As I smoothed the pencil skirt I put on after my shower, I could hear my phone ringing downstairs, and I contemplated not answering it. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to chat with whomever was calling, my hesitation was mostly a safety concern. Pencil skirts could hinder walking on flat surfaces. Stairs were another matter entirely. I gave it a shot, gripping the railing for dear life and doing my best to descend without ripping the skirt or sending myself flying, and I picked up my phone from the coffee table on its final ring.
“Hey Wind!” I was happy to see it was my best friend calling, and I might’ve answered a little too loudly, my voice breathless from the mad dash down the stairs.
“Strings, is that you?”
My best friend Chelle had questioned my odd name when we first met—changing it immediately to Strings, as if I wasn’t actually named Harper but maybe people called me that because I played the instrument. In retaliation, I’d chosen another group of instruments from the scattered memories I had of middle school orchestra, where I had actually played strings, but not the harp. Chelle, as it turned out, didn’t actually play a horn or flute of any kind, but the names had stuck and she’d so far refused to take flute lessons, though I kept telling her it would better legitimize the nickname situation.
I felt immediately happier. “Hi!”
“How’s podunk, California?” Chelle had been upset when I left New York, and had tried to convince me to stay, though losing one’s job and apartment made it difficult to remain in a place like New York City for long. She’d accepted it eventually and had connected me with her cousin, who was setting up the event company in Austin.
“It’s so freaking quiet, Chelle. I can hear myself breathing here. I wake myself up.”
“You’re exaggerating.”
“Not at all. I’m renting this place—”
“A cabin, right? You told me you were renting a cabin, so I’ve been picturing you in this tiny little shack out in the woods, maybe a wood-burning stove…I totally can’t picture you roughing it like that.”
“You don’t need to.” I looked around me at the state-of-the-art house in which I sat. Appliances gleamed from the kitchen, the flatscreen glowed against the wall before me, and the plush carpet I pressed my feet into wasn’t exactly roughing it. “This place is nicer than Annabelle’s apartment.” Annabelle was a mutual friend—a trader who had amassed a fortune in the late nineties and who lived in a penthouse loft in Tribeca. She was older than we were, but she liked to nurture what she called ‘her flock’ of young professional women with upscale parties and well-timed advice. Her advice to me after everything went down had been ‘get out of here and start over where no one knows you.’ I was taking it.
“Really?” Chelle sounded disappointed.
“Don’t sound so happy for me.”
“Well, you don’t sound very happy. What’s going on? See your dad yet?”
“Not yet. Planning to today.”
“Making up?” She knew the whole story.
“Kinda doubt it.”
She made a disappointed noise, then her voice softened. “You doing okay? You’ve been through a lot…and a lot of quick changes. How’s your head?”
I sighed. “Not great. I catch myself slipping into crazy self-pity sometimes. It’s just…it’s hard to believe this is how it all ended up, you know?” I hadn’t let myself think about everything that had happened in New York since I’d gotten on a plane and left the city. “Like, why did I have to leave, when I was the one who tried to do the right thing? Why is it my life that got fucked?”
“I’d say Andrew’s life is pretty fucked too.”
“Maybe.”
“He might be going to prison, Harper.” She almost sounded sorry for him, but Chelle had always liked my ex. Hell, I’d liked him too.
“For committing a crime. That’s called justice.” I paused, thinking about the trial, about the way Andrew’s eyes had turned steely and hard when he looked at me. “But he won’t serve. He’ll get some stupid community service or something.”
“Probably.”
“Let’s talk about something else.”
“My cousin is really excited about working with you.”
“I need to give him a call, reassure him that I’ll be down there in six months.” I was worried that Theo, Chelle’s cousin in Austin, might find another partner, one who didn’t have to spend six months on a mountain making up with her dad for the investment capital she needed to join his business.
“Good plan.”
Her simple statement made me worry. “Why? Did he say something to you? Oh God, I need to call him.”
“No, silly. Everything is fine as far as I know. But yeah, you should keep in touch so he knows you’re still in.”
“I’m definitely in,” I said. “I can’t wait to get out of here and get my real life started again.”
She didn’t say anything to that right away, but I could imagine her face as she thought, and I knew there was something she was afraid to say. I waited her out, and finally she said, “But you can use this time, Strings. Just let yourself heal a little. A lot happened these last few months.”
She was right. “I’m not good at going slow, taking a breath.”
“I know that. We were in yoga together, remember?”
I laughed. I missed my friend. “What else is going on?”
“I met someone,” she breathed, and I could hear the smile in my friend’s voice.
“That’s great! What is she like?”
“Gorgeous. So smart. She’s a teacher.”
“Really? That doesn’t sound like you. I thought you liked the fierce executive type.”
“I’ve never done too well with those, though. The corporate sharks always tear me up in the end.” Chelle was an actress, and she had a very sensitive heart. I’d hoped for a long time she’d meet someone who appreciated that soft side of her, and she was right—the girlfriends I’d met before had been brusque and serious. Too rigid for my Wind.
