Kissed By The Country Doc
Melinda Curtis
She came to sell a town… But she found a home Never in her wildest dreams could single mum Ella Monroe imagine co-inheriting the small town of Second Chance, Idaho – or falling for its curmudgeonly doctor, Noah Bishop. Despite his rough edges and protests for isolation, Noah has her believing in love at first sight again!
She came to sell a town...
But she found a home
Never in her wildest dreams could single mom Ella Monroe imagine co-inheriting the small town of Second Chance, Idaho—or falling for its curmudgeonly doctor, Noah Bishop. Despite his rough edges and protests for isolation, Noah has her believing in love at first sight again. But when she’s pressured to sell her stake, Ella is torn between family loyalty and following her heart.
Prior to writing romance, award-winning USA TODAY bestseller MELINDA CURTIS was a junior manager for a Fortune 500 company, which meant when she flew on the private jet, she was relegated to the jump seat. After grabbing her pen (and a parachute), she made the leap to full-time writer. Between writing clean romance for Mills & Boon and indie-pubbed romantic comedy, Melinda recently came to grips with the fact that she’s an empty nester and a grandma. Brenda Novak says Melinda’s book Season of Change “found a place on my keeper shelf.”
Also by Melinda Curtis (#u620f0279-c426-5259-9dc8-308fc4fad755)
Dandelion WishesSummer KissesSeason of ChangeA Perfect YearTime for LoveA Memory AwayMarrying the Single DadLove, Special DeliverySupport Your Local SheriffMarrying the Wedding Crasher
Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Kissed by the Country Doc
Melinda Curtis
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
ISBN: 978-1-474-09100-8
KISSED BY THE COUNTRY DOC
© 2019 Melinda Wooten
Published in Great Britain 2019
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF
All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.
By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.
® and ™ are trademarks owned and used by the trademark owner and/or its licensee. Trademarks marked with ® are registered with the United Kingdom Patent Office and/or the Office for Harmonisation in the Internal Market and in other countries.
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Contents
Cover (#u657f9f24-9e4a-5060-b824-3b55004c6147)
Back Cover Text (#u59efd5c4-31fb-55b6-98b4-58cebb9cb639)
About the Author (#u65d9fce1-4049-56ea-8816-9e4680327e15)
Booklist (#u114b3d67-7bf4-56c0-93a0-b545374b1856)
Title Page (#u77507b86-7674-5e04-863b-84a92b87e280)
Copyright (#ua04262b8-adc9-55c1-a820-ad833e97bc11)
PROLOGUE (#uaca61f2d-b9e2-54a9-9175-bae63439ebc1)
CHAPTER ONE (#ub5bf481a-5a24-5ba1-94e2-d0ef37452510)
CHAPTER TWO (#u35bbfdbb-437c-5619-9434-7d7a5694786a)
CHAPTER THREE (#u387ca85c-5af8-56a8-a55d-2ec96c91592c)
CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
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)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
PROLOGUE (#u620f0279-c426-5259-9dc8-308fc4fad755)
THERE WERE DAYS when Ella Bowman Monroe felt like life couldn’t get any better—when her house was clean, when her little girl was clean and when she was surrounded by her large family of boisterous in-laws. On those days, this orphaned widow felt like singing as loudly as Grandpa Monroe.
Today wasn’t shaping up to be a singing kind of day.
Chalk it up to her grandfather-in-law’s funeral on this snowy January afternoon, the reading of his will and the Spanx she’d wiggled into that were so tight every breath was a struggle.
“Mom,” two-year-old Penny whispered from her lap. “I go.” And her daughter didn’t mean she wanted to leave. The ripe smell of dirty diaper mushroomed around them in the dining room of the Monroe Philadelphia compound like an alien force field.
To Ella’s right, her husband’s cousin Sophie spared Penny a glance and a nose tweak. “No more artichoke quiche for you.”
To Ella’s left, Sophie’s twin brother, Shane, waved a hand in front of his nose. “Penny la Pew.”
Penny giggled and grinned, glorying in their attention. “Kiss,” she whispered, leaning to kiss first Sophie and then Shane, and then twisting to kiss Ella.
The smiles, teasing and kisses would have been normal—so very normal—except for the elderly lawyer wheezing through the legalese of the will and the black-clad Monroes ringing the formal dining-room table. They nodded at appropriate wheezes as if well-versed in legalese.
Near the head of the table, Ian Monroe, Ella’s father-in-law, turned his somber face her way, his expression one of reluctant farewell.
Because his father just died.
No. That wasn’t grief.
Ella had been on the receiving end of reluctant farewells before, most notably when she’d been transitioned out of one foster home and into another, repeatedly. Ian’s expression wasn’t rooted in grief. It was rooted in regret. The remorse of goodbye. She was suddenly certain of it. It made little sense—why now?—but she couldn’t see past Ian’s regret or her fear.
The Monroes were the only family she had. The only family Penny had. This couldn’t be goodbye.
Don’t panic. Don’t pass out. Breathe.
Ella breathed deeply, despite the Spanx.
And then nearly gagged.
She’d inhaled too much eau de poopy pants.
Thankfully, the elderly lawyer with the rasping voice finished reading the first part of Grandpa Harlan’s will and signaled a break. Ella carried Penny out of the lavishly decorated dining room and toward the bathroom down the hall, fighting the feeling that she was about to be excommunicated.
Two years ago, Ella had been an interloper in Ian’s eyes, a woman who’d “trapped” his son, Bryce, into marriage by becoming pregnant a month after their first date. The Monroes were old money, old traditions, old school. In the Monroe world, nobody fell in love at first sight. You dated. You were vetted by the family and a private investigator. And after several years, you had a lavish wedding ceremony at the country club.
But she and Bryce had tumbled into love at a charity ball. He’d swerved to avoid a passing waiter, bumped Ella, knocked her off her feet and into the shrubbery. She’d laughed—because what else could she do in her rented designer dress? He’d hurried to set down his drink and before he even reached to pull her up, their gazes collided and it was...love. It had hummed in her veins. He’d felt it, too. They’d both froze. They’d both laughed. And then Bryce had helped Ella out of the shrubbery and never let go.
When Ella had told Bryce she was pregnant, he hadn’t blinked. He’d dropped to one knee, professed his love and enthusiastically asked her to marry him, as if her unplanned pregnancy was the best news in the world. A weekend trip to Vegas, and they were married, much to the chagrin of the family. But in time, Ella had won them over. She’d won them over before Bryce had died in a car accident a month before Penny was born.
The memory put an ache in her chest.
Ella was a Monroe now. It said so on her driver’s license. No one could take this family away from her. She was expected at holidays and birthdays and any old day. She was included on trips to the family lake house and family business updates. She was a Monroe.
She. Was. Family.
So why had Ian’s expression shaken her?
Because for fifteen years I had no family.
On their way back down the wide hall, with the Spanx now stuffed into the diaper bag, Ella and Penny stopped at a section of the wall devoted to memorializing the dearly departed Monroes. There were Grandpa Harlan’s parents in 1950s faded photographs, Cousin Carl, who died storming Omaha Beach, Harlan’s four wives—the actress, the pilot, the politician and the oil heiress—and, of course, Bryce.
Ella’s heart hitched when she looked at her husband, at brown hair so dark it was almost black, at friendly bright green eyes, not to mention the smile he’d passed on to their daughter.
“Blow Daddy a kiss,” Ella told Penny.
Together, they sent air kisses toward Bryce’s handsome, worry-free face.
And then Penny wriggled free, running on her short sturdy legs toward the grand marble foyer outside the dining room. She wore a black dress with a white sash and her thin blond curls bobbed as she made her escape, clutching what looked like Ella’s black Spanx in her small fist. She ran in circles around the plush red-and-black carpet, waving the Spanx like a flag.
“Mr. Quinby—” Ian’s voice drifted from the dining room “—we have no need of Ella. Please proceed.”
No need of Ella?
She wanted to protest, to charge inside and shout: But I’m a Monroe.
But... Was she?
Weak-kneed with doubt, Ella sank into an antique chair that was stiffer than her father-in-law’s voice, a chair where she could watch the proceedings like the outsider she was.
At least she’d been asked to attend. Other partners and spouses were barred from the reading.
“And now for Harlan Monroe’s personal message and family bequests.” Mr. Quinby tugged his tie, cleared his throat and cast a sideways glance toward the much younger lawyer behind him. He lifted a sheet of paper with hands that shook. “I’m going to read a letter from the deceased. One that was written over two years ago, notarized and kept with his will. He wrote...”
Two years... Could this have anything to do with Ella falling in love with Bryce? The timing couldn’t be a coincidence.
The old lawyer sucked in thready amounts of air. “‘If you’re hearing this, then I am dead. And if you want an inheritance, you’ll have to listen to my lawyer without any back talk.’” Mr. Quinby did a quick visual survey of his audience.
He was anxious for good reason. The Monroes were an expressive, explosive bunch. But this time, there were no outbursts, no questions, no challenges. Or, as Grandpa Harlan put it, no back talk.
The old lawyer heaved a sigh of relief and resumed his oratory. “‘I was born into a home with nothing but love. I was raised in hand-me-downs and nourished by leftovers. I played unsupervised and ran barefoot until it was too dark to catch a baseball or to fish. Those humble beginnings gave me an appreciation for life, a drive to succeed and, most importantly, a love of my fellow man. I was unable to give the latter to my children. It’s my fault my sons consider themselves superior to others, that they consider their wealth a form of entitlement.’”
That was Grandpa Harlan, calling a diamond-studded spade a diamond-studded spade.
“You, my girl, have gumption,” he’d told Ella the first time he’d met her as he’d grabbed onto her hand from his wheelchair. “Don’t let the Monroes take that away from you. You’ve got to greet every day with a happy song.” He’d given her hand a squeeze and then raised his arms in the air and goofed, “Are you ready, Hezzie?” It was a favorite line of his that had been popular when he was a young man. And then he’d burst into song, uncaring of his surroundings or the audience.
