofa, separated from its matching overstuffed chair by a