Christmas Inn Love

by Collins, Kelly

  Christmas Inn Love

  Kelly Collins

  Copyright © 2019 by Kelley Maestas

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Contents

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  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  A Sneak Peek at The Trouble With Tinsel

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  Chapter One

  Celia

  Celia Roberts poured over the books of the Hummingbird Inn. What made her think it was a great idea to operate an inn in a town that had seen better days?

  Pinetop, Colorado was no Aspen, and it wasn’t Vail. It barely registered on the map, but it was home.

  Trying to make ends meet in a less than ideal economy could make a stronger woman weep. As she always did, when things looked bleak, she made a gratitude list and counted her blessings.

  Jackson was healthy.

  She could pay this month’s bills.

  They had food on the table.

  It could be worse.

  The fall sun filtered through her sheers and baked the desk.

  The wind whipped around in sudden gusts like something big was about to blow in. It knocked the branches of an ancient apple tree against the house, mimicking the sound of someone knocking at the door. It had fooled her a couple of times until she learned to ignore it.

  The knocking grew louder, and the cadence grew even and measured. This was not her apple tree.

  She let go of her pen and walked through her living quarters into the inn toward the front door. Back when the property was a rustic retreat for an old-time Hollywood producer, her place served as the live-in help’s quarters. It was funny to own a house but never live in the main part of it.

  Today’s visitor was unexpected. Her hands came up to straighten her messy bun. Strands escaped to frame her face. She wore no makeup and wasn’t positive she’d washed her face that morning.

  The day had started in a blur. She’d flown out of bed when her alarm hadn’t gone off, worried that Jackson didn’t get up for school. She’d found him downstairs devouring a box of Corn Flakes.

  Her clothes were an afterthought. She wore an apron wrapped around her waist. Hidden underneath were old jeans, a faded T-shirt, and a pair of old Keds with the big toe worn through.

  She peered through the side window and pressed her eyes tight to focus. It was just her luck she looked like a charity case while a nicely dressed, handsome man stood on her doorstep.

  She considered turning around and ignoring the caller but reminded herself she needed whatever revenue she could muster. She wasn’t prepared, nor in the mood to pretend she was happy about the unexpected visitor, but she counted to three, took a deep breath and opened the door.

  “Hello, welcome to Hummingbird Inn.” She painted on a happy-to-see-you smile.

  The man glanced left and right before stepping inside. As he brushed past her, he didn’t look in her eyes. He looked past her. Through her. His focus was on everything else, like he was sizing up the place.

  She did the same, except her eyes made it back to him, and she couldn’t stop staring. Holy hell, he was a fashion layout come to life. Centerfold or front-page worthy.

  “Can I help you?” she asked.

  He looked at her for the first time.

  His face was familiar. She knew him from somewhere but couldn’t make the connection.

  “I’m looking for Celia, the owner.” His voice was stern and unforgiving. Not the tone folks in Pinetop used when communicating with one another. Not the tone a friendly person used to greet someone. This man was not a friend but a foe.

  “Celia?”

  “Yes.” He rubbed his jaw and leaned down like he was sharing a secret. “I hate to bother. Never thought I’d be in Pinetop again. You could say this is an unexpected and undesired reunion.”

  “Really? You don’t like her?”

  “I’m ambivalent. I knew her in high school.” He lifted his shoulders. “It is what it is.”

  “I see,” she said, checking him out. She had been popular back then and knew just about everyone, but she couldn’t place him. Mr. Tall, Dark and Sexy would have left an impression for sure.

  “One moment. I’ll be back with her.”

  Celia offered him a seat in the parlor, which was the common area for guests. She dashed back to her quarters, working the hair tie out of her messy bun as she raced to her bathroom.

  She slipped off her apron and hung it on the hook of the bathroom door. This man claimed to know her, and he didn’t appear to like her. When she returned dressed like the inn owner instead of a homeless woman, he’d be surprised. Her T-shirt hit the floor along with her jeans. A clean and ironed button-down blouse paired with a tailored sports jacket, and slacks acted like armor.

  She ran a brush through her hair, lined her eyes quickly with a soft brown, and colored her lips with a pale pink gloss. Her transformation was instant and boosted her confidence. No doubt it would surprise this man who knew her back in high school.

  “Ambivalent. He sounds like he hated me,” she murmured. “I was a damn saint back then.”

  She looked back at the mirror and touched her face. Had she changed so much to be unrecognizable now? Funny what years of unhappiness could do to a girl.

  The clickety-clack of her heels on the wooden floor was the only warning he’d get. She found him focused on his cell phone, oblivious to her arrival. She cleared her throat. He glanced at her casually and then returned to his call.