Grandpa Harlan hadn’t had a pretentious or self-conscious bone in his body.
Penny did a slow-motion, near-silent fall to her rump on the plush carpet, and then lay down on her back and pretended to make a snow angel. One hand still clutching black Spanx. She turned her sweet face toward Ella and whispered, “Mom. Mom. Mom.”
How could Ella worry about anything with a daughter like that? And yet, how could she not? She had no family apart from the Monroes. Without them, who would Penny have if anything happened to Ella?
Ella peeked in the dining room, her gaze connecting with Ian’s. Her father-in-law gave her that farewell look once more. It roiled the artichoke quiche in her stomach.
“‘I made my first fortune in Texas oil before I ever married,’” the lawyer went on. “‘I was also a lucky man who found love four times over. My wives were drawn to my sense of adventure and my charm.’”
Someone chuckled. Grandpa Harlan was a straight-shooter with a good heart, but he forgot to mention he had a wandering eye.
“‘My four sons were raised in the lap of luxury, never worrying about having a roof over their heads, where their next meal would come from, or how to pay for their college education.’”
So true. Those four millionaires had never balanced the need for rent money against the cost of a new pair of shoes.
“Hep.” Penny struggled to sit up—the Spanx was pulled over her head like a stocking cap half covering a bank robber’s face. “Mom, hep.”
Ella reclaimed possession of her undergarment and then her seat outside the dining room, hoping she hadn’t been noticed. Thankfully, all attention was being given to the lawyer reading Grandpa Harlan’s letter.
Freed, Penny lay back down and began to sing a soft, wordless song, while she made another snow angel in the carpet.
“‘My four sons...’” Mr. Quinby cleared his throat, nervous once more, perhaps because he was delivering Harlan’s barbs without cover against return fire. “‘My four sons are too old to unlearn the privilege of the silver spoon, too busy to enjoy the priceless beauty of a mountain sunrise, too calloused to appreciate the comfort that comes from loyalty, or the joy that love for love’s sake can bring.’”
“Beautiful,” Ella murmured.
Maybe he wrote that after Bryce and I fell in love.
“‘To those coldhearted fools, I leave the Monroe Holding Corporation and all its entities on one condition.’”
Everyone leaned forward in their seats, even Ella.
“‘As for my grandchildren...’” The elderly lawyer ran a finger beneath his collar.
“Wait,” Holden, the oldest grandchild, said. He managed the Monroe assets. “What condition?”
“I’m getting to that,” Mr. Quinby said defensively. He rattled the letter. “It’s right here.” And then he spent a moment trying to find his place. “‘As for my grandchildren, there is hope for their moral fiber. But only if they break free of the influence of my four failures and learn there is more to life than the bottom line. Therefore, for the good of my grandchildren, as a condition of their inheritance, my sons will immediately fire said grandchildren and terminate their contracts with any and all entities under the ownership of the Monroe Holding Corporation. Also, it is my further stipulation that within the next thirty days, my grandchildren will vacate all residences, homes, apartments and penthouses that are owned by the Monroe Holding Corporation.’”
Yikes. All the grandchildren lived in corporately owned housing.
“‘In the meantime—’”
“He left us nothing?” Holden demanded. His gray eyes seemed colder than the ice frosting the pristine landscaping outside.
Mr. Quinby sat back warily, as if this had been the reaction he’d feared all along.
Ella sat back, too, thinking that everything was going to be all right. She wasn’t a Monroe grandchild. For her, nothing would change. Ian’s regretful expression from before must have been regarding his conditional inheritance and that of his children.
“I’m supposed to move out of my home?” Bentley was Bryce’s twin brother and designed luxury yachts for Monroe Shipworks.
“Grandpa is firing me?” Shane spit. He ran the family’s hotel chain based in Las Vegas. “From the grave?”
“Let him finish.” Sophie adjusted her glasses, presumably so she could better see the lawyer if he ever got the chance to continue.
“Yes, please.” The junior lawyer behind Mr. Quinby spoke up. His name was Daniel Something-or-other and he had a kind look about him. “Your questions will be answered if you just let Mr. Quinby finish.”
“Thank you, Daniel.” The senior lawyer cleared his throat, sounding like an old car reluctant to start on a chilly morning. He acknowledged Shane with a wave of his hand. “Technically, your father has to fire you—” his hand swung toward Bentley “—and your father has to evict you. That is, if he wants to inherit twenty-five percent of your grandfather’s assets.” He turned to Holden. “Harlan did, in fact, leave his grandchildren something.” Mr. Quinby ran his finger down the page slowly. “Ah! Here it is. ‘By each of them standing on their own two feet, my grandchildren, I hope, will discover their moral compass, which will guide them to the lives they should choose to lead. Not the ones that would most benefit the Monroe Holding Corporation. To that end, I leave the town of Second Chance, Idaho, to my grandchildren and great grandchildren.’”
“You’re not really going to go along with this—this...farce?” Holden leaned forward, black eyebrows drawn low in disbelief. “Grandpa Harlan clearly wasn’t in his right mind when he wrote this.”
Several pairs of eyes swung toward Ian and his three brothers. Chairs creaked. Ella held her breath, worried for her husband’s siblings and cousins. Not because of the fortune they weren’t getting, but because their fathers might choose money over family.
Ella didn’t blame Bryce’s cousins and siblings for being upset. They’d been groomed since birth to work in one of the family businesses—oil, finance, luxury-yacht building, hotels or filmmaking. They didn’t have trust funds, but they’d been given everything they’d ever needed—the finest educations, mortgage-free homes and generous salaries. All with the expectation that they’d benefit from their commitment to the family someday. They just hadn’t expected that benefit to be a town.
Ella’s glance swung to Penny and then back to the others in the dining room. All the while, she was wondering: Who inherits a town? For that matter, who owned a town to begin with?
Harlan’s lawyer wasn’t finished yet. Quinby cleared his gravelly throat. “Again, I’d like to repeat to Harlan’s four sons that their inheritance is contingent upon the condition being met.” Meaning mass layoffs and evictions for their children.
No one in the dining room moved. No one seemed to breathe. Ella had been shuttled from foster home to foster home for many reasons. She’d never been moved along so someone could fatten their bank account. The thought was crushing.
“Dad?” Shane asked in a low voice. “Don’t say you’re considering this. That letter won’t hold up in a court of law.”
Daniel, the younger lawyer, jumped up. “I’ll remind everyone of the clause we read before the break regarding challenges to the will. If you challenge and lose—” he stared at Shane “—your share goes to charity. If you refuse to abide by the terms of the will—” his gaze swept Harlan’s four sons “—your share goes to charity.”
Daniel’s expression was no longer kind. It was firm and lawyerly. He was suddenly the most hated person in the room.
As one, Harlan’s sons, ranging in age from fifty to seventy, stood. They were men who loved their children. They wouldn’t cut them loose. And yet, they surveyed their progeny with odd looks—shocked, saddened, resolute—similar to how Ella imagined she’d stared at Bryce’s face before they’d closed the coffin one last time.
Ella began to doubt.
The four brothers exchanged glances. Nodded. Stepped clear of their chairs.
Ian raised his chin. “You’re all fired, evicted and all contracts with the Monroe Holding Corporation and its entities are revoked.”
The chaos that erupted had the old lawyer cringing and everyone talking at once.
This wasn’t her fight. Ella scooped up her daughter and then immediately retreated to their small house at the rear of the family compound, where she put Penny down for a nap, checked the weather report to see how much snow was expected and did a quick inventory of her refrigerator and pantry to make sure she had enough food to last the storm.
The younger lawyer and her father-in-law found her an hour later.
She made Ian a Scotch on the rocks and asked Daniel repeatedly if she could get him something to drink. He refused every time.
Daniel was probably a good lawyer. He had a calm voice and a placating manner that softened the blow of his words. “Mrs. Monroe, the stipulations of the will apply to you, as well.”
Ella sat down on the arm of her sofa. Hard.
She’d planned to return to the main house and check on the cousins once Penny woke from her nap. The terms of the will were shocking to say the least, and she wanted to be a shoulder to lean on. But apparently, she had a shock of her own to deal with.
Her gaze drifted to a high table by the door and a glass bowl that contained a scuffed baseball, a silver dollar, a turquoise tie tack and a smooth, flat rock. Every time she was cast aside, she took something to remember the place, the home, the people she’d loved. Familiar questions bombarded her: Why can’t I stay? What can I do to change your mind? What will I take to remember you by?
Surely, it hasn’t come to that. I’m a Monroe.
The fact that they were here talking about Harlan’s will stipulations proved it.
Small consolation.
“I don’t understand.” Ella forced her gaze back to the lawyer. “I don’t work for the Monroes and I’m only Harlan’s grandchild by marriage.”
“The clause that applies to you is about your daughter living in a Monroe Holding Corporation property.” How could Daniel look so kind and deliver such devastating news?
“This cabin is owned by the family’s holding company?” Ella glanced around the log-cabin home Grandpa Harlan had built with modern amenities after a trip to the mountains over a decade before. Her gaze landed on the smiling photo of Bryce on the mantel.
Ella’s cabin was a simple rectangle with two bedrooms and one bath, one of four homes in the Monroe compound. She’d been living here rent- and utility-free since Bryce had died. Staying in the house had made her feel like one of the family. She’d been surviving on Bryce’s life insurance, which she was trying to make last until Penny started school in three years, at which point she’d return to work as a real-estate agent. She could afford to live elsewhere. It was just...
Her gaze connected with Ian’s. “You knew about this beforehand.” Not a question. He’d had that look.
Ian set down his drink and stood, drawing Ella to her feet. “Eleanor, I’m sorry, but you have thirty days to figure out what to do.” His bright green gaze was reassuring and reminiscent of Bryce’s, even if his smile wasn’t.
He’d said nothing about her remaining a part of the family, now and forever.
