Once Upon A Texas Christmas
Winnie Griggs
Partners for the HolidaysAbigail Fulton is determined to find independence in Turnabout, Texas—and becoming manager of the local hotel could be the perfect solution. But first, she must work with Seth Reynolds to renovate the property by Christmas—and convince him she’s perfect for the job. If only he hadn’t already promised the position to someone else….Ever since his troubled childhood, Seth yearns to prove himself. And this hotel is his best chance. But what does someone like Abigail know about décor and furnishings? Yet the closer the holiday deadline gets, the more he appreciates her abilities and her kindness. His business ambitions require denying Abigail’s dearest wish, but can they put old dreams aside for a greater gift—love and family?Texas Grooms: In search of their brides…
Partners for the Holidays
Abigail Fulton is determined to find independence in Turnabout, Texas—and becoming manager of the local hotel could be the solution. But first, she must work with Seth Reynolds to renovate the property by Christmas—and convince him she’s perfect for the job. If only he hadn’t already promised the position to someone else...
Ever since his troubled childhood, Seth yearns to prove himself. And this hotel is his best chance. But what does someone like Abigail know about decor and furnishings? Yet the closer the holiday deadline gets, the more he appreciates her abilities and her kindness. His business ambitions require denying Abigail’s dearest wish, but can they put old dreams aside for a greater gift—love and family?
“Perhaps I could take over the front desk?”
“That’s a generous offer, but I think it best if I handle this,” Seth said.
Abigail stiffened. “Are you saying you don’t think I can handle the job?”
“It’s not so much you personally as that I really don’t think this is an appropriate job for any young lady.”
“Why ever not? I’ve studied the work Mr. Crandall does, and even relieved him a time or two when he had to tend to his sister. So I actually have some experience.”
She called that experience? “It was inappropriate for Mr. Crandall to leave you in charge.”
“You obviously want me to prove myself, Mr. Reynolds. But in return, will you give me your word that this is just a first step? And you will train me on the responsibilities of a hotel manager?”
“Agreed,” he said without hesitation. If she could handle the desk job, then he’d humor her with the additional training.
But at the end of the day, someone else would be hired as hotel manager. Someone who was not Abigail. That was how it had to be.
Dear Reader,
I hope you enjoyed Abigail and Seth’s story. I’ve known since Abigail first showed up in book two of this series as an adventurous fifteen-year-old that her story would likely be the one to wrap up this series—I just had to wait for her to grow up. Seth is her opposite in many ways and he’s also her perfect match. I fell a little bit in love with him as I wrote his story.
It was a bittersweet moment for me when I wrote “The End” on this story. This is the last book in the Texas Grooms series (for now—never say never), and saying goodbye to Turnabout and the community was unexpectedly difficult. But I am looking forward to turning the page on a new chapter in my writing life and I hope you’ll come along with me and see where it leads.
For more information on this and other books set in Turnabout, please visit my website at www.winniegriggs.com (http://www.winniegriggs.com) or follow me on Facebook at www.Facebook.com/WinnieGriggs.Author (https://www.facebook.com/WinnieGriggs.Author).
And as always, I love to hear from readers. Feel free to contact me at winnie@winniegriggs.com (mailto:winnie@winniegriggs.com) with your thoughts on this or any of my other books.
Wishing you a life abounding with love and grace,
Winnie Griggs
WINNIE GRIGGS is the multipublished, award-winning author of historical (and occasionally contemporary) romances that focus on small towns, big hearts and amazing grace. She is also a list maker and a lover of dragonflies, and holds an advanced degree in the art of procrastination. Winnie loves to hear from readers—you can connect with her on Facebook at Facebook.com/winniegriggs.author (https://www.facebook.com/WinnieGriggs.Author/) or email her at winnie@winniegriggs.com.
Once Upon a Texas Christmas
Winnie Griggs
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Do not bear a grudge against others, but settle your differences with them, so that you will not commit a sin because of them. Do not take revenge on others or continue to hate them, but love your neighbors as you love yourself.
—Leviticus 19:17–18
Dedicated to my fabulous agent, Michelle Grajkowski, who is not only a great advocate for my work but also a great friend. And also to my wonderful husband, who is not only incredibly supportive but has never once complained about the amount of time I dedicate to my writing career.
Contents
Cover (#u17fa82b5-62ac-5e41-b8d1-7ac649edd146)
Back Cover Text (#u7155fe5e-5a84-530c-b0a9-f9cdc6d34e74)
Introduction (#u7c77b5d1-f487-5555-a588-5ebb1d18c880)
Dear Reader (#ua5df4962-621d-5aaf-a5ec-ba4edb1e4d9a)
About the Author (#u1f8750e8-1aec-5f72-89f4-471807c8f101)
Title Page (#u24380a7b-7ade-5b6e-8456-3d927793011b)
Bible Verse (#u4148e583-f1c9-5622-a67a-ca73d956c030)
Dedication (#u820e1439-142a-5609-b4d1-be2893914112)
Chapter One (#u1f508d00-f150-5a61-94cb-1b135c3f0775)
Chapter Two (#ubcd1712d-b58b-5225-8f3a-eae69311e14b)
Chapter Three (#ua9adeaa9-b784-56fe-ae92-7b0ae8b86fcc)
Chapter Four (#u2768d8c8-8691-50e2-bdf9-e2315b94f9c9)
Chapter Five (#ua7b5e6e8-6f68-5a5f-9460-1583b8197125)
Chapter Six (#u8e8c3cc1-b3e4-5831-afd1-48209665c65e)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Three (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One (#u40a53551-a82d-577a-b8fa-795d1a090584)
Philadelphia
October 1899
“Check and mate.” Seth Reynolds leaned back in his seat, a satisfied grin on his face. It wasn’t often he could defeat his employer and friend.
Judge Arthur Madison raised a brow. “So it is. I must say, after I captured your queen I thought I had you.”
Seth began setting the pieces back on the board. “That was the plan. I’m prepared to sacrifice anything, even my queen, if it ensures a win.”
As the older gentleman helped reset the board, Seth surreptitiously massaged the damaged muscle in his left thigh, a constant reminder of all he lacked in the eyes of the world.
“Speaking of winning,” the judge said without looking up, “how’s the Michelson deal coming along?”
Seth knew the prying question was well-meant, so he didn’t get his back up. “I’ve received an extension on the balance owed until year’s end.”
The judge looked up. “I’d be glad to loan you the money.”
If anyone else had offered, Seth would have rebuffed him soundly. But Arthur Madison wasn’t just anyone else. “I appreciate that, sir, but this is something I must do myself.” Achieving the goal he’d been working toward for over a decade wouldn’t mean anything if he didn’t do it on his own.
The judge’s expression shifted. “You’re only in this bind because you took in your nephew last year. That proves all anyone needs to know about your measure as a man.”
Seth brushed aside the words. Taking Jamie in after the death of his sister was simply something family did. No matter how estranged he and his sister were. Besides, his being a man of honor wasn’t what he needed to prove. “Don’t worry, I have the matter well in hand.”
The judge raised a brow but otherwise didn’t pry.
Which was why Seth felt obliged to expand. “This hotel job in Turnabout, Texas, is what will help me finalize the deal. I just need to wrap things up by the end of the year. My bonus, along with hiring the right person to serve as hotel manager, will seal the deal.”
And he would get both done before year’s end.
No matter what it took.
* * *
An hour later, Arthur Madison stood at the window, watching Seth walk away. It was satisfying to see how far the young man had come in the eleven years he’d known him. From a determined but untrained scrapper to a competent man of business. To see him on the road to becoming a business owner in his own right was quite gratifying.
But even though he had the utmost respect for Seth, he also worried about him. He’d long suspected the most crippling scars Seth bore were not the physical ones responsible for his limp. He only knew bits and pieces of Seth’s history, but he’d never doubted what an inherently good person the young man was. Then again, his opinion was colored by the fact that he’d first met Seth when the then eighteen-year-old had saved his life, at considerable risk to his own.
Now it was his turn to save Seth.
Seth’s entire focus was aimed at showing the world he was as good as any man who could walk unhindered. He was driven to the point that he didn’t seem to know how to enjoy what he already had. Someone had to give him a nudge in the right direction before it was too late.
And if he could help a certain young lady in the process, so much the better.
Arthur glanced again at the letter on the corner of his desk. Abigail was the opposite of Seth in many ways—sweet, optimistic and a bit naive—but she was also intelligent, spirited and had a mind of her own. Like Seth, she also needed a bit of a push to set her feet on the right path.
The plan forming in his mind could be described by some as meddlesome. But he’d employed a similar tactic with his granddaughter six years ago. That had worked out even better than he could have hoped. Could success repeat itself? After all, just as with Reggie and Adam, he would merely set the stage. The rest was up to them.
Speaking of setting the stage... He sat, then reached for a pen and paper.
My dear Abigail...
“How is the hunt for a job going?”
Abigail Fulton grimaced as she set her letters and parcel on the pharmacy counter. “I’ve checked with nearly every business here in Turnabout and no one is hiring.”
Constance Harper, her best friend, gave her a look that seemed equal parts sympathy and amusement. “Surely you’re exaggerating. I can’t believe you checked with every business in town. For instance, you never checked with me.”
Just this week, Constance’s long-held dream had come true when Mr. Flaherty had retired and turned over the keys of the apothecary shop to her.
Abigail patted her friend’s hand. “Don’t even think about offering me a job. You can’t afford to hire me, not for a wage that would allow me to move into the boardinghouse.”
Constance gave a reluctant nod then smiled. “Give it time, something will come up.”
“That’s just it—I’m running out of time. I absolutely have to move out of Everett and Daisy’s home by the end of the year.”
Constance’s expression turned skeptical. “Has Everett or Daisy said anything to make you feel unwelcome?”
“No, not at all.” Not yet anyway.
Living with her older brother had been fine when Abigail was fifteen and Everett was single. But she was twenty now and Everett had a wife and two children. Lately, she’d begun to feel she was taking up much-needed room. Better to work this out herself than to wait for them to bring it up themselves.
“Daisy and Everett are expecting another child.”
“Oh, that’s wonderful.” Constance’s smile faded. “Aren’t you happy?”
“Of course. They’re wonderful parents and have enough love to encompass a houseful of children.” Abigail sighed and leaned her elbows on the counter. “But I can’t justify taking up a room in their home any longer.”
Constance frowned thoughtfully. “Actually, I’d think having you around to help would be more important than ever now.”
