by Glynna Kaye
He did need to talk to his mother about those vacant buildings on either side of the Pinewood, though, which detracted considerably from the image he wanted the upgraded inn to portray. Did she have any plans for them at all?
“Here we go.” Lillian entered the room with an excited smile, and he immediately found himself smiling back. She pushed aside items on the desk, then slid out the contents of her tote bag and spread them across the polished surface. Notes. Article clippings. Magazine spreads.
His smile froze as he stared down at the colorful array of glossy magazine images and what appeared to be photocopies from books. Curvy-legged tables. Gilded mirrors. Poufy floral comforters with ruffled pastel bed skirts. China bric-a-brac. Enough crocheted and beribboned throw pillows to outfit an English country estate.
“My dream inn.” Lillian made a sweeping motion to the desktop display, her eyes dancing with anticipation of his response. “What do you think?”
* * *
“I... Wow. Colorful. Feminine.”
Denny gazed down at the desk as if held rapt by the beautiful display, and a tingle of excitement raced through Lillian as she awaited his approval.
“And I see,” he added, “that you’re fond of florals.”
“I thought it would be perfect to carry over from the garden, don’t you think? Unify the theme, since it’s the garden that draws guests here.” She picked up a photo of a canopied four-poster bed. “I was wondering...should the inn be renamed? Would that be hard to do? I was thinking maybe the Secret Garden Inn. Or Pinegarden Inn, if we wanted it to sound more mountain country-ish.”
“I hadn’t given any thought to renaming. You’re ahead of me there.”
Dreaming up names and ideas had been a diversion when she first came to Hunter Ridge and the librarian job, managing the inn and taking care of her aunt got too overwhelming.
“Sorry. I’ve been giving this a lot of thought since I first came here to help Aunt Viola. I let my imagination run wild for when the place could be redecorated.”
“I can see that.” He motioned to the images. “What does your aunt think of your ideas?”
“She loves them. I was afraid she might be unwilling to go light and bright after living here so long in the shadows, but she’s on board. Excited about it.”
At long last, this is going to happen. Our dreams for the inn will finally come true.
Denny continued to gaze down at her array of clippings. Moved a few around. But he wasn’t smiling now. In fact, it was slowly dawning on her that he’d avoided looking at her since she’d spread out the fruits of her imaginings on the desk.
“Is this,” she said in a more subdued tone, “similar to what you’re envisioning?”
Pursing his lips, he propped his hands on his hips and continued to stare down at the desk. “Not exactly.”
Oh. She hadn’t thought about the fact that he might have ideas beyond what needed to happen structurally—the electrical and plumbing, insulation, and the kick-down-the-wall stuff. Regarding the decorating, she’d thought that at most his mother might have a few suggestions she would gladly incorporate.
Lillian studied him, willing him to look at her. “So...how far off the mark are we from each other?”
The look he delivered when his gaze finally met hers was bleak. “From here to Mars and back. I’m sorry, Lillian. I can see you spent a lot of time and thought on this but—”
“But what?” She swallowed, fighting back disappointment.
“It’s too much.”
“How so?”
“I thought I heard voices in here,” Aunt Viola commented cheerfully from the doorway.
But she wasn’t drawn to the desk and its scattered photos, which clued in Lillian that her hip might be giving her problems this morning, and she feared Denny might pick up on it. She’d been relying on a walker or cane in the apartment or elsewhere, but managed to avoid using them when Charlotte’s son was around.
“Making decorating decisions, are you?” Aunt Vi nodded her approval. “Can’t you imagine cuddling on a cool evening under one of those big cozy comforters?”
“Denny doesn’t care for my ideas,” Lillian said flatly before her aunt got too enthusiastic.
Aunt Viola gave him a disbelieving frown. “What’s not to like?”
If a man could ever be said to squirm, Denny was doing just that right now under her aunt’s laser-like glare. “It’s not...suitable.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It’s not in keeping with the vibe we need here.” His words were spoken carefully. “And as lovely as they are, the delicate bed linens and other fabric elements won’t stand up to the frequency of launderings required in a commercial establishment.”
“Wash them on delicate.”
He smiled indulgently. “A proliferation of knickknacks and furnishings with curlicues carved into them will only serve as dust collectors. There’s a reason why old estates were overrun with house servants.” He gave Lillian an apologetic look. “And while I’m not entirely opposed to a feminine touch, let’s remember men should feel equally comfortable.”
Aunt Viola rolled her eyes. “So tie a ribbon around a horseshoe, hang it over the door and be done with it.”
Lillian cringed. This was not going how she had envisioned the “reveal” of her decorating ideas. While irritated that Denny had rejected her vision—which she still thought was a good one—she could see his point as far as maintenance. But for the most part, it was women who made the reservations at a bed-and-breakfast. Often for a girlfriends’ weekend, a sister weekend, or a mother-daughter or grandmother-mother-daughter retreat. Surely it wouldn’t kill a man to occasionally indulge his sweetheart in a fabulously romantic overnight stay?