She felt a sense of panic rising in her chest and wished she had the courage to run. But he was family. Her family. Bryce had promised her she’d always be a Monroe. She had to ask the question. “Am I still a part of this family? I...”
Ian’s smile hardened. “You’re the mother of my grandchild.”
So she had her answer. Her temples pounded. Daniel looked away.
“I know you’ll land on your feet. Probably somewhere in the vicinity of a new man.” Ian no longer sounded like the caring father-in-law. His expression was once more reminiscent of regretful goodbyes. “You won’t inherit anything if Penny doesn’t move out.”
Ella sat down again. Harder this time. The wood frame jarred her backside and fear jarred her insides. She should have realized she was just as expendable as the blooded Monroes.
If he was willing to fire and evict his own children, or do whatever needed to be done, she never stood a chance. “I’ll be fine. I’m fully capable of supporting Penny.” Of holding on to her dignity if she couldn’t exactly hold on to her status as one of the Monroes.
Orphaned again? She wanted to cry.
She’d lived in four foster homes in six years. When she’d married Bryce, she’d thought she’d never lose a family again. She’d invested herself in the Monroes, let herself love and trust. And now this.
Someone knocked on the door.
Without waiting for an answer, three of the Monroe cousins trundled in, stomping their boots and shaking their winter jackets to shed the snow that had fallen on their way over.
Sophie pushed her glasses up her nose and scowled at the lawyer. “Has he told you the details regarding our property?”
Ella had been about to offer them food and drink, but... Our property? “The town in Idaho?”
“Two thousand mostly undeveloped acres in the middle of nowhere.” Sophie’s twin, Shane, filled in Ella. Their branch of the family had light brown hair and dark brown eyes. “Fifty or so structures mostly built before the 1950s.”
“Some of which are leased,” Laurel added, distracted by Ella’s gray knit poncho hanging by the door. The Hollywood Monroes had bright red hair and blue eyes. Laurel had been a costume designer at Monroe Studios in Hollywood up until an hour ago. She held the poncho up to the light, inspecting the stitches.
“Leases mean income.” Ella tried to sound optimistic as she wondered what the cousins wanted from her.
“Not in this case.” Shane scowled at the lawyer now, too. “Grandpa Harlan offered leases for one dollar a year.”
Holden barged in without knocking. He hadn’t bothered with a heavy coat and wore only his black wool suit, which was dusted with snow. “We didn’t get your vote, Ella. You have to vote for Penny.”
“Oh, for the love of...” Sophie shook her head. “She’s a single mom, like me. She’s not going to support you.”
“Part of a town is better than nothing.” Laurel turned away from the poncho. “Isn’t that right, Ella?”
Everything was coming at Ella at a dizzying pace. Everyone was looking at her to follow their lead.
“Let Ella make up her own mind.” Holden stood with his hands on his hips and fixed Ella with a firm, obey-me stare. He was cut from the same cloth as Ian and his brothers. “I’ve got six votes for challenging the will. If you vote with me, the tide will turn, and the others will realize there’s power in solidarity.”
“Ignore him.” Shane moved to stand next to Ella. “At the very least, we can divide the town into parcels and sell to buyers interested in luxury ranchettes. Jonah and Cam are with us on this.”
“Is there a market for that near this town?” Ella’s dusty real-estate savvy reawakened with a yawn.
“You can’t sell the town until one year after the anniversary of your grandfather’s death,” Daniel pointed out, like a referee who’d sneaked up behind you during a big game to blow his whistle.
“Why would Eleanor go to Idaho?” Ian put his hand on the door handle and stared at Ella as if she didn’t deserve to go with the other Monroes. The “real” Monroes.
Ella’s vision tunneled.
“You should join the smart Monroe cousins and challenge the will as Penny’s guardian.” Holden’s strong chin was up, daring others to take a shot at his logic. “It’s risky, but—”
“It’s too risky. She’s coming with us.” Sophie flanked Ella, opposite her twin. “We’re going to Second Chance and we’re going to evaluate it for sale. We need a Realtor for that.”
Ella assumed she was the Realtor, although her license in Pennsylvania had lapsed and she didn’t have one in Idaho. She tried to think of what Bryce would have wanted and what was best for Penny.
Holden only wanted a vote to swing momentum to his cause, one that risked Penny’s inheritance, small though it was. And what Grandpa Harlan had wanted, what he’d written suspiciously near the time Bryce had died... A tug of responsibility pulled at Ella. She should do what the old man wanted.
“Grandpa Harlan wanted the family to go.” Laurel stood between Ella and Holden, crossing her arms. “And Ella’s part of this family.”
Family.
Family was all Ella had ever wanted after her mother died. Family was the people standing by her side, the ones who’d care for Penny if need be, the ones declaring she was one of them, even though deep down Ella knew she wasn’t.
She met Ian’s gaze, and then Holden’s. “I’ve made my decision.”
She was siding with family.
CHAPTER ONE (#u620f0279-c426-5259-9dc8-308fc4fad755)
SNOW DRAPED THE Sawtooth mountain range, carpeted the Colter Valley and frosted the Salmon River like a blue-tinged Christmas card.
And more snow was coming.
Second Chance residents, like Dr. Noah Bishop, knew it. This was the calm before the next storm. It was there in the biting, building wind at dawn, and at midday, when the sky was heavy with gray clouds that descended below the mountaintops.
Trudging through the drifts from his home office to the Bent Nickel diner, the taste of snow punched the air and clung to Noah’s lungs like icicles to a metal roof. This time last year, he’d been operating on the shoulder of a football league’s MVP. His one patient today had complained of an ingrown toenail.
Oh, how the mighty has tumbled from his pedestal.
Noah’s inner voice hadn’t adjusted to life in the mountains as a country doctor.
He slogged his way around the side of the inn to the cleared sidewalk. Farther down, the parking stalls in front of the grocery store and gas station were empty. The old, white steepled church, the boxy schoolhouse, the brick mercantile and log-cabin fur-trading post stood above the road, windows dark and empty. The buildings and a dozen or so smaller cabins made up the heart of the roadside town located where two narrow highways met in the Idaho high country. The rest of the residents were spread out around the bends of the Salmon River.
A snowplow rumbled by from the south and turned at the fork to the west, a last-ditch effort by the state to keep the roads open as long as possible.
Heads whipped around when Noah entered the Bent Nickel, all faces of citizens of Second Chance who hadn’t gone south for the winter. Town residents were jumpy. There was more than a storm coming.
The Monroes were coming.
Folks had seen the announcements in the media about Harlan Monroe’s death. He’d owned the town, lock, stock and barrel. According to those in the know, it was only a matter of time before some of his heirs showed up. The locals had made a pool as to what was going to go down.
The Clark sisters from the Bucking Bull Ranch sunk twenty dollars on the Monroes sending a real-estate agent to evaluate the place. Mitch Kincaid, mayor and innkeeper, put in ten dollars toward at least two Monroes showing up expecting a five-star hotel. Eli Garland, the homeschooling coordinator for the county, put his money on the Monroes not showing up until summer. Mackenzie and Ivy, who ran the grocery and diner respectively, plunked ten apiece on the Monroes arriving in a stretch limo. Their bet inspired Roy Stout, the town handyman, to wager they’d pull up in a Hummer, because how else was anyone supposed to get up to Second Chance in January without four-wheel drive?
Noah was among the residents who hadn’t bet. Luck hadn’t been kind to him lately.
“I’m making French fries and milk shakes for the kids,” Ivy called to Noah from the diner’s kitchen. She pampered the town’s handful of children and encouraged Eli to hold home-study sessions in the diner. “Can I get you anything, Doc?”
“No, thanks.”
Ivy served food that could only be classified as fuel. Unlike the fancy meals Noah had enjoyed in New York, there were no culinary delights to be had on any of her plates. But the coffee was strong and cheap, and the price of hanging out for a few hours was a mere armload of firewood for the fireplace, which meant it was the warmest building in Second Chance.
Noah set his logs on the woodpile and then began to shed layers—parka, knit cap, muffler. The black leather gloves he kept on, a fact several children noticed. He had no idea why the kids were still here. If he’d known they’d be lingering, he would’ve stayed in his cabin. He shoved a couple dollars in the coffee jar and poured himself a cup.
Mitch pulled out a chair at his table for Noah. They’d met at DePaul University when Mitch was prelaw and Noah was premed. They’d kept in touch on social media and through a fantasy football league. Mitch had hired Noah after his accident.
“I was just saying we need to be united when the Monroes get here,” Mitch said. “I know I don’t have to remind anyone about our nondisclosure agreement with Harlan.”
Noah nodded, because Mitch was looking at him. He’d signed a nondisclosure agreement about the old man, but he’d only been here six months and had never met Harlan Monroe in person. He couldn’t have picked his benefactor out of a police lineup. Unlike other residents who’d sold their property to the millionaire and might have been privy to something important about the old man, Noah had no secrets to divulge.
“Moving forward,” Mitch went on, “it’ll help if we negotiate as one entity. Ideally, we keep our low leases. Worst case, we buy back our places for less than we sold them to Harlan. In either case, don’t make this easy on them. We don’t want Harlan’s heirs thinking this is the next Idaho town to be developed for Hollywood vacation homes.”
There were worried head nods of approval and agreement. Nobody wanted Second Chance real estate to skyrocket or for it to become a soulless haven for celebrities.
Noah didn’t nod. He sat. Unlike the other residents, the small home Noah lived in was rent-free. It was a stipulation of his contract as the town doctor. Granted, it wasn’t where he thought he’d be, but if he couldn’t be an orthopedic surgeon to sports superstars, it was better to be a nobody from nowhere.
Aptly put, his snarky inner voice whispered.
“You ready for a blizzard, Doc?” Roy sat at the next table over, facing the highway. He wore stained blue coveralls over a pair of yellowed long johns. His wiry, knubby elbows rested on the white Formica tabletop. A fringe of peppery hair was visible beneath his blue ball cap.