Daisy ran the local restaurant and Everett produced the town’s newspaper. Abigail helped out where she could, which was her way of repaying their kindness to her.
“I’ll still help when I’m needed, of course. But it’s past time I get out on my own and gave them the space they need. I just need to prove to someone that I’d make a good employee.”
“Of course you would.” Constance sounded almost indignant.
It was easy for her friend to feel that way—she had an important job and was a respected businesswoman.
“After all,” Constance added, “You’ve been running the town’s only library since you were fifteen years old.”
Abigail waved a hand dismissively. “It barely makes pin money, certainly not enough to allow me to support myself.” Then she fingered her collar. “Actually, there is a job coming available that would meet my needs.”
Constance eyed her suspiciously. “You don’t sound happy about it, whatever it is.”
“I ran into Hilda Burns earlier. Seems she and Joseph Melton are engaged. And they’re planning a Christmas Eve wedding. Which means, come mid-December, Mrs. Ortolon will be looking to hire someone new.”
Hilda’s job consisted mainly of cleaning and cooking at the boardinghouse and using her “free time” to run errands for Mrs. Ortolon. Not only was the work near-drudgery, but it was common knowledge what a hard-to-please employer Mrs. Ortolon could be.
Constance apparently sensed something of her feelings because she touched her arm sympathetically. “You don’t have to decide immediately. You have two and a half months to find something else. Think of it as a last resort.” She paused a moment. “When is the baby due?”
“February.” Abigail lifted her chin. “All right, I either find something else, or the boardinghouse job it is.” She firmly believed there was always a way if one looked hard enough. She need only convince one local businessman she could bring something to his business he hadn’t realized he needed. It would take a bit of imagination, but she was convinced she could find her niche if she just looked hard enough.
Time to change the subject. She touched the parcel she’d set on the counter. “I have something here from Judge Madison.”
Constance shook her head. “It’s beyond me what you two can have to say to each other. I can’t think of a thing you have in common.”
Abigail grinned. “I’ll have you know we enjoy a very lively correspondence on a wide variety of subjects.”
She’d first written to Judge Madison when she learned how he’d given her brother his second chance, a chance that brought him to Turnabout. She’d wanted to thank him, tell him how well it had turned out, and let him know it had given her a fresh start as well.
To her surprise, he’d written back and they’d enjoyed a regular correspondence ever since. She found him charming, intelligent and quite intriguing. Even though they’d never met face-to-face, he’d become like the grandfather she’d never had. And her letters to him had become almost like entries in a diary, sharing hopes and dreams she didn’t tell anyone else.
“It looks like it contains a book of some sort,” Constance observed.
Abigail frowned. It wasn’t unusual for Judge Madison to send her books. In fact, ever since he’d learned about her subscription library he’d periodically sent books from his personal collection. But in her last letter she’d asked him not to send her any more—she simply didn’t have room for them. Had he forgotten? Or simply not believed her?
“Let’s see.” She opened the parcel and her breath caught. It was a copy of Birds of America by John James Audubon. “Oh, Constance, look.” She stroked the cover, anticipating the beauty of the images inside. Perhaps she could find room for one more book...
It took her a moment to notice there were also two letters in the parcel. The first had her name on it, the second had the name Seth.
“Who’s Seth?” Constance asked.
“I have no idea.” Curious, she set aside the book and second envelope, then quickly unfolded the one with her name.
My Dear Abigail,
I will dispense with the normal pleasantries because I have a business proposition for you and I want to get right to it. As you know, I invest in properties from time to time. I recently became aware that the Rose Palace Hotel was on the market. So yes, I have bought the place.
She looked up at her friend. “He’s bought the Rose Palace from Mr. Crandall.”
“I didn’t even know it was for sale. Mr. Crandall must be planning to accompany his sister to Chicago when she goes to the hospital there.”
Abigail nodded and turned back to the letter.
The current owner is already in the midst of enlarging the facility, which suits my needs. I have noted the growth Turnabout has undergone in recent years and I believe this will be a good investment. I am sending Seth Reynolds, an acquaintance of mine, to oversee the remainder of the work.
Abigail glanced at the second envelope. That must be who this was for. But why send it to her?
Here is where my offer comes in. I want to hire you to take charge of the decor, matters such as paint colors, wallpaper, curtains and the like. I would also like you to assist in the interviewing and hiring of new staff. I’m sure your familiarity with the local citizenry will prove invaluable.
In return, I am willing to provide you with something that will solve a problem you are facing. You mentioned that your library had outgrown its space in your sister-in-law’s restaurant. So, as payment for your assistance, I will allocate a room on the hotel’s ground floor to permanently house your library, free of charge.
I have not yet mentioned your involvement to Mr. Reynolds since I was unsure of your response. If you agree, please give him the enclosed note when he arrives as it will explain matters to him. If you decide to decline, simply send me a wire saying so and there will be no hard feelings.
I don’t know the exact date of Mr. Reynolds’s arrival, but it should be within a few days of your receipt of this letter. He has one small task to complete for me and then will head your way.
On a side note, I have decided to spend Christmas in Turnabout with my granddaughter and great-grandchildren. I look forward to finally meeting you in person.
So much good news, it was hard to take it all in.
She would have willingly helped the judge for free. But to have a new place to house her library was exciting!
And she was finally going to be able to be of service to the man who had done so much for her family.
And she’d also have the opportunity to meet him in person when he came for Christmas.
To know that he trusted her to handle the furnishings and decor of his hotel was gratifying. It was a big responsibility but she was absolutely determined to do him proud. Besides, it would be fun. She was already thinking of possibilities.
And then there was Mr. Reynolds. If he was anything like the judge himself, it would be a privilege to work with him.
Since Mr. Reynolds’s arrival date was uncertain, she’d make sure to meet every train coming from that direction until he arrived—the man deserved to be greeted properly.
In the meantime, she’d learn what she could about the hotel—perhaps she’d write a piece for the Gazette about the history of the establishment and the renovations taking place.
And the judge’s letter had given her an idea for how she just might solve all her problems.
“Well?”
Abigail glanced up at Constance, who was not so patiently waiting for an explanation.
A big grin slowly spread across her face. “I think I may have just found the answer I’ve been looking for.”
* * *
Seth shifted, leaning a shoulder against the train window, trying to get more comfortable. The conductor had assured him the stop for Turnabout wasn’t much farther, thank goodness. He was eager to get started on this new job—the sooner he completed it, the sooner he could finalize the deal on the Michelson property and get on with the rest of his life.
He stretched out his left leg as much as the space allowed. Sitting for such a long time tended to tighten up the muscles around his old injury.
He glanced across the aisle and noticed the boy perched there appeared fascinated by his cane. The lad reminded him of Jamie, at least in appearance—the same dark hair, brown eyes and sturdy build. But that’s where the similarities ended. This boy had that fearless air about him, that buoyant spirit reserved for the very young or very innocent. It was something Jamie no longer seemed to possess.
Losing your parents at such an early age did that to a child. As Seth knew only too well.
The shrill train whistle sounded. Finally!
Seth straightened in his seat as he waited for the train to pull to a stop. Then he grasped his cane, using it to lever himself upright. As expected, he found himself leaning on the silver-topped device more than he liked. Experience told him it would be hours before his cramped muscles eased. But he was used to such inconvenience and wouldn’t let it slow him down.
Grabbing his valise with his free hand, he headed for the exit. As he carefully stepped onto the platform, Seth assessed his surroundings. The depot was a midsized painted structure fronted by a wooden platform with three benches lined against the building. A freight wagon waited at the end of the platform, no doubt ready to take on cargo from the train.
There were people on the platform but it wasn’t crowded—nothing like the bustling throngs he’d waded through when he departed the Philadelphia station.
One person in particular drew a closer look—a young lady in a bright blue dress whose hair was an interesting shade of red. But that wasn’t what had snagged his attention—it was the bright, hopeful look she wore, her air of pent-up excitement, as if she was meeting someone she couldn’t wait to see. A family member? Or a sweetheart?
What would it be like to have someone waiting for him with such happy anticipation?
He impatiently shrugged off that fanciful thought and moved toward the depot. The first order of business was to acquire directions to the hotel. He’d just step inside and ask—
“Excuse me, sir, are you by chance Mr. Seth Reynolds?”
Startled, Seth turned to see the young redheaded woman focusing on a balding gentleman who’d just stepped off the train.
The man she’d addressed gruffly dismissed her. “Sorry, young lady, but you’re mistaken.” With a tip of his hat, he walked away.
The woman sighed and turned back to the train.
Why was she looking for him? She appeared too young to be Judge Madison’s granddaughter. But he must have arranged to have someone meet him. It was both unexpected and unnecessary. But he couldn’t just leave her standing there.
Seth steeled himself to ignore the pain in his leg and took a firm step in her direction. “Excuse me.”
She turned and met his gaze. The impact of her bright blue eyes startled him. A stray curl had escaped the confines of her pins and fallen over her forehead. For just a moment he had the absurd desire to tuck it back in for her.
“Yes?”
Her question brought him back to himself. Taken aback by the undisciplined direction his thoughts had taken yet again, he tugged sharply at one of his cuffs. “I couldn’t help but overhear you just now. I’m Seth Reynolds.”
“Oh.” For a moment, all she did was stare.
Which gave him time to study her. Hair the color of mahogany and blue eyes that held a touch of green. Her clothes were well made but not the height of fashion. She wasn’t a beauty in the traditional sense—her mouth was a little too large, her forehead a bit too broad. But there was something about her...
When the silence drew out, he gave a sardonic smile. “I take it I’m not what you expected.” Was it the cane that had tied her tongue? Had the judge not explained?
His words brought a touch of color to her cheeks. “My apologies. It’s just, Judge Madison said you were a friend of his, so I assumed you’d be nearer his age. But that was silly of me. I’m sure he has friends of all ages. Just look at me.”
Definitely not the man’s granddaughter then. “So, you’re a friend of Judge Madison’s? Did he send you to meet me?”
She waved a hand, smiling as if he’d said something amusing. “Not exactly. But I couldn’t let a friend of the judge’s show up with no one to welcome him. So I’ve been meeting trains ever since I got his letter.”
Was the woman always this chatty?
Then she gave him another friendly smile. “Actually, he’s hired me to help with the renovations at the Rose Palace. You and I will be working together—isn’t that wonderful?”
She delivered that bit of information as if she thought it would make him happy.
It didn’t.
Chapter Two (#u40a53551-a82d-577a-b8fa-795d1a090584)
Seth tried to make sense of her words. Did the judge think he couldn’t handle this job alone?
