Page 4 of The Cold Ride
Everything would be all right. I would finish the remodel in time for the spring and summer tourist season to really kick in. This was just a minor setback.
I loved this old Victorian and would fight to keep her. This grand old lady was three stories with twenty guest rooms, a parlor, a dining room, and a library. The lobby of the inn was in the foyer. Currently all the furniture on the first floor that hadn’t been damaged in the flood was covered with heavy drop cloths.
At least it was giving me an excuse to transform the kitchen since it had sustained massive damage. And I would finally have the multiple industrial-grade ovens and stove tops I’d always wanted.
Besides, at least the damage hadn’t reached my living quarters. My home on the property had originally been a three-bedroom guest house with its own set of plumbing and electrical circuits that weren’t connected to the inn. The inn’s previous owners had linked the two buildings with an enclosed hallway. Our distance from the destruction had kept my daughter and me dry and warm as we rode out the storm and subzero temperatures.
At least it had happened in late winter before the onslaught of tourists this summer and not during the height of tourist season. That would put the nail in the coffin of owning this place.
My anxiety over the sheer volume of repairs and my ability to do the majority of the work myself had reached epic heights. The insurance company, if I could call them that because they were more like thieves whose policies were barely worth the paper they were printed on, had lowballed me on what they were willing to pay. So I had to handle the bulk of the cosmetic repairs myself and only hire experts for things like the plumbing, electric, and HVAC. It would provide me with enough to purchase the new stoves and replace all the furniture and supplies that had been damaged. My biggest concern was the time it would take to get the inn back up and running.
At least the floors above hadn’t sustained any damage, or I would have been forced to sell this place.
The previous owners of the inn had given me my start in hospitality management. But it had been my dream to own my own place. And this was where I’d landed during my divorce shortly after I discovered I was pregnant. God, I’d been so terrified, just out of college with a baby on the way and a broken heart. But the former owners, Henry and Sue Mercer, had taken me in like a daughter. They’d given me and Amelia a place to live, a place to work, and been more my family than my own father had been.
I missed them so much. When they’d taken ill, they’d sold this place to me fairly cheap since they didn’t have any heirs. But I still had a rather hefty mortgage payment each month.
And it’s why I had to repair the inn. It’s why I didn’t want to let it go. Because Henry and Sue Mercer had been the parents I’d always needed when I was growing up. They’d treated Amelia as if she was their granddaughter in truth. And I couldn’t sell this place to strangers who wouldn’t care about it, who wouldn’t love it the way I did.
The basement and first floors needed a metric ton of work.
Phase one of the inn remodel included removal of all damaged furniture and the demolition of the damaged walls and floors. I had to tear everything down and rebuild the two floors from the ground up. Out in the small parking lot in front of the inn was one of those huge trailer trash bins.
While the best thing to do would be to hire a company to handle the remodel, I couldn’t afford it. And I refused to dip into my savings. Amelia’s college fund and future wouldn’t be sacrificed for the inn.
I’d learned long ago that sometimes one had to let go of some dreams to make way for others. And if my dream of owning and operating an inn had to be set aside to ensure Amelia’s future, then that was what I would do.
As soon as my daughter boarded the bus for school this morning, I donned a mask and goggles, covered my hair with a bandana, and spent the better part of my day swinging the sledgehammer at the wall. On some levels, it was deeply satisfying to watch the wall crumble to the floor. On another, it was terrifying. What if I didn’t get the inn fixed in time for the summer tourist season? I’d be sunk and I knew it. This place, my dream, would vanish overnight.
Before I allowed my emotions to get the better of me, I repeated the mantra—I could do this. It might suck while I was in the middle of doing it, but I would get it done.
But I only had a little time left to work on it today before Amelia got off the bus. Once my daughter was home for the day, that’s what my life revolved around. When the inn was full of guests, I hired part-time summer help. College students were some of the best for working the registration desk and cleaning rooms after guests checked out. As I swung the hammer, the chime alerting me that the front door had been opened sounded. What the?
Was Amelia home early? I didn’t hear the bus. I laid the hammer on the floor.
On my trek through the debris to the lobby, I removed my mask and goggles. Four rather built men stood in the lobby with their backs turned, surveying the construction zone. From the back, they looked like a biker gang with their black leather jackets, jeans, and shitkicker boots.
I slid my hand into my pocket and gripped my phone. Please don’t be vandals or guys up to no good. They had this aura of danger surrounding them, and it gave me pause.
“Hi. I’m sorry, but the inn is closed right now for repairs. I can direct you—”
My tongue glued itself to the roof of my mouth when they turned my way.
Oh my god!
Recognition hit me harder than the sledgehammer I’d swung all day. I knew them. All of them. One much more than the others. All the air left my lungs in a rush, and it felt as if a fist had punched clear through my chest.
What washedoing here?
Sucking air back into my lungs before I passed out, my gaze drank in every detail. The cut of his leather jacket. The way his jeans fit his powerful legs. Time had hardened the man I’d known. He was still devastatingly handsome with his mop of brown hair, the ends bleached by the sun. He had a full beard now, and it only made him appear more rugged and untamed. From the way his chest and shoulders stretched the leather jacket, he had gained more muscle—and he’d been a powerhouse a decade ago.
But then our eyes met. The power in his rich chocolate eyes rattled me to my core. After all this time, he still hated me. My stomach flip-flopped like a fish tossed onto dry land. Because that sentiment would only deepen before he left.
“Hello, Rory.”
That voice. His deep, growly baritone shivered through me. Memories of the sand and surf and an unexpected soul connection I’d never forgotten slammed into me like a rogue wave. The ground quaked beneath me, but then I realized it was just me, trembling at his reappearance in my life.
Oh god, what was I going to do?
