by Glynna Kaye
“I can see why.”
This, in fact, was where her ex-fiancé’s sister, Barbie, was to be married in October. Thankfully, despite pressure from the girl’s mother, the bride-to-be hadn’t held Lillian’s runaway-bride act against Aunt Viola or canceled her booking after the aborted June wedding. But the notoriously spoiled young lady was proving to be something of a bridezilla in her demands—which had further spurred Lillian to keep at her aunt to approach her employer for upgrades. It was no secret that the inn itself didn’t hold a candle to the romantic draw of the garden. Seldom were guest rooms booked in conjunction with events held there—no bridal-party weekends and certainly no honeymoons or anniversary retreats.
Most repeat guests were those who’d warmed to Aunt Vi’s special brand of hospitality, not who craved the more tangible aspects of the inn itself.
Accompanying Denny as he silently wandered the garden walkways, Lillian watched him from the corner of her eye. Did he see what she saw—that the garden deserved guest accommodations to equal it? Maybe something unapologetically romantic, a style more in keeping with the traditional exterior than the blandness that was there now.
“I remember one year an evening Christmastime wedding was hosted here.” Her heart lightened at the memory, and she hoped it would touch him, too. “The garden was warmed with decorative patio space heaters, and the pines and bare branches of the deciduous trees were strung with twinkling fairy lights.”
She looked to him hopefully. But he was gazing down at his phone and didn’t respond. Lillian’s stomach knotted when he murmured an apology and stepped away for the third time that morning to take a business call. So much like Cameron. He hadn’t been able to stay in the moment longer than it took to blink twice, couldn’t keep his mind from drifting away to seemingly more important matters. Pity the woman who ended up wed to Hayden Hunter.
Yes, despite her feelings of animosity toward him, she’d checked out his ring finger.
Clearly, though, he wasn’t impressed with the Pinewood Inn, and seeing it through his eyes, she couldn’t fault him. It hadn’t gotten into its current condition overnight. When earlier in the spring she’d criticized her aunt’s employer for the neglect, Aunt Viola came to Charlotte’s defense, admitting that it was as much her own fault that things had gotten to this stage. Grateful for the opportunity to have a job she enjoyed and a nice place to live postretirement, she’d done her best not to be an albatross around her patron’s neck.
“Sorry for the interruption.” Denny joined her again, tucking away his phone. “You step out the office door for a few days, and suddenly nobody can live without you.”
As was the case with her former fiancé, undoubtedly that made him feel good about himself. Important. Indispensable.
“As I was saying,” she continued, “the winter wedding was lovely, with snow flurries setting a romantic mood for the exchange of vows.”
Could he picture that? Or was his mind focused on the drawbacks of the inn and alert to the nuances of her aunt’s flagging health? Thankfully, there was no need for a walker or cane this morning. But had he noticed how carefully she turned? How she occasionally gripped the back of a chair or casually leaned against a door frame to steady herself?
Please, Lord, don’t let Denny expect Aunt Vi to accompany him to the second floor. Her aunt hadn’t navigated the stairs since the fall that broke her hip. Realistically, despite her steady progress, she might never again see those upstairs rooms.
“Your aunt maintains this garden by herself? And manages the inn?” A probing, underlying skepticism seemed to edge his words.
“Mostly.” Or at least she had, up until last winter when Lillian had been given a crash course on innkeeping, and later gardening. “Breaking a hip is serious business, and while there are still limitations, she’s making remarkable strides.”
They were indeed blessed, for she’d read that each year 20 or 30 percent of the several hundred thousand who broke a hip died from the complications within a year. The vast majority never fully recovered, which made Lillian doubly grateful for the steady progress they were seeing.
“My mother will be pleased to hear that.”
“She has a housekeeper who comes daily, a woman who does the laundry, and a few others who fill in when she needs to be away for PT or other reasons. I help as I can.” Which ate up all her free time away from the library. “And, of course, she brings in someone to do the heavy work out here. But the garden design is all hers, based on how she recalls her own grandmother kept it. It had deteriorated considerably, of course, by the time Aunt Viola came here. I have before-and-after photos if you’d care to see them.”
“That sounds interesting.”
But it didn’t sound as if it interested him.
He tilted his head. “Taylor’s in school today?”
What did that have to do with anything? “She is.”
“And the two of you live—where?”
That was none of his business. Or would his mother frown on providing free housing to a great-niece and great-great-niece? It had never dawned on her that perhaps their residing here would be unacceptable once her aunt was more mobile. But she still had a long way to go. It was very likely she would never fully recover. “For the time being, we share the apartment with my aunt.”
“Because...?” He was probably fishing for confirmation that her aunt wasn’t fulfilling her duties at the inn.
“Aunt Viola and her sister—my grandmother—were the sole siblings in their family. The inn was sold when Aunt Viola was a young woman, and by the time their parents passed away, my grandma had married and moved elsewhere. Other relatives gradually left town to look for what they thought were better opportunities, as well. That left Aunt Viola on her own. I took a leave of absence after her fall last winter...and stayed on.”