The redhead’s smile faltered slightly—his lack of enthusiasm must have shown on his face.
Before he could say anything, however, she pulled an envelope from her skirt pocket and held it out to him.
“My apologies for springing this on you—Everett says my mouth sometimes gets ahead of my thoughts. Perhaps you should read this letter from Judge Madison before we go any further. I think it will explain matters.”
He accepted the proffered letter, his mind trying to make sense of her convoluted story. Who was Everett and why did he have any relevance to this? “Thank you, Miss...”
“Oh, I’m so sorry, where are my manners? I’m Abigail Fulton.”
“Well, Miss Fulton, if you will excuse me?” He executed a short bow and managed to make it to a nearby bench without leaning on his cane too heavily.
So, Judge Madison had arranged for him to have an assistant. Having someone to help with matters concerning the locals would no doubt be useful. But Seth had always selected his own assistants if he felt he needed one. And this young lady would definitely not have been his choice. She looked like she would be more at home in a Sunday school class than a business office.
Besides, her presence could prove to be a distraction. He glanced her way again. Already she was claiming more of his attention than he usually gave strangers.
Because she was such a chatterbox, of course.
More troubling was the fact that Judge Madison hadn’t mentioned this to him personally. Had he thought Seth lacking in some way? Or did he have some other reason?
Perhaps she was a friend of his granddaughter’s, someone he was attempting to help in some way. He supposed that was the man’s right.
Whatever the reason, Seth decided he could be gracious about it. Judge Madison had always been good to him, had been willing to take a chance on him when no one else would. He could extend the same courtesy to this young lady.
So long as she did her job adequately.
He unfolded the letter and scanned the opening. Then he halted and started over, carefully taking in each word.
I trust you made the trip to Turnabout in good form. As you have no doubt gathered, there are a few matters I failed to clarify before you left. This was partly because they were not yet definite, and partly because I thought it best you not form any preconceived notions before meeting Miss Fulton.
That being said, I have asked Miss Fulton to handle the decor aspects of the renovation and to partner with you on staffing decisions.
His jaw tightened. That could throw a hitch in his plans. Just how involved would she want to be in the staffing process?
It is my hope that this will be a mutually beneficial arrangement for you both. It will relieve you of the burden of making design decisions, allowing you to focus on overseeing the construction. And the combination of her knowledge of the local townsfolk and your understanding of the skills required should make for a highly effective partnership as you two work on the staffing.
You will receive your usual bonus at the project’s completion and Miss Fulton will earn the means to achieve one of her own dreams.
Seth frowned. What did that mean?
Working with Miss Fulton should not prove an onerous task. Despite her youth, I have found Abigail to be an imaginative, witty and charmingly spirited young lady. I believe she will be a fast learner and an able partner.
I look forward to seeing the results of your collaboration when I journey to Turnabout in December. If you should have any questions or concerns, you know how to reach me.
Sincerely,
Arthur Madison
As Seth read, he grew more and more incredulous. The judge wanted Miss Fulton to handle the decorating? He’d thought his employer wanted to give the hotel an air of sophistication and elegance. What did this provincial miss know about hotel decor? She’d probably never stayed in a truly elegant hotel in her life. If he had to keep a close eye on her choices it could actually lead to more work for him rather than less.
He realized he’d stiffened, so he deliberately relaxed. If this was what Judge Madison wanted, he’d just have to make the best of it.
She’d just better not get in the way of his plans.
* * *
Abigail watched Mr. Reynolds as he read the letter. He was certainly a different sort of man than what she’d expected. For one thing, he was younger than she’d imagined—he looked to be roughly thirty. And unlike the judge, who was so warm and forthcoming in his letters, this man seemed aloof and guarded.
To be fair, though, that might be due to travel weariness. And her announcement had seemed to catch him unawares.
His silver-handled walking stick had at first seemed an affectation. But then she’d noticed the slight stiffness of his gait as he moved to the bench and she’d realized the cane was more than a mere accessory.
Though his expression remained closed as he read the letter, she sensed he was displeased with the news. What was he unhappy about—sharing responsibility for the work, sharing it with a woman, or something else?
When he finally lowered the letter, he seemed lost in thought.
Abigail cleared her throat. “Is there a problem?”
Mr. Reynolds glanced up as if he’d forgotten she was there. “Not at all.” He folded the letter and slid it inside his jacket as he leveraged himself off the bench with his cane. “My apologies. I suppose I’m tired from my travels.”
His expression gave away nothing of his thoughts. Then he met her gaze. “May I ask how you came to know Judge Madison?”
She’d prefer to discuss their assignment, but she supposed it was a logical question. “Of course. We’ve corresponded regularly for going on five years now.”
He raised a brow at that. “Corresponded? So, you’ve never actually met.”
His tone remained neutral but something about his demeanor made her feel defensive. “Not in person, no. I’m looking forward to having that pleasure when he visits in December. But I believe we’ve gotten to know each other quite well in all the ways that matter.”
“I see.” He tugged on the cuff of his jacket. “With your indulgence, we can discuss how best to proceed with this...partnership after I’ve had a chance to freshen up a bit.”
“Yes, of course.”
“I’d appreciate it if you could direct me to the hotel.”
He seemed eager to be rid of her. But she had other ideas. “I’ll do better than that. After you make arrangements to have your baggage delivered, I’ll walk you there—it’s on my way.”
“On your way?”
“To the town’s restaurant. My sister-in-law owns and operates it and I promised to help her today.”
A few minutes later, as they walked down the sidewalk, Abigail pointed out the various businesses they passed. The man said very little in response so she did her best to keep the conversation going on her own. She noticed, however, that his gaze seemed to take in everything, so his silence apparently wasn’t due to disinterest.
Perhaps he just wasn’t the talkative type.
Finally, as they approached the hotel, she pointed straight ahead. “The Rose Palace is that red brick building up there.”
She could hear the sounds of construction above the other town noise, but since the work was taking place on the far side it wasn’t visible from their vantage.
She cut him a sideways glance, trying to discern his thoughts as he studied the building, but as before, his expression gave very little away.
When they reached the entrance, he gallantly opened the door and let her precede him. At least there was nothing wrong with his manners.
The curtains were open so the lobby had a cheery, sunshine-filled warmth to it. Abigail smiled—it was as if the place was putting its best face forward for his benefit.
“Can I help you folks?”
The question came from Mr. Crandall, standing at his usual post behind the guest book on the front counter.
Abigail led her companion forward. “Good day, Mr. Crandall. Allow me to introduce Mr. Seth Reynolds, the gentleman Judge Madison sent to oversee the renovations.”
She turned to him. “Mr. Reynolds, this is Edgar Crandall, the former owner of the Rose Palace.”
Mr. Crandall held out his hand. “Welcome to Turnabout and to the Rose Palace. We have a room all ready for you.”
Abigail took that as her cue. “I’m sure you’d like to get settled in, and I need to head to the restaurant. Perhaps we could continue our conversation over a late lunch.” She smiled. “In fact, you could meet me there. It has some of the best food you’ll find in these parts and it’s a short walk from here. Mr. Crandall can direct you.”
He leaned casually against the counter. “Actually, I’d prefer to eat here. I want to get a feel for the quality of the hotel’s current menu offerings.”
Even leaning against the counter, he managed to maintain his all-business air.
“Of course. Shall I return in, say, two hours?”
He nodded. “I look forward to resuming our conversation.”
Now why didn’t she believe that?
Abigail made her exit, trying not to lose heart.
Mr. Reynolds wasn’t the friendly, open person she’d been hoping for. Perhaps after he’d had time to rest from his trip he’d thaw a bit. Otherwise it might be difficult working with him for the next few months.
For all his standoffishness, however, there was something about him she found intriguing. And it wasn’t just that he was handsome, which he was, in a brooding sort of way. There was something she’d seen in those cinnamon-brown eyes of his, something that tugged at her, that spoke of a buried vulnerability behind his guarded attitude. There was his limp, of course, but it went deeper.
One thing was certain, he hadn’t been pleased to learn she’d be working with him. How would he react when she told him she wanted the job of hotel manager?
She’d given it a lot of prayer and thought. In fact, she had thought of little else since she’d received the judge’s letter. She’d even discussed it with Constance, testing the idea with her levelheaded friend.
The thought of managing a hotel on her own was daunting but exciting at the same time. If she could convince Mr. Reynolds and Judge Madison to give her the chance, however, she was absolutely convinced she could do it. After all, Constance had responsibility for the pharmacy and she was the same age.
True, Constance had gone to school back east to train for her position. But it wasn’t as if Abigail hadn’t prepared in her own way. She’d spent every minute she could with Mr. Crandall, getting his insights into what the job entailed and what he saw as the main challenges. And Constance had agreed that she had a way with people that would serve her well in a job like this.
It was just a matter of convincing Mr. Reynolds of her suitability. And surely, if he was anything like Judge Madison, he would keep an open mind on the matter.
* * *
Seth ignored the urge to watch his would-be work associate leave. There was something about her that got under his skin. But he didn’t have time for such distractions—he had to focus on his almost-within-reach goal.
He turned back to the former owner. “Mr. Crandall, let me say on behalf of Judge Madison that he appreciates your willingness to remain until we can transition to a new manager.”
Edgar Crandall nodded. “It was the least I could do. It’s good that you showed up today, though. I’m not sure how much longer I could have stuck around.”
Seth frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Didn’t Judge Madison tell you? The whole reason I sold this place was because my sister needs special medical care. I’m taking her to a doctor in Chicago as soon as possible. I told the judge I’d stay until his representative arrived, but I was beginning to think I’d have to renege and leave before that happened.”
It seemed Judge Madison had neglected to impart yet another piece of crucial information. He knew his employer well enough to believe it wasn’t an oversight. Which meant there was more to this than appeared on the surface. What was he up to?
For now, though, that question would have to wait. He hadn’t counted on having to hire new staff so soon. Maybe he could find someone to man the desk temporarily. “When are you planning to leave?”
“Norma and I will board the morning train tomorrow. We’re already packed and ready.”
“Do you have any recommendations for who can step in until we hire a permanent replacement?”
The man turned to retrieve a room key. “Abigail’s been hanging around here the past few days, studying the place and trying to learn what she can about the different jobs.”
He supposed that would make her insight into the staffing process more useful. “That was enterprising of her.”
Crandall smiled. “You’ll find Abigail is a fast learner.”
Seth decided to change the subject. “How many guests do you have currently?”
