“We have a concierge desk for that, Julia. Why, when I checked before coming here, is the table in Thistledown set with candles that look an awful lot like the ones in our restaurant and a bouquet of fresh cedar boughs and elderberry twigs?”
“I . . . um, I heard the couple coming in from Japan is on their honeymoon.”
“You mean when you checked with Reservations this morning to see who would be staying in your cottages this week, like you check every Saturday before you start your rounds?”
“I thought it would be nice to set up the cabins specifically for whichever guests are staying in them.”
“And this?” Olivia asked, reaching in her pocket again and pulling out a small cloth sack tied with jute string and a little card attached that described its contents.
“I can explain.”
“Good. Because I’m dying to know why one of our guests asked how come our gift shop doesn’t sell any of the ‘pretty little tree-shaped soaps’ we have in our cottage bathrooms.” Olivia untied the string, pulled out the soap and held it up to her nose, then set it on the table between them with a snort. “Which got another guest in the shop all huffy, saying she was in one of our expensive suites and her bathroom didn’t have any tree-shaped soaps.”
“I was . . . It’s just an experiment. I wanted to see if people would even use goat soap before I approached you about supplying the cottages with them.”
“They’re obviously homemade.”
Julia nodded. “I found them at the town’s Columbus Day craft fair, only they were just square chunks. Regan Coots makes them. You know Regan, don’t you?”
“Doesn’t she live on the Spellbound-Turtleback town line and have, like, ten kids or something?” Olivia asked with a laugh.
Julia found her first smile since walking in. “She’s got at least ten kid goats and twice as many nannies, but most of the human kids you see her with belong to other people. She also runs a day care.”
“Did you buy the soaps from Regan to put in our—or should I say your—cabins?”
“No,” Julia said with a shake of her head. “I asked Regan if she’d find a small cookie cutter shaped like a fir tree and cut the soaps, then give me a few samples to try out on the guests. I told her if they were popular that you might consider buying more from her, just like you buy your kindling and pinecones from me.”
“Only our cottages and pavilions have wood-burning fireplaces, Julia, so you don’t have any problem keeping up with demand. But Nova Mare goes through an awful lot of soap in the course of a year, especially if I wanted to supply all fifty hotel rooms and sixteen cottages. Can Regan fill that kind of order?”
“I wasn’t intending for them to be the only soaps we supply; just an added little touch of Maine. That’s why Regan scents some of them with balsam.”
Olivia arched a brow. “Like the balsam sachets you’ve tucked up out of sight on all your closet shelves?”
Julia fought down her blush again, although she couldn’t stifle her smile. “I wanted the closets to smell woodsy, but they’ve been lugging off those little pillows faster than I can sew them.” She leaned forward, clasping her hands together and resting her arms on the table. “I’m sorry for not running my ideas by you first, but I wanted to make sure they were popular.” She shrugged. “Some tanked, but the majority of them were well received. And I have a ton of other ideas for Inglenook when it opens.” She stood up. “In fact, I have a notebook full in my cleaning cart. Let me—”
“Hold on,” Olivia said, jumping up with a laugh and grabbing her arm—only to quickly let go when Julia flinched away. “What’s wrong? Julia, are you hurt?”
“I . . . I wrenched my back yesterday. I’m okay; it only hurts when I forget and twist or move too fast.”
“At work?” Olivia asked with obvious concern. “Did you hurt yourself here?”
“Oh, no,” Julia rushed to assure her. “Last night. At home. Let me go get my notebook so I can show you what a good guest liaison I’m going to be.”
“It can wait,” Olivia said, carefully ushering her back to the table and motioning for her to sit down. She then reached in her pocket for a third time before sitting down again. “As well as the cottages you’ve already cleaned this morning, before calling you I also checked out the ones you haven’t gotten to yet.” She set some folded money on the table, but left her hand on it. “And when I saw the size of your tips,” she said, tapping the money with her index finger, “I decided I should probably hand-deliver them.” She then unfolded the small wad and tapped the top bill. “It’s a really good thing I know you personally, because another boss, particularly if they happened to believe town gossip, might wonder why a single male guest staying in our most secluded cabin leaves his housekeeper a three-hundred-dollar tip.”
