by Stacy Finz
With Maddy out, the inn had become a handy excuse to stick around. Because if Sophie and Mariah knew the truth, they’d worry that he was backing out of their deal. When Nate had donated his sperm thirteen months ago to help his friends make a baby, he’d never considered becoming this attached to Lilly. He’d promised that Sophie and Mariah would be Lilly’s sole parents. The problem was, he didn’t know exactly where he fit in or how lightly he needed to tread. So every time Nate wanted to see Lilly, he felt like he had to make up an excuse. Bring dinner, volunteer to babysit, anything to help out the new parents. When all he really wanted to do was hold his daughter.
“Sam hasn’t said she’s quitting,” Nate told Rhys. “But I’m predicting it won’t be long until she decides to go home to Connecticut and resume her former life as an idle heiress instead of slumming it in Nugget.”
“Well, while she’s here, why don’t you relinquish some of the reins to her and give yourself a break? You can’t do it all, Nate. And from what I’m hearing from Maddy, Sam has a natural instinct for this hospitality stuff.”
“Maybe for throwing charity galas, but the woman has zero experience in the business world. If I left her to her own devices, she’d bankrupt us. The other day, she comped a couple a three-night stay. Three freaking nights. We have a chance to book a family reunion for . . . let’s just say a prestigious name in the tech world, and she’s got her panties in a bunch because it’ll require us to bump a few prior reservations. It’s hard to believe her father’s George Dunsbury. The man manages one of the largest hedge funds in the world and she wants to give away the store.”
“Why don’t you coach her?” Rhys said. “I’m sure you could teach her to be a shark in no time.”
Nate didn’t want to mentor her; he just wanted the woman to go home before she booked them solid with parties and left them high and dry to coordinate them. He could find a new cook easily enough, but an experienced event planner in Nugget would be impossible.
Tater whistled from the kitchen. The chef was a man of few words, but could cook. Nate clapped Rhys on the back and Tater helped him carry the Lumber Baron’s breakfast across the square. True to her word, Sam had set the buffet table and it looked like something out of one of those fancy home magazines. She helped Rhys unload the food and put it in chafing dishes.
“Don’t you have a consult?” he asked.
She looked at her watch. “In five minutes. It’s for a January party. They’ve really got a jump on things.”
Fantastic, Nate thought. Sam would be gone by winter. “Thanks for your help dealing with the breakfast debacle.”
Sam did a double take, clearly surprised. So what if he wasn’t that forthcoming with compliments? This was the real world; bosses didn’t stop every few minutes to tell their employees what a good job they were doing.
“You’re welcome,” she said.
“If you could talk to Emily, that would be helpful. If not Emily, we could try Donna. In the meantime, I’ll put out feelers for someone permanent. And who knows, maybe Carmela will show up tomorrow with a good excuse.”
Nate went into his office and spent most of the day managing his other hotels long distance. Soon he’d have to spend quality time in San Francisco. The first weekend in June, the Belvedere, the second largest of his properties, was hosting a bridal expo. It was the largest wedding fair on the West Coast and the hotel was booked solid. Breyer Hotels had a booth to exhibit its various venues. He’d been thinking about sending Sam to pimp the Lumber Baron. Perhaps a little stay in San Francisco would make her homesick for expensive shopping, good restaurants, and luxury accommodations—and get her the hell out of Nugget.
The woman reminded him so much of Kayla it was scary. Not so much her looks. Kayla was a blonde with pale blue eyes and a willowy body. She looked great in clothes. Out of them, she’d been too thin for Nate’s taste. Frankly, Sam leaned more toward his flavor in the figure department. Curvy in all the right places, with nice breasts. And the red hair was sexy as hell.
But that’s where the differences between Sam and Kayla stopped. Both came from extremely wealthy families, both were spoiled rotten, and both liked to dabble in whatever interests suddenly caught their attention. He’d watched Kayla quit law school to become an archaeologist, and when that became too tedious for her, she’d gone to culinary school. Last he heard she was an interior decorator.
