Cathryn Parry - Christmas At Prescott Inn

A newscaster in the background droned on about the specifications of the ship. Year launched, tonnage, number of crew, passenger capacity. Nathan could have recited all that himself.

“When will they know if everyone got off all right?” he asked Nell.

“They didn’t say.” Nell stared at him in curiosity. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine.” His stomach felt as if it was turning inside out as he took out his phone to check his messages.

Nothing. No calls or texts.

Emilie’s contact number was still in his phone, but she hadn’t called him. She’d never called him in the two years since he’d left the ship. He didn’t even know why he kept her name in his phone.

She’d left him , and it had been years since he’d last seen her. Ironically, again, she’d accused him of choosing the inn over her.

She’d been wrong. And it had hurt.

He swallowed, not wanting to think about those days. There was no reason to expect she would ever call him again, even in an emergency. He needed to focus on his inn’s survival, which should be his top concern.

“Uncle,” Nell said gently. “They’re reporting that, so far, there are no major casualties.”

“That’s a relief.”

“Are you sure you don’t have any friends there?”

He stiffened. He’d purposely never spoken of the year he’d spent at sea as an accountant—never mind the show skater he’d fallen in love with and had wanted to marry.

It had been insanity on his part, and he was no longer insane.

Two curious faces stared back at him—Nell’s and the waitress’s. Nathan just shook his head at them. “No. That wasn’t my ship.”

Still, he was irritated with himself for opening this can of worms with his staff in the first place. Wishing to deflect any further questions, he asked sharply, “Nell, I’d like that update on the competitive analysis of other resorts I asked for. How far have you progressed?”

“Um...” Nell said. “About that...”

“Please take more initiative,” he instructed her, disliking that he was speaking so brusquely. But since Nell had no information for him, he would have to fudge those details at tomorrow’s investors’ meeting. “You and I will discuss this further tomorrow after my meeting. Clear?”

Nell visibly sighed at him. But she nodded.

A pang went through him. She looked so much like his sister. He wanted to be good to her, but he was helping her the only way he knew how. He’d reopened Prescott Inn and had given her a job when she hadn’t any prospects.

That was how he could help people. Through business. Nathan took care of business.

Even if he didn’t seem to be doing such a great job of it at the moment.

Without a word, he turned and walked back through the empty dining room and toward his private office, which was on the second floor of the lodge, overlooking the lobby.

Usually, numbers were his friends. But of late, they didn’t have anything positive to say to him. He knew before he even checked them what tale they would tell.

His business was in the red. It was bleeding money. And for the first time in his life, he couldn’t seem to stanch it.

I can’t fail , he reminded himself, the sweat breaking out on his forehead even though the room was still cold.

He put his head in his hands as his mind flashed backed to the kid. Jason.

Nathan might not be able to give him long-term security, but if Nathan could just keep the inn open long enough to provide refuge for the boy through Christmas, then maybe he wouldn’t feel like he had failed.

He’d been so proud when Prescott Inn had first reopened. The local newspaper had compared Nathan to his grandfather, Philip Prescott, and touted the renewed hope Nathan was bringing to their depressed mountain town. Nathan had believed he could do that. After all, he’d had a successful career advising companies on how to cut costs and balance their books.

Now Nathan had to live up to the promises he’d given everyone two years ago. He had to figure out a story to sell to his investors to keep the money coming in, and before tomorrow’s meeting, in order to turn this disaster around.

As for Emilie...well, he shouldn’t worry about her. He had no reason to believe that she still sailed aboard the Empress Caribbean . She could have left that job and gone anywhere.

She wouldn’t be thinking of him, that was for certain. She’d made that much clear the last time they had spoken.

CHAPTER TWO

TWO THOUSAND MILES south of Nathan, on a small island in the Caribbean Sea, Emilie O’Shea hurried across the beach, toward the medical station.

Streaks of orange ran across a beautiful azure sky as morning broke over the horizon.

Nature’s beauty contrasted sharply with the semiorganized chaos on the tropical island, where ship’s officers and crew from the Empress Caribbean had led the passengers after the evacuation. The ship was now disabled, lying on its side about a mile offshore.

Emilie had spent ten years living on Empress Cruise Line’s ships, and she’d never heard of such a thing happening, to any of the company’s vessels. The whole night had felt surreal.

Since they’d landed on the beach ten hours ago, the ship’s crew had been herding the passengers, group by group, to boats ferrying them to an adjoining island, which had an airport. Emilie and her troupe of nine other figure skaters had been part of that process, but thankfully Emilie had been able to send the troupe for a much-needed break to a gym across the island, where they were bedded down in cots.

But Emilie herself couldn’t rest yet. Hurrying across the open beach, the morning sand cool on her feet, she found the doctor’s tent. Dr. David was on duty. Emilie knew him because there was always a member of the medical staff stationed backstage during their figure skating shows, just as a precaution.

At the moment, Dr. David seemed to be finishing up splinting a child’s sprained wrist. Emilie waited until the child and her parents had departed and Dr. David motioned her inside the tent.

“I never thought I’d see the day,” he murmured, shaking his head. “We’re actually shipwrecked!”

“At least everybody’s safe and accounted for.” She shivered, thinking of all the passengers who’d been in the skating rink when the alarm had sounded. Luckily, they’d all escaped safely. The skaters in her troupe were safe, too, and that’s what Emilie felt most responsible for. She got to the point of her visit and pulled out her phone. “I’m here because I’m worried about Katya. She fell when the ship hit the sandbar, and I want to show you the footage.”

“I already checked her shoulder, Emilie,” Dr. David said gently. “She’ll have a big bruise, but as long as she takes care of it with ice and rest, Katya will be fine in a few days.”

Emilie had thought so, too, but... “Now she’s complaining about a really bad headache. She said it hurt too much to walk over with me to see you. What if she struck her head when she fell?”

Dr. David gave her a look of concern. “When did the headache start?”

“About an hour ago. I asked her if she hit her head, but she says she can’t remember.” Emilie took a breath. Katya seemed so fragile and distraught that it was scaring Emilie. “I have a video from last night’s performance, but it was so dark inside the ice theater, I can’t really tell what happened to Katya. I’d like you to look at it, if you don’t mind. And maybe you could come to the gym and check on her again?”

Dr. David held out his hand for the phone. “Let me see the video.” He eyed Emilie curiously. “Where did you get the footage, anyway? I thought no one was supposed to tape the shows.”