Julia jumped to her feet with a gasp, even as she grabbed at the sharp pain that spiked through her back. “They’re lies, every one of them! Olivia, I’m not—”
“I know. I know,” Olivia rushed to say as she also jumped to her feet. She guided Julia back to her chair, then sat down again with a heavy sigh. “Damn, I’m sorry, Julia. That didn’t come out the way I intended.”
“Clay told everyone I’d slept with half the men at the fraternity house where I’d worked,” Julia said, hating that her voice was shaking, “so he wouldn’t look like a jerk for divorcing me after I spent six years putting him through college.” She set her elbows on the table and hung her head in her hands. “But people would rather believe the worst about someone instead of hearing the truth, especially if it involves the daughter of the town drunk.” She lifted her head. “Clay’s the only man I’ve ever slept with. And from where I’m standing, it looks like he’s going to be the last.” She straightened and gestured toward the window looking out over Bottomless. “Not that I wasn’t given plenty of chances the first year I moved home in disgrace, with every Tom, Dick, and Harry figuring I was easy pickings.” She shook her head. “I swear I was pinched and groped more often than those fresh watermelons Ezra gets in at the Trading Post.”
“I’m sorry,” Olivia said, her own cheeks darkening.
“No, I’m sorry for overreacting just now.” Julia waved at the money on the table. “If I were running Nova Mare and saw those kinds of tips being left to the cleaning lady, I’d be all over her like flypaper.”
“Well, okay,” Olivia conceded with a wince. “I did think the worst after finding your . . . ah, calling card. But then I found an even larger tip at a family cottage you hadn’t cleaned yet, so I took a nice long look around the ones you’ve already gotten ready for tomorrow’s arrivals. It was then that I started putting the gift shop incident together with your reservation inquiries, as well as the fact that guests were asking for your cottages in particular, and finally realized what you were up to.”
“The bigger tips are actually a by-product,” Julia said, carefully relaxing back in her chair. “I was just trying to make everyone’s stay memorable so they’d go home and tell their friends that Nova Mare is worth the exorbitant prices you charge.”
Olivia arched a brow.
Julia arched a brow back at her. “A one-week stay in your small cottages would pay in-state tuition at the University of Maine for an entire semester.”
Olivia dropped her gaze and smoothed down the front of her fleece. “Our hotel rooms are more reasonably priced,” she murmured. But there was a gleam in her eyes when she lifted her head and shrugged one shoulder. “It’s apparently true that the more you charge for something, the more people simply have to have it.” She gestured at the window facing Bottomless just as Julia had. “If they want quaint instead of five-star, they can go stay at Silvia Pinkham’s camps down in Turtleback. Um, you do know that if Nicholas finds out you’ve been handing guests your number,” she said, nodding at the card on the table, “he’s probably going to give you a two-hour lecture on resort security.” She suddenly tapped her forehead with her hand. “What am I saying? He’ll make one of his m
en give the lecture, because three sentences appear to be that man’s limit.”
Julia felt her face draining of color again, and Olivia leaned back in her own chair with a laugh.
“I’m kidding—at least I hope I am. Let’s just agree not to tell him, okay, and you’ll stop handing out the cards?”
Julia looked down to hide her scowl. Darn it, those cards made her tips.
“How about,” Olivia said, leaning forward and reaching across the table, “if I instruct the front desk to send the specific housekeepers to the cottages and hotel rooms they’re assigned?” She tilted her head. “I guess I should have questioned why you asked Bev to always give you the same cabins each week.” Olivia shrugged. “She and I thought it was because you liked zooming around in our little housekeeping carts instead of doing the hotel rooms. But I think you’re onto something here, Julia. I like the idea of our housekeepers feeling proprietary toward their rooms week after week, and I’m going to tell Bev to make that a new policy.” She leaned back and crossed her arms. “So, what else have you got?”
