by Devney Perry
“No problem.” I smiled, then set off for the motel.
The early April air was cool but the sun was shining bright, keeping me warm in my jeans, sneakers and light-gray zip-up. I loved mornings like this when I could drop off Coby at his daycare, Quail Hollow, and then walk downtown. These mornings gave me a chance to appreciate my little town.
Not much changed in Prescott, and any changes that did come took time. Predictability was what made this home. Soon, the old-fashioned lampposts would be hung with flower baskets. Spring items in window displays would be swapped out for summer. Tourists would flood the quaint area and crowd the narrow sidewalks.
With them would come my busy schedule and I wouldn’t have time for these little morning walks. I’d be too busy at the motel, frantically trying to keep up with check-ins and check-outs. I’d need the extra ten minutes to update a reservation or fold a load of linens.
Tourism wasn’t just good for the downtown shops, it was my bread and butter too. Three weeks from now, tourist season would be well underway as out-of-towners flocked to Prescott on their way to Yellowstone National Park. I was already booked solid through the summer, and by the time winter rolled around, I’d trade my morning walks for morning naps in an attempt to catch up on months of missed sleep.
But for now, I was enjoying the spring air and my lighter morning routine.
“Morning, Maple,” I said as I passed her setting up a sandwich board outside her coffee shop.
She popped up from behind the sign, curly gray hair flying everywhere, and smiled. “Hello, sweetie.”
“Have a great day!” I called, not stopping to chat. I loved my walks but if I wasn’t careful, I could spend hours visiting with everyone along Main.
Main Street was the hub of the town, its heart. The street itself started at one end with a community fishing pond and ended at the other with a pair of gas stations whose owners were locked in a never-ending battle to post the lowest gas price or beer special. Past the gas stations and up a rounded incline was the highway that led out of town. My motel was the closest business to Main Street from the highway, so I proudly considered it to be an integral part of the charm that was Prescott’s downtown area.
As I approached the highway, I checked for traffic, then jogged across the near-deserted road, taking a moment to appreciate my most prized material possession.
The Bitterroot Inn.
Every extra cent I could scrape together went into improving my motel. I cleaned rooms, washed bedding and scrubbed toilets instead of paying for a full-time housekeeper. I took reservations and did all of the bookkeeping myself so I didn’t have to hire an office manager. And rather than pay for professional contractors, I bummed help from my brothers and guy friends.
If I could do it with my own two hands, I did. I painted. I replaced light fixtures. I’d even taught myself how to lay bathroom tile.
I’d worked my ass off for almost three years and my efforts were finally starting to pay off.
Reservations were higher than they’d ever been, I’d built a solid reputation for my business, and my list of improvements left to make was nearly complete.
Walking past the staircase that led to the upstairs loft where Coby and I lived, I rounded the side of the building and unlocked the glass-paned lobby door. Flipping over the lobby sign to read Come On Inn, I crossed the small room, dropped my purse behind the tall counter and scanned the reservation list I’d printed out last night.
I only had four guests at the moment, with two others coming in tomorrow for the weekend. The light occupancy meant I wouldn’t spend my nights doing laundry and instead could make more progress on renovating another guest room. I was making a to-do list for the day when the lobby door opened and my brother Beau ducked inside.
“Hey!” I abandoned my list to give him a hug. “What are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be going to Bozeman today for your tux fitting?”
He scowled but nodded. “Yeah, but I don’t have to leave for fifteen minutes. I thought I’d check and see how the tile turned out in room seven.”
“It’s amazing!” I did a little happy clap. “My best work yet. Let me grab the key.” I went back behind the counter and pulled the key from the pegboard. While it wasn’t fancy or common these days, my motel had actual metal keys. When they got lost, it was a total pain to change the locks, but the charm of real keys made all the hassle worth it.
“I talked to Sabrina last night,” I said as I followed Beau outside. “She said you gave in on the live band.”
He sighed and rubbed a hand over his thick, dark beard. “It will make her happy.”
“You realize she’s going to make you dance, right?” At six foot six, he was a mountain of a man, and just like our dad, Beau didn’t have the physique for graceful dancing. The best he could do was a lumbering two-step and slow jitterbug.
“We’re currently in negotiations about the dancing.”
I pulled my lips together to hide my smile, knowing exactly how those negotiations would end. “Right.”
Beau and Sabrina’s wedding was in a month and it promised to be an extravagant affair, something rare around these parts. While Sabrina was loving every minute of the wedding planning, my brother—who was far from extravagant—was counting down the milliseconds until the honeymoon.
Beau threw an arm around my shoulders in a sideways hug as we strolled across the rectangular parking lot toward room seven. “This whole place is looking great.”
“I was just thinking that earlier. It’s really coming together.” I smiled as I looked around at the front of the two-story, L-shaped building.
It was hardly recognizable from the motel I’d purchased. The once-faded yellow brick was now a crisp white. The posts that held up the second level’s balcony had all been stripped, sanded and stained a natural tan. Their bases had been faced with a beautiful gray-and-brown rock.