And what do you know? Both women were equally indecisive in love. In Nate’s case, Kayla had at least given him a full twenty hours before calling off their wedding. Just enough time for her family to cancel the caterers and call back the guests. But ten years hadn’t been time enough to salve the humiliation. Or the hole she’d left in his heart.
Later that evening, Sam drove to McCreedy Ranch, hoping to talk Emily into being the Lumber Baron’s temporary cook. Carmela had finally called to say she’d gotten a better job in a Reno casino restaurant, working the line, and wouldn’t be coming back.
Sam had made do for the inn’s afternoon wine and cheese service by using an assortment of frozen finger foods found at the Nugget Market. It was pretty low-rent, and they couldn’t keep improvising. Part of Nate’s strategy to make the Lumber Baron a destination inn included bringing up the quality of the food. The man might be a complete bear, but Samantha couldn’t deny he had excellent business sense, although he was a bit rigid and tight if you asked her.
As she cruised up McCreedy Road, Sam marveled at the scenery. Although she’d been here a couple of times since moving to Nugget, the view never failed to impress her. Lots of gorgeous green rolling hills, compliments of the wet winter. The mighty Sierra mountains, which loomed in the background, looked as if they’d been dipped in whipped cream. Even in spring, the snowy caps had yet to melt. During the cooler summers they stayed that way year round, she’d learned from the locals.
The land, a working cattle ranch, had been in the McCreedy family since the gold rush. According to the town gossips, Clay’s first wife had begged him to sell the place. Then she’d died in a drunken-driving accident while having an affair with the developer of Sierra Heights. Nugget might be smaller and less affluent than Greenwich, but both were Peyton Places as far as drama was concerned.
She pulled up to the big white farmhouse and sucked in a breath, thinking that maybe she should’ve called first. But people here were forever popping in on each other. No formality whatsoever. So when in Rome . . . Plus, she hadn’t wanted to give Emily too much of a heads-up to think about it and say no.
Three big dogs circled her car, barking and jumping up on her door. Sam stayed put. She wasn’t afraid of dogs, but these seemed more territorial than most. One was baring its teeth.
“Down, boys,” a teenager who looked a lot like Clay yelled at the beasts, then came up to the driver’s side to shoo them away.
“Is it safe to come out?” She laughed.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I’m Samantha Dunsbury.”
The boy wiped his palm on the leg of his jeans before shaking her hand. “Justin McCreedy,” he said.
“Nice to meet you, Justin. Is Emily home?”
“She’s in the house.” He didn’t move, just stood in place gawking at her. “Are you new around here?”
“Pretty new,” Sam said. “I’ve been here about four months. I work at the Lumber Baron.”
“With Aunt Maddy and Uncle Nate.” He nodded, still gaping. Sam wondered if she had something stuck between her teeth.
“Should I just go up myself?” She pointed at the wide porch that wrapped around the house.
“Oh yeah, I’ll take you.” He led her inside the front door and yelled, “Emily, we’ve got company,” then resumed staring at her. Seriously, the kid was giving her a complex.
A few minutes later, Emily appeared, untying her apron. “Sam! How nice to see you.” She kissed her on the cheek and turned to Justin. “Did you introduce yourself to Samantha?”
“Of course I did.” And a smile lit hi
s face, giving Sam a glimpse of the lady-killer he’d someday be. Right now, he probably held the hearts of every teenage girl in Nugget. “I’ve got to finish getting the horses in. Catch you later.”
“Hey, buddy,” Emily called to him. “You forgetting something?”
He circled back around. “It was nice to meet you, Sam.”
“Likewise,” she said.
Emily took her into the kitchen, a warm and inviting room that seemed to embrace Sam in a big hug, and asked if she was hungry.
“This is spectacular,” Sam said, looking around.
“This is Colin Burke,” Emily said. “He redid the space from top to bottom. Clay grew up in this kitchen and was having palpitations at the idea of changing it. But even he loves what Colin did.”
“I can see why.” She spied the old-fashioned Wedgewood stove and the gleaming marble countertops.