“We’re limiting our bookings to three guest rooms, the ones farthest from the construction. The noise level is a problem for the other rooms.” The man handed him the key. “You’ll be the exception. I have you in room six—top of the stairs and second room on the right.” He cast a furtive glance at Seth’s cane. “My sister and I occupy the first-floor suite. It’ll be vacant starting tomorrow if you prefer to have that space.”
Seth’s jaw tightened at this reminder of his perceived infirmity. But he merely nodded and turned toward the stairs. Though he’d long ago accepted that this was how he would be viewed, he still felt the sting each time it happened.
As he climbed the stairs he stepped deliberately, regardless of the pain. It helped him to concentrate on the job ahead. He would take a look at the state of the construction as soon as he freshened up from his trip.
All in all, from his initial look, the atmosphere here was overblown and cozy rather than elegant, rustic rather than refined. Nothing here spoke of sophistication and luxury.
Could he really count on Miss Fulton to handle the decor so that it was brought up to the judge’s normal standards? And to get it all done in time to wrap up by the end of the year?
Why couldn’t the judge have partnered him with someone who had more experience than the chatty young redhead?
How had his employer described her in his letter—witty, imaginative and charmingly spirited, a fast learner and an able partner? High praise from a man he’d always thought of as keenly perceptive.
But then again, the judge only knew her via correspondence. He’d never actually met Miss Fulton in person.
So, no offense to his employer, but he would form his own opinions about just how capable the woman actually was.
And so far, he was not impressed.
Chapter Three (#u40a53551-a82d-577a-b8fa-795d1a090584)
“Did you have a chance to look around yet?” Abigail had just taken a seat across the table from Mr. Reynolds in the hotel dining room.
He inclined his head. “I did.”
The man didn’t seem to be any more forthcoming now than he’d been earlier. “And what are your thoughts?” she prodded.
“In my opinion, having everything completed by Christmas is an ambitious goal, but it is definitely achievable.”
“Oh.” Was this something he and the judge had discussed? “I know Judge Madison is planning to visit over the holidays, but I wasn’t aware that that was our deadline.”
He gave her an infuriatingly superior look. “It’s always good to have an end date in mind when starting any project. And Christmas seems an appropriate one in this case, especially since Judge Madison will be in town.”
Choosing to ignore his tone, she smiled. “I shall defer to you on that since I understand you have experience overseeing this sort of work.”
“I have experience in many different areas.”
Goodness, did the man have to be so stiff and solemn all the time?
Della Long, who had taken over the kitchen when Norma Crandall became too ill, arrived to take their orders. Abigail performed the introductions, then they made their selections from the very limited menu.
Once they were alone again, Mr. Reynolds picked up the conversational reins. “Mr. Crandall introduced me to Walter Hendricks, the man handling the construction.”
Abigail nodded. “Mr. Hendricks and his two sons are good men and they do good work. You can see examples all over town, including the schoolhouse and the town hall.”
“So you know them personally?”
“Of course. It’s a small town. Most everyone here knows everyone else.” His lack of conversation was making it difficult for her to discern how he felt about things. “Did you have the opportunity to inspect their work?”
“Briefly. I plan to inspect it in more detail over the next few days.”
“Well, I’m certain you’ll be pleased with what you see.”
He merely nodded noncommittally.
Deciding things might go better if she learned something about him personally, she changed the subject. “I actually have a favor to ask.”
He raised a brow. “And that is?”
Abigail smiled at the touch of wariness in his tone. “It’s nothing onerous, I assure you.” She retrieved a small notebook and pencil from her pocket. “My brother, Everett, owns the local newspaper and I help occasionally. I’d like to interview you for the next issue.”
Mr. Reynolds frowned. “I can’t imagine anything about me would be noteworthy.”
Was he just being modest or did he really think so little of himself? “Everyone has a story of some sort to tell. Besides, folks are always interested to learn more when someone new moves to town. And the hotel renovation itself is big news around here.” She opened the pad. “You don’t mind, do you?”
His expression didn’t change but she sensed his hesitation. Or was it annoyance?
He finally waved a hand, as if in surrender. “Very well, but let’s keep it short. There’s not much to tell anyway.”
Careful to keep the note of victory from her expression, she smiled. “Thank you. Let’s start with you telling me something about yourself—where you’re from, your family, what exactly it is you do, that sort of thing.”
“I’m from Philadelphia and my job is that of property manager for Judge Madison.”
“And what does a property manager do?”
“Judge Madison doesn’t care much for travel. Whenever something needs close supervision on any of his out-of-town properties, I act as his on-site representative and handle whatever needs attention.”
“That sounds like a lot of responsibility. Judge Madison must have a great deal of faith in you.”
He shrugged.
Definitely a man of few words. Moving on... “And your family? Are you married?”
“No.”
Ignoring the little spurt of pleasure that gave her, she pressed on. “Parents? Siblings?”
“Deceased.” His response was chopped and his tone warned against further probing.
“Oh, I’m so sorry.” Was that why he seemed so closed off? She couldn’t imagine being entirely on her own. Even when she’d spent those long, lonely years in boarding school, she’d known Everett was out there and would come running should she need him. And she’d had holidays to look forward to, when the two of them could spend precious time together.
How long had he been on his own? “That must—”
But he cut her off, brushing aside her sympathy. “I lost them a long time ago. I’m used to being on my own.”
As if that would make it any easier to bear. But she took the hint. “Well then, can you tell me how long you’ve worked for Judge Madison?”
“Going on eleven years now.”
“And do you have any hobbies?” she asked, desperate to get some kind of personal insight. “Something you enjoy doing when you’re not working?”
He made an impatient gesture. “I don’t have time for hobbies. The judge keeps me busy. And that’s how I like it.”
The man was impossible! How could she get him to open up and give her more than these terse, uninformative answers?
Before she could ask anything else, Della returned with their food. Abigail set aside her pencil and notebook while the meal was placed before them. She wasn’t getting much to work with anyway. This was going to be a very dry article unless she injected more life into it herself with personal observations.
Of course, he had to actually do something for her to observe before even that much was possible.
* * *
Seth had never liked talking about himself, so as soon as the waitress departed, he took the offensive. “I believe it’s my turn to ask you a few questions.”
His words brought a pleased light to her eyes. Apparently, unlike him, she did like talking about herself.
“Of course,” she said, lifting her fork. “My parents are no longer around, but I have an older brother who’s married with two children.” She smiled. “I’ve already mentioned that Daisy, my sister-in-law, runs a restaurant.” She touched the pencil on the table. “And Everett owns and operates the town newspaper. I work with both of them from time to time.”
Interesting, but not the information he’d been after. “You said you and Judge Madison have been corresponding for a number of years. What initiated the correspondence?”
“That’s a fun story. He did an amazing kindness for my brother several years ago and I wrote to thank him. It continued from there. We discovered that we had similar tastes in literature and in food. He introduced me to Cervantes, and I introduced him to the joys of apple-pecan pie.”
Interesting. What amazing kindness had Judge Madison done for her brother? But she didn’t elaborate further so he moved to something else. “Do you have any experience doing the sort of work the judge is asking of you?”
“Not actual hands-on experience.” She said that lightly, as if it was inconsequential. “But I’ve studied as much as I could find and it sounds like fun. I don’t imagine it will be terribly difficult.”
He found her offhand manner irritating. Then he remembered the judge’s cryptic mention of allowing her to “earn the means to achieve one of her dreams.” “What will you gain from doing this?”
She frowned—was it at his question or his tone? Had she picked up on his irritation? She might be more perceptive than he’d given her credit for.
“You mean, besides repaying a friend?” Her tone said that should be enough.
Then she smiled, her mood seeming to change with dizzying speed. “I run a small subscription library that’s currently housed in Daisy’s restaurant. Judge Madison offered me a ground-floor room here in the hotel to house it.”
Yet another thing his employer had failed to mention to him. “So we’ll need to account for that when we address the ground floor.”
She nodded. “I’ve already looked around and found the perfect place.”
Of course she had, but he wouldn’t be ready to discuss that until he had a chance to evaluate things himself. “We’ll certainly look at all the options when the time is right. We want to make certain the location benefits all parties.”
She studied him thoughtfully, then nodded. “Of course.”
They both focused on their meals after that, eating in silence for several minutes. At first he found the respite from her chatter soothing, but after a while the silence began to feel oddly oppressive.
Finally, he spoke up. “Tell me about this library of yours.”
Her face lit up again. “It’s a subscription library that I started about five years ago with just the books my brother and I owned.
“Over the years I’ve taken the money I earned through the subscriptions and purchased new titles to add to it,” she continued. “And from time to time Judge Madison sends me some of his books as well.”
She gave a sharing-an-insight smile. “He always says he’s just getting rid of some of his older books to make room for new ones, but I suspect he’s just being generous.”
Seth suspected she was right. The judge obviously had a soft spot for Miss Fulton. But he’d noticed the man often enjoyed championing lost causes.
She waved her fork, obviously unable to keep her hands still while she talked. “Anyway, it’s not as large as the libraries you’d find in big cities, but now I’ll have the space to expand it the way I want to.”
What did she know of big-city libraries? “A worthy goal. And I suppose having the library here in the hotel could be viewed as a bonus for our guests.”
She beamed at him. “Oh, I hadn’t thought of that. What a wonderful idea. I could even waive my subscription fee for guests, at least for their first book.”
Being the focus of that wide-eyed, admiring smile took him aback. He wasn’t used to such attention. Scrambling to get his thoughts back under control, Seth brought the discussion back around to the job ahead of them. “The food here seems passable, but not memorable.”
Miss Fulton grimaced agreement. “It was better when Norma ran the kitchen. But Della is trying. With some direction, and help with menu planning, she could be an excellent cook.”
“You said you’ve worked in your sister-in-law’s restaurant. Do you feel qualified to help in that arena?” Having the chatty Miss Fulton in charge of the kitchen might keep her busy enough to stay out of his way.
“Of course.” She pointed her fork at him. “In fact, I’ve already been thinking about this.” She leaned forward, her expression warming with enthusiasm. “Since we have so few guests while we’re under construction, it makes sense to get their food orders the day before and then we can plan all meals first thing in the morning. It will make the best use of Della’s time and our money.”
That was a surprisingly good plan. “Doesn’t the hotel dining room get outside customers?”
“Occasionally. I thought of that, too. One of our offerings could be a soup or stew, which can be easily stretched to serve additional people.”
The woman continued to surprise him. Perhaps there was more to her than he’d first thought.