He seemed to give that some thought, but she continued before he could misconstrue the situation. “I’m working as a library clerk part-time right now. The current library manager will be retiring soon, and I’m hopeful that as a degreed, experienced librarian, I’ll qualify for the position.”
However, a few days ago she’d heard rumors that another librarian might be taking early retirement from her job in Denver and would be returning home to Hunter Ridge—to apply for the opening.
“It’s commendable you’re assisting your aunt.” He studied her with evident concern. “But that’s a considerable sacrifice for a young woman with her life still ahead of her. Sequestering yourself in a no-prospects, sleepy town like this. I mean, you can only listen to the crickets chirp for so long, right?”
Irritation flared in Lillian. Having spoken like a true city boy, he smiled, confident of his assessment. Counting to ten, she bent to pluck a blanketflower, then twirled the stem between her fingers as she returned his measuring gaze.
“It’s not like that at all. I love it here. The beauty of the forest. Knowing your neighbors. Being active in a local church. My parents moved around a lot, so I spent quite a few holidays and vacations here while growing up. In fact, I’ve never thought of any other place as home. But prior to this year, I never dreamed I might get to live in Hunter Ridge. I’d like to remain here.”
“Not what I’d care to do, but to each his own.” He offered what could only be taken as a look of commiseration. “I imagine to keep your sanity you make frequent trips to Phoenix? Shopping? Professional sports? Live theater, museums and upscale restaurants? You know, keeping your finger on the pulse of civilization.”
If that was his definition of civilization, she was happy to do without it.
“Actually, I don’t go down there but a few times a year.” He probably thought her a dull-as-dishwater bore for admitting that. An unsophisticated bumpkin. Well, let him think whatever he wanted. It didn’t much matter to her. “I spent the past decade in the Phoenix area’s Valley of the Sun enjoying pleasant winters, p
alm trees and saguaros, and the extras you mentioned that a metropolis offers. But I endured record-breaking summer heat. Lengthy bumper-to-bumper commutes, scorpions, air-quality alerts and high crime rates. Now I enjoy walking to work, cool summer days and pine-fresh air. I’m looking forward to autumn and hopefully a white Christmas. It seems like a fair trade.”
If only she could remain here.
If only Mrs. Gyles wouldn’t close the inn.
Denny chuckled as she concluded her lengthy sales pitch for mountain country Arizona. “I know my Hunter side of the family has been rooted to this region for over a hundred years. Must be a marker my personal genetic makeup skipped.”
“My family has also been rooted here a long time.”
He raised a brow. “But in your family’s case, everyone except your great-aunt managed to make the great escape.”
Did he think closing the inn would be the perfect opportunity for Aunt Viola to flee, as well? To at long last reach the “civilization” she’d missed out on most of her life?
He had no idea the toll that the possibility of closing the inn was taking on her aunt. If the light coming from under her bedroom door last night was an indication, she’d slept little. Her aunt didn’t own the inn—although that was an idea they’d explored last evening, only to conclude they didn’t have the combined resources required should Denny’s mother be persuaded to part with it.
Selling a property she’d acquired when divorcing Denny’s father, however, was something Charlotte had done but once. As Aunt Viola recalled, the person she’d sold to—an artist she thought she could trust—immediately resold to her ex-husband and put it back into his hands. So going forward, she chose to lease only—or to let buildings stand vacant and boarded up, a much-resented blight on the community.
Unquestionably, the inn wasn’t a big moneymaker, and Mrs. Gyles had every right to close it down when Aunt Viola’s contract was up for renewal. Was there any way they could convince Charlotte’s son that the inn was worth the time and expense involved to make it a viable endeavor?
“Do you think perhaps—?”
But she’d barely started to speak when Denny raised his hand apologetically and stepped away to take another call.
Both disappointed and disgusted, she tossed the flower aside and returned to the inn without giving Hayden Hunter a second glance. She’d just stepped inside and shut the glass-paned doors when she heard someone cry out, followed by what sounded like the crash of breaking dishes.
Her heart in her throat, Lillian rushed to the inn’s kitchen to find her aunt tottering on a low step stool in front of an open upper cabinet and staring down at the shattered china. Instantly steadying her, Lillian helped her down.
“What do you think you’re doing, Aunt Vi? We agreed months ago that I’d empty the dishwasher and put away the things on the high shelves. You could have fallen.”
“Well, I didn’t. But I’m so upset about that platter. It was my mother’s.”
“I loved it, too. But I’m more concerned that could be you down there on the floor if you pull another stunt like that.” Lillian gave her a firm look and lowered her voice. “I’ll clean this up. I think you should go rest.”
“Is he still here?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“It’s not looking good. But things will look worse if he sees you not at your best. You’ve made great strides since last winter, and I’ve been assuring him you’re up to speed for renewal of the managerial position. Please don’t make me eat my words.”
“It’s not his decision. It’s Char’s.”
“Well, she sent him, so I assume she trusts his judgment. But in the meantime, please don’t risk doing something that could give him further reason to deliver a negative report.”
