by Glynna Kaye
With a little encouragement, Denny finally got his colleague pointed in the right direction and off the phone without resorting to the lame excuse that he was busy working on a project for his mother. What he’d wanted to do was provide Craig with the precise answer his friend was seeking. Denny knew it. Would Vic?
This was the first of what would probably be many similar conversations with those in the home office with whom Denny had worked closely.
And it was already killing him.
Back at his table, he again seated himself across from Lillian and her aunt, who were finishing their meal. His, no doubt, was cold. “Sorry. Pressing business. Now, as you were saying, Lillian?”
For a moment he didn’t think she intended to respond. That she was irritated at the latest interruption of which she’d borne a similar brunt on several occasions that day. Then to his relief, she glanced at Viola before continuing.
“You’ve mentioned the need to obtain necessary licensing and permits. Drafting plans and getting estimates. Reinsuring an upgraded property. Aunt Vi and I are wondering when you’ll start that. And what the two of us can do to expedite things.”
He’d explained over lunch what his background was at GylesStyle, hoping that would give them confidence that he knew what he was doing. Being the son of Charlotte Gyles was far from the only thing he was known for.
“I’m going to get in touch with a Phoenix contractor who saw to—” He halted as both Lillian and Viola, solemn-faced, shook their heads. “What?”
“You’re going to bring in an outsider?” Viola’s tone was clearly disapproving.
“A whole crew of outsiders, if they’re available.”
A team he’d worked with in the past had multistate licensing and credentials and would be finishing up a remodel on a GylesStyle Inn in Scottsdale shortly. Maybe he could slip a few weeks into their schedule before they started on their next assignment in Santa Fe. Those guys and gals made some of the HGTV celebs look like amateurs. He needed pros who could get in and get the job done on the Pinewood in record time. Then he’d be free to get back to his real world—assuming Vic didn’t sink his ship.
Lillian exchanged a look with her aunt. “You know, Denny, that might not be a good idea.”
“Why’s that?”
“This isn’t a large town,” Viola said carefully, as if speaking to a child. “People will expect us to engage workers locally, or at least from neighboring towns here in the high country.”
“Going elsewhere will cause hard feelings,” Lillian clarified. “That’s something we can’t afford to do. Many of those who for years have engaged the garden for special events are local builders, plumbers, electricians and painters.”
Viola nodded.
“Well, ladies, I understand your concerns. But as nice as it would be to accommodate the locals, we need a cohesive, experienced team that can get in here and take care of business in one fell swoop.”
Both women again exchanged a look, then shook their heads in unison.
He could almost feel his blood pressure rising as they stared him down. He didn’t have the time to vet and individually contract the people needed. It would be like herding cats. And trust a local contractor to do it? No way would he bring in workers from a dinky town for a project like this. “Look, ladies...”
“You may as well shut the place down, then, young man.” Viola pushed her empty plate away. “People here need the work and won’t be forgiving if we move ahead in hopes of feathering our own nest at the expense of theirs.”
“We do have good craftsmen in the region.” Lillian folded her napkin and placed it on the table. “Hunter Ridge. Show Low. Pinetop-Lakeside. Canyon Springs.”
That was well and good, but he had no idea of the speed or caliber of those people’s work or the quality of their suppliers. Or if they’d even be available. Too much was at stake if he neglected his GylesStyle responsibilities for long. He did not intend to get down in the weeds on this project to keep his mother happy.
Well, Den, see that you do.
He darted a look at Lillian and her aunt, hoping he hadn’t groaned aloud as his stepfather’s words echoed painfully through his brain.
He took a steadying breath, unwilling to throw in the towel. “Believe me, I understand your concerns, but I’m here a limited time. I have responsibilities elsewhere. I need to have a team I can trust to get in and get the job done right. The faster that happens, the quicker you can start filling up those empty rooms.”
“Todd Samuels is a top-notch contractor.” Viola’s gaze lingered on her niece, and if Denny wasn’t mistaken, pink rose in Lillian’s cheeks. “He has a good bunch working with him.”