Noah shrugged. “Will it really be any worse than the storms we’ve already had?”
“Yep.” Roy chuckled, revealing his gap-toothed smile. “More snow. More wind. More freezing temperatures.”
More boredom.
Noah squashed that thought. He wasn’t here for the intellectual challenge or the thrill of new, emergency limb-saving techniques. He wasn’t here for experimental procedures or medical accolades. He wasn’t even here for a research sabbatical. He’d accepted Mitch’s invitation to become the town doctor because he could no longer be the surgeon who could perform miracles.
“Storm after storm after storm,” Roy murmured happily. “I love winter.”
Up here, winter lasted six months or more.
Mitch straightened, running a hand through his dark hair. “There’s a car pulling in.”
Mackenzie, who owned the grocery store and garage, moved to the front window along with Roy. “Maybe they’re just passing through and need a bathroom.”
“Or something to eat.” Ivy was craning her neck, trying to see over the cook’s counter.
“That’s no car.” Roy slapped his skinny thigh. “It’s one of those Humdingers!”
A long black Hummer parked in front of the diner.
“It’s them Monroes.” Heedless of his audience on the other side of the window, Roy pointed and raised his voice. “I knew it. I just knew it.”
“We don’t know anything yet,” Mitch said in a put-out voice.
A man in his thirties opened the diner’s door for the carload. He had wavy brown hair in a neatly styled haircut and was inappropriately dressed for the mountains—slacks, leather loafers, a light winter jacket. No cap. No gloves.
A case of frostbite in the making.
Noah hid a smile behind a sip of his coffee.
A woman hurried inside. Bright red hair. Pale complexion. Black leather jacket over a black tunic sweater, black leggings and black boots. Something about her seemed familiar. She spotted the restroom sign and hurried toward it.
Carsick.
Whether they were the Monroes or not, they were providing Noah with some much-needed entertainment.
Another woman scurried in. She had wavy brown hair, pointy features and frazzled brown eyes shaded by dark circles that her glasses did nothing to conceal. She held the hands of two twin toddler boys, who clumped in wearing matching dark green unzipped jackets and white sneakers that flashed bright red beams from the heels as they walked. She followed the first woman to the restrooms.
Single mom in need of a good night’s sleep and proper hydration.
A third woman entered, stepping to the side so the man could close the door behind her. Her hair was blond, her eyes a bright blue. She had a sprinkling of freckles and the kind of glowing skin that never tanned. She was the only sensibly dressed one of the lot in a navy stadium jacket, snow boots and a knit cap. The toddler she carried had the same coloring and wore a pink snowsuit.
She set down the little girl and proceeded to shed layers—hers and the toddler’s—plopping their gear and a diaper bag in a booth. She wiped the toddler’s runny nose with a crumpled tissue, straightened and took a good look around, while Noah took a good look at her.
She didn’t seem like a millionaire. She seemed like the kindhearted girl next door. The one who blushed when you asked her to help you with your English homework, and was happy for you when you told her you’d asked the cheerleading captain to prom.
Not that I was that guy.
She made him feel guilty all the same.
“I’m looking for Mitch Kincaid.” The man took up a wide stance. Hands on hips. An expectation of respect in his dark eyes. “I’m Shane Monroe.”
Something crashed in the kitchen.
“Well, I’ll be.” Roy grabbed Shane’s hand and shook it like he was pumping water from a well. “Good to meet you.”
“Mitch?” Who knew what Shane had been expecting, but it wasn’t the town handyman and his gap-toothed grin.
“Nope. I’m Roy.” The old man kept pumping. “Harlan was my—”
“I’m Mitch.” The mayor got out of his chair and introduced himself, shaking Shane’s hand in a classy one-and-done.
Something crashed into Noah’s thigh.
The toddler wiped her nose on Noah’s black ski pants and then looked up at him with a mischievous grin and said, “Hi,” before fleeing with a squeal and a giggle across the diner.
“Penny.” The girl next door snatched a napkin from the holder on the table and wiped at the streak of snot on Noah’s ski pants. And then she froze, her hands inches from Noah’s thigh.
Noah’s ears filled with white noise, not caused by any head cold or sinus infection. This was one of those surreal moments where a beauty had unwittingly touched a beast. Noah’s heart went out of rhythm. He felt light-headed.
Heart attack? Negative.
Low blood sugar? Negative.
High-altitude dehydration? Likely.
Despite his diagnosis, Noah reached for his dehydrating coffee. But his eyes... His eyes couldn’t turn away from her.
“My apologies. That was inappropriate.” The woman’s cheeks bloomed with color. Her bright blue gaze bounced to Noah’s and away before she, too, made a run for it. “Penelope Arlene, you come back here.”
Penny’s laughter drowned out the white noise in Noah’s head, and sent others in the room chuckling, breaking the tension that the arrival of the Monroes had caused. Noah breathed easier.
“We thought we’d come down and stay a few days,” Shane Monroe was saying, still on his high horse.
Not that Noah was one to judge. As an orthopedic surgeon, he’d taken many a ride on a high horse.
And look where that’s gotten me.
Noah clenched his gloved fists, his left hand more than his right.
The pale redhead emerged from the bathroom and collapsed on a stool at the counter with a croak for water.
Ivy was quick to serve her, looking slightly out of her element. “Are you Ashley?”
Ashley Monroe? The actress? Was that why she looked familiar?
“She’s my twin.”
“Oh.” Ivy sounded disappointed, but not as disappointed as the redhead.
“You wanna stay here? Now?” That was Roy. Unfiltered. “In Second Chance?”
Mitch tried to hide a laugh behind a cough. “What Roy means is, there’s a storm coming. Many storms, in fact. We usually get snowed in five to ten days during the winter. Passes close. No getting in or out.” He gave Shane the kind of look a New York doorman gives a tenant while explaining it’s impossible to get a taxi on New Year’s Eve. “You might be better off heading down to Hailey, or the other way, to Boise.”
“Better off?” Shane’s dark eyes narrowed. “Is there something you don’t want us to see?”
“Three to five feet of snow,” Roy answered, smacking his gums. “It’s a-comin’ tonight. Six or more a day after. And so on.”
Penny was playing keep-away-from-mama, running on chubby legs between tables in the middle of the room. Not that the girl next door was trying hard to catch her. More likely, she was trying to keep Penny from wiping her nose on another unsuspecting Second Chance resident.
“All we’re saying is—” Mitch was a former lawyer and proficient at clarifying an issue “—you might be more comfortable in a place with accommodations you’re used to because the passes might close.”
Shane was just as tall as Mitch but managed to look down his nose at him. “You have beds?” At his nod, Shane added, “Then we’ll be fine.”
So much for the five-star expectations of Mitch’s bet.
“You like snow, do you?” Roy asked.
“We’ll be fine,” Shane repeated.
Based on the thinness of Shane’s coat and his fine leather loafers, Noah highly doubted he’d be fine. You could get away with thin jackets in cities like Chicago or New York, because you were only in the elements for a few blocks between the subway and whatever building you were darting into. In the mountains of Idaho, cold penetrated layers of clothing quicker than heat melted ice cream on a hot summer day.
The toddler boys raced into the dining room and joined Penny. The three of them ran around a table as if they were playing musical chairs or training to be track stars.
“Someone.” Shane waved toward the spectacle. “Please.”
The girl next door and the harried mom of twins moved in.
Sensing her freedom was about to end, Penny veered and crashed into Noah, giggling nonstop. She gave a wet snuffle and turned her face to Noah’s knee.
This time, Noah was ready for her and swiped her nose with a napkin. “Gotcha.”
She looked up at him, aghast, lower lip trembling.
“Come here, Penny.” The girl next door crouched in front of Noah and held out her hands, just far enough away that she couldn’t touch him again.
“No-o-o.” Penny wasn’t just an athlete in the making. She was also a bit of a drama queen. She clutched Noah’s calf and shook her blond curls. “No-o-o.”
Penny’s mom raised those blue eyes to Noah’s once more, causing a heart-stuttering, equilibrium-shaking, white-noise-in-the-ears relapse.
“Given the way my daughter clings to you, we should be on a first-name basis. I’m Ella.” Her glance caught on Noah’s black gloves.
And just like that, Noah was reminded why he didn’t want a woman’s interest.
The world self-corrected. Stabilized.
“Mom.” Penny made a raspberry noise against Noah’s knee, negating her mother having any name other than... “Mom. Mom. Mom.”
“I’m Noah.” He ruffled Penny’s blond curls with his left hand. “Your daughter is what? Two?”
“I two,” Penny confirmed, holding up four fingers.
The twins ran by, followed by their mother, who said, “No one told me the terrible twos lasted long after the age of four.” She snatched a boy in each arm and gave them a playful growl as she stood, glasses sliding down her thin nose. “Only boys who behave get French fries.”
The boys stopped struggling and allowed their mother to carry them to the lunch counter, where she deposited each on a stool and ordered French fries from Ivy.
“Fesh fies?” Penny toddled forward into Ella’s arms.
“Apple fries?” Ella countered, then whispered conspiratorially to Noah, “So much healthier, and in my bag.”
His mother would have said, “She’s as adorable as her daughter.”
I’ve never liked adorable.
His sister would have said, “She’s not wearing a wedding ring.”
A fact I noticed completely by accident.
“Fesh fies!” Penny cried, pointing at the boys.
“But apple fries just aren’t the same,” Noah murmured. He caught Ella’s eye. “You should head back down the mountain before the storm hits. At Penny’s age, a case of the sniffles can turn serious overnight.” There. Spoken like a country doctor who only had a little girl’s best interests at heart.
Mitch gave Noah an approving nod, the kind of gesture that said, You’re one of us.
Noah clenched his teeth.
I have nothing in common with these people.
Worry flashed in Ella’s eyes. She’d no doubt weathered illnesses with her daughter before. Little kids picked up every germ.
