Mountain Country Courtship

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, palm 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 upgrading 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.

“Den.” The rumbling voice sounded genial enough—but then, that was standard, even when delivering news of budget cuts and severances of contracts with longtime loyal vendors. Denny could picture the sixtysomething hotelier, his salt-and-pepper hair thick and neatly styled, his deceptively casual manner of dress belying that his attire was purchased from top-notch clothiers.

Denny gripped his phone more tightly. “Yes, sir?”

“I understand Char sent you to Arizona to take care of personal business for her.”

“With the understanding that I’d be gone from work only a few days.” Had his absence not been taken well? “I’m staying on top of business long-distance and will return shortly.”

“I’m not concerned about that. But I am concerned that you agreed to see about upgrading a property Charlotte’s friend manages, and that it sounds as if you’re now unwilling to follow through on that.”

A muscle in Denny’s throat tightened at the misinterpretation, just as a bird in a nearby tree started into an annoyingly repetitious solo. “What my mother originally asked me to do was evaluate the situation and determine if retaining her ailing friend as manager of the Pinewood Inn and investing a great deal of money in upgrades is a worthwhile option. I did as she asked and confirmed it’s a poor investment.”

Would that obnoxious bird never shut up?

“You know I’m crazy about your mother, don’t you?” Elden never made a secret of that and had always treated her like a queen. Pampered her. In fact, Denny’s father blamed his ex’s former boyfriend for making her dissatisfied with Hunter Ridge, motherhood and, in particular, her first husband. “I know you care for her, too, Den. So what do you say the two of us get this inn fixed up the way she’d like it? You know how she dotes on that old gal who befriended her in that backwoods hamlet.”

Denny stepped out of the gazebo, determined to keep his temper in check. “So you want her to spend a mint on a six-guest-room inn located in the middle of nowhere and hand it over to an old woman who is in questionable health but who also has no training and limited experience in the hospitality field? Pardon me for pointing this out, Elden, but that’s not the type of investment you’ve trained me to make.”

“Maybe not, but if you can see to your mother’s business and lie low in Arizona while Victor gets acclimated to his new role...” That’s what this is about? Making life comfy for Vic? “If you can make those things happen, Den, I can make it worth your while.”

Denny had heard his stepbrother was struggling—a leader without followers, because most supported Denny stepping into that VP slot. “I’m being banished? Is that what you’re telling me?”

His stepfather chuckled. “Not banished. Giving your brother a chance to find his footing without people looking to you for the answers.”

“Is that what he’s telling you? That I’m trying to undermine him?”

“Apparently you have a loyal following, and that’s caused unrest.”

“I’m not driving that. It’s business as usual, as far as I’m concerned. I’m not stirring up animosity toward Vic.”

“That’s good to know. But I realize that as long as you’re highly visible and available, there are those who may continue turning to you instead of Victor. There seems to be an undercurrent of, shall we say, resentment on the part of some that he was promoted over you.”

No foolin’. “Is that surprising? Vic walked out on you and the family business almost a decade ago. Then he waltzes back in—and out of the blue steps into a top spot.”

“Although it may seem like it on the surface, it wasn’t out of the blue. I told him at the time we had our falling-out that there would always be a place for him in the business.”

A place he hadn’t earned? A birthright he’d snubbed?

Denny remembered well that blowup between his stepbrother and Elden. It hadn’t been pretty, and clearly Elden had been deeply wounded at a betrayal by the offspring he’d poured so much of himself into. That was when Denny set his heart on filling Vic’s shoes better than Vic could ever fill them. To earn his stepfather’s respect and a leadership role in the family business. He was well on the road to achieving that, until Vic showed up last winter, seemingly humble and contrite...and the tide began to turn.

“From the reaction of others,” Denny said carefully as he watched Lillian step out the back door and into the garden, “I think you’d have to agree that expectation wasn’t well communicated.”