  She knew the exact moment he figured her out.

  He froze, and in slow motion he lifted his head.

  “Hi,” she said in her most pleasant voice. “Celia Roberts, the girl from high school. Pleased to meet you.” She relished his stunned expression as she shook his hand. “I’m afraid I don’t remember you. You are?” she asked with a slight bite to her voice.

  “I’m Robert McKenna,” he said.

  “Bobby McKenna,” she repeated with surprise. “Little Bobby McKenna? No way!”

  His eyes rolled back as his face tipped toward the ceiling. “No one has called me that for a while.”

  Back in high school, the jocks, including the guy who would become her ex-husband, got in trouble teasing the freshmen. Bobby McKenna hadn’t been a freshman, but he was small for his age and got caught in their bullying.

  “You grew up.” She took him in from the top of his lush brown hair to the tips of his Italian loafers.

  Six feet looked good on him. Sculpted cheekbones, a strong jaw, and eyes the color of a spring sky made Bobby a handsome man. He’d been a cute kid but had the worst knack for attracting attention. For whatever reason, the guys in her crowd never let up.

  “Yes,” he said. “Not that you would have noticed, but I hit six feet before I gradu
ated. I go by Rob now.”

  She gawked at him. There was no way he’d looked like this in high school. She would have remembered. The face in front of her was not one she could easily forget. This Bobby was remarkable.

  She shook those thoughts from her head. “What can I do for you?”

  “I’m not here to ask a favor.”

  “Then what brings you to my doorstep? Do you need a room?” His mother had passed away a few months ago. There was no mention of a memorial service. Fiona McKenna simply disappeared.

  Instead of answering her question, he asked a different one.

  “Why didn’t you tell me who you were?”

  “You mean when you were telling me how unlikable I was?”

  He didn’t bother to acknowledge her response.

  “You could have told me right away.” He looked at her like she was a piece of home-made pie. Flaky crust and just out of the oven.

  “You didn’t give me a chance.” She squared her shoulders and stood tall. “You insulted me the first opportunity you got.”

  “You didn’t identify yourself.”

  Her balled fists dug into her hips. This might not be a fight she could win, but it wasn’t one she’d back down from without an apology. “You made assumptions, and you weren’t nice.”

  His expression softened to weary acceptance. “You’re right. I apologize.”

  If he wasn’t so pleasant to look at, would she have already shown him the door? In times like these, it was important to remember her gratitude list. Her ex-husband made her sensitive to criticism, especially when it came from men.

  “Mr. McKenna, why are you at the Hummingbird Inn? Can I get you a room?” She wasn’t in the mood to take his attitude, but she’d happily take his money.

  He shook his head. “No.”

  “Well then, I have lots to do and little time to do it. Indulge me. Why are you here?”

  “I’m getting there.” He walked around the parlor. “Your property borders mine.”

  “My property isn’t near anything.” She looked out the window, expecting to find something other than the land that had been empty for years. “On one side is another house like this one and on the other side is a creek and acres of wilderness. I know who owns the house next door, and it’s not you.”

  “Nope. You’re right.” He cocked his head. “I own the wilderness. Or my mother did until she passed away. I put up a house on the far end of the property where I’m living now.”

  “I’m familiar with your mother. I think I would have known if Fiona owned the land next to mine.” Was it possible for every blood cell in her body to migrate to her head? Ready to burst, she took several calming breaths. “You must be mistaken.”

  Rob stepped forward, moving so close his cologne tickled her nose.

  “I’m not wrong,” he said. “She had her place in town where I grew up, but this land has been in our family forever. She didn’t want to sell it because she wanted to keep it in the family, or so I assume.”

  “You built a new house when she had a perfectly good one for you to live in?” She dropped her hands and walked to the fireplace mantel, where she rearranged the figurines several times.

  “I wouldn’t say it’s perfectly good. It’s old and poorly maintained. As for my house, I’ve honored the spirit of the town by building a Victorian, instead of going with the modern structure I had pictured in my mind. At least that’s what it appears to be on the outside. Inside it’s a modern marvel.” He shrugged his broad shoulders. “Anyway, I’m here to let you know I have plans for the property which will drastically change the approach to your place and mine.”

  “Speak English.” She glared at him.

  “I own all the land behind you, and I’m developing it.”

  “Developing it how?” Her hand went to her chest as she felt her heart sink. Development was another word for change, and she didn’t like change.

  “My vision is a resort village with cabins and a golf course. I’m exploring snowmaking capabilities, so skiing may be an option.”

