Brenda Harlen - Claiming The Cowboy's Heart

“Basque linens,” she said, as they moved down the hall to the main floor guest rooms.

“What?”

She chuckled. “Sorry—I’m sure that seemed to come out of nowhere, but I was just thinking about other ways to highlight the history of not just this building but the local area.”

“I know about the Basques but nothing about their linen.”

“It was originally made from flax grown in the fields and woven with colorful stripes, traditionally seven, which was the number of Basque provinces in France and Spain. The source of the fabric and the process has evolved over the years, but the colorful stripes remain a defining feature.”

“How do you know this?”

“In high school, I did a research paper on how the Basque people and culture have influenced our local community, which is just one more reason—” she offered a hopeful smile “—I’d be an asset at your front desk.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he promised, leading her down the hall to the Annie Oakley Room.

She wondered if he’d chosen the color palette and furnishings, or if his grandmother had taken the lead in that, too. Either way, the overall impression of the room was warmth and comfort, and she could imagine herself contentedly curling up in the middle of the half-tester and dreaming sweet dreams. That tempting fantasy was followed closely by one of sinking into the claw-footed tub filled with scented bubbles when she peeked into the bath.

Appropriately, Bonnie & Clyde were adjoining rooms—the former with a single queen-size sleigh bed, the latter with two double beds of the same style.

“A, B, C,” she realized. “I assume you did that on purpose?”

“Yeah, although it kind of fell apart upstairs where we jump from D to F.”

“What’s beyond those doors?” she asked.

“Serenity Spa.”

She sighed, a little wistfully. “When I heard you were looking for a manager, I knew I wanted the job,” Macy told him. “Because it’s what I’ve trained to do—and what I’m good at. But that was before I’d seen what you’ve done here, and now that I have, I want it even more.”

“You haven’t seen half of what we’ve done here,” he said, leading the way to the second floor.

He was right. And with every door she walked through, she fell more and more in love. The rooms were all spacious and inviting, with natural light pouring through the windows, spilling across the glossy floors. She’d often thought hardwood was cold, but the rugs that had been added provided warmth, color and texture. There were crown moldings in one room, window seats in another, elaborate wardrobes and antique dressing screens, padded benches and hope chests. The en suite baths boasted natural stone tiles and heated towel bars, waterfall showerheads inside glass enclosures and freestanding soaker tubs.

Each room was unique in its style and substance, and Macy honestly couldn’t have said which one was her favorite—until they reached the third floor and Liam opened the door to Wild Bill’s Getaway Suite.

Everything about the space screamed luxury, from the intricate mosaic pattern in the floor tile to the elegant chesterfield sofa and forty-two-inch flat-screen TV mounted above the white marble fireplace. Beyond the parlor was the bath, with more white marble, lots of glass and even an enormous crystal chandelier. There was a second fireplace in the bedroom, along with a king-size pediment poster bed flanked by matching end tables, a wide wardrobe and even a makeup vanity set.

“Well, it’s not the Dusty Boots Motel,” she remarked dryly when they’d made their way back down to the main level—and the solarium where he told her breakfast would be served.

Liam chuckled. “The idea was to give visitors to Haven another option.”

“I’d say you succeeded.”

The solarium had two sets of French doors that opened onto the deck, where additional bistro tables and chairs would be set up for guests to enjoy their breakfast in the warm weather.

“Did you have another space in mind for more formal, evening dining?”

He shook his head. “We’re limiting our service to breakfast-slash-brunch, with an afternoon wine and cheese in the library on Fridays and Saturdays.”

“I like the wine and cheese idea,” she said. “But if you’re not offering an evening meal, you’re missing out on the opportunity for guests to spend more of their money right here.”

“There are other places people can go for dinner,” he pointed out.

“There’s no place in town that offers an upscale dining experience. When my parents celebrated their fortieth anniversary last year, they drove all the way to Reno because they wanted candlelight and a wine list that wasn’t printed on the bottom of a laminated page below the kids’ menu.”

He smiled at that. “I can see your point, but I know nothing about the restaurant business.”

“Which is why you hire people who do,” she said.

“Like you?” he guessed.

She immediately shook her head. “No. That’s not my area of expertise. But Kyle Landry studied at the School of Artisan Food in England.”

“I’m sure his mother could have taught him everything he needed to know about making pizza.”

“Except that Kyle doesn’t want to make pizza. He wants to run his own kitchen in a real restaurant.”

Liam winced. “Don’t let Jo hear you say that.”

“His words, not mine,” Macy explained.

“Maybe that’s why he’s not working in her kitchen right now,” he suggested.

“Yeah, she’s not happy that Duke gave him a job. But Kyle’s not really happy, either, because Duke won’t even contemplate any changes to the menu. Kyle added chili-dusted pumpkin seeds to the coleslaw to give it a little bit of crunch and zing, and three customers sent it back. They grudgingly acknowledged that it was good but complained that it ‘didn’t taste right.’”

“People want what they want, and local people don’t want fancy food.”

But Macy disagreed. “They might not want fancy food in a familiar setting,” she allowed. “But a new restaurant would open up a world of new possibilities. Not to mention that a restaurant would create another revenue stream for your business.”

“Have you been talking to my grandmother?”

She laughed. “No, but I’m guessing she said the same thing.”

“Yeah,” he admitted. “And maybe it is something to think about.”

“You might think about talking to Kyle, too” Macy suggested.

“I might,” he agreed.

* * *

She didn’t ask him about the job.

Macy figured there was a fine line between eager and pushy and she didn’t want to cross it. Besides, Liam had promised to make a decision by the end of the week, so she would hold on to her patience a while longer.

But by Friday afternoon, with another long and late shift at Diggers’ looming ahead, her patience was running out. She was grateful that she had a job, but it was hard to keep a smile on her face when she was working on less than five hours of frequently interrupted sleep.

Her babies, now eight months old, had started sleeping a lot better, more consistently and—maybe even more important—concurrently, which allowed Macy to get more sleep. But the past couple of weeks had been rough as two of the three were cutting teeth. Two tiny buds had poked through Ava’s bottom gum almost a week earlier with minimal fuss, but her brothers were struggling and miserable.

And despite Macy’s optimism after she’d completed her tour of the Stagecoach Inn—and Liam Gilmore’s promise to be in touch by the end of the week—she still hadn’t heard anything from him about the job. So she left a little early for her shift at Diggers’ and stopped by the hotel on her way. There was no one in the main lobby when she arrived, so she peeked inside the library, but that was empty, too. She wandered a little further and finally found Liam in the kitchen, muttering to himself as he opened and inspected a stack of boxes on the island.