“And that guy who ramrodded the remodel on Hunter Ridge Wild Game Supply last year. Ted?” Lillian turned to Denny with a hopeful smile. “Your cousin Grady can vouch for him.”
Viola gave a firm nod. “Kent Hewdon rewired the whole church a few years back, too, remember? Everyone said he did a fine job of bringing it into the twenty-first century. And don’t forget Penny Lund and her sisters painted the interior of Rusty’s Grill last month. They did that fancy texturing and everything. They have their own company and often work with Todd. Real pros.”
“What I have in mind, though,” Denny jumped in, “are people experienced with hospitality property renovations. I imagine the game supply and the restaurant, the church, all turned out fine. But—”
“Well, look who’s here!” a male voice boomed. “Lily the librarian. I haven’t seen you in months, you pretty little thing.”
Color tinged Lillian’s cheeks as a big burly guy about Denny’s age leaned down to give her a hug. Dressed in outdoor work clothes, the man gave Viola a gentle hug, too, then thrust out his hand to Denny.
“Todd Samuels. Sorry for barging in on your lunch.”
Denny shook his hand. But he instantly didn’t like him. Didn’t think he was sorry, either.
Still flushed, Lillian turned to Denny, the color in her cheeks deepening when she caught him watching her. Were those two an item? Or maybe the pushy guy was hoping to be?
“Todd, this is Denny Hunter.” Then she motioned to the newcomer almost apologetically. “Todd used to live in Hunter Ridge and lives in a neighboring town now, so we don’t get to see each other often.”
His choice or hers?
“Hunter, huh?” Todd’s forehead crinkled. “I know most of the Hunters around here. Don’t recall a Denny.”
“I didn’t grow up here. San Francisco.”
Todd jerked his head toward the front of the inn. “That piece of junk parked out there with the California plates is yours, I suppose?”
“It is.”
Todd squinted one eye. “How’s it ride?”
“Smooth as silk.”
Giving a low, envious whistle, he nudged Lillian’s arm. “Don’t you go letting this city slicker spoil you, Lily. A Ford F-150 is the Cadillac of choice for this part of the country.”
Lillian blushed again. “Denny’s mother owns the Pinewood, and he’s here to see about renovating it.”
“No foolin’? About time.”
“We need a contractor,” Viola piped up, avoiding Denny’s gaze. “Know a good one?”
The man laughed, then turned again to Denny. “Seriously? You need a contractor?”
“We haven’t gotten that far yet. We’re in the preliminary stages of planning and—”
He faltered as Viola shot him a dirty look of a caliber he’d never have expected from a woman of her age and otherwise pleasant disposition.
“Yes, he needs a contractor,” she confirmed. “Lil and I don’t want him bringing in a bunch of outsiders.”
Todd shook his head. “Nope. Don’t need that around here. My crew’s finishing up a project in Show Low. What’s your timeline on this?”
“That hasn’t be
en established yet. I’m—”
“In a hurry.” Viola rapped her knuckles on the table. “We need the work done ASAP. Before Barbie Gray’s wedding.”
Who was Barbie Gray?
Todd folded his arms and gave Denny an assessing look. “So what are we talking here? Strictly cosmetic touch-ups? Repairs or a full face-and body lift?”
“The works,” Viola added.
“Now, we don’t know that yet.” Lillian touched her lightly on the arm as she darted a look in Denny’s direction. “That’s up to Denny.”
Viola nodded at Todd. “And his contractor.”
Denny held up his hand. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, Viola. We’re just getting started.”
“You were the one who said you can’t stay long. Have stuff you gotta get back to in the big city. Don’t pray for stuff and then refuse it when the good Lord puts it right in front of your face.”
He didn’t remember praying at all, but if it would help him curb this conversation that was spiraling out of control, he might have to start.