“Ah . . . got?”
“Your ideas to make our guests deliriously happy to pay the exorbitant prices we charge. You said you have a notebook full, so give me a couple of examples.”
Julia went back to scowling at her lap. “Well, I thought we—I mean you,” she said, looking up with a grin, “might like to get some pull wagons. You know; the big metal wagons with the all-terrain tires? I found one in a yard sale in Millinocket that I use for collecting my pinecones at home. Anyway,” she rushed on, “I think if you parked one on every cottage porch, the parents would take longer walks on the foot trails since the toddlers could ride when they got tired. And you could get some for each of the hotel segments, too. When I’m looking for cones up here, I never see families more than a mile out, but some of the best views of the fiord are two and three miles away.”
“We’re on a mountain,” Olivia said with a laugh. “The wagons wouldn’t be here a week before we started seeing them racing by full of older kids looking for a thrill ride.”
“Oh. I hadn’t thought of that.”
“What else?”
Okay then; instead of Olivia wanting to set up an interview, it appeared they were having it now. Too nervous to sit any longer, Julia stood up and walked to the large front window. “Well, I remember that at Inglenook you used to have—” She stilled when her cell phone started ringing and snapped her gaze to Olivia.
“Gee, I wonder who that could be,” Olivia drawled. “You have guests staying over in Pine Tassel and Elderberry, don’t you?”
Julia nodded as she pulled out her phone. “It’s the front desk,” she said with a frown as she answered it. “Julia Campbell. Wait, slow down. What?” One minute later she snapped the phone closed and headed to the desk on the far wall. “A woman just called the resort and said something about my father and Trisha. They said she was screaming and not making much sense,” Julia added, picking up the cottage phone, but then just looking at it. “What number do I dial to get a direct line out?” she asked, turning to Olivia. “Don’t I need a guest code or something?”
Olivia walked over with her hand outstretched. “My cell phone will be quicker.”
Julia then stood staring down at the cell, which was nothing more than a solid black screen. She thrust it back at her. “I don’t know how to use this. I have to go home, Olivia.” She rubbed her forehead, trying to clear the black fog that had descended when the receptionist had mentioned Trisha. “Okay, look; I didn’t wrench my back last night,” she finally admitted. “Dad’s on one of his binges, and when he came at me last night I didn’t duck in time. That’s why I need to get off this mountain and make sure Trish is okay. I have to go home now.”
“We have a plan for that,” Olivia said, working her finger across her cell’s screen. “I’ll have someone drive you. Nicholas,” she said into the phone, smiling when Julia gasped, “I need you to pick up one of our staff at Foxglove Cottage and drive her home. She has a family emergency. No, wait; she hurt her back, so run up and get my truck. It’ll be easier for her to get in and out of. We’ll be waiting out front. Foxglove,” she reminded him, touching the screen again and slipping the phone in her pocket. “Come on, let’s get you in your jacket and wait on the porch. He’ll only be a minute.”
“Is there someone else who could drive me?” Julia whispered as Olivia helped her into her coat. “Please?”
Olivia stopped with the sleeves halfway up Julia’s arms. “You have a problem with Nicholas?” she asked in surprise.
“He gave me a ride home from the parking lot yesterday.” Julia pulled her coat all the way on, then looked down to button it up. “And he . . . um, my father insisted that I kiss Nicholas to thank him for the ride, and he . . . he . . .”
Olivia pressed her hands to Julia’s flaming cheeks and lifted her face. “And he what?” she whispered.
“He kissed me. To shut up my father, Nicholas pulled me into his arms and kissed me, then said ‘you’re welcome’ and drove away.”
Olivia encircled Julia’s shoulders and headed for the door. “Well, the man is rather astute when it comes to reading situations, and no one could ever say he’s not fast on his feet—or with his lips, apparently,” she added with a chuckle. She stopped on the porch. “I bet you nearly fainted.”
“I was humiliated, and he was appalled. The guy had to kiss me to escape.”
“Or he could have simply turned and walked away.”
