by JoAnn Durgin
“Thank you so much, Jacinda.” Wanting to give the woman something for her trouble—at least enough for gas money—Amy opened her purse.
The woman leaned close. “Never you mind, honey. Your man’s already taken plenty good care of me. Why, he paid me enough for five trips. You two have yourselves a great time. The Driskill’s one of the best hotels in Texas, if not the entire country. Lots of people fall in love here.”
When Amy scooted across the seat, she avoided Cooper’s knowing grin. “I didn’t hear a word,” he said under his breath.
“Sure you didn’t, and I’m the world’s foremost expert on softwater fishing.”
His grin was so inviting. “Saltwater.” After helping her from the truck, he closed the door.
She waited while he said good-bye and thanked Jacinda, her gaze scanning the façade of the historic structure. A plaque mounted on the exterior wall explained the building was made from brick dressed with limestone and the original hotel featured three grand entrances, one with the largest arched doorway in Texas. Glancing up, she noted the festive decorations—green garlands with red bows—draped beneath the windows and stretched along the railing of a balcony directly above where she stood.
“Welcome to The Driskill,” the doorman said, holding the door open as they passed through the columned entrance and entered the spacious lobby.
Amy paused for her eyes to adjust to the much dimmer lighting inside. A towering, magnificent Christmas tree drew her immediate attention, and the pleasing, soft strains of a harp came from a nearby corner. Their footsteps echoed, and she glanced at the floor, marveling at the inlaid marble and tile. The tree was located in the center of the long portion of the lobby, and a shorter lobby area jutted perpendicular and featured small groupings of sofas, chairs and tables suitable for an intimate meeting or gathering. The lobby was quiet, and the few guests milling about spoke in hushed tones. A lovely, dark-haired woman sat behind the concierge desk and nodded her head with a smile of greeting.
“If you’re trying to make up for last night’s accommodations, you’ve more than succeeded,” Amy said in low tones, waving her hand around the lobby. “This is way more than I expected.”
Cooper removed his hat and ran a hand over his hair, smoothing it down, an increasingly familiar action. “I couldn’t bring you to Austin and not show you The Driskill. It’s a favorite of mine and a great example of turn-of-the-century elegance.” Pride infused his voice. “It was built in the late 1880s by a cattle baron named Colonel Jesse Driskill. Presidents, movie stars have stayed here, and a lot of Texas governors held their inaugural balls here. Take a look around while I go get you checked in.”
“Cooper,” she said, touching his sleeve as he started to walk away, “I can’t allow you to pay for my room. I insist on taking care of it.”
“You can insist all you want,” he said with a small grin, “but Texas chivalry won’t allow such a thing.” He lowered his voice. “You deserve the best and this is something I can do for you, Amy.” His eyes met hers. “Indulge me.”
The man managed to shut her up yet again. Rooted to the floor, she observed as he strode toward the front desk. At this time of the year, a place like this was probably booked anyway and they wouldn’t have a vacancy. As it was, the term “vacancy” seemed much too common for such a grand hotel as this.
A few minutes later, Cooper approached where she stood admiring the details of the grand staircase—draped with holiday garlands and twinkling lights—which led to the mezzanine above it. “All set. Your room’s on the fifth floor. Normally, it’s too early to check-in, but they’ve made an exception.”
She tilted her head and gave him a wary smile. “You don’t own stock in The Driskill, do you? In order to have such influence.”
“Hardly. But I’ve attended a number of events here through the years and conducted a few meetings.” He shrugged. “Call it a perk.”
“Thank you,” she said, lowering her gaze and feeling her cheeks grow warm.
“I’m going to catch a cab over to my house for a couple of hours.” He nodded to the bellman waiting nearby. “Charlie’s going to take you up to your room. Why don’t you get settled and I’ll be back at one o’clock,” he said, checking his watch. “The hotel has a great restaurant called the 1886 Café & Bakery that reopened this past July. We can have lunch there, if you’d like. Then we’ll head out for that promised trip to the mall.”