Aunt Viola touched her hand wearily to her forehead. “This is my fault. For breaking my hip. For sending those emails that apparently provoked Char.”
“Now stop that. You didn’t fall on purpose. And feel free to blame me for the emails. That was my doing. But Mrs. Gyles needed honest communication on the state of things here. Her lack of interest in the property has had you losing business every single day for who knows how long. She needs to step up and take care of things.”
“But it’s you who has to take care of my business. And take care of me. Taylor, too. That’s not right, you giving up your career and—”
“There’s nowhere on earth I’d rather be than here with you and Taylor.” In fact, in addition to loving the closeness of their crazy mix of a family, she’d discovered a love for innkeeping and gardening that she was just beginning to tap into.
Her aunt’s eyes filled with a sadness that tugged at Lillian’s heart. “What are we going to do, Lil? If the inn is closed, I mean?”
She had no idea. But she didn’t dare let her concerns further upset her aunt. Slipping her arm around her waist, she gave her a squeeze and a rallying smile. “We’ll cross that bridge if and when we come to it. And trust God every step of the way. But while we await the verdict, please don’t do anything to jeopardize what little hope we do have.”
Which didn’t appear to be much.
Chapter Three
“So how is Viola?” Denny’s mother had inquired when he’d stepped away from Lillian to take the call—his parent having first filled him in on the agonies of her physical therapy at the rehab center. The innkeeper’s niece had gone inside, giving him some privacy.
“She’s holding her own surprisingly well,” he said, keeping his voice low as he gazed around his picturesque surroundings and filled his lungs with the rich blend of earth, pine and flowers. It did seem a shame to pull the plug on an events venue like this one. But it couldn’t be helped. “The niece you’d mentioned earlier—Lillian Keene—is helping out as Miss Everett continues to recover.”
“I didn’t know her niece was still there.”
“Oh, yes. And if I’m not mistaken, she’s the source of the emails you’ve been badgered with.”
“Is there legitimacy to those requests? Viola never said anything about those issues until recently. I was taken off guard.”
“They’re legitimate.” He mentally skimmed through the lengthy list he’d compiled. “But a good venture to keep pouring money into? Doubtful.”
“While the inn’s never been profitable, Elden’s never once objected, since it’s mine from the divorce settlement. He knows Viola was the one person who tried to understand when I was unhappy and confused. Didn’t blame me for everything. She was the sole person in town who took the time to get to know me. Who seemed to care.”
“But you don’t owe her for the rest of her life.”
“No, but I hate to see her lose her home at her age, maybe be forced to leave Hunter Ridge altogether.”
“Some things can’t be helped and, realistically, how many more years do you think she can handle the job?”
“What would it take to fix the place up?”
She hasn’t been listening.
With an inward groan, he paced the garden patio. He didn’t want his mother underwriting what would likely never amount to more than a fancy rest home for her friend. “I can forward the list to you and ballpark what it might cost. But for a more accurate estimate, I’d have to engage a contractor and touch base with suppliers. That could take considerable time.”
Which he did not have to waste.
“Would you do that, Denny?”
Picturing her propped up in her bed at the rehab center, he discerned the wheedling tone she’d used when he was a kid to persuade him to her way of thinking. But he steeled himself.
“Mother, this isn’t a good idea. You need to let it go. If you want, I’ll look around for housing options for your friend while I’m here. Then you can decide if you want to subsidize those costs. It would be considerably less expensive than what upgr
ading the Pinewood Inn will be. Much less risky, too.”
And take up a lot less of his time, as well.
“But she’s always enjoyed the guests, whipping up goodies for them in the kitchen, working in her garden.”
Denny stepped into the gazebo and turned to gaze out over the walled space. “I admit it’s one amazing garden. But the niece was vague about how much Viola’s done with it since her fall, and how much of it she and others have been doing.”
“This Lillian seems capable. A hard worker, from what her aunt told me. If there’s a chance that with her help Viola could stay there...”
With a sinking feeling, he stared up at the azure sky. It wouldn’t kill him to get estimates. Do online window-shopping for an idea of what it would take to revamp the furnishings. No doubt someone once had a bright idea that with Hunter Ridge located in the Southwest, the carved dark wood and paintings of cactus and sunbaked Mexican streets would be suitable. While that might work in a Tucson adobe-style inn, it wasn’t cabin-country Hunter Ridge by a long shot. If he had his druthers, he’d go for a more contemporary, streamlined look. A contrast to the traditional exterior.
“I can do the research, but there’s no market here for this kind of lodging. People who come up this way stay at outdoorsy places like Hunter’s Hideaway.”
What did the family’s new logo tout? The one he’d seen on their website? Oh, yeah. Where rustic meets relaxing—without apology.
“Please, Denny? This would mean so much to me. I know it’s never going to be more than a break-even proposition, but...” His mother paused, and he could hear a low male voice in the background on her end, although he couldn’t understand the words. “One second. Elden wants to speak to you.”
Denny’s jaw clenched. His stepfather wanted to speak to him now? Where had he been a few weeks ago, before turning the vice-president position over to Vic? Without a word of warning—or of apology afterward.