“I don’t need to embarrass myself to him twice. Can’t someone else drive me?”
Olivia gave her a tender smile. “Let it go, Julia. You don’t have a monopoly on embarrassment. And don’t forget, he got a kiss. And when have you known any man to have a problem with that?” Olivia slipped her arm through Julia’s when they heard a vehicle coming up the cart path, and led her down the stairs. “Trust me; Nicholas is the man you want backing you up if there’s trouble at home.”
Julia blew out a resigned sigh. “Do you have any idea what it’s like to be thirty years old and still have your father embarrassing you? Most girls outgrow that by their late teens, but I’ll probably still be blushing when they’re throwing dirt on my grave.”
“If any of the female workers hear that Nicholas finally kissed one of you ladies . . . well, let’s just keep this our little secret, okay?” Olivia said, her eyes gleaming. “And I promise not to ask if your insides clenched and your palms started sweating and your heart started racing so fast you thought you might faint, if you promise to let it go. Deal?” she said with a laugh when Julia just gaped at her. Olivia sobered when a pearl-white SUV pulled up beside them and stopped. “Now go see what’s going on at home. I’ll finish your cottage. Nicholas,” Olivia said when he came around the truck as she led Julia to the passenger’s door. “The front desk just got a call that something’s going on at Julia’s house. I believe you know where she lives?”
He stilled after opening the door and snapped his gaze first to Olivia, then to Julia, then back to Olivia. “Ah, yes, I do.”
Feeling as if her cheeks were about to blister, Julia slid in and fastened her seat belt, folded her shaking hands on her lap, and stared out the windshield. Darn it, why was Trisha even home? The girl was supposed to hang out with Kimberly today until one, when Duncan MacKeage was going to pick her up at the Nova Mare marina and take her across the fiord to babysit his and Peg’s little tribe of heathens tonight and all day tomorrow.
So what was she doing home? And who had called the resort in a panic? Their sister-in-law, Jerilynn? Then that meant Trisha had called Tom for help, which meant the girl must be in some pretty bad trouble.
Chapter Four
“What’s going on at home?” Nicholas asked, returning the guard’s nod as he sped past the booth at the beginning of the road that descended the mountain.
“I don’t know. Somebody called the resort and said Trisha’s in trouble with my father. She’s my sister that you . . .
met last night.”
Nicholas pulled his phone from inside his jacket and held it out. “Does she have a cell? Call her. Or call your house,” he added when Julia didn’t take it.
“I don’t know how to use those phones,” she softly growled.
“Yes, you do,” he growled back, sliding his thumb across the screen to unlock it. He held it out to her again, even as he slowed to make a hairpin turn while watching for oncoming traffic—specifically a silver Lexus he’d been told had been the only vehicle through the lower gate in the last half hour. “Use your finger. Touch the phone icon and dial, then touch send.”
She took the phone just as he exited the turn, and Nicholas sped up again as he also kept an eye out for the stretch limo he’d been told had left the summit about thirty minutes ago but hadn’t arrived at the lower gate yet. Every driver traveling the resort road was given a radio they would then turn in at the opposite gate, so his guards could give updates about road conditions. It was a program he’d implemented within a month of taking over as director of security, and it had already proven invaluable during several winter storms last year, a number of accidents, and two ambulance runs. And just like all of his guards, Nicholas knew the road’s every twist and turn to the point he could make today’s run in about twenty minutes—assuming his passenger had an iron stomach.
Julia apparently figured out the phone and held it up to her ear, only to lower it a minute later. “She’s not answering her cell,” she said, dialing another number, then holding the phone to her ear again. “Jerilynn! What’s going on?”
Nicholas heard a frantic female voice on the other end, although he couldn’t make out what she was saying. “She locked herself in her bedroom?” Julia said, also sounding frantic as she grabbed the handle above her door when he took a corner without slowing down. “Did he hit her?” she whispered tightly. “Look, just make sure Tom keeps him away from her. I’ll be there in—Jerilynn! Hello?”
The Heart of a Hero Page 4