“It’s just a cold.” Shane made light of Noah’s concern.
Ella’s gaze shuttered. She gave Noah a small smile. “Thanks, but it looks like we’re staying.”
“That’s too bad,” Noah murmured, staring at his gloved right hand and wishing Ella Monroe would leave town quickly.
A woman like Ella made a man remember he’d once had lofty dreams, made him think he could still be somebody important, made him try to regain ground when the odds were embarrassingly, impossibly stacked against him.
Well, what do you know. His inner cynic chuckled.
Turns out, Noah did have something in common with the other residents of Second Chance.
He wanted the Monroes gone.
CHAPTER TWO (#u620f0279-c426-5259-9dc8-308fc4fad755)
ELLA SHARED BOTH potato and apple fries with Penny at the counter of the Bent Nickel and tried not to stare the entire time at Noah and his gloves.
It was chilly inside the coffee shop and Ella hated being cold, but when she’d wiped baby snot off Noah’s pant leg his gaze had heated her right up.
All due to embarrassment, naturally.
She sneaked a glance at Noah, testing her embarrassment theory.
His black hair was long and pushed back from his face, brushing his collar in loose waves. He had a full, short, dark beard and broad shoulders. His brow had been furrowed since she’d walked in and his eyebrows were on permanent ground patrol over his blue eyes. He’d seemed different than the rest of the men in the coffee shop. Or maybe it was just that he held himself stiffly, as if he considered himself an outsider.
Ella could relate. She’d spent most of her middle and high-school years feeling like an outsider, a foster child with a few friends and a drawer of hand-me-down clothes. She’d since filled her closet, but after what had happened at the reading of Harlan’s will, she wasn’t sure of her future as a Monroe. If she couldn’t make a market assessment Bryce’s cousins approved of would they shut her out of the family, too?
Her attention drifted to Noah. His clothes were new. That wasn’t what kept him apart from the others. It was the black leather gloves, she decided. That, and the soulful look in his eyes.
Their gazes connected, and Ella lost track of her breath. The lack of oxygen combined with awkwardness heated her cheeks. The embarrassment theory was holding water.
Embarrassment and the fact that he’s gorgeous and looks at me as if I wasn’t the kind of woman to eat a package of Penny’s cheese and crackers for breakfast.
The Bent Nickel diner was a throwback to a simpler time. Green-and-white checked linoleum tiles. Chrome bar stools with mint-green vinyl seats. Forest green vinyl booths and worn white Formica tabletops. Framed photos crowded the walls, mostly black-and-white pictures of people in front of cabins and vintage cars.
There were elementary-age kids gathered around the L-shaped counter and a booth beside it. Schoolbooks, notebooks and laptops were stacked or open. Tall milkshake glasses and baskets of French fries were distributed among them. Between the chatter they spared amused glances toward Andrew and Alexander, Sophie’s twin boys, who were holding a spinning race on their bar stools.
“Me, too.” Penny patted Ella’s arm and then pointed to the twins. “Me, too.”
Penny didn’t have the arm strength to spin herself. Ella turned Penny’s bar stool in a slow circle.
“Whoa.” Penny’s eyes got huge. When her back was to the counter she had nothing to hold on to, particularly when she had an apple fry in one hand and a potato fry in the other. That didn’t stop her from saying, “Again,” when she’d completed one circuit.
Ella turned her stool a second time, aware of Noah’s gaze upon them.
“Woof.” Penny was halfway around on the stool. She pointed out the window and dropped the potato fry. “Uh-oh.”
Ella stopped spinning as she realized what Penny had seen—a yellow dog with an uneven gait. “Someone’s dog is outside.”
“That’s a Labrasnoodle.” Roy moved toward the window. “Does it belong to one of you Monroes? It’s one of them designer dogs. A Labrapoo or Doodledoo or something.”
“We brought kids,” Shane said loftily. “Not dogs.”
“The dog’s limping.” Roy peered to the side. “Come on, Doc. Looks like someone dumped a dog out here again.” Roy glanced back at Noah.
Ella and Sophie exchanged raised-eyebrow glances, as if thinking the same thing: What was a young veterinarian doing in an old town like this?
Noah didn’t get up. “I’m a surgeon, not a vet.” His fingers flexed.
Ella and Sophie continued to be perplexed: What was a young surgeon doing in an old town like this?
A yellow, curly-haired Labradoodle placed two large paws on the diner’s window, peeked inside, barked once and then dropped back to all fours.
“Woof,” Penny barked again.
Her antics made the twins giggle and a preteen girl with braces say, “Ahhh, how cute.”
Roy opened the door and the dog burst in, along with a surge of cold air. His feet scrambled for purchase and he slipped and slid around the room, managing to gobble up Penny’s fry on the floor before he crashed into Noah almost the same way Penny had done.
The dog put his big paws on Noah’s sturdy thighs, then he exhibited a panting grin that passed over every human in the room before settling on Noah. Immediately, he was surrounded by eight schoolchildren eager to pet the dog and take a photo with their tablets.
“Isn’t this against some kind of health code?” Shane asked from one of the dark green booths. He was nursing a cup of black coffee and reading a thin local pamphlet on real estate for sale in the area.
Ella made a mental note to get a copy for herself.
“In winter, the health codes are more like guidelines.” Roy thrust his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels. “And in winter the Bent Nickel is more like Ivy’s family room.”
“Talk like that will get me shut down quicker than the wind whips down this stretch of road during a blizzard,” Ivy snapped. And then her tone softened. “I’d prefer to report that Doc’s therapy dog came in the diner today. Just keep him out of the kitchen.”
“I’ll get you a bag of dog food, Doc.” A tall woman grabbed her coat and hurried out the door.
“He’s not mine.” Noah sounded put out.
Roy put his hands on his knees and bent to peer at the canine. “He’s not putting any weight on that back foot. Why do you think that is, Doc?”
Noah shook his head. “Again, not a vet.”
Mitch cut his way through the crowd and ran his hands around the dog’s neck. “I saw this guy outside earlier. He wouldn’t come to me and he doesn’t have a collar.”
Most of the kids drifted back to the counter and their food.
Laurel had recovered enough from being carsick to get up and go over to pet the dog. “He might be microchipped.”
“Not likely if he don’t have a collar.” Roy sat down by the fire and whistled for the dog. “We’ve had folks dump pets out here before. Sad way to treat a member of the family.”
Ella’s compassion for the dog increased.
“Woof.” Penny’s eyes were huge. She’d never seen such a large dog before.
The dog heard Penny and wagged his big tail, but he didn’t move from his position in Noah’s lap.
“Come on, boy.” Roy whistled again, slapping his thin thighs. “Dogs love me.”
The dog wasn’t budging from Noah.
“Maybe he’s deaf,” Roy said brightly. He had the kind of attitude that nothing could bring down, not even a blizzard.
The dog turned his head to smile at Roy.
“He’s made up his mind.” Roy stood. “Dogs have a way of choosing people and he seems to have chosen you, Doc.”
Noah sighed and stared into the dog’s big brown eyes. “Are we really going to do this?”
The dog bumped his big nose against Noah’s chin, making all the children laugh.
Noah ran his gloved hands over the dog’s torso and down each of his front legs. And then he ran his hand down the leg the dog held off the ground.
The poor boy yelped and somehow—big as he was—managed to climb completely into Noah’s lap.
“Best take him to your clinic,” Roy said. “He might need surgery.”
Noah blanched.
“While you take care of the dog, Noah, I’ll check in our guests.” Mitch gestured that they should follow him, which was easier said than done. Everyone had to bundle up first.
Shane drove the SUV two businesses down from the diner and parked, while Laurel, Sophie and Ella ushered the kids along the shoveled walk.
The diner, the general store, with its two gas pumps and a single-bay garage, and the inn had all been built along the river and had enough space between the two-lane highway and the buildings for a vehicle to pull in and park perpendicular to the road. There was a narrow sidewalk from one building to another covered by a slanted roof to offer some protection against the elements, although not the cold.
There were small log-cabin houses up and down the highway, many of which looked forlorn and deserted. There were many buildings on the other side of the road, both new and old. A huge log cabin sat on the corner and butted against another small highway, across from which was a small church and a building with a cupola and bell.
Ella didn’t relish doing a market assessment with so many buildings spread out and heavy snow in the forecast. Would she have to shovel her way to every door?
The icy wind blew strong enough to chafe Ella’s cheeks and sweep Penny’s feet out from under her.
Ella kept her daughter upright but shrugged deeper into her stadium jacket. “I hate cold.”
“You should come live near me in Southern California.” Laurel wrapped her thin leather jacket tighter around her chest. “Since you have to move.”
“Don’t take her away from me,” Sophie countered. “I’m determined to get a job at the museum in downtown Philadelphia.” Sophie had been the Monroes’ art-collection curator.
Yes, the collection was so large it needed a manager.
“Cold, Mom.” Penny raised her arms to be lifted into Ella’s.
They hurried past the garage and then climbed the stairs onto the wood porch, which spanned the length of the inn, and went inside.
The Lodgepole Inn was a long, two-story log cabin wedged between the highway and a bend in the river. The logs used to build the cabin hadn’t been planed. Their curving girth took an extra foot off the interior on every exterior wall, making the large space seem cozier somehow.
“How big is this place?” Ella asked while Mitch checked her in.
“The Lodgepole Inn has ten rooms upstairs and two suites downstairs.” Mitch had thick black hair and a cautious smile, one that you didn’t usually find in politicians or innkeepers. He swiped Ella’s credit card and returned it to her. “My daughter and I run the place.”
Penny and her cousins ran around the great room, which had a comfy couch covered in a blue-and-brown quilt, several high-backed chairs, a large TV on the wall and a big rock fireplace, the kind pioneers used to cook in but with hearth seats built into either side. The kids squealed and released pent-up energy from hours spent on a plane and in a vehicle.