I’d even spent the money to replace the hollow-core white doors with solid wooden ones stained to match the posts. With the black shutters around all of the rooms’ windows, the iron railings running along the balcony and the fancy number plates I’d hung outside the fourteen rooms, my motel was far from the sterile and plain building it had once been.
“So what’s on your list for the weekend?” Beau asked, knowing that my task list was never short.
“I was thinking about getting a head start on summer prep. The flower bed around the sign needs fresh potting soil, and I’m going to drag the flowerpots out from the storage shed. I’m hoping to bust out room cleaning and laundry so I can get started on painting in here.” I slid the key into room seven and pushed open the door. The dingy smell that filled my nose would soon be a thing of the past.
I had three weeks to get this room finished before I needed it for customer reservations. With Beau’s help, I had already remodeled the bathroom, but there was still a lot of work to finish the bedroom. Paint. Carpet. Trim. Furniture. Décor. It was going to be a push to finish it all, but I had come to rely upon my aggressive to-do lists.
Idle time wasn’t good for my mental health.
Beau stepped past me and went straight for the bathroom at the back of the room, standing in the doorway to gaze at my latest masterpiece.
“Most amazing bathroom floor ever?”
He chuckled. “Damn straight.”
I had found this gorgeous artisan tile with an intricate pattern of charcoal geometric arcs on a white background. Eight tiles put together created two different patterns that gave the bathroom floors character and class. As I took it in, I stood a little taller.
“I’m proud of you, Maze.”
“Me too. But I wouldn’t have gotten this far without all your help.”
Even though I’d done this bathroom floor myself, Beau had spent countless hours helping to remodel other parts of the building. All the work he’d done had saved me thousands of dollars. I used to pay him with free dinners, but now that he had Sabrina cooking for him, I was going to
have to think of another way to thank him for his work.
“I’m always happy to pitch in,” he said. “Especially if you keep the cookie plate in the lobby full.”
“I can do that.” Cookies for construction. I’d bake a dozen of his favorite tonight.
I wound my arms around his waist for another hug. I loved both my brothers, but Beau had always been more than just an older sibling. He was my hero, and I was beyond happy he had found Sabrina. She was a wonderful friend, aunt and new member of our family, but more importantly, she made Beau happier than he’d ever been.
The ding of his smart watch interrupted our moment and I tipped my head back to give him a grin. “Tux time.”
He groaned and let me go, running a hand through his dark hair. “I probably shouldn’t miss this appointment.”
“Probably not.” I stepped behind him and planted both hands on his back, then just like I’d done as a kid, I tried to push him around. Using all of my might, I pushed hard, digging my feet into the ground. As per usual, he started laughing but didn’t budge.
“Come. On.” I grunted and pushed even harder but barely rocked him forward on his feet.
“Give up yet?” he teased.
“Never!” I repositioned my feet and gave him all my weight, holding my breath as I pushed, but still he didn’t move.
“Give up now?”
One last push with no success and I dropped my hands, panting as I straightened. “It’s like you’re made of rock.”
He grinned. “No, it’s because I’m a giant.”
I laughed as I walked past him out the door. Coby and Beau had a long-standing game of playing giants. If they were together, Coby was always riding on Beau’s shoulders, pretending to be a giant as they stomped Lego houses to smithereens or crashed cars off pretend roads.
After locking up the room, I walked Beau to his massive green truck. “Well, drive safe.”
“Will do. Call us if you want help this weekend.”
“Okay.” I waved as he got into his truck, then went back to the lobby.
My Thursdays were reserved for bookkeeping and I had a stack of bills to pay before lunch. Settling into my office off the lobby, I wasted no time diving into my work. Two hours later, my bank account was lighter and I abandoned my desk in search of more caffeine from the mini fridge.
Opening a Dr. Pepper, I hopped onto one of the barstools behind the lobby counter and stared out the window toward the motel sign.
It is so cute! How could people not love it?
A little over a year ago, I’d surprised the entire town by having the old sign taken down. It had been too ostentatious, nearly as tall as a streetlight, and its words had long since faded from years of sun exposure. The sign I’d picked to replace it was understated, yet perfect.
Sitting in the center of a raised flower bed were two, short white posts. Between them swung a classic white sign from an iron bar. It wasn’t just the new sign that had caused the uproar, it was what had been written on its face in clean black letters.
The Bitterroot Inn.
That sign, displaying the inn’s new name, had been featured on the front page of the weekly Tuesday newspaper two weeks in a row.
To this day, not many people understood why I’d wanted to rename the motel, especially since I’d kept the previous name for so long. But I had spent so much time making this place my own that I wanted a name I’d picked too.
The bitterroot was Montana’s state flower and a personal favorite. The moment I’d jotted down the words on a napkin at the café, I had known instantly it was right.
The next day, I’d ordered the new sign.
And the gossip had commenced.
The inn wasn’t the only thing that had changed these last three years. I had changed too. With every stroke of my paintbrush, every swing of my hammer, every turn of my screwdriver, I had changed.
Gone were the immaturities of a girl in her early twenties—being a single mother and business owner had chased those away. Gone was the naïve woman who had let a monster into her life—though not before I’d gotten the one good thing he had to offer. Gone was the young nurse brimming with spirit who had talked incessantly—I had learned to listen more and be mindful of the people I brought into our lives.
