by Judith Yates
“You’ll talk to him, won’t you?” Julie prompted.
“Sure, why not?” She’d already forgiven Jeff, had even defended him to her stepfather.
“Thought so. That’s why I gave him the inn’s phone number.”
Amy couldn’t help smiling. Jules always knew the right thing to do. They read each other so well—both in their personal lives and in their business. It meant the world to Amy that she had one person in her life she could rely on and trust.
They talked awhile about their agency, agreeing on the secretary’s Christmas bonus, disagreeing on the brash photographer who was angling for client referrals. Amy was concerned about Shawna, an adorable seven-year-old she’d recently signed. After sailing winningly through several interviews with both Amy and Julie, the little girl had developed unexpected jitters about auditioning for an upcoming toothpaste commercial.
“Are you sure she really wants to do it?” Amy asked. “Because I’m perfectly willing to cancel her audition if she’s not ready. I told her mother that.”
“Mrs. Darner isn’t giving up that appointment for anything. You know how she is,” Julie added with a huff. “But I talked to Shawna today. She claims she’s okay.”
“Maybe I should drive up Tuesday and go to the audition with her.”
“No, you won’t, Amy. You stay there and take care of your personal business. I’ll go with Shawna. I promise I’ll have her mother kept waiting outside—even if I have to bribe someone.”
“I feel like I’m dumping everything in your lap.”
“What are partners for? Besides, we agreed this was the best time for you to take leave. With the holidays coming and all, this place will be dead in a week.”
“I’ll try to get things settled here as soon as I can anyway.”
“Now who’s not listening?” Julie said with a sigh. “Don’t worry about this place. Tend to family matters for a change.”
“I wouldn’t exactly call it a family matter.”
“Wait a minute. I thought you wanted to find out more about your father because of what he named the inn. You having a change of heart or something?”
“I don’t know. Maybe I was being too sentimental for my own good.” Taking a deep breath while she collected her thoughts, Amy leaned back against the pillows Maura had fluffed up earlier. “It feels so strange being here. One minute I feel like they’re circling their wagons against me, and in the next I feel like they’re courting me with family dinners and chummy chats—just to get what they want.”
Julie’s disparaging mutters came over the phone line loud and clear. “Could be they’re just nice people who are as torn and confused about this as you are. I know it’s tough for you to let your guard down, but give them a chance.”
She knew her friend was right; she had to accept people at face value. “I guess seeing the inn for the first time hit me hard.”
“Understandable,” Julie said. “Just try to relax. And take as much time as you need. Considering the past few months, you deserve a vacation.”
“Ha! Some vacation.”
“Amy—”
“Okay, okay. I’ll start over again tomorrow, I promise. Clean slates for everyone—me, Bernadette, the girls, the inn, the town. Even Paul Hanley.”
Chapter Three
“How do I get through to these guys?” Paul grumbled in his office. “Threaten to throw them all out on their rears?”
Five minutes after adjourning the Valley News Group monthly company-wide meeting, he was still fuming. “You know I hate to yell.” He paced back and forth in front of Dirk Campbell, the group’s production manager. “But I’ve tried incentives, pep talks, praise. I didn’t want to resort to yelling—I really didn’t.”
“I wouldn’t call it yelling,” Dirk said, sitting on the edge of Paul’s desk. “You were tough, and rightfully so. I was watching them—they got your message.”
“Let’s hope you’re right. The thought of laying off even one person&h;” He shook his head.
“Look, you saved their jobs three years ago when you bought Tully out. They know what they have to do to keep them.”
Paul sank down in his chair and stared again at the current revenue statement. Advertising income was down; operating costs were up. Every one of his twenty employees, including himself, had to work smarter and harder to make up for last quarter’s losses. The bulk of his personal cash was tied up right now; he didn’t have enough to cover a shortage this time.
“It’s not the first rough patch we’ve hit,” Dirk reminded him. “And, business being business, it won’t be the last.”