She lowered her fork. “But we have a more pressing staffing issue. Did Mr. Crandall tell you he’s leaving tomorrow?”
So she knew about that. “Yes. And that’s a key position that needs to be filled immediately, at least on a temporary basis.” He would let his future hotel manager take care of hiring key positions like the permanent desk clerk.
“But don’t worry,” he assured her, “I can handle the job for a day or two. That should give me time to interview candidates and make certain I get the right person for the job.” Though it would delay his efforts to inspect the property in the detail he needed to.
“We.”
Her tone and expression were equally determined.
“I beg your pardon.”
She met his gaze without flinching. “We will interview candidates. Judge Madison asked us to handle the staffing together, remember?”
What did this barely-out-of-the-schoolroom miss know about interviewing job candidates? “Of course. I’m sure your insights will be most helpful.” But he planned to establish from the outset that the final decisions would be his. His whole future rested on him ultimately hiring Bartholomew Michelson as the hotel manager.
Miss Fulton’s face took on a suspiciously casual expression. “You know, you’re going to be quite busy familiarizing yourself with the hotel and town for the next few days. Rather than you also assuming the manager duties, perhaps I could handle that piece for now.”
He sensed there was more going on here than her being helpful. “You misunderstand. The position we’ll be hiring for is desk clerk. I’ll assume the role of hotel manager myself while the construction is ongoing, and fill it permanently once we’re closer to the completion date.”
“I see.” She frowned, then seemed to rally. “Then, since we are sharing the responsibilities for the renovation, I think we should also share the responsibilities of the hotel-manager position.”
Why ever would she want such a responsibility? Did she think it would give her some sort of prestige? “That’s a generous offer but I think I should take care of this myself.”
She stiffened. “Are you saying you don’t think I can handle the job?”
“Do you have any experience in doing so?”
“I studied the work Mr. Crandall did, and even relieved him on occasion at the front desk when he had to tend to Norma.”
“It was inappropriate for Mr. Crandall to leave you in charge when you’re not employed here.”
“But I am employed here. Did you forget already?”
He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “That’s for an altogether different function. I’m sure Judge Madison intended to have you work in a more behind-the-scenes capacity—certainly not to do actual hotel work.”
Her eyes narrowed and her chin came up. “Judge Madison didn’t tell you any such thing. And this partnership between us will only work if we respect each other.”
He tried a different approach. “To be blunt, you admit to having very little experience. And being hotel manager involves much more than working the front desk. In fact, in many larger establishments, the manager never works the front desk. And if I have to train you on those finer points, I might as well do the job myself.”
“But this is the perfect time for me to learn. There are only three rooms occupied and the staff has been reduced to one maid, one cook and the night clerk. So supervision won’t be as demanding.”
“Which shows how inexperienced you are. With such a small staff, the hotel manager will not only need to help work the desk, but also see that all the smaller tasks get done, like tending to guest luggage, providing concierge duties and handling complaints.”
Her gaze didn’t falter. “All of which I’ll absolutely be able to manage.”
Stubborn woman. She obviously had a very high estimation of her abilities. “Do you honestly see yourself carting luggage and trunks up and down the stairs as required?” His conscience twinged as he admitted to himself that he would have trouble managing that himself with his injured leg. Too bad this place didn’t have elevators.
Her expression tightened. “I’d find a way to manage.”
He could see he’d need to act quickly in hiring a new desk clerk. “Perhaps a compromise is in order. We can divide up the front desk work between us—you take a portion of the hours and I take a portion.” He could make certain she was on duty during the less busy time, and he could keep an eye on her as well.
She studied him, and for a moment he thought she’d dig in her heels. Then her expression shifted.
“Very well. You obviously want me to prove myself and I can understand that. But in return, will you give me your word that this is just a first step. When a suitable time has elapsed, and I’ve proven myself capable, you will train me on the responsibilities of a hotel manager.”
“Agreed,” he said without hesitation. If she could handle the desk job—and he wasn’t convinced she could—then he’d humor her with the additional training.
And if she could eventually take care of some tasks, like managing small grievances that might pop up with the staff, it would free him to focus on the bigger picture.
After all, at the end of the day, Bartholomew Michelson would be hired as hotel manager when the time came to fill the position permanently. That was how it had to be.
Time to change the subject. “Do you have any thoughts on the decor?”
He wasn’t surprised when she nodded.
“I’ve actually been thinking about that quite a lot since I received Judge Madison’s letter. I want to draw on the word rose in the hotel’s name for inspiration.”
Seth winced as he had a sudden vision of pink splashes everywhere and overblown cabbage roses adorning every drape, carpet and bed covering in the place. “Before you go too far down that path, I should tell you I believe the place needs a new name.”
“What’s wrong with the current name? I’ve always thought Rose Palace has an elegant feel to it.”
“On the contrary, Rose Palace conjures up a gaudy, old-fashioned image. Something more understated and sophisticated would better fit the image of an establishment owned by Judge Arthur Madison.”
“Well, I think the name is charming, especially when you know the story behind it.”
What was with her and stories? Was it because her brother was a reporter? “And that story is?”
“From what I’ve heard, the man who built this place had a daughter named Rose who spent her life confined to a wheelchair. That man not only named this place for her, but also designed the entire first floor for her benefit.”
She waved a hand. “If you’ll notice, many of the decorative carvings and embellishments are at chair-rail height. There are no raised thresholds, and the owner’s suite is on the first floor.”
“Quite sentimental. But I doubt any future guests will know that story.” He ignored her outraged look. “We need a name that carries meaning today.”
She leaned back, her expression issuing a challenge. “I suppose you have something more appropriate in mind?”
“Simple is better. Naming it the Madison or the Madison House after its new owner strikes me as an appropriate choice.”
She wrinkled her nose, obviously unimpressed. “Is that really what Judge Madison wants?”
“He didn’t say one way or the other, but I can’t imagine he’d object. He usually goes with my recommendations on such matters.”
Her face suddenly lit up. “I know. Why don’t we call it the Madison Rose Hotel?”
It was his turn to be unimpressed. Why did she have to challenge him on every front? “The Madison Rose? That doesn’t make sense.”
“Actually, I think it has a nice ring to it. It embraces the hotel’s history while acknowledging the new ownership.” She stabbed a carrot with enthusiasm, obviously convinced she’d settled the matter.
He rubbed his jaw, deciding he should pick his battles. “As a compromise, I suppose it’s not a bad choice.”
She nodded as if his agreement had been a foregone conclusion, then glanced around the room. “I still think we can use the rose as a theme for our decor.”
That again. “If you’re thinking of using shades of red or pink throughout—”
She waved a hand dismissively. “Not to excess. Just touches here and there. And I plan to interlace it with spring green. Trust me, it will be tasteful.”
Seth withheld comment. Whether they were in accord on their definitions of tasteful remained to be seen.
* * *
While the conversation so far hadn’t gone as she’d hoped, Abigail decided there was reason to be optimistic. Mr. Reynolds seemed willing to keep an open mind. And since he wasn’t planning to hire someone to fill the hotel-manager position until the renovation neared completion, she had time to prove herself capable. If he himself trained her, how could he refuse to hire her when the time came?
The rest of the meal passed pleasantly enough. Once they’d finished, her companion pulled out his pocket watch and flicked it open.
“Do you have another appointment?” Abigail had hoped they’d have more time to discuss their working arrangement.
He put his watch away. “I’ve asked Mr. Crandall to have everyone gather in the kitchen at two o’clock for a short meeting.”
He stood, placing his napkin on the table. “If you’ll excuse me, it’s almost that time.”
She quickly stood as well. “I’ll join you.”
He raised a brow. “I assumed you already knew everyone.”
“I do. But I think we should introduce ourselves from the outset as partners. We can also let them know what to expect both during construction and after.”
He didn’t seem pleased with the idea, but he waved a hand toward the kitchen, indicating she should precede him.
Flashing her brightest smile, Abigail moved past him toward the kitchen. At least now he knew she intended to be a full partner in this undertaking.
People tended to treat her like a naive little girl to be patted on the head and humored. Hopefully, Mr. Reynolds would now take note that she was more than that.
If not, she’d just have to keep giving him reasons to take note.
Chapter Four (#u40a53551-a82d-577a-b8fa-795d1a090584)
Abigail stepped into the kitchen to find all the staff assembled, looking as if they were about to meet their executioner.
She supposed it was natural for them to be concerned since they were exchanging one boss for another. Hopefully she and Mr. Reynolds would be able to set their minds at ease.
Since the construction began and the number of guests they were accommodating had been cut back, the hotel staff had also been reduced from six to three. In addition to Della Long, there was Ruby Mills, the maid, and Larry Scruggs, the night clerk.
Mr. Crandall stepped forward as soon as she and Mr. Reynolds entered the kitchen. “Folks, this is Mr. Seth Reynolds, who’s come here as the new owner’s representative to oversee all the construction work being done. And you all know Abigail Fulton. She’s going to be working with Mr. Reynolds while he’s here.”
The man then turned to the three staff members standing behind him and introduced each in turn. When he’d finished, Mr. Reynolds took control of the conversation.
“I want to assure you that even though Mr. Crandall is leaving tomorrow, everything will remain as it is for the time being.”
Abigail noticed that the three employees were each reacting to Mr. Reynolds in their own way. All had obviously taken note of his cane. Larry couldn’t seem to meet the man’s gaze, Ruby appeared unable to tear her gaze away from the cane and Della appeared merely curious.
Mr. Reynolds continued speaking in the same businesslike manner, seeming not to notice anything amiss. “Over the course of the coming weeks, as we expand and redesign the interior of this hotel, we’ll also be looking into menu and service changes that will add to the overall atmosphere we wish to provide to our guests.”
Abigail almost rolled her eyes. Was he trying to reassure the staff or make them more anxious? “Not that there’s anything wrong with the meals and service you’ve been providing,” she said as he paused. “We merely want to try a different approach, something to go with the new look the hotel will have when the renovation is complete.”
He shot her an irritated look, then continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “I’ll be talking individually with each of you over the coming days to discuss these changes and how they will affect your responsibilities. I’ll also answer any questions you have and work up a timetable.”
“In the meantime,” Abigail added, “we know you’ll continue to offer your usual high quality of service.” She turned to the former owner. “We also want to let you know that we wish you and your sister the medical cure you’re seeking in Chicago and that our prayers will be with you both.”
The rest of the staff nodded and offered their well wishes. Even Mr. Reynolds had the grace to do the same.