“Come on. He’s my son, Den.” And I’m not. “He’s settling down now and is ready to put his nose to the grindstone. Don’t take it personally. You and everyone else knew from the beginning that he is destined for the top spot when I step down. That’s still a considerable ways off, but if everyone pulls together, helps him get through this time of transition, it will work out in the long run. For everyone. I’m counting on you to make that happen.”

Meaning keep out of the way?

“I have responsibilities, projects that I’m in the middle of, people who are depending on me.”

Seeking relief from the pressure building inside, his gaze tracked Lillian as she gracefully moved to sit on a shaded stone bench. She was a striking-looking young woman with a country-fresh vivacity that had been absent in the sophisticated, born-to-high-society Corrine. The local librarian seemed considerably less capricious than his former fiancée, too. You wouldn’t catch a well-grounded Lillian Keene heading for the hills on her wedding day, leaving some poor sucker in the dust.

But as appealing as that small-town allure might be on the surface, it wasn’t a girl-next-door type that would help him get ahead at GylesStyle Inns. With the departure of Corrine, he was back to square one. Nevertheless, it was a shame that the pretty Lillian planned to follow in her great-aunt’s footsteps and sequester herself in Nowheresville.

“By all means, stay on top of the projects out in the field,” Elden responded, drawing Denny’s attention again. “But in dealing with others at the home base? Steer them back to Victor and let them learn to depend on him. If you’re working on getting this inn fixed up for your mother, that’s a good enough reason for stepping back. No one will question it. You won’t have to offer explanations.”

Was his stepfather truly that naive? Oblivious to the effort Denny had taken to build a network of strong relationships based on mutual respect as he climbed the corporate ladder? Elden thought his arrogant, self-indulgent son could step in and pick up the reins if Denny laid them down?

Across the garden, Lillian looked up and caught him watching her—those beautiful hazel eyes, even at a distance, almost took his breath away. Nevertheless, he managed to refocus on the conversation at hand.

“And when I’ve done my time here?” He couldn’t help throwing in the prison analogy.

“Then we’ll talk. Victor filling that VP opening doesn’t mean there isn’t still a prime spot for you at GylesStyle—especially if you can keep him and your mother happy.”

“And if I can’t?”

Silence hung heavy. Except for that irritating bird.

“Well, Den,” Elden finally drawled, “see that you do.”

* * *

From the far side of the garden, with the sound of a merrily trilling robin singing its heart out, Lillian couldn’t hear what Denny was saying on the phone. Assuming it was the same call he’d taken before she’d gone inside, it was quite lengthy. His voice remained low and indistinguishable, but from his expression, he didn’t like the way things were going.

How often she’d seen that same look of concentration on Cameron Gray’s face when he’d returned home to Hunter Ridge in February. Having been let go from a managerial position in Boston, he nevertheless lived on his phone, constantly schmoozing with contacts despite insisting that anyone who remained tied to corporate America was nothing but a fool.

He was at home in Hunter Ridge to stay, he’d declared. Working with his dad at the hardware store, he assured everyone around him that relationships were what mattered. Family. Church. Old friends. This was where he wanted to settle down and raise a family. With her. Or so he claimed until the day before their wedding, when he got a call from his former employer—and without consulting her leaped at a job offer, generously volunteering to hire a caregiver for her aunt and to place Taylor at an upscale private school.

Was it any wonder she’d cried and prayed most of the night? The next day, as everyone was gathering for the ceremony, she called the officiating pastor—an out-of-town buddy of Cameron’s—to ask him to deliver her no-show news.

Cameron hadn’t spoken to her since then, having immediately packed up and left for Boston. Nor had his mother or grandma, even when Lillian removed her personal belongings from the apartment above his parents’ garage that the newlyweds intended to call home until they found a place to buy. The two women seemed to find plenty of time to talk about her, though, if rumors of their critical remarks regarding her immaturity and heartlessness held any truth. And little brother Randy had made nothing but a nuisance of himself.

At least Cameron’s sister, Barbie, caught up in her own autumn wedding plans, didn’t seem to care one way or another whether her big brother and Lillian were married happily ever after—or not.

