The Inn at Blue Hollow Falls

by Donna Kauffman

  “It looks even bigger than I thought it would,” Stevie said, “and it looked ginormous in those photos.”

  “Right?” Sunny stepped toward the row of six-inch-wide heavy plastic panels that hung, floor to ceiling, from a bar suspended high across the open space heading into the west wing. The weighted bottoms of the panels were still swinging from where the two men had passed through them moments earlier. Sunny beckoned Stevie to follow her. “I haven’t sent photos of this because I wanted to surprise you.”

  Sunny parted the plastic panels, which were very similar to the ones they used to section off parts of the thirty-four greenhouses that made up the Botanic Garden’s production facility, where Stevie and Sunny had worked together for the past several years. The panels kept in the heat and humidity, but allowed for simple passage between sections. Stevie ducked through, her soggy bun sliding around the back of her neck, sending trickles of freezing cold water down her back. That was only part of the reason she gasped, though. The transformation of this wing couldn’t have been more startling if Stevie had actually been Alice and fallen headfirst down the rabbit hole. “Oh, Sunny, look at her,” she breathed.

  A series of wide wooden planks had been put down on top of a grid of two-by-four beams, creating a sturdy work floor, while simultaneously raising it above the uneven dirt flooring Stevie had seen in the east wing. Rows and rows of what looked like handmade wooden worktables lined the center of the wing, with another series of worktables, sinks, shelving, and more lining the circumference along the glass exterior walls. Suspended lighting had been run in long rows overhead, and there were heavy-duty electrical cords snaking all over the floor. But what drew her attention were the stacks and stacks of seedling trays and pots layered on many of the tables, while other tables had dozens of shipping boxes, still sealed, piled on top of them.

  Stevie walked along the row of worktables, taking it all in. Moist heat was pumping into this side of the place, and steam rose gently from her cold, damp clothes and hair, wafting upward where it caught and swirled in the breeze provided by the big fans suspended high overhead at either end. From where she’d stood at the forest edge, she hadn’t heard the powerful fans or the generators that surely had to be working overtime to keep the air at the required functioning temperature levels.

  “You’re a fortress,” she murmured, walking over and tracing a finger along the beads of condensation forming on the insides of the leaded glass panes. The panes were fogged over on the outside, preventing her from seeing any of the snowscape beyond them, and the fog had likewise prevented her from seeing any of this from where she’d stood outside. Stevie turned back to face her friend, who looked ebullient and joyful, and Stevie thought her own expression must be much the same. “I know Granny May must be scowling down at me something fierce right now, disappointed that I’m coveting my neighbor’s possessions, but dang, I’d be lying if I didn’t admit I’ve got a serious case of greenhouse envy going on right now.”

  “You can come over to play anytime,” Sunny said with a laugh. “And by ‘play’ I mean work your little behind off. When you see the mountain of work I have planned for us to get done over the next two weeks, you might wish you’d stayed in DC.”

  “Never happen. You of all people know I’m not afraid of hard work.”

  Just then Sawyer and Noah came back into the space through another set of swinging plastic panels at the far side of the wing.

  “Planks in place, shelves all set up,” Sawyer told Sunny as he moved through the rows of tables toward her.

  She tipped up and kissed him soundly on the mouth. “I owe you. Okay, I owe you more,” she added, when he merely lifted one brow. She kissed him again, laughing as she did. “And I always pay my debts.”

  It filled Stevie’s heart right up to see her best friend looking so relaxed and happy. Nobody deserved that happiness more.

  Noah walked over closer to where Stevie stood. “What am I then?” he asked Sunny good-naturedly. “Free labor?”

  “This particular payment plan isn’t available to you,” Sawyer said easily, tucking Sunny under his arm.

  “Actually,” Sunny said, looking at Noah, “I have another favor to ask.” Her smile was both wincing and hopeful. “But I promise you won’t be doing it for free. This time,” she added with an exaggerated batting of eyelashes.

  Noah gave her an eye roll, but the accompanying smile was an affectionate one. “Someone is going to be having me over for dinner. Often.”