After that the meeting broke up. As they moved back to the lobby, Mr. Reynolds cut her a sideways glance. “I take it you don’t approve of the way I handled the staff.”
“Perhaps a bit more empathy in the way you deliver your information wouldn’t go amiss.”
“Mollycoddling employees rarely provides the desired results. They are Judge Madison’s employees, not our friends.”
“They can be both. And being kind isn’t the same as mollycoddling. Employees who feel valued are employees who will go the extra mile for you.”
“And just how many employees have you dealt with thus far?”
Her cheeks warmed. “None, of course. But that doesn’t mean I don’t know how to deal with people.”
“People are not the same as employees.”
Before she could respond, he changed the subject. “Would you be so good as to give me directions to the judge’s granddaughter’s home. I’d like to stop by sometime to pay my respects.”
“Actually, I can do better than that,” she said impulsively. “There’s a group of four families here in Turnabout who have connections to Judge Madison. Reggie Barr, the judge’s granddaughter, is naturally a part of that group. Tomorrow is Sunday and we all get together for lunch after the church service. Why don’t you come as my guest?”
He seemed slightly taken aback at her invitation. Surely he wasn’t so staid as to consider that too forward of her?
“I don’t know—”
She quickly interrupted his protest. “I assure you, you’d be most welcome. And in addition to the Barrs, you’d be meeting a number of well-respected citizens of Turnabout in a relaxed, informal setting. And that includes the rest of my family.”
And just maybe, once he got to know folks better, he’d drop some of his standoffish demeanor enough for them to become friends.
* * *
Seth didn’t consider intruding on an established social gathering with a room full of strangers, no matter how congenial, to be a relaxing pastime. But she was correct, this was a way to get himself into the social mix of the town in an expedient manner. “Very well, if you’re certain I wouldn’t be intruding, then I accept.”
“Wonderful. And I’ll be happy to accompany you to the service tomorrow as well. I’m in the choir, but you can sit with my brother and his family during the service.”
“Of course. Thank you.” Seth had had an uneasy relationship with God for quite a while and didn’t make attending Sunday service a priority. But he knew it would be expected of him.
Then he remembered something she’d said earlier. “I’m curious—how did there come to be four families here with connections to Judge Madison? I understand the Barrs—their connection is familial. And you mentioned he once did your brother a kindness. But that still leaves two others.”
She nodded. “Actually, all four men, including Mr. Barr, are originally from the Philadelphia area, which, come to think of it, should give you some common ground with them.”
“Four different men moved here from Philadelphia?” Something suddenly clicked. That’s why the name Everett Fulton had sounded familiar. “Your brother, Everett, you said he runs the newspaper here—he was a reporter for a newspaper in Philadelphia six or so years back, wasn’t he?”
She looked pleased. “He was. Do you know him then?”
“Only by reputation.” There’d been a scandal attached to the man’s name, something about an inaccurate article that led to a public figure’s downfall. No wonder he’d moved so far away. But why had Judge Madison gotten involved? And did Miss Fulton know about the scandal?
“Everett had a rough time of it for a while.” Miss Fulton said. “I’m not sure of the details—he doesn’t like to talk about it so I don’t pry. But things have really turned around for him since he moved here. Especially since he met and married Daisy. I’ve never seen him happier.”
So she didn’t know about the scandal. Perhaps that was for the best. Such knowledge would definitely dull the sparkle of her rose-colored outlook.
“As for the connection between the four families and Judge Madison,” she continued, “he’s the one who arranged for all four men—my brother, Adam Barr, Mitch Parker and Chance Dawson—to travel here together. His reasons for doing so are between him and the men.” She grinned. “I’ve always thought it added an air of romance and mystery to the group and I used to spend hours making up stories about it in my head.”
He certainly believed that—she seemed the type to romanticize even the most mundane of happenings. But it was interesting that all four men had traveled here together.
She brushed at her skirt. “I know you’re probably still tired from your trip. Would you like me to come by here in the morning before the service or would you rather meet us in front of the newspaper office?”
“I’ll come to you.”
She gave him directions and then made her exit.
As Seth climbed the stairs he tried to get his thoughts in order. This job was turning out to be something quite different than what he’d anticipated, but not because of the work itself. Having to keep up with the unorthodox Miss Fulton was going to require a whole extra layer of his attention.
But he was confident he could handle it. Strange, though, that he was feeling more intrigued than irritated by the prospect. When had his attitude shifted?
He shook his head. All he needed was a good night’s rest and he would be up to facing any silly scheme she tried to throw at him.
In fact, he was rather looking forward to it.
* * *
Abigail took her accustomed place with the rest of the choir at the front of the church the next morning. Her gaze turned Mr. Reynolds’s way more often than was entirely proper, but she couldn’t seem to help herself.
He’d met her, as planned, in front of the newspaper office. Punctual, of course. She’d introduced him to Everett and Daisy and had been a little surprised at his demeanor. While he’d been polite, he hadn’t exactly been warm or neighborly. Of course, he’d been standoffish with her at first, too. But there was something different about this interaction that troubled her, something she couldn’t quite put her finger on.
Perhaps it was just her imagination. Because Seth sat in the pew next to Everett and she didn’t sense anything amiss now.
Reverend Harper moved to the pulpit and Abigail turned her gaze in his direction, determined to pay attention to the sermon.
Later, when the service had ended, Abigail was pleased to find Mr. Reynolds had waited for her rather than making his exit with her family. She linked her elbow to Constance’s and pulled her from the choir. “Come on, I want to introduce you to Mr. Reynolds.”
A moment later, they were face-to-face. “Mr. Reynolds, this is Constance Harper, who is also the reverend’s daughter, the town’s pharmacist and my best friend.”
She turned to her friend. “Constance, this is Mr. Seth Reynolds, the gentleman who’s come to oversee the renovations to the hotel.”
Mr. Reynolds executed a short bow. “It’s a pleasure to meet a lady who holds so many auspicious titles.”
Abigail was delighted to hear Mr. Reynolds attempt to be charming, especially when it was aimed at her best friend.
Constance smiled. “Thank you. And welcome to Turnabout. I hope you’ll enjoy your stay here.”
“I’m sure I will.”
They headed toward the front doors.
“Abigail has been talking of nothing else but the hotel since she received Judge Madison’s letter,” Constance said. “It sounds as if it will be quite grand when the work is complete.”
“That’s our plan.”
So, he was back to short answers.
They had reached the door by this time, so Abigail introduced him to Reverend Harper and then they were out in the sunshine. Constance moved off to join her mother, leaving Abigail alone with Mr. Reynolds.
“Everett and Daisy have already headed to the restaurant. Shall we head that way or is there anyone here you’d like me to introduce you to?”
He swept a hand outward. “I’m at your disposal. Please, proceed as you normally would.”
Since he didn’t seem particularly eager to tarry, she nodded and moved toward the sidewalk. “Then we’ll head on over to the restaurant so I can help Daisy get things ready.”
He fell into step beside her, and other than pausing for the occasional introduction or to exchange pleasantries, they didn’t speak until they were out of the churchyard.
“Are these Sunday luncheons always held at your sister-in-law’s restaurant?”
Surprised by his apparent interest, Abigail nodded. “We used to rotate the hosting duties among the families, but the group has grown so large that Daisy’s restaurant is about the only indoor space large enough to hold everyone.”
“How many people are in this group?”
Did she detect a note of wariness? “Not counting you, there are eleven adults and eight children.”
“That’s quite a crowd.”
“Which is part of what makes it such fun.” She gave him a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry, before long you’ll feel right at home.”
She still detected a hint of tension in him, so she decided to change the subject. “Did the Crandalls get off okay?”
He gave a short nod. “They were headed for the train station as I left to join you for church service.”
“I pray the doctors in Chicago can help Norma. And not just for her sake. She and Edgar are so close. They’re twins, you know, which makes them doubly close.”
Something flickered in his expression, something involuntary, there and gone before she could identify it.
They’d arrived at the restaurant, however, so she didn’t have time to dwell on it.
Abigail made a few introductions, then left him in her brother’s company while she headed to the kitchen. She knew it was foolish to worry about how he’d fit in. Traveling as he did, Mr. Reynolds must be accustomed to finding himself in unfamiliar places with strangers for company.
Still, she felt responsible for him while he was here.
* * *
Seth watched Abigail head to the kitchen and for just a moment felt as if he’d been set adrift. Strange how he’d become accustomed to her presence after such a short acquaintance.
Which was absurd. He was used to being among strangers—in fact he normally preferred it. Strangers had little power to distract or disappoint you.
“What do you think of Turnabout?”
He turned to see it was Everett Fulton who’d addressed him. “From what I’ve seen so far, the place carries a certain small-town charm.”
Everett smiled. “Quite different from Philadelphia, isn’t it? But it definitely has its fine points.”
“Your sister indicated all four families here have ties to Judge Madison.”
“We do. About five or so years ago, Judge Madison was instrumental in convincing the men in this group to move here from Philadelphia.”
Which was information Miss Fulton had already provided. He’d hoped for a little more, so he tried a little prodding. “I suppose he was working to improve his granddaughter’s hometown even then.”
Everett looked amused. “You could say that.” The door opened and Everett waved a hand. “Speaking of the judge’s granddaughter, she just walked in with her family. Come on, I’ll introduce you.”
Regina Barr turned out to be a confident, interesting woman, with eyes that seemed to see more than the physical aspect of the person she was speaking to.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” she said as she shook his hand. “My grandfather has told me so much about you.”
She released his hand and continued. “I’m sorry I didn’t greet you properly yesterday, but I’m glad you could join us today. I trust my grandfather was well the last time you saw him.”
“Yes, ma’am. And he sends his best to you.”
“In his letters to me, he speaks very highly of you, and my grandfather isn’t one to praise lightly.”
Seth gave short bow. “You flatter me, ma’am. I have the utmost respect for your grandfather. He tells me you’re a talented photographer.”
She nodded, acknowledging his compliment. “It’s something I enjoy.” Then she handed the child she’d been carrying to her husband and accepted the hamper he’d been carrying in return. “If you gentlemen will excuse me, I’m going to see if they need my help in the kitchen.”
After that, the other members of the group arrived in rapid succession and Seth was introduced to each in turn.
With practiced ease, the men rearranged the tables to form one long dining surface. After a moment’s hesitation, Seth set aside his cane and pitched in. He was always self-conscious about his ungainly gait when he walked unaided, but that was no excuse for not helping.