  “You’re kidding, right?” She breathed deeply, not willing to give in to the anger building inside of her. “Skiing? You just dropped by to let me know you’re putting a recreational urban sprawl next door to my business? Mr. McKenna, I make my living off cozy and quaint. I’m raising my son on small-town values. What is phase two of your plan? To import gangs?”

  He walked over and lowered himself enough to make them eye to eye. Looking into those baby blues made it hard to concentrate. Focus, you’re a professional.

  “I’m not importing gangs, but I’ll refer to my business plan to see if it was a consideration. I’m a business developer. This is what I do. I’ve come home to add value to the land so I can sell it. This property has been sitting undeveloped forever. It’s time to bring Pinetop into this century.”

  “Pinetop is developed. Has been for over a hundred years. It has everything a person could need or want.”

  Being near him took the gnash out of her bite.

  “It has everything except a decent economy, good entertainment, and edible food.” His list was small but accurate.

  “It went as far as it could go, Mr. McKenna,” she responded. “And the food at the counter is fabulous.”

  “Rob,” he corrected. “Does Myrtle still make a mean meatloaf sandwich?”

  How had the conversation turned from destroying her livelihood to eating at the drugstore counter? “Everything Myrtle makes is noteworthy.”

  “Good to know, but Pinetop could offer more.” He smiled and her insides twisted. Surely it was agitation and not attraction that had her heart skipping a beat and her stomach dropping to her black leather pumps.

  “If there was something more than what we offer, it would have been here by now. That means you can’t turn Pinetop into Aspen no matter how much you tear up the ground. That’s business 101 or at the most 102.”

  “Wharton Business School?” he asked sarcastically.

  “No, Pinetop School of Hard Knocks. Graduated with honors.” There was enough ice in her voice to drop the inside temperature by ten degrees. “I put my heart and soul into my business, and I’m not giving it up.”

  “I’m not asking you to, Ms. Roberts, but heart and soul have no place in business. Emotions don’t pay the rent, keep the lights on, or put food on the table. That’s lesson numero uno in any business school.”

  “If changing Pinetop was what Fiona wanted, she would have sold the land long ago. It appears she wanted you to keep it.”

  “She asked me to use my best judgment, and I believe I have.” He produced a business card and walked toward the door, where he tucked it under the fancy rotary dial telephone on the entryway table. “Call me if you have questions.”

  She held up her hand. “I’ve got one.”

  He turned around. “I’m all ears.”

  “When will you be leaving?”

  “Not until I have everything I want.” He looked at her as if she was also on his menu.

  A shiver raced through her, but it wasn’t unpleasant. She was torn between wanting to clobber the man and wanting to kiss him.

  Chapter Two

  Rob

  Rob McKenna was back in his hometown for one purpose and one purpose only, to pounce on the opportunity in Pinetop.

  He sipped a diet soda and looked out the wall of glass that showcased the wilderness behind his new prefab home.

  He had no previous plan of attack for the three hundred acres his mother left him. He’d never considered the land because right after high school graduation, he left home to make his way in the world. Now, he couldn’t resist the prospect the land presented to a man like him—a property developer. It was the first time he’d considered business where emotional loose ends were part of the package.

  He freely admitted that when he knew he was coming back home, the first thought he’d had was of Celia Roberts. There was a real possibility she wouldn’t be in Pinetop, but fortunately fo
r him, she was. Why he hadn’t noticed her was a mystery. Was it because her hair was shorter and darker? Gone was the girl with the sparkle in her eye and in her place was a woman who looked as if life had not been all that kind. She was still beautiful, but the ethereal light that once shined from her was gone.

  He thought the experience of his hometown would be different now that he was a grown man with an impressive portfolio, but it wasn’t. The old town had been spit-polished to show its quaintness and charm, but it conjured demons he thought were long gone. They churned in his stomach as he took in the acreage in front of him.

  When he returned after his mother’s funeral, he knew he would be here for a while. While it would have been nice to snap his fingers and have the place transform, development didn’t happen that way. Even the kind of development he did took time. He needed a place to stay and his mother’s house would never do. Every wall held the voices of contempt and disappointment. That’s why he’d contracted to set a Victorian style modular home on the edge of his family’s property closest to Pinetop town limits. It might be a home now, but he would convert it to the business center later. He shipped everything he owned from back east, including his sports car. There were some luxuries he refused to do without, and a fast car was one of them.

  A soft tap on the front door grabbed his attention. He powered across the wooden floors and swung the door open to reveal the first visitor he’d received at the new place. It was an older man with a blunt shaved haircut and pants stained with the memory of manual labor.