  “Deal,” Sunny said. “So, you know about the frozen water pipe fiasco—”

  “Oh no,” Stevie chimed in. “Here? Like you need that on top of everything else.”

  “Not here,” Sunny said. “Up at Sawyer’s place.”

  “Our place,” Sawyer corrected.

  Sunny smiled up at him, and Sawyer dropped a kiss on her forehead, which led to her kissing Sawyer’s chin, then him lifting her chin for a proper kiss, prompting Noah to send a sidelong glance Stevie’s way. “You won’t need any sweets this Christmas. You’ll get all the sugar you can stand around those two.”

  “Scrooge,” Sawyer said, grinning down at a smiling Sunny, clearly unrepentant.

  “Careful there, pal-who-needs-a-favor,” Noah joked.

  Sunny shifted in Sawyer’s arms to look at Noah. “It did a fair bit of damage as it turns out, so we’re going to be bunking in with Addie Pearl probably until the new year. I was wondering if you had room at your place for Stevie. I know it’s the holidays and last minute, but—” Sunny broke off, then turned to Stevie. “I’m sorry. I didn’t introduce you. Stevie, this is Noah Tyler. Noah, my best pal and cohort in all things botanical, Stevie Franklin.”

  “We met outside,” Stevie said, suddenly reminded of the soggy hair bun and mascara-streaked face she was sporting. There was nothing to do about it now, though. That said, Stevie couldn’t deny her pulse had leapt at the mere suggestion of her bunking anywhere near Noah Tyler and his sexy lumberjack baritone self. However, she didn’t think it was fair for him to be put in that kind of spot. “Please don’t worry about that with all you have going on.” She looked to Noah with an apologetic smile. “That’s not a fair request. It’s the holidays, and I’m sure the last thing you need is an unexpected house guest. You don’t even know me.” She looked back at Sunny. “I’m sure I can arrange something somewhere, even if it’s a bit of a commute. I love being out here already and driving doesn’t even feel like a chore when the view is so spectacular.”

  Noah smiled at her. “I agree with that last part, but this isn’t the imposition you think it is. Actually, I—”

  “He runs an inn, Stevie,” Sunny broke in to explain sheepishly. “I thought I mentioned that in one of our many conversations about all the lu—uh—” She broke off, and her cheeks turned slightly pink as Stevie wiggled her eyebrows in suppressed merriment.

  Stevie knew exactly what Sunny’d been about to say. Lumberjack hotness indeed.

  Noah looked between the two women, a bit nonplussed, then stepped in to explain when Sunny didn’t go on. “I own the Inn at Blue Hollow Falls.”

  “Oh, that’s right,” Stevie said, piecing things together. “Sunny sent me a photo of your place. It’s that beautiful old stone-mill house, by the river, closer to town. It has a waterwheel, right? Like the one down at the big silk mill, only smaller.”

  “Yes,” he said, smiling. “To all of that. I have rooms open tonight and tomorrow, but I am fully booked Friday night, it being Christmas Eve, and then all the way through till New Year’s Day after that.”

  “I’ll take the days I can get,” she said. “I appreciate it. I’m sure I can find something for the rest of my stay.”

  Then Noah’s handsome face lit up. “Come to think of it, though, I actually will have one unoccupied room.” He looked at Stevie as he explained. “Most of the guests are regulars, and because of that, I happen to know that one of the booked rooms won’t actually have anyone staying in it.”

  Stevie l
ooked between Sunny and Sawyer, who were sharing twinkling gazes, and Noah’s knowing grin, and said, “Why won’t anyone be staying in a room that’s booked and presumably paid for? Is it haunted or something?”

  “You’re giving her Mrs. Haversham’s room,” Sunny said. “That’s a great idea.” She turned to Stevie. “Noah has this couple in their seventies, Nancy Haversham and Strowbridge Carter.”

  “Strowbridge?” Stevie repeated.