The conversation among the men was convivial and while they made an effort to include him, much of it contained references to people and events Seth was completely unfamiliar with. But he listened and absorbed what he could. He’d learned long ago that it was always helpful to learn as much as possible about the people around you.
Seth was pleased no one tried to give him special treatment due to his limp. His assistance was accepted as a matter of course, a consideration he didn’t always receive.
Once the tables were properly arranged, cloths were brought out, followed by the meal itself. Everyone pitched in, even the older children—obviously no one here considered setting up the meal to be women’s work.
Once everything was set out, he went to retrieve his cane and found one of the children, a little girl who looked to be four or five, eyeing it curiously.
“I like your stick,” she said when he approached.
“Thank you.” He took it and leaned into it, relieving some of the weight from his aching leg. “I like it, too.”
“Do you use it because you walk funny?”
Seth stilled, unused to being questioned so directly. But there was no judgment in this little girl, only curiosity. So he managed to smile and give her a simple answer. “Yes. It helps me to walk when my leg hurts.”
She nodded, then skipped away to rejoin some of the other children.
Seth turned and stilled as he found Miss Fulton watching him. The idea that she might have overheard his exchange with the child left him feeling uncomfortably exposed.
“I see you’ve made the acquaintance of the judge’s great-granddaughter, Patience.”
He still couldn’t tell if she’d overheard anything. “She seems a bright child,” he said cautiously.
Miss Fulton nodded and then changed the subject with a wave toward the other end of the room. “I thought I’d give you a look at my library.”
“Of course.” He followed her across the room, deciding that she probably hadn’t heard anything after all.
The three bookshelves that held her collection were crammed full, with many of the shelves weighted down with books stacked two deep. And the range of titles included was impressive.
“What do you think?” She studied him earnestly, as if his answer really mattered to her.
He wasn’t used to such regard. He cleared his throat. “You have an impressively eclectic selection. There seems to be a little something for every taste and age level.”
She smiled as if that had been a huge compliment. “Thank you. I try to have something for everyone, but as you probably noticed I’ve run out of room to add anything new. In fact, the last batch Judge Madison sent is stacked on a chair in my bedroom. I’ve had to ask him to stop sending books until I figure out a way to accommodate them.”
Which must be when Judge Madison decided she needed a new space for her books. “Does your library get much use?”
Miss Fulton nodded as she fussily straightened a few volumes. “Absolutely. Several patrons have read every book I own, some more than once. And many have asked to be notified as soon as I acquire new titles.”
The small desk in front of the bookshelves held an open ledger and he idly studied it, curious as to her record-keeping skills.
The page contained row upon row of neatly penned entries containing book title, checkout date, return date and the borrowing patron’s name. The woman was surprisingly well organized for someone who seemed so flighty.
Perhaps there was more to Miss Fulton than he’d initially credited.
Then again, managing a small subscription library and managing the creation of a cohesive design for a major business were two entirely different undertakings on two entirely different scales.
A moment later everyone began taking their seats. It appeared all of them, including the children, sat together along the long row of joined tables, and Seth found himself seated between Miss Fulton and Chance Dawson, the youngest of the four men who’d journeyed here together.
Mitch Parker, who Seth had learned was one of the town’s schoolteachers, stood and gave the blessing over the meal.
When the amens were said, conversation picked up again as the food was passed around the table. Apparently this group believed in keeping things informal.
As he passed the bowl of peas to Miss Fulton, he resumed their conversation about the library. “I see now why you’re anxious to find a new place for your library. We’ll have to decide on a space soon.”
“I’m so glad you agree. Perhaps we can discuss it tomorrow.”
“Of course.”
The judge’s granddaughter said something to her from across the table and their conversation ended. Seth took the opportunity to look around.
The group nearly filled up the restaurant. In addition to the four couples and Miss Fulton, an elderly couple, the Peavys, were there. They were apparently the housekeeper and handyman that lived with the Barrs. And there seemed to be kids everywhere, from infants to adolescents. In addition to Miss Fulton’s sister-in-law, Mrs. Parker, the schoolteacher’s wife, was apparently expecting as well. Seth hadn’t been part of a family or even a community gathering of this sort in a very long time.
How would Jamie feel about being a part of a gathering like this? Of course, the boy no doubt took part in large gatherings for the students at his boarding school.
But did they have the same kind of family feel as this?
Throughout the meal, everyone did their best to make him feel comfortable, going out of their way to include him in conversations, explaining some of the references that were foreign to him, asking him questions that showed interest without being too personal.
But he knew himself to be an outsider here. Except when he looked at Miss Fulton. Strange how just glancing her way seemed to anchor him. Perhaps it was because it was she who had met him when he arrived.
When the meal ended, he helped put the restaurant back to rights, then turned to Abigail. “I should get back to the hotel so I can relieve Miss Mills.”
The staff took turns watching the front desk on Sunday mornings so no one person had to miss services every Sunday. Today it had been the maid’s turn.
“And when would you like me to come by and relieve you?”
Miss Fulton apparently took her role as his partner seriously. “This being Sunday, I can cover things until Mr. Scruggs comes by for the night shift. Why don’t you plan to come by tomorrow morning?”
She nodded. “Perhaps we can also discuss what sort of budget I have for the furnishings and fabrics I’ll need to purchase.”
Her question caught him by surprise, though he thought he did a good job of covering it. He was uncomfortable with the idea of giving her a budget to manage on her own. But now was not the time to mention that. He’d begun to feel the effects of a headache.
“Of course. I can work out some preliminary figures based on what Judge Madison and I discussed for the overall project budget. We can discuss how to work things out in that area when I see you tomorrow.”
A few minutes later he stepped outside and headed toward the hotel. The fresh air helped his headache some but he couldn’t shake it completely. Perhaps he should have taken Miss Fulton up on her offer to help this afternoon.
Then he rolled his eyes. He’d never been one to let something as minor as a headache stop him before. Surely he wasn’t letting the intriguing Miss Fulton get to him?
He had too much on the line to let himself be distracted by a sunny smile and spirited personality.
Chapter Five (#u40a53551-a82d-577a-b8fa-795d1a090584)
Abigail always enjoyed helping with the cleanup after the Sunday lunches. Being together in the kitchen with the other women, listening to their stories and laughter, had always given her an all-is-right-with-the-world feeling.
If ever a girl needed role models for marital bliss she couldn’t ask for finer examples. She hoped to one day join their ranks. Of course, she first had to find a man to love and be loved by in return.
Would that ever happen for her?
Once the kitchen was set back to rights and the other families made their exits, Daisy gave a tired sigh. She looked at her son and daughter playing with wooden spoons nearby. “I think these two are ready for a nap.” She smiled Abigail’s way as she rubbed her stomach. “And I may just join them.”
“You need help getting them upstairs?” Abigail asked as she untied her apron.
Everett bent over to lift Danielle. “That’s my job.” He tickled the little girl, causing her to erupt in giggles.
Daisy took Wyatt’s hand and Everett slid his arm around her, giving her an affectionate peck on the cheek.
A lump rose in Abigail’s throat as she stared at the blissful family picture they made. Her brother had found his forever love and she’d never seen him so happy and content. Would she ever have that for herself?
Throwing off the poignant mood, she hung up the apron. “It’s a beautiful day and I’m not interested in napping. I think I’ll take a nice long walk.”
With goodbyes quickly said, she headed out, turning toward the Harper home almost without conscious thought. A nice chat with her best friend was just what she needed to clear her mind.
Mr. Reynolds was a puzzle to her. The man could be so formal one moment, then relaxed the next. His interactions with the hotel staff were no-nonsense. Yet today he’d handled Patience’s innocently indelicate question with surprising sensitivity. She’d also sensed being caught performing that kindness had embarrassed him.
Yes, the man was definitely a puzzle.
When she knocked on the Harpers’ door, it was Reverend Harper who answered. “Hello, Abigail.” He pushed open the screen door. “Come on in. Constance is in the parlor.”
“Not anymore.” Constance appeared behind her father’s shoulder.
Abigail smiled a greeting. “I thought I’d enjoy some of this fall sunshine. Care to join me?”
Constance nodded. “Let me fetch my bonnet.”
Ten minutes later they were strolling along the country lane that meandered behind the church. Abigail finally broke the silence. “What did you think of Mr. Reynolds?”
Constance gave her a wry smile. “Based on the five-minute conversation I had with him, he seems a nice enough gent. A little stiff perhaps, but that’s understandable since he’s new here.”
She cut Abigail a sideways look. “The real question is, what do you think of him?”
Abigail gave the question careful consideration. “He’s very business-minded in his approach, but earnest and willing to listen. As far as I can tell, he’s also very good at his job.” Then she waved a hand. “Which isn’t surprising since the judge hired him.”
“But do you like him?”
“I don’t dislike him.”
“That’s not exactly an answer.”
“I’m still trying to figure out how I feel. I got the impression he wasn’t happy to learn I’d be working with him, but that could just be because he was caught by surprise. And his all-business demeanor can be a bit off-putting. But there’s also something about him that’s seems so honorable.” She wanted to call it vulnerability, but that was ridiculous.
He was also handsome in a severe sort of way, but that wasn’t something she needed to comment on, even to her best friend.
Thankfully, Constance decided to take the conversation on a tangent. “Have you told him yet about you wanting the hotel-manager job?”
“I hinted at it but didn’t come right out and ask. However, I did ask him to teach me the job, and he’s agreed.”
“Well, that’s promising.”
“It is. But I can tell he’s going to need a lot of convincing.”
“You’re smart and a quick study. I’m sure, once he’s worked with you a while, he’ll see how good a job you’d do.”
“I sincerely hope so.” She gave her friend’s arm a squeeze. “Oh, Constance, I think this is something I’d really like to do. Working with the hotel staff, and the guests and everything else that goes with the job.”
“Then I’m certain it’ll all work out. I’ve never known you to fail at anything you’ve set your mind to.”
Abigail sincerely hoped her friend was right. Then she gave Constance’s arm a squeeze. “But enough about me. Tell me, has Calvin asked you to step out with him yet?”
She grinned as Constance began to protest, perhaps a bit too strongly, that there was absolutely nothing between her and Calvin Hendricks. And the rest of their walk was filled with inconsequential conversation.
* * *
When Abigail arrived at the hotel early the next morning, she found the night clerk still there.
“Good morning, Larry. Is Mr. Reynolds about?”
“I ain’t seen hide nor hair of him this morning.” Larry sounded put out, but that wasn’t unusual for the curmudgeonly night clerk. “He told me I was to stay on duty until he relieved me, but I’ve got to get on home now.”