“Sounds wonderful,” Amy said, “but you don’t need to—”
“Yes,” he said. “I do.” His tone left no room for discussion.
“But this is way too extravagant and—”
Placing his finger over her lips, he silenced her. “Please enjoy and let me pamper you.”
Swallowing further protests, she gave him a small smile. “I’ll freshen up and meet you here in the lobby again at one o’clock.”
“Until then.” He graced her with his incredible cockeyed grin before heading out the front doors of the lobby. From the upright posture, squared, broad shoulders and confident steps, this was a man who commanded attention. It was difficult to ignore the interested glances from several women as he passed by them.
She heard a woman’s sharp intake of breath from a few feet away where two blonde, middle-aged women watched Cooper exit the hotel. “Hold your horses, Lila. Unless my eyes deceive me, that gorgeous man was Landon Warnick.” The drawl was distinctively Texan, and dripping with the affectation of wealth. “It sure is wonderful to see him back in Austin. Pity about his father, but his mama’s a real good woman. One thing’s for certain: God doesn’t make men like that anymore.”
Thinking of correcting the woman, Amy opened her mouth to speak, but closed it instead. It’s not your place. The observations both intrigued and irritated her, but her brain was fuzzy. Landon and her life in New York seemed light years away, but for now, she’d relax and enjoy each moment.
“Ready, Miss Jacobsen?” The bellman’s question startled her out of her trance.
“Yes, of course,” she said. “I’m sorry to keep you waiting.”
“Not at all.” He ushered her to the lobby elevators and pushed the button.
As they waited, Amy pointed to the huge, colorful stained glass light fixture in the ceiling near the Christmas tree. “Is that made from Tiffany glass?”
“It is indeed,” Charlie said. “You’ll see Tiffany lamps in your suite, too.” He waited as she stepped inside the elevator. Coming in with the small cart holding her suitcase and overnight bag, he pushed the button for the fifth floor.
“Did you say my suite?”
“Yes. You’re staying in the Yellow Rose.”
“Oh.” Even without being there, Cooper could render her speechless. The doors opened and she stepped into the quiet hallway, following Charlie’s lead. When he opened the door to Suite 543 and stepped aside, she gasped. “What did you do, Cooper?” She skimmed the marble entryway, crown moldings, hardwood floors, oversized, floor-to-ceiling windows with custom made tapestry drapes, the small writing desk and an antique dining table with four chairs. The inviting décor featured plush, earth tones primarily in shades of gold, beige, soft browns and yellows, all warm and welcoming. Strolling into the middle of the suite, Amy gave Charlie a sheepish smile. “I feel as though I’ve been asleep and awakened in some kind of unbelievable, marvelous dream.”
He nodded. “I’m happy you like it here, Miss. The Driskill prides itself on treating its special guests to true Texas luxury and charm. This is one of our bridal suites.” That stopped her thoughts cold for a minute before she snapped back to attention. “You have a view overlooking Brazos Street, and this is the living, dining and sitting area.” Her gaze followed his to an elegant chair and sofa, an area rug and a beautiful tapestry in complementary colors. A lighted ceiling fan softly whirled above her.
“Wait until you see the bedroom,” Charlie said with a warm smile. “You ain’t seen nothin’ yet.”
Amy’s eyes widened at the fam
iliar phrase since Sam used it on occasion. The magnificent tapestry poster bed stole her breath, as did the antique armoire and Tiffany bedside lamps. Moving over to the side of the bed, she touched a gold, braided tapestry tieback securing delicate white lacy fabric at one of the corners. Picking up the yellow rose nestled on one of the overstuffed throw pillows, she inhaled its fresh, glorious scent.
“You have a personal dressing room with lighted ceiling fan and floor length mirrors,” Charlie said, opening a door and showing her the closet before leading her further into the bathroom. “As well as the usual amenities, this room features black Brazilian marble floors, a makeup mirror and vanity lighting.”
“Charlie, I can honestly say The Driskill is the most elegant hotel I’ve ever had the privilege to stay the night.”
“Be careful on the floor, Miss. It can get slippery when wet. Use the mat.”