“She teaches Shakespeare at Columbia.”
I let out an appreciative whistle. “I thought you meant like a high school teacher.” My image of a beleaguered public school teacher in a scraggly sweater shifted to a put-together Ivy-League professor in a sharp sheath dress and heels. “At least a Shakespeare professor will appreciate your acting.”
“She appreciates a lot of things about me.” Chelle said this with a tease in her voice, but it also sounded serious.
“I’m happy for you.”
“I have to go actually. She’s staying over tonight.” I heard a door somewhere in the background of the call.
“Oh, sure,” I said, disappointed. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
“Um, Harper? My romantic life—at least the sex part—is largely constructed of things you don’t do.”
“Right. Well. You know what I mean.”
“I do. Love you,” she said, and the lilt in her voice made me miss my friend violently.
“Love you too. Bye.” I hung up, picturing her putting down her phone and turning to embrace the mystery woman in her apartment.
I blew out a long breath, and then went back up the stairs to finish getting ready to introduce myself at my new job. It should be noted that going up stairs in a pencil skirt is no easier than going down. Since I hadn’t seen the set up of the new Inn, I changed into pants—there was a chance there might be stairs at work, and I didn’t need added complications today.
When I was dressed, made up and properly groomed, I went down to the car. But as I was getting myself settled and trying to breathe out the nerves that were gathering inside me, a howling whine erupted from somewhere across the slope from the cabin. I sat in the driver’s seat of my car, the door still swung open, and let my eyes wander the tree-covered landscape. If there was something over there, something slinking through the brush, winding between the tree trunks, I couldn’t see it. The Azalea was too thick and the shadows beneath the trees too dense.
<
br /> I shivered when the howl came once more, and closed the car door. This sounded different. Less like a predator, less frightening. But if the rangers said there was a mountain lion wandering around up here, I wasn’t going to wait around to find out.
I started the car and drove into town.
The Inn was nothing like I remembered it. Of course, when I’d been seven, it hadn’t been the same Inn. I think it had been called a lodge back then, more Cabin Life than this version’s Food and Wine aesthetic. I parked and took a few minutes to appreciate the outside of the structure. It soared into a high V, strong solid wood reaching up into the incredible aching blue of the sky.
That was something that didn’t change up here, I decided. The sky. At night it was spread like a pinholed velvet map between the treetops, stars filling up almost every little corner of the darkness. And during the day—when it was clear, at least—the color of the mountain sky was an almost heartbreaking blue, a color so pure you felt like maybe you were seeing some small part of heaven up there, getting a view to something humans weren’t intended to look upon. And so you felt lucky gazing up into that little bit of forever. Or I did.
I smoothed my pants and closed the car door, climbing the front steps of the Inn carefully in my favorite black slingbacks and pausing to look behind me, out over the railing of the sprawling porch at the meadow and town beyond. As much as I regretted the way I’d ended up back here, my heart squeezed a little bit. It had been a long time, and though I wasn’t eager to talk to my father about all the things that had happened so many years ago, it was still nice to be home—even if it was only temporary.
The lobby of the Inn was every bit as impressive as the outside, modern and rustic all at once. I knew the place had been renovated by Palmer Construction, which was the only construction firm in town, run by the Palmer brothers Sam and Chance. When I’d been a little girl, I’d known the Palmers, though they were both older than I was. I couldn’t remember details, really—only that they did everything together, so it was no surprise to me that they’d grown up to take over their dad’s business together. And clearly, they did good work if the Inn was any indication.
“Hi there,” I said, introducing myself to the young girl standing at the front desk. “I’m Harper Lyles. I’m starting work this morning. Is Michaela Grayson in?”
The girl smiled. “I’m so glad to meet you. I’m Carrie. I’ll go see if she has a few minutes,” she said. “Do you mind waiting a moment?”
“Of course not.” I watched her disappear through a back door and turned to let my eyes follow the line of the massive stone fireplace up to the lobby’s ceiling, which was two stories over my head. This room made me want to grab a book and cuddle up in the corner of one of the overstuffed couches in front of that fireplace and just let the day fade. I could see the appeal of staying here in the winter, though I doubted I’d be out enjoying the winter sports the brochure on a side table touted. It was to tempting to just enjoy the fire inside.
“Hello.” A tall woman with dark hair swept back into a full ponytail emerged from a door next to the reception desk. “I’m Michaela.”
“Hi Ms. Grayson,” I answered, turning to her. “I’m Harper Lyles. You said to pop in when I was ready to get started. Is this a good time?”
We shook hands and she smiled wide. “Absolutely. Please call me Mike. Let’s sit for a moment.” She guided me to a grouping of chairs and we took two facing each other, a small table between us. “It’s really nice to meet you. I’m looking forward to having another set of hands in management.”
“I’m excited to get started,” I said.
“Your dad stopped by at exactly the right time with your resume,” Mike said. “It’s not easy to hire up here—not everyone wants to live on the side of a mountain at seven thousand feet, and I didn’t have much hope of finding anyone with the kind of experience you’ve got.”