Pleased that she’d made it here ahead of Mr. Reynolds, Abigail gave Larry a bright smile. “You can go on. I’m scheduled to work the desk this morning.”
Larry didn’t wait to be told twice. Almost before she’d finished speaking, he was around the counter and waving goodbye.
Abigail took his place and waited to see what kind of reception she’d get from Mr. Reynolds when he finally made his appearance.
Twenty minutes later he still hadn’t shown up and she was getting worried. Where was the man? Maybe he’d slipped out of his room without Larry noticing. Had he gone over to inspect the progress of the construction work?
Mr. Reynolds struck her as a scrupulously punctual person and she definitely didn’t think he was one to oversleep.
Ruby came down the stairs and Abigail immediately called her over. “Have you seen Mr. Reynolds this morning?”
“No, but I’ve been upstairs getting room three ready for a new guest.”
“Would you please keep an eye on the desk while I check on something?”
Abigail headed for the kitchen, where she found Della peeling potatoes. “Good morning. Have you seen Mr. Reynolds today by any chance?”
Della shook her head as she set down her knife and wiped her hands on her apron. “No, I haven’t. He’s not come down for breakfast yet. He didn’t eat much supper last night, either—sent his tray back with hardly a thing touched.”
Next Abigail followed the sound of the hammering and spoke to Mr. Hendricks, who also gave her a negative response. Beginning to really worry, Abigail decided it was time to take more drastic measures.
Abigail learned from Ruby that he’d moved into the first-floor rooms the Crandalls had vacated. She quickly headed for the suite and knocked. She waited several seconds, then knocked again, this time more forcefully.
When she still didn’t get a response, Abigail hesitated, chewing on her lower lip. Had he gone out to run an errand? She could be worried over nothing. But what if he hadn’t?
Then she heard a sound that raised the hairs on the back of her neck.
Chapter Six (#u40a53551-a82d-577a-b8fa-795d1a090584)
Abigail heard the sound again, a low moan, and knocked harder this time. “Mr. Reynolds, it’s Abigail. Are you all right?”
When she still received no response, she raced back to the front desk to fetch the master key. Propriety be hanged, she was going to find out what was wrong.
Clutching the key, she asked Ruby to join her, then hurried back to his door without waiting to see if she would comply. Abigail shoved the key in the lock, took a deep breath and threw open the door.
It took her a moment to orient herself. The owner’s suite consisted of a sitting room with doors on either side—undoubtedly leading to bedrooms. She stared at the two closed doors for a moment, then heard a sound from the one on her left. Running over, she knocked, then waited a long anxious moment, but the only sound was that of Ruby coming up behind her. Finally, Abigail turned the knob and shoved the door open.
A small cry escaped her lips at the sight that greeted her. Mr. Reynolds lay sprawled on the floor next to the bed.
His complexion had a sickly pallor and his hair was plastered to his scalp by sweat.
“Oh my goodness.” Ruby’s voice held a touch of panic and she backed up a step. “You reckon he caught the same ailment as Miss Norma has?”
“No, of course not. What Norma has isn’t contagious.”
Abigail kneeled beside him. She pulled down his nightshirt to preserve his dignity, but not before she saw the awful scars on his leg. Her stomach lurched at the thought of what pain that must have caused him, but she immediately tamped that down. There were more urgent problems to focus on.
She felt his forehead and as she suspected he was burning up. “Listen carefully,” she told Ruby. “I want you to get Calvin Hendricks so he can help get Mr. Reynolds back in bed. Then run to fetch Dr. Pratt. Ask him to please hurry.”
With a nod, Ruby scurried off as if she couldn’t get away fast enough.
While Abigail waited, she retrieved the washrag and basin from his bedside, then gently applied the damp cloth to his forehead. But her mind couldn’t rid itself of the scars she had seen. No wonder he limped. It was a miracle the man could walk at all.
As she wiped his brow, she noticed a large knot on his forehead. He must have hit his head when he fell.
A moment later Calvin Hendricks came rushing up. “Ruby told me you needed—” He stopped at the threshold and she realized they must make a rather strange tableau. A heartbeat later, though, he came rushing the rest of the way in. “What happened?”
“Mr. Reynolds apparently took a fall. I need help getting him back in bed.”
“Of course.”
Calvin, who was both nimble and strong, managed to get Mr. Reynolds upright with only minimal assistance from her. Once they’d got him back on the bed, Abigail pulled up the sheet to cover him and turned to offer her thanks to Calvin.
“You want me to wait with you until Doc Pratt gets here?”
“No, thank you. Dr. Pratt should be here soon.”
Calvin rubbed the back of his neck. “Leaving you here with him by yourself don’t seem quite right. If you don’t mind, I think I’ll stay anyway.”
Calvin Hendricks was one of the first people her own age she’d met when she’d arrived in Turnabout, and they’d been friends ever since. At one time she’d had a crush on him, but that had passed quickly.
She took Mr. Reynolds’s hand, not sure if she was trying to reassure him or herself. “I think it’s a waste of your time, but I have no objections.”
A moment later the point became moot when Dr. Pratt bustled in.
She turned but maintained her hold on Mr. Reynolds’s hand. “Thank you for coming,” she said softly. “I wasn’t sure what to do.” From the corner of her eye she noticed Calvin slipping out of the room.
“I see you’ve been doing the right things. Do you know how long he’s been like this?”
She shook her head. “Della says he didn’t eat much for supper last night, but no one saw him after that until I found him on the floor this morning.”
“On the floor, you say.”
“Yes, sir. I think he tried to get out of bed, but lost his balance and fell. He has a bump where he must have hit his head when he fell.”
“Hmm, yes. Why don’t you step out while I examine him? And try not to worry, it may be nothing at all.”
Abigail gently released Mr. Reynolds’s hand then hesitated when he groaned. But Dr. Pratt waved her off with a reassuring “we’ll be fine,” and she reluctantly made her exit.
Trying to keep busy, she took the opportunity to check in with Ruby.
“How’s Mr. Reynolds doing?” she asked.
“Dr. Pratt is with him now. We won’t know anything until his examination is complete. In the meantime, I need you to watch the front desk.”
Then she went to the kitchen, where she again had to answer questions on how Mr. Reynolds was doing. Once that was out of the way she got down to her reason for being there. “I know you already have today’s menu planned out, but could you please work in a chicken-and-vegetable broth? It’s what Daisy cooks when someone in the household gets ill so I figure it couldn’t hurt to do the same for Mr. Reynolds.”
“Don’t you worry. I’ll start on it right away. My ma always served it when we were feeling poorly, too.”
“Thank you, Della. I know Mr. Reynolds will appreciate it.”
By the time Abigail returned to Mr. Reynolds’s suite, Dr. Pratt had finished his examination.
She didn’t waste time on small talk. “What’s wrong with him?”
“His fever is caused by an infection he didn’t have treated properly. And added to that, he likely sustained a concussion when he fell.”
She clasped her hands together in front of her, trying not to let her anxiety show. “Is it serious?”
“It can be. I’ve treated the infection and given him a powder to help make him comfortable, but I’m afraid there’s not much else that can be done until the fever runs its course.”
“What can I do?”
“Someone needs to keep an eye on him for the next day or so. Concussions can be a tricky business.”
“I can do that.”
He gave her a stern look. “Not by yourself. You won’t do anyone any good if you make yourself ill as well. Besides, there may be some, shall we say, delicate ministrations he will require.” He rubbed his chin. “Normally my wife would be available to help you, but she burned her hand on the stove this morning and needs to take care of herself. But Mrs. Peavy has helped from time to time with folks who need looking after. If you like, I can see if she’s available to lend a hand.”
Abigail’s first instinct was to decline—she was certain she could handle the job herself. But she realized Dr. Pratt—not to mention her brother—would not allow it. So she gave in gracefully. “That would be most helpful. Thank you.”
“In the meantime, try to get him to take in some thin broth and other liquids if you can.”
“Della is already preparing a broth. Is there anything else I can do?”
“Pray, of course.” He gave Abigail’s hand a grandfatherly pat. “I’ll check back in with you this afternoon to see how he’s doing. In the meantime, if you think things are getting worse, send for me.”
Once Dr. Pratt was gone, Abigail asked Ruby to bring her a pencil and some paper. First she wrote a note to Everett explaining what had happened and that she would be staying at the hotel until Mr. Reynolds was improved. She also asked him to find someone who could help out here at the hotel for a day or two.
Then she had Ruby help her move one of the comfortable upholstered chairs from the sitting room to Mr. Reynolds’s bedside. Sending the girl back to the front desk, she prepared to keep vigil.
She’d barely settled in when the patient stirred. Abigail immediately popped up from the chair and stood at the bedside.
He blinked up at her, squinting his bleary eyes, as if he had trouble focusing. “What are you doing here?”
She smiled down at him, once more gently brushing the damp hair from his brow. “Hush now. You’ve taken ill and have had a fall as well. I’m here to take care of you.”
“Nonsense.” He struggled to sit up. “I never get sick and I don’t need a nursemaid.”
She placed a hand on his shoulder, alarmed at the heat radiating through his nightshirt. “Well, it appears that has changed. Settle back down. Dr. Pratt has already had a look at you and recommends you not get up from here until you’re a good sight better.”
He tried to brush her hand away but the attempt was feeble. A moment later he finally quit struggling and settled back into an uneasy sleep.
Abigail watched him, wanting to help but feeling powerless to do so. She couldn’t resist tracing the curve of his face with a finger. His chin was rough with stubble but it wasn’t an unpleasant feeling. In fact, she rather liked it.
Suddenly he grabbed her hand. “Don’t leave! Please don’t leave me.”
Startled, her gaze flew to meet his, but all she saw was a feverish, glazed look. She took his hand with one of her own and patted his face with the other. “Hush now, I’m not going anywhere.”
Her touch seemed to calm him some but there was still signs of agitation. Finally, she resorted to something she’d seen Daisy do when one of her children was restless or ill—she began to sing softly. She selected the first song that came to mind—“Amazing Grace.”
That seemed to do the trick. As she sang, she continued to hold his hand and watch his face. How vulnerable he looked.
He’d already endured so much pain in his life if those scars were any indication. If he’d come back from that, then he could come back from this.
That plea he’d made—please don’t leave me—had sounded so desperate, so lost. She sensed that he hadn’t been talking to her, that it had been dredged from someplace deep inside him, and her heart ached for his loss.
Someone left him before, someone he cared deeply for.
A family member? A sweetheart?
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