Melinda Curtis - Kissed By The Country Doc

Noah blanched.

“While you take care of the dog, Noah, I’ll check in our guests.” Mitch gestured that they should follow him, which was easier said than done. Everyone had to bundle up first.

Shane drove the SUV two businesses down from the diner and parked, while Laurel, Sophie and Ella ushered the kids along the shoveled walk.

The diner, the general store, with its two gas pumps and a single-bay garage, and the inn had all been built along the river and had enough space between the two-lane highway and the buildings for a vehicle to pull in and park perpendicular to the road. There was a narrow sidewalk from one building to another covered by a slanted roof to offer some protection against the elements, although not the cold.

There were small log-cabin houses up and down the highway, many of which looked forlorn and deserted. There were many buildings on the other side of the road, both new and old. A huge log cabin sat on the corner and butted against another small highway, across from which was a small church and a building with a cupola and bell.

Ella didn’t relish doing a market assessment with so many buildings spread out and heavy snow in the forecast. Would she have to shovel her way to every door?

The icy wind blew strong enough to chafe Ella’s cheeks and sweep Penny’s feet out from under her.

Ella kept her daughter upright but shrugged deeper into her stadium jacket. “I hate cold.”

“You should come live near me in Southern California.” Laurel wrapped her thin leather jacket tighter around her chest. “Since you have to move.”

“Don’t take her away from me,” Sophie countered. “I’m determined to get a job at the museum in downtown Philadelphia.” Sophie had been the Monroes’ art-collection curator.

Yes, the collection was so large it needed a manager.

“Cold, Mom.” Penny raised her arms to be lifted into Ella’s.

They hurried past the garage and then climbed the stairs onto the wood porch, which spanned the length of the inn, and went inside.

The Lodgepole Inn was a long, two-story log cabin wedged between the highway and a bend in the river. The logs used to build the cabin hadn’t been planed. Their curving girth took an extra foot off the interior on every exterior wall, making the large space seem cozier somehow.

“How big is this place?” Ella asked while Mitch checked her in.

“The Lodgepole Inn has ten rooms upstairs and two suites downstairs.” Mitch had thick black hair and a cautious smile, one that you didn’t usually find in politicians or innkeepers. He swiped Ella’s credit card and returned it to her. “My daughter and I run the place.”

Penny and her cousins ran around the great room, which had a comfy couch covered in a blue-and-brown quilt, several high-backed chairs, a large TV on the wall and a big rock fireplace, the kind pioneers used to cook in but with hearth seats built into either side. The kids squealed and released pent-up energy from hours spent on a plane and in a vehicle.

“How charming,” Sophie said, giving herself a tour of the main room.

“Our inn used to be a brothel for the miners.” A preteen girl with pale strawberry blond hair, braces and her father’s cautious smile handed Ella a metal key attached to a thin strip of wood that had the words Blue Bonnet carved in it.

“Gabby,” Mitch gently chastised. “That’s not the way we market the Lodgepole Inn.”

The preteen shrugged. “I did a paper on the history of the town.”

“We don’t know for sure it was a brothel,” Mitch said apologetically, as if it might matter to the Monroes. “Some people say it was a barracks for the cavalry. I can tell from the architecture it was originally two large, two-story cabins with a stable in between. You’ll see several different types of cabins in town—round-log, square-log and brick.”

“Our round-log inn was a brothel.” Gabby frowned at her father. “I even footnoted it in my report.”

“I’d like to read it.” Ella’s interest was sincere. History added value to property. The information the lawyer had given her included when structures were built and what their exterior dimensions were, but not much else.

Mitch’s smile hardened at her request. “Ella, if you need anything let us know.” He waved a hand toward the stairs, which were made of pine and had a rustic lodgepole-pine railing.

“What we’d like to know,” Shane said, handing over his credit card, “is why my grandfather purchased this town.”

“Gabby, go get Shane the key to Sawtooth.” Mitch waited until his daughter disappeared into the back room. “He didn’t tell you?”

Shane shook his head.

“I don’t know,” Mitch said, not entirely believably.

“Really?” Shane rubbed his jaw and considered the innkeeper. “He bought this place from you a decade ago. You signed a lease for one dollar a year. You’re telling me that somewhere along the line you didn’t ask my grandfather why he was interested in your property?”

“You’re facing a dead end.” Gabby returned, placing the key and wooden key ring on the counter. “That’s about as much as I’ve gotten out of him.”

Mitch frowned. “Gabby, what have I told you about adult conversations?”

“I’m just trying to take on more responsibility in the family business, like you asked.” The preteen held up her hands. “I guess you don’t need help with check-in.”

“That’s not what I meant.” Mitch sighed and smiled at Ella, gesturing from his daughter to Penny. “Take notes. This is your future.” He turned to Shane. “If Harlan Monroe didn’t tell his family why he bought the town, you can assume he didn’t tell us, either.” He consulted a map of the inn. “Let’s put Laurel in the Meadow Room.”

“Mom.” Penny tugged at Ella’s leg with both hands. Her cheeks were flushed. “Want cookie.” She coughed.

Was that a productive cough? Or just an I-need-to-blow-my-nose cough? Ella dug in the diaper bag for a tissue and a small snack bag of bear-shaped graham crackers.

“In case you need anything to wash that cookie down with, there’s a kitchenette around the corner with a small fridge, a microwave and a sink,” Mitch said, using the interruption to gloss over Shane’s dig for information. “Help yourself to coffee or water.”

“I can store things in the refrigerator?” Ella thought about cheese sticks, milk and yogurt. “Is there a freezer?” For ice cream.

“No, sorry.” Mitch seemed genuinely apologetic.

“This is really fine work.” Laurel fingered the blue-and-brown quilt on the couch. “Who made this?”

“Odette.” Gabby bounded from behind the desk to the living room. “She’s super old.”

“Gabby.”

“That’s what she says,” Gabby countered, defending herself with a put-upon huff. “She lives down the road. She tried to teach me how to knit and sew, but I’m kind of a lost cause.”

“Meaning the knitting needles weren’t as interesting as a video game,” Mitch murmured half under his breath.

“I was just a kid when she tried to teach me before,” Gabby said. “Are you really Ashley Monroe’s twin? You look just like her.”

Laurel nodded, smiling weakly as if her stomach was still upset. It was a burden to look exactly like her famous sister.

“You were eleven when she tried to teach you,” Mitch said. “And you’re still a kid.”

“ Dad. Don’t mind him. His bark is worse than his bite.” Gabby executed a disparaging eye roll to the ceiling before her glance landed on Laurel’s nearby feet. “I love your boots.”

“I got them at a vintage store in Hollywood.” Laurel traced the quilt pattern with her finger. “I’d love to meet Odette.”