Perhaps sensing his mounting frustration, Lillian turned to her aunt. “Now, Aunt Vi, Denny only finished his inspection of the house an hour or so ago.”
Her aunt smirked. “God works fast, doesn’t He?”
Todd wisely suppressed a grin as Lillian focused her attention again on Denny.
“I imagine you need to review your notes. Determine the direction you want to go.”
He jumped at the lifeline she’d thrown him. “That’s right. Still a lot to do, including finding out what kind of budget we’ll be working with.”
Todd pulled a business card from his shirt’s front pocket and handed it to him. “Keep me in mind when you’re ready to rock and roll.”
Don’t count on it, bucko.
Denny stood and the two men shook hands again. Then Viola pushed back her chair as Todd headed off to join a couple of men at another table.
Viola’s regretful gaze followed. “If we’re not making decisions today, I need to get back to the inn. Tyra’s covering for me, but I don’t want to take advantage.”
“Guess that means me, too, since I drove.” Lillian smiled as she got up and helped her aunt to her feet.
“Thank you for meeting with me, ladies.” He’d felt obligated to treat them to lunch after his morning evaluation of the property carried into the noon hour.
“And thank you for lunch, young man. But do remember, don’t be calling on God and begging for things you don’t plan to take Him up on. That’s kinda like crying wolf, and it could work against you. God won’t know when you’re serious and when you’re not.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
Viola moved ahead without Lillian’s further assistance, and her niece smiled apologetically before following in her wake.
He looked down at his hamburger and fries. Both were definitely cold. Then he flagged down a waitress for a carryout box and paid the bill. Surprisingly, he’d been in Hunter Ridge just short of twenty-four hours and hadn’t seen anyone he knew except his dad and Vickie. He’d kind of expected, when word got around of his being in town, that there might be some kind of larger family get-together. A dinner. Dessert. Coffee at the very least.
Something.
Then again, as he recalled from that last visit, he got the impression Charlotte Gyles wasn’t that well thought of around here. His Hunter cousins had made it clear that opinion extended to him. In fact, he owed one of them, Garrett McCrae, a black eye. But he supposed it was too late to collect on that one now that he’d heard the guy was, of all things, the pastor of Christ’s Church of Hunter Ridge. Go figure.
In the lobby, he paused to pick up a real-estate flyer from a bin, noting that while her aunt had apparently gone on out to the car alone, Lillian lingered, visiting with the gal at the reservations desk.
He’d just reached the exit himself, intent on getting back to his cabin and making a few phone calls, when his dad came in the door, obviously surprised to see him standing there.
As Denny stepped back, his father pulled his Western hat from his head and squinted one eye. “I got caught up in other things at dinner last night,” he said in his usual bold tone, “and failed to express my condolences.”
“Condolences?” Confused, Denny shook his head, catching the concerned gaze of Lillian Keene from where she still chatted with the clerk.
“Yeah.” His dad cleared his throat, obviously uncomfortable. “You know, for getting dumped at the altar by that society chick.”
Denny’s face heated as his gaze again collided with Lillian’s. Then she quickly looked away.
She heard.
Great. Just great.
If things hadn’t changed since his mother lived here—and he was pretty sure they hadn’t—by breakfast tomorrow, that bit of humiliating news would have made the rounds of the mighty metropolis of Hunter Ridge.
* * *
Lillian slipped out the library door at a quarter after five the next day and started down the storefront-lined street toward the inn, where she and her aunt were to meet with Denny. He wanted to discuss his vision for the property, and she had ideas, too—notes and magazine photos tucked in her tote bag.
But here she was, having practically begged Denny to give them a chance to redeem the inn, and she discovered he’d recently been jilted—the humiliation of it clearly written in his eyes when his dad had publicly expressed his sympathy. If Denny found out she’d left Cameron Gray at the altar, any slight favor he was inclined to do for her and her aunt would likely go down the tubes.
“Hey, Lillian. Pretty outfit.”