“So what brings you to the ranch?” Emily motioned to a giant farm table that sat next to two picture windows with views of the range and the mountains. “Sit. We’ll have tea.”
She put a pot on to boil, removed a pair of cups and saucers from the cupboard, piled a platter with cookies—homemade if Sam was to guess—and set one end of the table. Papers, notes, magazine cutouts, and a fat binder cluttered the other end.
Sam nudged her head at the stack. “Wedding stuff?”
“Yep.” Emily eyed the pile and winced. “Barely two months to go and I feel as disorganized as when I first started. I don’t know how we went from a midsize gathering for family and friends to five hundred guests. But I’m blaming Clay, who’s decided to invite everyone in Plumas County.”
“Oh my,” Sam said. “You’re doing this yourself?”
“Yep.” Emily nodded her head. “And did I mention that I have a cookbook deadline? Crazy, right?”
“Just a little.” Sam made an inch with her thumb and forefinger. And now I’m going to ask you to cook for the inn.
“And guess what happened today?” Before Sam could ask what, Emily blurted, “The florist canceled—just called and said, ‘I know your wedding is in June, but something has come up and I can’t do it.’ Can you believe that?”
“What are you going to do?”
“Beats the hell out of me. Have any ideas?”
“I might have someone for you,” Sam said. “Let me sleep on it.”
“Sure. But enough about me, what’s going on with you? How’s life at the Lumber Baron?” The water started to boil and Emily got up to make the tea.
“Life at the Lumber Baron is . . .” She had no intention of telling Maddy’s best friend her troubles with Nate, but, boy, would it be nice to have a shoulder to cry on. “We lost our cook today.”
“Uh-oh,” Emily said. “What are you planning to do?”
Sam looked at her and started to laugh. “I was going to ask you to do it . . . just temporarily . . . until we can hire someone. Bad idea, right?”
“Ah jeez, Sam. Any other time I’d be happy to pitch in. But I’m drowning. What about Donna?”
“She’s next on my list. It’s just that we really wanted . . . Don’t worry about it. We’ll find someone. Hopefully Donna will do it.”
“You’re sure?”
“Of course,” Sam said, though she wanted to beg and plead.
Everyone loved Donna, even if she had a broken filter and said the first outrageous thing that popped into her head. Yesterday she’d told Sam that her blouse made her look pregnant with twins. Otherwise she was a fabulous person and a wonderful cook. It’s just that her food, more down-home fare, wasn’t as sophisticated as Emily’s. Sam knew Nate preferred sophisticated, and for some unfathomable reason she wanted his approval. Pathetic, especially as he’d made it perfectly clear that he wanted her gone from the inn. But Sam intended to show him that she was no quitter and that she was born to the job of event planning.
Ditto for her dad, who needed to understand that his daughter was more than an ornament. In the meantime, she had a plan to keep him from selling the summerhouse. The scheme still needed finessing, but she had an appointment with a lawyer next week.
“You liking the work at the Lumber Baron?” Emily asked, pushing a plate of cookies closer to Sam.
“I am.” She took one and nibbled. “It’s challenging, but in a good way.”
“Nate’s a great boss, isn’t he?” Sam must have looked at her funny, because she said, “I did a cookbook for Breyer Hotels. He commissioned it.”
“Really? I didn’t know that.”
“Yeah. He pretty much gave me full rein on it and loved the finished product. Are you two not working well together?”
“Yes . . . well kind of . . . no,” Sam said. “Not so good. Although today we had sort of a breakthrough. He thanked me for helping with breakfast after Carmela was a no-show. But the bottom line is he wishes Maddy would’ve chosen someone with more experience, because this is my first job—ever.”
“Maddy says you’re killing it,” Emily said, and Sam didn’t detect any judgment on her part, even though most thirty-one-year-olds had had multiple jobs by now.
“I’m trying. And I’m really enjoying it.”
“Nate will come around, you’ll see. He’s a terrific guy.”