“How charming,” Sophie said, giving herself a tour of the main room.
“Our inn used to be a brothel for the miners.” A preteen girl with pale strawberry blond hair, braces and her father’s cautious smile handed Ella a metal key attached to a thin strip of wood that had the words Blue Bonnet carved in it.
“Gabby,” Mitch gently chastised. “That’s not the way we market the Lodgepole Inn.”
The preteen shrugged. “I did a paper on the history of the town.”
“We don’t know for sure it was a brothel,” Mitch said apologetically, as if it might matter to the Monroes. “Some people say it was a barracks for the cavalry. I can tell from the architecture it was originally two large, two-story cabins with a stable in between. You’ll see several different types of cabins in town—round-log, square-log and brick.”
“Our round-log inn was a brothel.” Gabby frowned at her father. “I even footnoted it in my report.”
“I’d like to read it.” Ella’s interest was sincere. History added value to property. The information the lawyer had given her included when structures were built and what their exterior dimensions were, but not much else.
Mitch’s smile hardened at her request. “Ella, if you need anything let us know.” He waved a hand toward the stairs, which were made of pine and had a rustic lodgepole-pine railing.
“What we’d like to know,” Shane said, handing over his credit card, “is why my grandfather purchased this town.”
“Gabby, go get Shane the key to Sawtooth.” Mitch waited until his daughter disappeared into the back room. “He didn’t tell you?”
Shane shook his head.
“I don’t know,” Mitch said, not entirely believably.
“Really?” Shane rubbed his jaw and considered the innkeeper. “He bought this place from you a decade ago. You signed a lease for one dollar a year. You’re telling me that somewhere along the line you didn’t ask my grandfather why he was interested in your property?”
“You’re facing a dead end.” Gabby returned, placing the key and wooden key ring on the counter. “That’s about as much as I’ve gotten out of him.”
Mitch frowned. “Gabby, what have I told you about adult conversations?”
“I’m just trying to take on more responsibility in the family business, like you asked.” The preteen held up her hands. “I guess you don’t need help with check-in.”
“That’s not what I meant.” Mitch sighed and smiled at Ella, gesturing from his daughter to Penny. “Take notes. This is your future.” He turned to Shane. “If Harlan Monroe didn’t tell his family why he bought the town, you can assume he didn’t tell us, either.” He consulted a map of the inn. “Let’s put Laurel in the Meadow Room.”
“Mom.” Penny tugged at Ella’s leg with both hands. Her cheeks were flushed. “Want cookie.” She coughed.
Was that a productive cough? Or just an I-need-to-blow-my-nose cough? Ella dug in the diaper bag for a tissue and a small snack bag of bear-shaped graham crackers.
“In case you need anything to wash that cookie down with, there’s a kitchenette around the corner with a small fridge, a microwave and a sink,” Mitch said, using the interruption to gloss over Shane’s dig for information. “Help yourself to coffee or water.”
“I can store things in the refrigerator?” Ella thought about cheese sticks, milk and yogurt. “Is there a freezer?” For ice cream.
“No, sorry.” Mitch seemed genuinely apologetic.
“This is really fine work.” Laurel fingered the blue-and-brown quilt on the couch. “Who made this?”
“Odette.” Gabby bounded from behind the desk to the living room. “She’s super old.”
“Gabby.”
“That’s what she says,” Gabby countered, defending herself with a put-upon huff. “She lives down the road. She tried to teach me how to knit and sew, but I’m kind of a lost cause.”
“Meaning the knitting needles weren’t as interesting as a video game,” Mitch murmured half under his breath.
“I was just a kid when she tried to teach me before,” Gabby said. “Are you really Ashley Monroe’s twin? You look just like her.”
Laurel nodded, smiling weakly as if her stomach was still upset. It was a burden to look exactly like her famous sister.
“You were eleven when she tried to teach you,” Mitch said. “And you’re still a kid.”
“Dad. Don’t mind him. His bark is worse than his bite.” Gabby executed a disparaging eye roll to the ceiling before her glance landed on Laurel’s nearby feet. “I love your boots.”
“I got them at a vintage store in Hollywood.” Laurel traced the quilt pattern with her finger. “I’d love to meet Odette.”
Sophie was standing near the collection of items hanging on the inn’s wall—an old ice pick, a washboard, a bed warmer.
“Odette’s not much for strangers,” Mitch cautioned. “Took her months to warm up to Noah.”
Noah didn’t look like a doctor. He looked like he’d been in the mountains for too long and had just come down for a cup of coffee for the first time in months.
“Is Noah new to town?” Ella asked casually, pouring a little water into a small plastic cup in the kitchenette.
“Noah came to us months ago when we needed a new doctor.” Mitch answered Ella’s question, but he was still having a who-will-blink-first face-off with Shane. “Second Chance is the county seat. We have the only doctor and homeschooling coordinator for a hundred miles.”
“What happened to the old doctor?” Shane asked.
“Doc Carter?” Mitch’s expression turned grim. “She died.”
“This bed warmer is from Europe.” Sophie adjusted her glasses and peered at the back of the piece hanging from the wall. “Antique and highly valuable.”
“It was here when I bought the place eleven years ago,” Mitch said, not sounding impressed. “And before you question me about what your grandfather bought, he paid for the land and the structures in town, not anything inside where people were still living. So, if the bed warmer is worth anything and you want it, you can make me an offer.”
“That answers the question about why you sold this place to my grandfather.” Shane pulled the keys to the SUV from his pocket. “Money.”
“Shane,” Sophie chastised.
Ella wanted to second Sophie’s reprimand, but she wasn’t sure it would be well-received now that her place in the family seemed to be in doubt.
“What about properties where people weren’t living?” Laurel looked thoughtful. “And where businesses had gone under? There are a couple of vacant-looking buildings around here.”
There were more than a couple.
“If it’s vacant or the business went under, everything in it is yours.” Mitch didn’t seem happy to admit that. “Next.” He waved Sophie to the desk.
His daughter glanced from her father to Shane, but said nothing.
After everyone was checked in, Laurel watched the kids while Shane, Sophie and Ella unloaded the luggage from the Hummer. It wasn’t yet dinnertime, but the sky was darkening and the temperature was dropping noticeably.
“Be careful what you say to Mitch,” Shane cautioned when they were outside. “I don’t trust him.”
“Is that your testosterone talking, brother dear?” Sophie slung cartoon-decorated backpacks over each shoulder.
“That’s my business-sense talking, sister dear.” Shane scowled, an expression that might have been amplified by the sudden gust of biting wind.
“He’s defending his territory.” Ella wrestled Laurel’s huge, heavy suitcase to the ground, narrowly missing her toes. Laurel had also brought a large garment bag full to the seams. Wow. Did all costume designers pack for every contingency? “People get uncomfortable when there’s uncertainty about their home.”
It was the wrong thing to say. Shane’s scowl deepened. “Remember you’re a Monroe, Ella.”
Sure, she thought, for now. But these past few days, she hadn’t been proud of it.
CHAPTER THREE (#u620f0279-c426-5259-9dc8-308fc4fad755)
NOAH TRUDGED THROUGH the deepening snow to his cabin carrying a bag of dog food.
The limping dog trailed behind him.
A dog. One everyone thought was cute. And no one else would take him? Because he was lame?
It figured.
Noah was reminded of his father’s history of perfection. Every event in Noah’s life that fell short of his standards was met with a pronouncement of the man’s greatness.
You came in fourth in the relay race? My friends and I were state champs.
That’s your SAT math score? My math mark was seventy points higher than that on my first try.
His father had the highest expectations. He’d have taken one look at the laboring dog and contacted the closest animal-rescue facility.
The joke’s on you, Dad.
The truth was, the dog wouldn’t go with anyone else.
Darn dog didn’t know he’d made the wrong choice.
“Don’t expect much,” Noah told the dog when he reached the porch, because he’d been trained to have a polite bedside manner, even when he was in a foul mood.
The dog paused on the top step, panting. Snow clung to his shaggy golden hair as if it had been professionally frosted. His dark brown eyes, which peeked out from beneath overgrown bangs, were filled with things Noah didn’t want—love and trust. With those eyes, he was exactly the kind of dog that should appeal to someone like Ella.
“And don’t think this is permanent.” Noah gave the canine a stern look. “It’s just until you’re back on your feet.” He sighed, put his key in the lock and opened the door. “And now I’m talking to a dog.” Which, on second thought, might be an improvement. He’d been talking to himself since he’d gotten here.
He hurried inside, closed the door quickly behind them and just as hastily hung up his outerwear on hooks—knit cap, scarf, jacket. The dog sat at his feet, leg thrust out at an awkward angle.
“Did you forget we had an appointment, Doc?”
Noah jumped in the midst of removing his gloves. He quickly tugged them back in place and turned toward the corner, where the exam room was located. “I thought I locked the door.”
“You did.” A wiry old woman wearing a yellow knit cap over her coarse gray hair sat on the exam-room table, partially hidden by a privacy screen. “I know where the spare key is.”
Why don’t I know where the spare key is?
Noah’s pulse rate peaked, then began its descent into normal. Thankfully, the important stuff—the medicines and equipment—was locked in cabinets. He doubted there was a spare key to those, but he made a mental note to ask Mitch about keys regardless. “Odette, you don’t have an appointment today.” Or any day, for that matter.
The dog hobbled over and sniffed Odette’s feet, which were covered in red-and-blue hand-knit socks.
Odette patted the dog on the head. “Doc, dying patients need daily appointments.”
“You’re not dying.” She was just old and in need of some company. “Go back to your arts and crafts.”
She harrumphed, and then muttered, “Arts and crafts,” as if he’d referred to her quilting and knitting in a derogatory manner.
Which in hindsight, he might have. Her continued presence was getting on his nerves. His neighbor came by so often, she didn’t comment on his gloves anymore.
The dog sat at the base of the table and wagged his tail, more than willing to accept a visitor. Why couldn’t Noah have rescued a territorial guard dog?