“Thanks, Packy.” She smiled as she passed by a bearded, bald ex-marine who was placing a dinnertime specials display outside his Log Cabin Café. Had she overdressed today, knowing she’d be meeting with Denny Hunter after work? Surely the knee-length gray skirt, white knit top and turquoise sweater she’d flung over her shoulders weren’t out of the ordinary. But this morning she had impulsively discarded her standard workday pumps for a strappy pair of dress sandals. Because she felt like it, right? Not because she was trying to catch the attention of anyone.
Especially not Denny, who hadn’t pretended to be pleased with his mother’s decision to accommodate Aunt Vi. He was being decent enough about it and nice to her aunt, at least on the surface. But as she well knew, men could change in an instant and offer no apologies.
Thankfully, today Cameron’s brother wasn’t lurking about on the streets to mock her as she passed. But if Denny remained in Hunter Ridge for any length of time, it wouldn’t be long before he’d hear the gossip. You don’t dump one of the town’s favorite sons and walk away unscathed, despite the fact that you’d made the right decision. But right decision or not, how could she ever trust herself again to know when she’d truly found “the one” God intended?
Assuming He had one lined up for her.
“Hi, Lillian!” Town council member Sunshine Carston Hunter waved from the entrance to the Hunter Ridge Artists’ Cooperative that she managed. “It’s been such a gorgeous day, hasn’t it?”
“Perfect.”
Since walking down the aisle last Valentine’s Day with Denny’s cousin Grady, her artist friend’s spirits always seemed upbeat. Every day better than the last. Lillian gave a little sigh as she continued on down the street. While marriage seemed to suit her friend, Lillian didn’t regret not marrying Cameron. In hindsight, though, maybe she could have handled it differently. Less publicly. But then again, he’d blindsided her. Refused to listen.
No doubt Denny Hunter’s former fiancée had good reason to make an abrupt escape, too. Women didn’t do something like that on a whim.
Up ahead his Porsche glinted in the sun, as out of place on the streets of Hunter Ridge as you could get. Last night Aunt Viola had filled her in on what she remembered of Denny’s parents�
�� breakup when he was a toddler. Rough start for a kid, but with Charlotte Hunter marrying hotelier Elden Gyles not long afterward, her son appeared to have had a privileged upbringing and landed squarely on his feet.
She checked on her aunt and Taylor, then found Denny in the dining room, an oversize pad of blue-squared graph paper on the table before him, along with a tape measure and ruler. And, of course, his ever-present cell phone an arm’s length away. He was dressed more casually today in jeans and a black T-shirt, but that in no way diminished the in-command energy he exuded—and that she reluctantly admired.
It was a wonder, though, that he was willing to include her aunt in today’s meeting, considering how she’d brazenly tried to pin him down on hiring Todd as his contractor yesterday. After Cameron’s departure in June, Aunt Vi had gotten it in her head that Todd, the grandson of a friend of hers, should be the man of her niece’s dreams. Had either Denny or Todd grasped her aunt’s underlying motive?
Denny looked up to see Lillian standing in the doorway, an unexpected smile breaking through an expression of intense concentration while marking something on the paper. Inexplicably, her breath caught as she was reminded of her first impression of the man she’d glimpsed chatting with Taylor two days ago—before she knew what he was doing here.
“Aunt Vi will be a little late. She’s on the phone with a friend.”
He nodded, then pointed with his mechanical pencil. “Floor plan. A rough one, anyway.”
She moved to stand by him and gazed down at his day’s work, then lifted the top sheet to look at the second-floor specs. “Wow. This took a lot of time.”
He looked pleased that she recognized that. “It took hours to measure the rooms, and typical of old structures like this one, the wall measurements don’t always line up the way you expect them to.”
Her gaze swept the walls of the dining room. “There are gaps? Empty spaces? So there could be truth to an old story that the Newell family treasure is hidden here somewhere?”
He cast her a dubious look. “Family treasure?”
She set her tote bag on one of the dining chairs. “According to Aunt Viola, anyway.”