“I’ll remember that,” she said. She’d learned that particular lesson about slippery marble the hard way when she visited her grandfather’s Hollywood mansion when she was six. Thankfully, she’d only suffered a mild bump on the back of her head rather than a full-blown concussion or worse. Heading back into the main area of the suite, Amy reached for her purse where she’d left it on the desk and pulled out her wallet. “Thank you so much.”
Charlie waved his hand when she offered him a tip. “It’s my pleasure to serve you. I trust you’ll enjoy your stay at The Driskill, Miss Jacobsen, and please let the concierge or staff know if you need anything at all.” Although the words were practiced, the kindly man’s smile was sincere.
As soon as Charlie departed, Amy released her until-now-contained squeal of delight. Running back into the bedroom, she sat on the side chair long enough to tug her boots from her feet before taking a running dive and plopping in the middle of the high bed. Her heart beating fast and hard, she stretched out on her back and heaved a deep sigh. Smoothing one hand over the gorgeous comforter, she studied the detail of the wrought iron headboard.
This suite was an extravagance she never would have expected. “You shouldn’t have done this, Cooper.” A secret thrill of pleasure coiled in her belly, and she rolled over on her stomach, propping one fist under her chin. Surely an electrical engineer was too practical to splurge on something like this, especially for a woman he didn’t know well. If he was trying to impress her, the plan was working spectacularly well.
I don’t know what Your plan is, Lord, but I like it.
Chapter 30
Riding the elevator down to the lobby a half hour before Cooper’s expected return to the hotel, Amy heard a chorus of young voices singing Christmas carols. Turning toward the grand staircase, she saw a group of about twenty boys and girls—third and fourth graders by her estimation—attired in red and green. Moving down the stairs from the mezzanine and singing “Silver Bells,” each child stopped on a step until they all lined up on the staircase, facing the lobby. Their angelic voices rang throughout the large lobby area, the acoustics perfect, and Amy clapped with enthusiasm when they finished.
Right on time, Cooper strode into the main lobby. An older, distinguished gentleman standing near the front desk called out a greeting and walked toward him with his hand extended. Amy did a double take when she thought she heard the name Warnick and the two men shook hands. Her pulse took a flying leap. Two mentions of Landon in such a short time? Could it be possible . . . ? She shook her head, refusing to entertain any illusions.
Cooper glanced around the lobby as he talked with the man, probably looking for her. Not certain whether she should make her presence known until his discussion was concluded, Amy moved to a nearby wingback chair and seated herself in it, partially hidden behind the fronds of a potted plant.
He’d changed into a crisp, white and blue striped dress shirt but still wore his jeans and held his jacket draped over one shoulder. Inclining his head toward the other man, Cooper listened and nodded as he talked. When they laughed together easily, the resonance of her traveling companion’s deep timbre warmed her heart.
What a hopeless romantic you are.
A couple of minutes later, the man departed after giving Cooper a hearty slap on the shoulder. Rising to her feet, Amy relished the broad grin creasing his face as he spotted her and headed in her direction.
“Hello, gorgeous,” he said.
“Hello, generous.” The grin she gave him was purposely coy. “After last night, are you planning a shotgun wedding to make an honest woman of me?”
Her words stopped him, and he tilted his head, surveying her. “Would you?”
“Would I what?”
“Marry me if I asked you? Right here, right now? I’m sure I could rustle up a minister to do the honors for us.”
Amy laughed off the question with a wave of her hand. “I was only referring to the fact that my room is none other than a bridal suite. And, trust me, I have more respect for the God-ordained institution of marriage than to take an impulsive leap into holy matrimony with someone I barely know.”
“While I share your respect for marriage,” Cooper said, “I beg to differ on the barely knowing you part of the equation. You see, I don’t think it takes a long time to know someone well enough to know you want to marry them.”
How did the man do it? She couldn’t begin to manage a coherent comeback.