  Sunny just nodded and continued on. “Folks call him Strow. He lives in southern Amherst County now, but his family was from here once upon a time. Owned a big apple orchard, lots of land, well respected. Strow owns an even bigger orchard now, along with a few other agricultural enterprises, but he still contributes to his hometown and has been one of Sawyer’s biggest supporters with the silk mill renovation. Nancy is an agricultural heiress in her own right—her granddaddy once owned more peach farms in Georgia than just about anybody else—and she married into the Charlottesville Havershams. For all Strow has done quite well for himself, she could probably buy and sell a hundred of him with her pocket change. If you get my drift.”

  “I think I’m following, yes.”

  Noah picked up the story from there. “Mrs. Haversham was widowed quite a long time ago, never remarried. Partly because she’s from a generation and a genteel Southern family tree in which that’s simply not done, but mostly, I think, because her only son is a greedy son of a bitch. He’d rather trade on his mother’s happiness than see her remarried and possibly lose some portion of his inheritance. Of course, he runs the family empire these days and is richer than sin in his own right, so . . . I have a less than favorable view of the man.”

  Stevie thought she saw where this was going. “So . . . Nancy and Strow?” She let that trail off.

  Noah nodded. “Meet up at my inn every holiday season, and other times of the year as well, in various other locales, to spend some time together.”

  “Is Strow married?”

  Noah and Sunny both shook their heads. “No, he’s divorced,” Noah said. “Which, of course, according to Haversham Junior, is another black mark. Also a very long time ago. Has five children, and more grandchildren than anyone can count. The big difference is his family has been begging him for years to find someone to make him happy.”

  “They don’t know about Nancy?” Stevie asked.

  “Oh, I’m sure they do, or they know he sees someone, but Strow defers to Nancy on her request to keep their relationship hush-hush.”

  “So, how long have the two—”

  “Thirty-two years,” Noah said.

  Stevie’s jaw dropped in outrage. “They’ve been together thirty-two years and can’t go public because Nancy’s rich son is worried Strow might want his inheritance? That’s awful.”

  “I agree wholeheartedly,” Noah said. “Though, to be fair, Haversham Junior isn’t just worried about Strow, but about all his many, many descendants who could feasibly claim a piece of the Haversham pie.”

  “Still,” Stevie said huffily. “So, they have to go so far as to book two rooms?”

  “For appearances only,” Noah said. “Because Junior reviews the books, so she likes for things to stay neat and tidy while on her travels. One room, one set of meals, and so on.”

  “Wow.” Stevie shook her head.

  “It works for them.” Noah grinned. “And now, for you, because you can stay in her room. I’ll speak with Nancy. She’s a lovely, lovely woman, and I know she’ll be thrilled to have her room not go to waste. That part never did sit well with her.”

  “Well, I insist on paying—”

  “Actually,” Sunny broke in, “you’re our invited guest, so we’ll pick up the tab, but—”

  “Nancy will absolutely refuse on that score; I can guarantee it,” Noah said. “But I’m sure she and Strow wouldn’t mind a bottle of something fizzy sent to Strow’s room.”

  “Consider it done,” Stevie and Sunny said at the same time. Stevie laughed, and added, “And thank you, Noah, for making it work.”

  “You can follow me back if you’d like. I’m heading that way now. I’ve got a new chef coming in, but he’s been delayed until tomorrow, which means I’m on KP tonight. I’ve got four rooms occupied, with more arriving. Dinner will still be served this evening and I haven’t begun prep for that yet.”

  And he cooks, too. Of course he does. Stevie looked at Sunny, who nodded and made a shooing motion.

  “Go on and get settled in. Come back whenever you’re ready.”

  “Like you could keep me away,” Stevie said with a laugh. “Thanks, to both of you. I appreciate it. I’ll probably all but sleep here anyway, so it won’t be much of a bother, I promise.”

  Stevie followed Noah to the hanging plastic panels, and, when she glanced back, Sunny was nodding toward Noah’s retreating back and wiggling her eyebrows. “Take your time,” she said meaningfully. “Your vacation has officially begun.”

  Chapter Two

  Noah spared a brief glance when the swinging door to the inn’s kitchen shifted open, but kept his attention on the vegetables he was dicing. He assumed it was Jenny, the teenager who worked part-time cleaning rooms and who’d just clocked out a few minutes earlier. “Forget something?”

