Glynna Kaye - Mountain Country Courtship

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.”