“True enough.” He chuckled in spite of himself. “I had to be crazy going into business for myself. Life was a hell of a lot easier when I only had to worry about my livelihood. All I had to do was show up, read the news and get paid an obscene amount of money.”
“And you gave that up for this.” Dirk waved his arm at the contents of the dingy, minuscule office, most of which was taken up by Paul’s crowded metal desk. “Hell, you are crazy!”
Paul didn’t blink an eye. He and Dirk had been razzing each other since their high school newspaper days. Yet Dirk was the one friend in Tremont who knew at least some of the reasons for Paul’s decision to give up broadcasting and come home.
“Crazy, maybe,” Paul continued. “But at least I don’t have to worry about wearing suits anymore.”
“Or getting expensive haircuts,” added Dirk.
“Or getting laryngitis.”
“Or sneezing on the air.”
“Or the TelePrompTer failing.”
“Or, getting food stuck between your teeth during close-ups.”
Paul stopped pacing and shot a stern look across the desk. “You trying to cheer me up?”
“Actually, I’m angling for a free lunch.” Dirk grinned.
Paul smiled. Despite tight times and headaches, he knew Tremont and the Valley News Group were where he belonged. “Okay, I’ll spring for lunch.”
“How about dinner at the inn, instead?” Dirk suggested.
“Dinner? At the most expensive place in town yet? Why not?” Paul quipped, certain Dirk was joking. His colleague tended to steer clear of the Blue Sky. “Sure you want to risk it, though? My aunt’s still itching to fix you up with Maura.” Bernadette believed Dirk was just the man to bring her free-spirited daughter down to earth. As far as Dirk was concerned, however, Maura was out in left field and could stay there. Without him.
“I will this time—if it means a chance to meet Greg Riordan’s daughter. I hear she’s quite a looker.”
“How do you know about Greg’s daughter?” Paul asked, though he could easily guess. After all, Amy had now been in town for a whole three days.
“Let’s see, Ed at the general store heard it from Harry at the gas station, who heard it from Mary Frame, who found out about it from her dentist, who was dining at the inn the night she arrived.”
“That’s it.” Paul slapped his leg. “Now I know why we’re losing money. Who needs local newspapers when they’ve got the local grapevine?”
“So? Is the gang right about her being a looker?”
“I guess you could say she’s attractive,” he replied with deliberate nonchalance. For some fool reason, Dirk’s interest in Amy bothered him. “The offer was for lunch, which, as you well know, is not served at the inn. Besides, didn’t you hear about our cash-flow problem at the meeting?”
Laughing, Dirk threw up his hands. “Okay, okay, I get it. You want to keep the new girl in town to yourself.”
Paul didn’t bother responding. He’d spent more than enough time wondering about Amy Riordan since he’d met her. And he’d been worrying about what might be happening at the inn. He hadn’t heard a word from Bernadette, so he’d assumed things were going smoothly. Yet, with Dirk mentioning the inn, his curiosity, or rather his concern, was raised anew. As he headed out to his pickup with Dirk, Paul decided he’d best check in on the Blue Sky very soon.
Amy was frustrated.
Although she was well into her third day in Tremont, she had yet to have any discussion of substance with Bernadette, either about her father or his will. But the older woman had dragged her through every inch of the inn, which Amy found lovely and maintained with meticulous care. Bernadette made a point of introducing her to the staff and to any guest who happened to cross their path. On Sunday, Bridget had brought her family and Maura had brought her tarot cards. Bridget’s husband was quiet, but sweet, her kids rambunctious, but cute, and they all had a chuckle over Maura’s cursory reading of Amy’s cards. The only person missing was Paul Hanley, although no one said a word about him. Which, in Amy’s mind, was just as well.
Having promised Julie to give the Ryans the benefit of the doubt, she had tried to get into the spirit of the family afternoon. Yet, as an only child from a small, formal family, she found the lively rhythm and flow of the gathering took getting used to. She also couldn’t shake the sense that Bernadette and her daughters were watching her, studying her, weighing her actions and answers.