  “No, I’m just now heading out. I thought it would be a good idea to wring myself out a little after taking that refreshing dip in the snow.”

  Not Jenny. His heart rate took an upward hike, as did the corners of his mouth. “Well, we do pride ourselves on being a year-round attraction here in Blue Hollow Falls,” Noah said as he shifted to scrape the chopped carrots, celery, and other tidbits into the already bubbling stew pot. He set the board and knife on the counter next to the hulking Vulcan gas stove, then wiped his hands on the apron he’d tied around his waist before turning to give Stevie a welcoming nod. He had to make a conscious effort not to swallow his tongue.

  She didn’t look anything like the perfectly packaged little snow bunny he’d first encountered. Even after the snow had dumped down on top of her, ruining her tidy little bun and dashing a splash of mascara onto her cheeks, she’d still somehow managed to look coolly put together in her snug little black pants, completely impractical fur-lined boots, and perfectly fitted winter jacket. Now? Now she looked like some kind of bohemian goddess.

  Her hair was no longer sleeked back into that snug bun, all dark, shiny, and smooth. Now it had been set free—he could think of no better term than that—and framed her lovely face in a sunburst halo of thick, dark, tight curls. He remembered thinking that sleeked-back hairdo had showcased her pretty features to their best advantage, but this . . . this made him want to kneel. Her vivid green eyes were sparkling focal points in the midst of all that lush wildness. They drew his attention in and held it there as securely as a tractor beam.

  He’d noticed before that her beautiful, honey-colored skin was smooth and clear of even the tiniest blemish or freckle. He’d assumed, given the rest of her ski bunny getup, that it was the wizardry of cosmetics. But she wore no makeup now that he could tell, save maybe for that bit of shine on her lips, and her skin was still downright luminous. Thin strands of copper wire and colorful beads, all entwined in an artistic tangle, dangled from dainty earlobes and matched the piece that twined delicately around her neck.

  She wore a mandala-patterned top—a term he knew thanks to living in a town full of artisans and crafters of every stripe—in bold, jewel-tone colors that only served to enhance that glow. The shirt had long, fitted sleeves, with an open, collarless neckline. The front covered her small breasts, but was held snugly against them, and drawn in tightly underneath with a thin velvet ribbon. The rest fell in soft folds, ending just below the waistband of her well-worn blue jeans. The open neckline showcased the necklace, but exposed zero cleavage, which naturally made him want to step forward and peek down inside. It took a moment for his gaze to dip low enough to see she had on knee-high rubber Wellies, and, given that they were patterned in bright red lady
bugs and yellow daisies, it was a testament to the rest of the outfit that it had taken him that long to notice them.

  “However,” he added, proud that the word had come out sounding like anything other than the hoarse rasp he’d expected, and belatedly grateful he’d decided to tie an apron around his hips, “most folks like to do this thing we call skiing, where you stay on top of the snow. Generally, we reserve swimming for summertime, taking a dip in Big Stone Creek just under the falls. It’s lots warmer then.”

  “Yes, well,” she replied, not missing a beat, “I think we’ve already established that I like to think outside the box when it comes to how I spend my vacation time.” She paused beside the mammoth stove and fanned a little of the steam that was beginning to waft from the stew pot up toward her face. “I like to really steep myself in the local atmosphere.”

  He chuckled at that, then used a big metal spoon to stir the pot. And tried like hell not to think about what else was getting stirred up.

  “Smells heavenly,” she said. “Family recipe?”

  He turned back to the center work island and shifted an iPad around so she could see it. A recipe for beef-and-leek stew glowed on the screen. “Yes, Jamie Oliver doesn’t like to talk about me, as I’m the black sheep of the family, but we’re secretly brothers.”

  “You’ve done a remarkable job hiding that British accent,” she said, parrying with him with ease. “And even disguised the family resemblance, being Oliver is blond and all.”

  He gave his head a little shake, making the dark curls shimmy. “Hence the black sheep designation.”