Across the garden, Denny pocketed his phone, then turned in her direction. She stood, determined to make another plea on behalf of the inn.

“Sorry for the interruption. Important call.”

“Aren’t they always,” she said drily, wondering how far she’d get in her appeal before he was again whipping out that cell phone.

He motioned irritably to a Navajo willow in the far corner. “What’s with the obnoxious bird, anyway?”

No, that phone call must not have gone well.

She laughed. “Maybe he’s happy?”

Denny snorted, then looked at his watch and nodded to the inn. “I guess I should take a look at the guest rooms upstairs.”

With Aunt Viola sequestered in the apartment, it didn’t take long to go through the second-floor rooms, half of which weren’t booked despite a long Labor Day weekend fast approaching. The occupants of the other three were out for the day. Although Denny added items to his lengthy list, he seemed preoccupied, as though something else weighed on his mind. Most telling was the fact that he didn’t pull out his phone a single time, not even to check caller ID when she heard it vibrate.

When they reached the bottom of the stairs, she turned to him. “So what do you think?”

“You mentioned earlier you’re aware that garden events keep the inn in the black. So you must be at least somewhat acquainted with the business side of things here.”

“I kept the books when my aunt was unable to. So, yes, I’m aware that the inn is...holding its own.”

“By the skin of its teeth. The Pinewood Inn, sadly, has never been a profitable investment for my mother.”

“You’re implying that it’s been nothing but a charitable endeavor on behalf of Aunt Viola?” That rankled, as Lillian knew how much of herself Aunt Vi had invested in this place trying to keep it going.

“As you know, my mother was struggling to find her place in the world when your great-aunt befriended her. She offered her encouragement, advice and support when many in town extended little sympathy as her marriage fell apart. My mother was a big-city girl, a fish out of water, and undoubtedly she made plenty of mistakes that didn’t endear her to others.”

“My aunt is a kindhearted woman.”

“She is. And deep down, so is my mother. Which is why when Viola retired and asked if she could take over management of the Pinewood Inn, my mother agreed. She was losing money on it anyway—basically kept it open to irritate my father as much as anything. What would it hurt if her dear friend and mentor gave it a try?”

“Aunt Vi did bring it out of the red.”

“She did. But it’s still not a moneymaker. Never will be.”

“We’re not asking you to strip the place down to the studs and start from scratch. We’re asking that broken things be fixed. Dismal furniture replaced. Peeling wallpaper removed. Bedding and window treatments updated.”

“That involves money, time and hard work.”

“My aunt and I can provide the hard work.” Or at least she could. “I understand your concern surrounding the financial issues. That concerns my aunt, as well. But Hunter Ridge is her home. The inn. Her garden. Her guests. I’ll personally do anything within my power to enable her to live out the rest of her life, however long that may be, as the inn’s manager. For now, this is Taylor’s home, too. If your mother makes the requested much-needed changes to the property, I know my aunt can turn it around.”

He shook his head. “Maybe, if she had a hospitality degree and decades of experience at other reputable properties to bring to the table... I admit I’ve seen highly successful enterprises make it under good management in the most unlikely places. But those were spearheaded by professionals with an innate savvy for the hospitality business.”

“She may not have a degree, but we’ve both read every book on innkeeping we can get our hands on. And growing up, I traveled extensively with my parents and know what they liked and didn’t like about those brief or extended stays. What I liked and didn’t like. Aunt Vi traveled in her younger days, too. I strongly believe that kind of personal experience will transfer well here—if the property itself works for her and not against her, as it’s been doing.”

“I admire her—and your—pluck, but it’s risky. Successful inns are customarily located in areas that have something to draw people there. Location, location, location, as you’ve surely heard before.”

“Hunter Ridge is rousing itself after that economic downturn a decade or so ago. Your mother’s played a role in that—initiating leasing properties to a new artisan dynamic that is taking root and transforming the formerly isolated face of the community. Here at the inn’s garden, we’ve showcased a number of local artists this past summer. It’s a market waiting to be tapped into. And if we don’t do it, someone else will.”