“I hope so.” Sam grabbed her purse and got up to go. “I know you’ve got lots to do, so I’ll get out of your hair.”
“And if you think of a florist, you’ll let me know?”
“Of course,” Sam said. She was nearly out the door when an idea struck. “Emily, what if I did your wedding planning for you? I know I just told you that I’ve never had a job before, but I’ve been planning parties and big charity events since my twenties. I could do this for you.”
“I don’t know, Sam. It’s a lot of work and you already have a full-time job.”
“But if you took over the cooking duties at the Lumber Baron until we can find someone to do it permanently, I know Nate would free me up to work on your wedding.” Sam didn’t really know that, but it was worth a shot. Besides, she wanted to do it, never having planned anything on a cattle ranch before. Country weddings were extremely popular right now, and this would look great in her portfolio, not to mention that poor Emily could use the help.
“There’s a lot to do. I have the food covered and Clay’s hired the band, but we haven’t chosen our linens, haven’t hired a photographer or videographer, and haven’t . . . well, you know about the flowers.”
“You just give me those magazine pictures you snipped and I can take care of all of that—with your input, of course.”
“And all I’d have to do is make breakfast for the inn?”
“As well as hors d’oeuvres for our afternoon wine and cheese service. But you wouldn’t have to be there for that. You could just make them ahead of time, and I could pop them in the oven right before serving them.”
“In exchange, you would do all this wedding stuff—help me with the seating arrangements, sending out the invitations, the whole caboodle?”
“All of it,” Sam said. “And Emily, I’ll make it beautiful. I could show you pictures of some of the parties I’ve planned.” The elegant black-and-white ball at the Waldorf. And the Greenwich debutante cotillion, a stodgy old affair that Sam had revamped and turned into the “it” event of the season.
“I have no doubt about your abilities, Sam. But keep in mind that I don’t have a bottomless budget.”
“You just tell me what it is and I’ll stick to it,” Sam said, beaming with excitement. She loved the idea that she would have a part in making their big day.
“Okay, you’ve got yourself a deal,” Emily said. “You have time now to sit down and we could go over a few details?”
“Absolutely.”
For the next hour, Emily highlighted some of her ideas, and by the time Sam left she had a long to-do list and a binder full of inspiration. She just hoped that Nate would be on board. Otherwise, she might have bitten off more than she could chew. After all, there were only so m
any hours in a day.
The next morning she decided to break the news to Nate about the deal she’d brokered with Emily gently, starting with the good news first. Unlike most days, when he wore suits or a sports jacket with a tie, today he’d gone casual—Levi’s and an oxford shirt. As loath as she was to admit it, he looked extremely good in jeans. They rode low on his hips and hugged about the best butt she’d ever seen. But staring at her boss’s ass was probably a “don’t” in the employee handbook, so she quickly looked away as he bent over the kitchen coffeemaker to pour himself a second cup.
“You have a minute?” Sam asked.
He grunted something unintelligible, but gave her his attention.
“Today’s the last time we’ll have to scramble for breakfast.” Nate had paid Tater again to prepare a French toast bread pudding, fruit salad, and potatoes.
“How’s that?” He looked interested.
“I got Emily to do it—just temporarily, until we find someone else.”
“No kidding,” he said. “That’s great.”
“I’m glad you think so, because I had to promise to help plan her wedding in exchange. It’s a lot of work and I’ll have to use some of my time here to do it.”
“Ah,” he said. “Bored already and moving on to the next thing, huh?”
She straightened to her full five feet, seven inches. How dare he? “No, I did this to help the Lumber Baron, because unless I took over the planning of her wedding, Emily wasn’t going to cook for us.”
“Mm-hmm,” Nate said, and Sam contemplated wiping the dubious expression off his face. With her fist.
“What is your problem?”
“My problem is that running this inn and planning events here is a full-time job, Samantha. It’s not something you fit in between helping your girlfriends. I’m thrilled you got Emily to sign on, but we could’ve just paid her. Fiscally it makes more sense than lending her one of my employees to help her pick out bridal lace.”