Considering this scrutiny—sometimes subtle, sometimes not—how could she let down her guard?
Now it was Monday afternoon, and Amy felt she was getting nowhere. The majority of the Thanksgiving guests had checked out of the inn last night. The few remaining had gone on a sight-seeing tour to Skyline Caverns near Front Royal. Except for Bernadette and a member or two of the kitchen staff preparing the evening’s dinner, the inn was empty. Grateful for some time to herself, Amy went up to her room and attempted to muster interest in the historical novel she’d borrowed from the downstairs library. But she was too distracted by the unearthly quiet to concentrate. Instead, she closed her eyes and let herself drift off to sleep.
Within what felt like minutes, her eyes flew open when the bed began vibrating gently. An ear-pounding boom followed by a thunderous crash rattled the windows, jolting Amy to her feet. Suddenly everything was still, except for the footsteps clamoring up the staircase.
“Must be one of the rooms!” she heard Bernadette cry.
Amy flung open her door just as Bernadette reached the second floor, with Martin, the chef, fast on her heels. “It was upstairs!” she called out, running after them.
On the third floor, Bernadette unlocked doors in a frenzy, sticking her head inside each room to check before moving onto the next. Finally, at room 16, she stopped and gasped in horror as milk white powder floated into the hall like a foggy mist. “My God, it’s ruined.”
Breathless from running up the stairs, Amy poked her head inside the room. She was shocked by the destruction. Thick chunks of heavy plaster lay splattered across the guest room, apparently having fallen from the ceiling with crushing force.
“Be careful, ladies,” the chef warned. “There still may be some loose pieces up there.”
Slowly leaning farther into the room, Amy peered up at the ceiling. No loose, dangling hunks were evident, because the entire ceiling had collapsed. She could even see the attic through a few holes where the ceiling joists had been torn off by the chunks. And white dust coated every inch of the room.
“I think it’s okay to go in,” she told Martin. He and Bernadette followed as she cautiously stepped inside.
“Thank heaven the room was vacant,” Bernadette said, her voice shaky. “Someone could have been seriously hurt. Just yesterday it was occupied—”
“And a good thing most of the guests were out of the building,” Martin commented. “The noise alone would have scared them witless. It did me.”
And me, Amy thought, as she surveyed the wreckage. Lamps and bric-a-brac had been shattered, curtains torn, the wood floor scraped and dented. A few sizable blocks had smashed into the furniture, chipping, splintering and even breaking many of the fine wood pieces. The mahogany four-poster had received the worst damage. The bed’s dark frame had literally been split in two, the headboard cracked and both footposts broken in half.
“Oh, no,” Bernadette murmured, approaching the bed. “It can’t be.”
Amy noticed she was shaking.
Eyeing the bed, Martin shook his head. “Looks beyond saving. Was it very valuable?”
“Only to me. It was the first piece we bought when we began renovating.”
Hearing the catch in Bernadette’s voice, Amy moved to her side. She surmised the “we” meant Greg.
“Your father found it in a junk shop.” She glanced at Amy. “He mended the frame and refinished it. It turned out to be a beautiful piece.”
Touched by the strength of Bernadette’s emotion, Amy put her arm around the older woman’s shoulder. For the first time, she felt the awkward distance between them ease. She also felt Bernadette’s body trembling. Concerned, she suggested Martin take Bernadette downstairs for a cup of tea.
“No time for that!” Bernadette pulled away. “I’vegot to start cleaning this mess up, find a plasterer—and call-”
“I’ll help,” Amy insisted, for Bernadette’s trembling was visible now. “I’ll see to the room while you go down to make the necessary calls.”
“You? You can’t do it by yourself.” Bernadette looked around the room, her expression dazed. “How can I leave it like this?”
“I’ll make a start. It might help to sweep some of this stuff up—to see how extensive the damage really is. Certainly I can manage that.” She began to edge Bernadette toward the door. “Besides, the tour group will be returning from Skyline Caverns soon and you’ll need to attend to them.”