I had learned the hard way just how deceptive people could be when you were too busy talking to pay attention to the red flags.
Taking a breath, I pulled myself out of my thoughts before they could spiral to a bad place. I reached for a sketch pad on the counter and flipped to an empty page. I had spent all my time and money renovating the motel but hadn’t done much to my own loft. Now that I was finally on my last guest room, I was brainstorming all of the things I wanted to do for Coby’s room and our home.
I was so lost in my sketching I flinched when the lobby door opened, and my pencil skidded off the page, leaving a deep mark even the eraser wouldn’t undo. I frowned for a split second before looking up, ready to greet my visitor with a megawatt smile.
The smile fell, along with my chin.
My visitor was straight out of a magazine. His light brown hair was tied back in a neat man bun. His strong jaw was covered in an expertly manicured beard. His caramel-brown eyes, framed with long, dark lashes, were aimed at me with such intensity they nearly knocked me off my stool.
When he turned to close the door, I was suddenly very aware of the fact I was wearing no makeup and my clothes were about as dull as an economics lecture. But hey! At least you washed your hair today. Thank god I wasn’t in my normal blue baseball cap.
I wouldn’t look like a complete slouch in front of this man.
This man was all the good things about my Chrises rolled into one. This man should be in the middle of a photo shoot for a fifty-foot billboard, not standing inside my motel lobby.
This man was about to get the mumbling, fumbling version of Maisy Holt the likes of which no one had never seen.
Super.
Hunter
What the fuck was I doing?
I needed to leave. Being this close to Maisy was too much of a risk. I was supposed to be invisible. Hidden. I was supposed to be the man in the shadows, doing whatever I could to protect her without her knowing I was even here.
Walking into her motel in broad daylight was as far from hidden as I could get.
The last time I had been in Prescott, I’d been able to avoid Maisy completely. I’d resisted the lure of seeing her and had lived like a recluse, going to work every morning and then immediately retreating home each evening. I’d grocery shopped thirty minutes before Jamison Foods closed at midnight so I wouldn’t accidentally bump into her in the aisles. I’d steered clear of all the restaurants, living off of my shitty cooking for a year, just so I wouldn’t risk being in the same room. I’d spent next to no time exploring Prescott just to avoid meeting her on the street.
Last time, I’d been strong.
This time, temptation had won out.
This morning, I’d been desperate for a real meal and had braved the café. For the two-day drive from Illinois to Montana, I’d been living off protein bars, sour gummy worms and jerky. Rolling into Prescott at two in the morning, I’d parked at a campground and slept in my truck. Waking up to a crick in my neck and hunger pains, I’d hurried to the café, figuring the chances of Maisy coming into the restaurant while I scarfed down some food were next to null.
I needed to brush up on chaos theory.
Because while I had been shoveling scrambled eggs and fried potatoes into my mouth, Maisy had slid into the café booth three down from mine.
And that’s when my whole plan to stay away had turned to shit.
All because that cop had made her laugh.
Hiding behind an open newspaper, I had stolen glances of her talking and smiling with him. Then he’d told a joke and her melodic ring had drowned out all other café noises. My hands had crumpled the sides of the newspaper beyond repair and I had lost control of any rational thought.
>
Fucking jealousy.
This entire morning of insanity was all jealousy’s fault.
Because rather than getting back in my truck and putting a couple dozen miles between us after she’d left the café, I had followed her as she’d walked up Main Street.
I had watched peoples’ faces light up when she smiled and waved good morning. I’d watched as she moved with an easy grace along the sidewalk. And I’d watched as the sunlight traveled with her.
By the time she’d reached the inn, I was under her spell.
After that, I had gone back downtown to retrieve my truck and drive around a bit, hoping some space would get me back on track, but my tires seemed to steer themselves right back to The Bitterroot Inn.
Right back to Maisy.
Now, here I was. Not hiding. Not invisible. Instead, I was staring at her and not wanting to blink. I was doing my best to ignore the voice of reason in the back of my mind.
Hunter, turn your ass around.
I took one step further into the motel’s lobby.
Do not speak. Leave.
“Hi.” I crossed the remaining distance to the counter.
“Um, hi,” she squeaked, then cleared her throat. “Hello. Hi. Uh, good morning.” The flush of her cheeks was so fucking beautiful, my heart pumped double time.
Whatever you do, shit-for-brains, do not ask for a room. You have a plan, remember?
“I was wondering if you have a vacancy?”
Fuckwad.
“Um, okay. I mean, yes!” she blurted. “I have a vacancy. For how long?” She started fumbling around with a stack of papers, scattering them across the counter and knocking some onto the floor.
“Three weeks?”
“Okay.” Her hands frantically shoved the scattered papers aside and then grabbed for an appointment book. “Sure.” She took a steadying breath and reached to pluck a pen out of a mason jar. “Three nights,” she said, writing the words in her book.
“No, three weeks.”
Her eyes snapped to mine and she blushed again at her mistake. “Weeks. Sorry.”