Which told her exactly where romance rated in Denny Hunter’s book. That might explain a lot about why his lady had bolted at the last minute.
But Aunt Vi wasn’t done with him yet.
“Young man, don’t you think you should run Lillian’s ideas by your mother? She owns this place, in case you’ve forgotten.”
“I haven’t forgotten, ma’am,” he said quietly, and Lillian actually felt sorry for him. Having headed up the local library for decades, her aunt had mastered the put-you-in-your-place persona when needed. No doubt he felt as if he were ten years old and being shushed for whispering among the book stacks.
“Good. Then that’s taken care of.” She turned to Lillian. “Barbie called again. She’d like you to call her back.”
“What’s it about this time?” And why didn’t Barbie use Lillian’s cell number as requested instead of calling the inn’s number and getting Aunt Viola involved? Her aunt found dealing with the bride-to-be stressful.
“Something she doesn’t like about the caterer.”
“The bride contracts directly with them, and our part is only cooperating with the vendor to make certain he or she has everything needed from our end.”
“I know, I know. But you know Barbie.”
Yes, she did. All too well. This event was certainly not one she looked forward to, especially considering it was likely Cameron Gray would fly in from Boston for his sister’s nuptials.
When Aunt Viola left the room, Lillian turned to Denny, who was again studying the remnants of her fledgling design dreams.
“May I see your concept, Denny? Or do you not have anything worked up yet?”
“I have something in draft form.” He retrieved the graph paper pad from the floor and placed it on the desk, then flipped to the back, where he’d sketched out several renderings in colored felt-tip marker.
She couldn’t help but laugh as she took in the bold strokes. Bare spaces. Clean-lined furnishings in what appeared to be leather, glass—and chrome? No way.
“No offense, Denny, but you think this is in keeping with the vibe we need here? Wi
th a building set in ponderosa-pine mountain country that’s closing in on a hundred years old? With a clientele that’s predominantly female, no less?”
His concept was far more modern and masculine than she’d have ever dreamed up in a thousand years. Surprisingly, though, he had an artist’s eye for perspective, texture and color. But that didn’t make up for the chrome.
“Something similar—to a more upscale degree—has been extremely popular in another GylesStyle Inn in Aspen, Colorado. Big-time mountain country.”
She could concede something simpler than her ideas might be a better route to go. But stark? Downright austere? She’d hate staying in a place like that. It would be like trying to relax in a showroom window display.
This was going to be a long month and a half.
“Well, don’t you think Aspenites are a different animal than those of more modest means who are drawn to rustic Hunter Ridge? You’re not intending to incorporate the Pinewood into the GylesStyle family of inns, are you?”
“That’s not the intention. This is solely a pet project of my mother’s. But she has the money and will want to do it right.”
“Then I suggest something less, shall we say, streamlined? Urban? I’m aware of minimalism’s popularity these days. But no doubt you’re aware that Hunter’s Hideaway falls into the rustic style of things, and they pretty much stay booked year-round. People still gravitate to a more traditional, homey type of place to kick back in. Sure, they shop at health-food stores and cling to their Wi-Fi connections, but they haven’t abandoned a secret indulgence in comfort food or a hunger for more down-to-earth accommodations.”
“The Hideaway is doing well,” he admitted. “And will do even better once it fully launches its plan to promote itself as a destination spot for reunions, anniversary celebrations and the like. It’s a perfect complement to the hunters, hikers and horsemen who have been its traditional target audience. I wouldn’t have a spot there right now except a cabin needed repairs done before it could be reserved by guests, and Uncle Dave agreed to put that off and rent it to me since I’m family.”
“See?”
“What I can’t see is the Pinewood Inn decked out with Navajo-blanketed bunk beds, deer heads on the wall and cattle brands burned into the woodwork.”
He wasn’t even trying to understand what she was saying, and she didn’t have time to talk sense into him. She had to get to work for a meeting.
She reached for the tote bag, intending to gather the remains of her rejected proposal.
Denny held up his hand. “Leave that, please. I’d like to look through what you have here.”
She shook her head. “Don’t humor me. I’m a big girl.”
“I’m not humoring you. I want to take a closer look. See if there’s anything here that can be incorporated into my own ideas. I’m sorry if I hurt you. That wasn’t my intention.”
“You didn’t hurt me.” Okay, maybe a little. “I’m disappointed, I guess. But you’re the pro, not me.”
“You told me, though, that you’ve stayed in a lot of hospitality properties. That you know what others like and don’t like. What you like and don’t like. I’d be remiss if I didn’t take a potential paying guest’s viewpoint into consideration, now wouldn’t I?”
She felt as if she were being given a pat on the head and sent on her way. But at least he wasn’t antagonistic or hostile about their differing opinions. Which was more than she could say for Aunt Viola when she had leaped in to straighten him out.
“I’m sorry my aunt lit into you.”
“No problem. She’s right. Anything I do will be approved first by my mother. I’m not used to working like this, with someone directing over my shoulder, but this project holds a special place in my mother’s heart. As it does in your aunt’s. Let me see what I can come up with by way of a compromise.”