“Doc Carter knew I was dying.” Odette huffed, thin shoulders slumping. “She was nice to me.”
Noah stalked over to the exam area, and grabbed the blood-pressure cuff and his stethoscope.
The canine panted and wagged his fluffy tail as if to say, You have to be nice to her, too, because she’s old and alone.
He scowled at the dog. “I’m paid to keep Second Chance residents healthy. Kindness is extra.”
The dog stopped panting, closed his mouth and stared at Noah in disbelief.
Noah shrugged and said to the dog, “Don’t look at me like that. Kindness never healed anybody.”
“Aha!” Odette fairly crowed with satisfaction. “You agree I’m down to my last days.”
“No. I was...” Talking to a dog because the isolation of Second Chance is getting to me?
That admission wouldn’t go over well. He wrapped the cuff around Odette’s arm with difficulty, relying on his left hand to pull it snug. He had to hand-pump the unit, because every piece of medical equipment in the cabin was at least ten years old and behind in technological advances. He still had to use an oral thermometer to take a patient’s temperature!
Odette went rigid, held her breath and leaned away from the cuff. “My brother always told me getting old was a chore.”
“Don’t tense up or we’ll have to do this again.”
“I’ll just look at your therapy dog.” Staring down, Odette visibly relaxed.
Noah felt her forehead—not hot—then relieved the pressure on the valve and watched the gauge fall.
“He has such sweet eyes. What’s his name?”
“Dog.” Noah removed the armband and picked up his stethoscope, instructing her to breathe deeply as he listened to her lungs. He checked her skin for elasticity. “Your blood pressure is normal. Your lungs are clear. You’re hydrated.” He retrieved her file from a drawer and dutifully logged the date, her numbers and his assessment—normal. Why did she insist she was on death’s door? “Are you having hurtful thoughts? Are you depressed? Is it hard to get up in the morning?”
“No, no and no.”
“Odette.” He gave the old woman his most serious expression, the one he used to use when he told sports stars they had to agree to an intense postsurgery therapy regime if they wanted him to operate. “I think you’ll live another day.”
Odette fell back on the exam table as if this was the worst news ever. “How can you say that?”
“Because you have no history of any disease and you walked over here through two feet of snow, not to mention you ascended an incline.” His was the highest cabin on this stretch of road. “If you were dying, the dog would’ve found you buried in a drift, not in here.” He took hold of Odette’s shoulder and raised her to a sitting position. “Come on. I’m sure you’ve got a project or two waiting for you at home.”
“I do.” She perked up, a smile revealing layers of wrinkles on her face. “I’m tackling homemaker quilt blocks today. Eight points plus four Y-seams. It’s very challenging.” She slid off the end of the table and walked to the bench where she’d left her snow boots and jacket, pausing to look out the big plate glass window to the buildings on the river side of the road. “There are visitors at the inn.”
“Yes.” He got out a towel and dried the dog off, taking his time before saying more. “The Monroes have arrived. Four of them. In a Hummer.”
“Roy will be happy.” Odette looked far from happy. “What are they like?”
“Why don’t you go see for yourself? I’m busy.” He picked up the paperback thriller he’d been reading for the last two months, sat down in his living room recliner and then glanced back at the dog.
As if released from the “stay” command, the shaggy beast came over and sat next to him, putting his muzzle on the arm of the chair and staring up at Noah with worshipful, big brown eyes.
There’s nothing left to worship here, big fella.
“You aren’t busy. You’re going to hold that book and then stare out at the valley like you and Roy do every day.” Because there were big picture windows in the north and east corners of the cabin, Odette had an unobstructed view of Noah’s front room from her small cabin to the north, as well as Roy’s, which was about fifty feet south of Noah’s. “Tell me about the Monroes.”
“If you’re curious, you know where to get your answers.” He extended the footrest on his recliner. “Or you can use those binoculars of yours.”
The dog inched closer, put a paw on Noah’s arm and kept moving forward, as if he’d inch his way right into Noah’s lap.
“Don’t even think about it.” Noah blocked him with an elbow.
“I can’t go down there with all those strangers.” Odette paced with sturdy, healthy steps.
“Don’t be such a drama queen. They’re checking into the inn. Go ask Ivy or Roy their impressions if you don’t want to see them.”
“You’re impossible. You and that dog. You’ll both be happy just staring out the window while this old lady withers in front of your very eyes.” Odette put on her jacket and her snow boots with vigor and then she was gone, slamming the door behind her.
Snow was beginning to fall. Noah watched Odette walk along the path she created to his cabin every day. She turned on her porch, made a rude gesture at him and then disappeared inside her home.
Then it was just Noah, the dog, the book whose plot he couldn’t remember and silence. It was in the daily silence of Second Chance that Noah missed practicing orthopedics, missed solving the puzzle of a body’s injury, missed the satisfaction of seeing patients hobble in and walk out months later.
His four-legged friend whined softly.
Noah wasn’t sure if it was from the desire to be in his lap or if the dog was in pain.
That leg...
“Come on, dog.” Noah removed his black gloves, went to the supply cabinet and rummaged around until he found a neoprene elbow brace with Velcro fasteners. He slid it clumsily on the dog’s injured back leg because neither the dog nor his weak right hand cooperated. Finally, he got it in place.
“I know what you need, but that brace will make walking easier.” Noah toggled through his phone until he pulled up a video of himself performing knee surgery on a basketball player, the basketball league’s rookie of the year from two years ago. His own alma mater had requested the rights to film the surgery to use to teach doctors. In the film, Noah’s hands moved with steady skill and smooth dexterity.
He tried to recreate the motions with his right hand—holding the knife, performing a precise cut, using a tendon stripper. His fingers felt feeble and clumsy, stretching the thick, jagged scars painfully. His hand curled into a shape Captain Hook would have been satisfied with, but one Noah hated.
Ella had acknowledged his gloved hands with nothing but a polite look. Such a non-reaction whereas every other woman he’d spent time with had made an issue of it.
Noah tossed his phone onto the coffee table and stared down at the dog. “What did it matter whether or not Ella made a big deal about the gloves?” She’d flinch away from the horrific scars on his hand, the same as any woman with any sense would.
The dog pushed his big head beneath Noah’s scarred right hand, unfazed by the ugliness of Noah’s flesh.
“I can’t help you, mutt,” Noah said, weaving his fingers into the soft golden fur at the back of the dog’s neck. “You tore your ACL.” And Noah was no longer a surgeon to the sports stars, not to mention he wasn’t an orthopedic veterinarian.
He stared out the window toward what he could see of the Sawtooth mountain range beneath the low clouds, pet the lost dog and watched the snow make everything in Second Chance look idyllic, when in fact it was anything but.
* * *
“KIDS! KIDS!” PENNY CRIED, standing on her tiptoes and pressing her face to the frosted glass. She wore a footed pink sleeper and a severe case of blond bedhead. “Sed, Mom. Sed.”
The road had disappeared beneath several feet of snow. The sun peeked through thinning gray clouds. Two stories below them, several children rode plastic sleds and inner tubes down a gentle slope beside the inn, one that plateaued long before reaching the river.
“Go see.” Coughing, Penny tugged Ella’s hand and faced the door, wanting out.
“We need clothes and food first.” If not breakfast, at least something in her stomach.
“Cos.” Penny dropped Ella’s hand and turned her attention to the sleeper’s zipper.
While she was occupied, Ella donned snow pants and a thick yellow sweatshirt, applying light makeup using the mirror in the cramped bathroom, which had barely enough space for a person to turn around in, but still managed to be charming. It had dark wood paneling and green fixtures from the forties—a pedestal sink, toilet and short bathtub-shower combo you could sit in if your knees were completely bent.
The log walls were similar to the walls of the home they’d be vacating in a few short weeks—round and yellow. The main room was small, too, with a queen bed framed with six-inch-diameter logs and dressed in a star quilt made with red and black blocks. The curtains were faded lace and didn’t block out any sunlight. It was quaint.
The kids outside shouted with joy.
“Cos,” Penny wailed, falling to her bottom on the thick carpet as she tried to peel herself out of the sleeper.
“I’ll help.” Ella made quick work of the sleeper, put a fresh diaper on her daughter and then dressed Penny in a pair of blue long johns to go under her pink snowsuit. “And now we brush hair and teeth.”
“Want sed, Mom. Want kids.” Penny ran back to the window to reassure herself the kids were still outside.
A half hour and a hurried start of coffee (for Ella), applesauce (for Penny) later, and the pair was outside in their snow gear, joined by Sophie and her two boys. The twins were already down at the bottom of the hill, having borrowed someone’s inner tube. Penny had stopped to make a snow angel nearby.
“Can I take Penny for a ride?” Gabby asked. She wore a purple jacket that made her pale red hair look blond. At Ella’s nod, the preteen put Penny in her lap and they tobogganed down the hill.
Penny’s joyful shriek combined with the hill full of happy children and the cocoon of being with Monroes made Ella want to sing with happiness. She wasn’t quite brave enough to belt out a tune in front of an audience, so she hummed, starting with Grandpa Harlan’s call to action, “Are you ready, Hezzie?”
“Now that we’re here, what’s your plan of attack?” Sophie didn’t take her eyes from her boys, who were prone to find trouble. “How are you going to evaluate the value of Second Chance in the middle of winter?”
“I have the plat map of the parcels before Grandpa Harlan purchased them and the deeds, but—” Ella waved to Penny “—I didn’t count on everything being buried in snow. I have to look at the state of each roof, the electrical, the plumbing.” And more. Ella sighed, not wanting to let down the family. “Do you think Shane will shovel a path to all the buildings for me?”
“He would if you told him we’d get out of town quicker.” Sophie pushed her sunglasses higher on her nose. She’d braided her light brown hair into two short pigtails that stuck out from either side of her knit cap like dangling earrings.
The wind kicked up powder, sending it swirling around their feet.