Hooking her arm through his, Cooper directed her to the front of the hotel and the 1886 Café and Bakery. After the hostess seated them and the server took their orders, they exchanged small talk and she gave him details of her fabulous suite. Although he listened, Amy knew he was more focused on studying her features than hearing about the accommodations. Something was bothering him. While he wasn’t moody, he wasn’t as overtly flirtatious, but he listened, asked questions and was quiet. She liked this side of him, and appreciated it while another part of her missed their lively bantering. The balance is nice. Maybe he’d discovered something that disturbed him when he went to his house. Whatever it was, Amy hoped it wouldn’t taint their remaining time together. She knew the man well enough to know he’d share it with her if and when he felt the need.
When their food was delivered, Cooper reached across the table, covering her hand with his as he said grace. Afterwards, she watched, wide-eyed, as he took a first bite of his self-proclaimed favorite, the well-known “Hangover Burger”—a mile-high burger made from Angus beef, brown sugar and chili-rubbed bacon, a sunny-side-up egg and hash browns on a whole wheat bun. While the man enjoyed his breakfast food, he couldn’t eat like this often or he’d weigh five hundred pounds. Noting his amusement as he chewed, she sampled Helen Corbitt’s Cheese Soup—another specialty—in a bread bowl. No doubt the delicious soup had a gazillion calories, but for the moment, she couldn’t care less.
“The beginnings of The Driskill is sad, really,” Cooper said after chewing another hearty bite of his monstrous burger. “Colonel Jesse’s story is one of American free enterprise, but it’s not without its share of tragedy.”
“Tell me,” she said, intrigued. “I saw the life-sized portrait of him hanging in the lobby.”
Cooper proved a natural storyteller as he held her captive by relaying some of the history and legend of the hotel, adding to its mystique and fascination. “By the time he was forty-five, Jesse had a wife, four daughters and two sons and moved to the frontier town of Austin. He’d already made and lost a fortune during the Civil War by selling cattle to the Confederacy. But the guy was resilient and obviously a shrewd businessman considering he went on to become a rich cattle baron and civic leader. He opened the original hotel in 1886 at cost of around four hundred thousand dollars as a showplace to rival hotels in New York, Chicago, St. Louis and San Francisco. Two weeks later, The Driskill hosted its first inaugural governor’s ball.” Cooper paused his story and took another bite, chewing his food. “Jesse lost his fortune again a couple of years later when a drought and hard winter killed thousands of his prized cattle. Then he went bankrupt, lost the hotel in a high-stakes
poker game and died three years later of a stroke. Legend has it poor old Jesse haunts The Driskill to this day because he wasn’t ever able to fully enjoy his namesake creation.”
“Is that right?” Amy tore off a small section of the bread bowl and popped it into her mouth, giving him an impish grin. “What does he do? Moo at guests in the elevators?”
Cooper shook his head. “Very funny. No, supposedly Jesse smokes cigars in guest rooms and has a little fun switching bathroom lights on and off.”
The corners of Amy’s mouth quirked. “Maybe he was a wannabe electrical engineer.” She laughed when he wadded up his napkin and tossed it at her.
“Do you want any dessert before we head out?” he asked a few minutes later. “They have some great specialty desserts here, and one of them’s acclaimed.”
She gave him a look. “If I gave you my real answer to that question . . .”
His smile made her all kinds of silly, the kind of smile that could launch a thousand daydreams. In a matter of days, this man had settled in the trenches of her heart and made himself at home. “Don’t you wanna know what it is?”
Amy shook her head, forgetting the current thread of discussion. “What . . . what is?”
When he leaned across the table, lowering his voice, a smoldering sensuality flickered in his gaze. “The acclaimed dessert is the 1886 Chocolate Cake. Sinful and decadent.”
Swallowing hard, Amy cleared her throat and pushed her soup aside. She avoided his continued, intense scrutiny. “Oh my goodness, I can’t eat another bite. Maybe the cake could be a midnight snack. On the balcony or the mezzanine,” she added lest he perceive it as an invitation.
Fifteen minutes later, Cooper handed a valet his claim ticket. The young man lit up with a wide grin. “Ah man, that truck’s a sweet ride.” Thanking him, he ignored her raised brows as the valet took off at a sprint.