With a forced smile, she gave a brisk nod, then headed out the door.
Compromise.
English cottage and minimalist chrome?
She wasn’t holding her breath on that one.
Chapter Six
By the end of the day Friday, Denny had come to a disheartening conclusion.
His customary GylesStyle contractor in this region couldn’t squeeze in a rush project at the inn before his next one was scheduled, due to being out for rotator-cuff surgery. And his backup’s wife was having a C-section, so that guy was taking time off, too. Even regionally, no one else who received adequately positive endorsements was available.
Which left Viola’s top pick. Todd Samuels.
Oh well.
Gratefully donning a change of clothes from the big box he’d sweet-talked one of his Gyles half sisters into overnighting, he was intent on getting to town and catching Lillian before she left work to pick up Taylor from a friend’s house. He’d just exited the cabin when his dad hailed him from a couple of cabins over, where he must have been visiting someone.
He reached the Porsche just as Denny did. “Where have you been keeping yourself?”
“Getting that Pinewood Inn project I told you about up and running.”
“I can’t believe your mother’s pigheadedly hanging on to that property. And the two next door. How long have those sat vacant? But no, she refuses to sell them back to me, or to anyone else, for that matter. Now that’s cutting off your nose to spite your face, if you ask me.” He wagged his finger. “Remember that, son. Don’t go getting yourself hitched to some female whose middle name is Stubborn.”
“No danger of that in the immediate future.”
“Still pining after that minx who dumped you? Good riddance, I say!”
Denny was increasingly coming to that same conclusion, although he had to concede that snagging his stepbrother put Corrine in a more socially prominent position than a lowly stepson of Elden Gyles would ever have attained for her. He should probably send Vic a thank-you note for sparing him what would probably have been a rocky marriage.
Dad nodded to the Porsche. “You must be doing all right if you’re driving one of these.”
“It was a surprise birthday present from Mother on my thirtieth. Delivered right to my door.”
“Your mom gave you that? La-di-da. Don’t go looking at me on your fortieth. You’re on your own. I’m surprised Char knew enough about cars to pick this one out.”
“Elden did.”
Dad waved him away. “Don’t go talkin’ to me about Elden. I had to listen to Elden this and Elden that when I was first dating your mother. They’d broken up, and fool that I was, I let her sob on my shoulder between classes at the university.”
“I’m not getting in the middle of that, Dad. But we both know she wasn’t happy living in Hunter Ridge.”
“Of course she wasn’t. Not with that rich hotel mogul still calling her. Sending flowers. Whining about how he’d made the biggest mistake of his life in breaking up with her.”
“Why did they break up?” Denny knew she and Elden had met when she was doing an internship at GylesStyle Inns between her junior and senior years as part of her marketing degree. His mother never talked about the breakup, and he’d never thought to ask.
“His father didn’t think she was good enough for his baby boy.” Dad sneered. “She didn’t have a suitable pedigree or run in the right hoity-toity crowd. Ironic, huh? Her folks didn’t think I was good enough for her.”
Denny glanced at his watch. “Sorry, Dad, but I have to run. I’m meeting with—with a business colleague. I don’t want to be late.”
The faster he got Lillian’s approval of the interior sketches, the more quickly he could run them by his mother and leave the rest in the hands of a contractor. No way was he going to personally babysit the Pinewood’s upgrade. Once he got the ball rolling, he’d be out of here.
While he had to lie low away from the main office, that didn’t mean he had to
hide out in Hunter Ridge. There were GylesStyle properties across the country that he had the responsibility of overseeing. Plenty to keep him busy and out of Vic’s way.
“Yeah, go on, city boy, if you’re in such a big hurry that you don’t have time to shoot the breeze with your old man. Get out of here.” His dad stalked off.
Denny was tempted to catch up with him, assure him that time spent together while he was in town was important to him. Then he decided against it. Giving his father an opportunity to further rant about his ex-wife and her husband did neither of them any favors.
In town, Denny parked in front of the stone library off the main road, then trotted up the stairs and eased open the heavy door. The hush and the scent of books sent him reeling back to the library he’d loved as a kid when, at age nine, he’d been shipped off to a private school back East. The hundred-and-fifty-year-old book-filled space had become his home away from home. The one place he might be alone but never felt lonely. He’d forgotten about that and hadn’t set foot in a library since his university days.
No one was at the front desk. Had he missed her?
It didn’t take long to cruise through the tall stacks—despite pausing here and there to scan the titles—before finally finding her in an office at the back.
“Hey, Lillian.”
She turned, her surprise evident at finding he’d invaded her territory. She smiled, then glanced at the older woman seated behind a desk. “Jeri, this is Denny Hunter. Denny, Jeri Saldana, our library manager since Aunt Vi retired. Denny’s mother owns the Pinewood Inn, and he’s here to see about fixing it up.”
They exchanged pleasantries, and then Denny nodded to the purse clutched in Lillian’s hands. “Do you have a quick minute before you leave? I won’t keep you long. I know you said earlier that you had to get Taylor someplace.”