“Sophie, did you notice Grandpa Harlan wrote that letter around the time Bryce died?”
“I did, but...” Sophie gripped Ella’s arm. “What are you thinking?”
“That I... That Bryce’s and my situation or the way we blindsided the family...”
Sophie squinted at her. “That you’re the reason Grandpa Harlan had us all fired?”
Ella nodded.
“Just like a Monroe.” Sophie hugged Ella fiercely. “Listen, Grandpa Harlan was Grandpa Harlan right up until the very end. He made sure we’d remember him forever.” She released Ella, but held on to one of her hands. “You are not to blame. But it still stinks. It’s times like these—when I’m unemployed and about to be homeless—that I wonder if I made the right decision getting a divorce.”
“You did.” Sophie’s ex-husband had been a piece of work. Ella spared her a glance. “I meant to ask how your date went last week.”
“What a disaster.” Sophie shook her head. “The guy didn’t know the difference between a Picasso and a Matisse. One of the boys swiped my lipstick out of my purse and left me a toy car instead. And my cell phone died so I couldn’t even pretend to receive an emergency text from you.”
“But...was there any chemistry between you?” Ella tucked the memory of a chemical reaction to a doctor’s soulful blue eyes to the back of her mind.
“Chemistry?” Sophie’s bare hands fluttered in the crisp air before she stuck them back in her deep pockets. “I don’t have the energy for chemistry or any of your love-at-first-sight luck. I’m just looking for someone who shares the same interests that I do.”
A big gray truck with a snowplow attachment on the front stopped on the road nearby. Three boys tumbled out, dropped backpacks in the snow and raced to join their friends. The woman driving the truck waved and drove slowly on, clearing a path on the road and making a wide turn at the crossroads to return the way she’d come.
“Now there’s a woman after my own heart.” Sophie’s cheeks were red from the cold. “She has three boys and she plowed a path to a sled hill to keep peace in the family.”
“Your boys are angels.” Ella stomped her feet to keep her toes warm, nearly missing Sophie’s raised eyebrows. “Okay, they’re angels and a caution.”
Gabby took Penny’s hand and began the climb back to the top, dragging her blue plastic sled behind her. The twins were trying to tug the inner tube away from one another.
“Alexander! Andrew!” Sophie yelled. “Share or we’ll go inside.”
The twins tried once more to wrest the inner tube free, and then climbed up the slope together, holding it between them.
“Mitch mentioned something about the passes to civilization being closed.” Sophie’s gaze was still on her boys. “What happens if someone needs the emergency room?”
“Maybe that’s why they have a doctor in town.” Ella had successfully avoided thinking about the handsome doctor for longer than ten seconds—thirty, tops—all morning. Now she recalled the firm muscle of his leg and blushed. “I was more worried about having enough food and heat if we were snowed in. How long did Mitch say the passes will be closed?”
“Five days.” Sophie frowned. “Or was it ten?”
Ten days? Ella hoped Penny’s cough went away.
Gabby and Penny reached the rise where Sophie and Ella stood just as a man rang a bell at the top of the hill. “Who’s coming to school today?”
“You have optional school here?” Ella asked Gabby.
“We have independent study, but yeah, Mr. Garland is available to help us for a few hours every day, so it feels more like regular school.” Gabby shrugged. “At least, what I expect regular school is like.”
“You’ve never been to a traditional school?” Sophie asked, brown eyes wide behind her glasses.
“Nope. My dad moved me here when I was less than a year old.” Gabby positioned the sled at the top for another ride down, sat on the blue plastic and then helped Penny into her lap. “Last ride before school, Penny.”
“Schoo?” Penny rolled off Gabby’s lap onto the packed snow. “I go schoo.” She got to her feet and reached for the girl’s hand. “I go.”
“Okay.” Gabby stood, braces on display as she smiled. “You can help me with math.”
“I don’t think so,” Ella said gently. “Penny’s too young for school.” Not to mention she’d be a distraction to the learning environment.
Penny pouted, crossed her arms over her chest and muttered, “I go.”
“No,” Ella said, just as gently and firmly as the first time.
Sophie’s twins leaped on the blue sled and barreled down the hill, screaming in delight. When they reached the bottom, they fell over sideways and tried to pelt each other with snow.
“I wish my boys were interested in school,” Sophie murmured.
“Mr. Garland won’t mind.” Gabby swung Penny into her arms. “At least let her come see.”
Penny stuck out her lip at Ella.
“Okay.” Ella relented, clearly beaten. “Are you coming, Sophie?”
“Not yet.” Sophie waved off Ella. “I’m going to stay and let the boys burn off some energy.”
They stopped for Gabby’s laptop and schoolbooks, and then followed the other children to the Bent Nickel, saying good morning to Mitch, who was clearing a path from the inn to the coffee shop with a snowblower.
Second Chance’s schoolteacher was younger than Ella expected—in his midthirties—and attractive, although looking in his eyes didn’t make Ella feel much of anything.
Penny claimed a seat at a table with Gabby, her chin level with the tabletop, her green eyes wide as she watched the other children.
“I’m working on the great American novel,” Mr. Garland said to Ella. “In between hiking and fishing and teaching a bunch of bright kids, of course.”
“Which means his book will never be finished.” Gabby smiled widely when Mr. Garland raised his eyebrows at her. “Which is great, because I wouldn’t want any other teacher. Don’t you agree, guys?”
The other children, all younger than Gabby, agreed.
Mr. Garland smiled. “Gabby has great leadership qualities.”
“Thank you, Mr. Garland,” Gabby intoned as if by rote.
“And a healthy dose of sarcasm,” her teacher added. “Which we love her for.”
“Snark is free of charge.” Gabby opened her laptop. “That’s what my dad always says.”
“Okay, Penny, honey. Let’s go.” Ella gave Mr. Garland an apologetic smile. “The kids have school.”
“No.” Penny’s lower lip jutted out. She waved off Ella, which broke her heart. Her daughter rarely rejected her. “Go, Mom. Go.”
The schoolteacher produced a coloring page and crayons. “She’ll be fine here for a bit. It’s good to foster some independence early.”
“But...she hasn’t even been to preschool.” Which made Ella sound like one of those helicopter moms she’d heard so much about, hovering over her child 24/7.
The other children and Ivy reassured Ella they’d watch out for Penny.
“Thirty minutes,” Ella said, relenting. Besides, Penny would need some independence when Ella returned to work. Now was as good a time as any to start. “And then we’ll order a hot breakfast for you.”
Ella hurried back to the inn to get her paperwork on the town properties. She’d looked at it a few times since receiving it and had told Shane she thought there were transaction documents missing. She didn’t have any paperwork on a few of the buildings, most notably the fur-trading post and the mercantile. If Grandpa Harlan owned everything in town, why didn’t she have recent documents for every property in Second Chance?
When she returned downstairs, Mitch was sitting behind the inn’s check-in counter staring at his computer screen. Shane was drinking coffee in front of the fire. The fact that they weren’t talking made the air crackle with tension.
“Where are you off to?” Shane sounded crankier than Penny when she’d been told she couldn’t go to school. Having lived in Las Vegas and run hotels for years, she guessed he wasn’t a morning person.
“I have twenty minutes to begin the property inventory before I have to pick up Penny.” She waved the plat map and left before Shane could ask if he could come. She couldn’t afford to lose time waiting for him to get moving. On the way out, she absently registered Mitch’s odd, almost panicked expression. She chalked it up to something he’d seen on the computer screen.
Ella walked from the inn to the diner, getting her bearings on the map. And then she came upon a dead end. There was no more sidewalk. At least, not one that had been shoveled. There were at least four more buildings on her side of the highway, which... Hey there—the highway had been plowed. She slogged her way through knee-high drifts of snow to reach the cleared highway and then walked north.
The morning was still overcast, and the wind swirled around her like a champion skater.
The next building contained three small storefronts with large plate glass windows and signs that each posted a variation of Reopening in Spring. She’d have to walk through twenty feet of snow to reach the porch.
Um, no.
Best limit this trip to a scouting mission and use her impressions to form a plan of attack. She looked farther north. There were supposed to be four houses or cabins perched on the river side of the road.
Ella consulted the plat map and then surveyed the area. “Why are there only three?” Had she read the map wrong?
The wind tugged at the map.
She tried to hold the paper taut in the air, but doing so only made it billow like a sail. She switched tactics and tried holding it over her thighs, which worked better. Except... Where was she on the map again? She turned around slowly, trying to draw reference from snow-covered landmarks and—
A big gust of wind pushed her backward into a snowdrift, which, all things considered, wasn’t as bad as it seemed. She was protected from the wind and realized the plot across from the missing home had a cabin perched high above the road.
“Aha!” She laughed and tried to stand.
Except, instead of getting to her feet, she sank deeper in the snow and then began to slide backward down the hill toward the river, her stadium coat acting like a soft-sided sled and her head cutting through nature’s snow cone like a shark’s fin cut through water. She didn’t slide fast, but the incline was steep enough that her flailing arms and legs didn’t stop her. Snow clung to the nape of her neck and pushed the knit cap off her head. She slid and slid and slid until her back connected with something solid and she came to a halt, although her heart kept beating as if she was running a race.
If not for the big cold rock at her back, Ella might have plunged in the river. She could hear its throaty gurgle alarmingly close. Her knit cap and property papers were halfway up the hill.
It had all happened so fast. Epiphany. Laughter. Disaster.
Her heart rate began to steady and the cold continued to spread, starting with her neck and her toes and working toward her core.
Cold. So hard to shake regardless of whether you were indoors without heat, or outdoors facing a locked door.
Panic had her jackknifing and scrambling to get her boots beneath her. One leg sunk in the drift to her knee. The other got tangled in the long hem of her stadium jacket. Snow tumbled down the collar of her sweatshirt, making her shiver.
Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».
Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/pages/biblio_book/?art=48664350) на ЛитРес.
Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.