“And the first dinner sitting needs to be set up. You have to oversee it,” Martin added, taking Bernadette by the arm. The concern on his face matched Amy’s. “Perhaps I should give Bridget a call, as well. Don’t you think so, Ms. Riordan?”
Amy nodded as the chef led Bernadette down the hall, their shoulders and hair speckled with plaster—as she supposed hers were, too. Before turning the corner for the stairs, Martin looked back and suggested she check the maid’s closet for brooms and other supplies.
After a moment of calculating exactly what she had gotten herself into, Amy went to fetch the items she needed for cleaning. Once armed with brooms, rags, sponges and plastic trash bags, she heaved a sigh of disbelief and then got to work. It was a messy job. As she waded through the wreckage, she had no idea how long it would take. She did know that the debris swirling about made her throat burn and her eyes itch. And she was convinced that every hair, every pore, every stitch of her sweater and jeans were coated with powdery white dust.
She had just bent down to scoop gritty plaster particles into the dustpan, when a long, low whistle echoed through the room. Still sweeping, she snatched a look over her shoulder. Catching a glimpse of the tall, lean silhouette at the threshold, Amy froze, not knowing whether to laugh or curse. It shouldn’t matter if Paul Hanley saw her stooped over the floor, looking like an earthquake survivor. But matter it did.
“Well, I’ll be damned.” He squinted up at the practically nonexistent ceiling, making a quick perusal of it from corner to corner. “Guess we’re lucky no one was hurt.”
The man had an incredible voice, deep, rich and sexy. Amy swore it made her spine tingle in a way she’d never experienced before. Except right now, it made her feel self-conscious. Yet, with no choice but to face him in the state she was in, Amy put aside the dustpan and straightened.
“No such luck for the furniture, I’m afraid,” she said, her own voice raspy from the drying dust. “Just look at it.”
His blue eyes surveyed the room’s contents before widening when they focused in on her. “And look at you.”
“For heaven’s sake, please don’t.” She began brushing furiously at her jeans.
“Can this really be the woman of the designer suit and two-hundred-dollar hairstyle?”
Her mouth tightened, a defensive reflex that suddenly relaxed into a smile when she caught the wry gleam in his eyes. As guarded as she’d been the past few days, she could still recognize good-natured teasing. And that was a r
elief.
But his gaze remained on her, even after the teasing glint had faded. It was as if he’d never seen her before. Then again, she thought dryly, no one had ever seen her looking like a ghost before. “Were you called to come save the day?” she asked.
“Actually, I’d just dropped by to say hello and found Martin at the front desk, frantically trying to reach Bridget on the phone. You don’t have to clean this up, you know,” he added, gesturing at the floor.
“I know.” She shrugged, sending puffs of plaster dust dancing above her shoulders. “But Bernadette was pretty shaken and we couldn’t get her out of here. How is she now?”
“Calmer, I think. I sat her down in the Pub Room with a glass of brandy and the telephone. Someone’s coming in the morning to repair this and to check the ceilings throughout the inn. They’ll probably take care of the mess, too.”
Feeling awkward under his unblinking gaze, Amy reached for the broom. “I think I’ll finish the sweeping and dusting, at least. Could help the room look less daunting to Bernadette.”
“Okay, if you insist.” Paul slipped off his leather jacket and, to her amazement, tossed it out into the hall. Then he started rolling up the sleeves of his blue chamois shirt. As his long fingers pushed the fabric up his muscular, golden-haired arms, she couldn’t resist wondering about their strength.
Grabbing some trash bags, Paul got to work. He swept up the jagged shards of smashed lamps and glass, then he started moving damaged furniture out of the way. Together they worked in a silence interrupted by the occasional dust-induced cough or sneeze. After a while, Paul went downstairs in search of shovels and trash cans to hold the heavier pieces of plaster. When he returned with them, Amy took notice.