It was a relief to hear her say that—I’d been worried the job might have been another instance of my dad twisting someone’s arm, the way he’d done to get me here in the first place. “I’m so glad,” I said honestly. “I was pretty sure I’d end up waitressing or guiding horseback rides over at the stables.”
Mike picked up the resume she’d carried out with her from her office. “Okay, so big event firm, New York City. And why did you leave, Harper?”
There it was. I took a breath and decided to just tell her. Something about Mike’s easy demeanor had my guard down. “I picked up on some invoicing discrepancies I couldn’t track—some charges that looked legitimate, mostly because they were to vendors we’d been working with for years. But when I found an addition error on one and called the company to ask some questions, the number was disconnected. I nosed around, and realized that several of the vendors who invoiced regularly didn’t really exist.
“In the end, I uncovered a huge embezzlement plot that had been going on for years, started by one of the partners of the firm.” I didn’t mention that he’d been my boyfriend, or that he’d tried to get me to join the plot rather than turn him in. “I reported it, the whole thing led to a major lawsuit as the partner tried to defend himself, and he tried to shift the blame to me. I hired an excellent attorney, who managed to defend me.” I took a breath. “But that was very expensive. And by the time it was over, the accused partner had smeared my name everywhere he could. Enough doubt was cast on me that I couldn’t get another job in the city.”
Mike’s eyes were sympathetic when she said, “I’m so sorry. That’s terrible.”
“It was a valuable lesson in trust.” I lifted a shoulder and raised my eyes to meet hers.
“I guess their loss is Kings Grove’s gain,” Mike said. “I’ll just go over the events we’ve got in the works for now, and give you a quick tour.”
“That sounds great. I can go over paperwork or whatever if you’re busy though,” I told her. “I should have made an appointment.”
“Things move a little slower up here than in New York City,” she said, smiling. “They move slower up here than they did in Fresno, where I was living before. This place is…well, it’s grown on me. It’s definitely different.”
I laughed, feeling comfortable in this smart, honest woman’s presence. “It is,” I agreed. “Though it’s been years since I’ve spent any real time up here. I was seven when we left.”
We talked for a few minutes about all the things that had changed since I’d been little, and then moved into reviewing some of the events that had been booked at the Inn—mostly weddings, family reunions, that kind of thing. “The real test,” Mike said, “will be Maddie and Connor’s wedding at the end of the summer. I’m not completely confident the outpost will be finished, and I know Maddie is counting on having the reception out there. I think one of the first things I’d like you to do is meet with her and come up with some ideas for the event and hopefully iron out a plan B, just in case.”
“I can do that,” I said. As we talked a bit more, I began to understand that Maddie was Cam’s sister—and a little part of me jumped in excitement at the idea that being tied in to her event might mean more time with him. Another little part of me kicked that first part in the shins. I was not up here to nurture a ridiculous crush on my landlord and I needed to focus on accumulating enough cash to escape.
“I’m also hoping you might have some ideas about publicity and press,” she continued, unaware of the silly battle going on in my head. I forced myself to focus on her words. “We need to keep the event side of things healthy to provide a cushion in case room bookings aren’t strong this first year. Since we’re just getting everything operational, I’d really like to move everything closer to the black. I know this Inn can succeed, but it’s definitely go time.”
“Got it,” I said, my brain already turning to attack this issue. “I handled the back end of event management in New York—the financial side of things—so I’ve got a pretty solid grasp of where costs can get out of control and where we can recoup expend
itures.”
“That will be huge,” Mike said.
“I’m eager to get started.”
“Great. I’ll show you around, and we’ll end at your desk so you can get right to it.”
“Perfect.”
The Inn was meticulously decorated and planned, with a big open event space and restaurant off the main lobby, a fitness room and a little spa. The rooms were perfectly decorated in a way that was high-end but not overdone—perfect for the mountains, and the sports center sat around the back of the main structure, selling and renting hiking gear, kayaks, maps and trail food for summer; cross-country skis, snowshoes and sleds for winter.
“The store generates a lot more than I initially thought it would,” Mike said. “We just have to be careful to offer a different selection than the gift shop in the main village or Adele gets a little touchy about competition.”
“Who’s Adele?” I asked.
“She runs the diner and owns the gift shop. I think she’s been up here for like a hundred years…has a line on every little bit of gossip in town, that’s for sure.”
“Sounds delightful,” I said, an image of a woman with a beehive standing behind the podium at the diner flashing through my mind. It couldn’t be the same woman who’d been there when I was little, could it?
“She’s harmless, mostly. She’ll pretend to hate you, but she’s a softie. Can’t stand me though,” Michaela said, grinning at me.
“Why not?” I couldn’t see anyone hating Mike—she was great.
“Because I’m marrying Chance, and she’s got a crush on him the size of a Sequoia, even though she’s married.”
“I’m sure her husband loves that,” I said. “And from what I remember, everyone on the planet has a crush on Chance Palmer.”
Love Reclaimed: (Clean Small-Town Romance) (Kings Grove Book 4) Page 4