Hunter
Chapter Four
Hunter
D awn painted Pine Haven’s kitchen in shades of gray and gold. Even at 5 AM, the resort had its heartbeat—the hum of industrial refrigerators, the distant rumble of delivery trucks, the soft ping of coffee makers coming to life. I leaned against a stainless steel counter, watching Amelia orchestrate the breakfast shift with military precision, her movements practiced from years of early mornings.
“Third delivery’s late,” she told Maria, checking her clipboard. “Call Roberto directly, not the company line. And Jorge—the waffle maker in station two is still sticking.”
“You don’t have to be here,” she added without looking up, somehow sensing my presence. “I’m sure you have more important things to do than watch me count coffee beans.”
“I don’t.” My voice echoed slightly in the quiet kitchen. “Can’t develop a realistic business strategy without understanding day-to-day operations.” And without understanding you, I added silently, noting how even exhausted she moved with quiet authority—the same way Mom used to manage our household staff.
She finally looked at me, suspicion clear in her green eyes. The early light caught gold flecks I’d never noticed before. “And that requires you to be here at five in the morning?”
“That requires me to understand everything.” I straightened, rolling up my sleeves. The familiar motion reminded me of helping Dad in our kitchen, where I’d learned the value of hands-on work. “So, where do you want me?”
For a moment, I thought she might argue. Then, her shoulders relaxed slightly. “Fine. You can help Fernando with the pastry delivery. But change first.” She gestured to my casual but expensive outfit. “Those aren’t work clothes.”
Twenty minutes later, wearing jeans and a borrowed Pine Haven staff polo that smelled faintly of mountain air and industrial detergent, I was hauling boxes of fresh pastries from Marie’s Bakery. Fernando, the head kitchen porter, watched me with barely concealed amusement.
“Not what you expected from resort management, eh?” Fernando asked in heavily accented English, deftly catching a box I nearly dropped.
I grinned, hefting another crate of still-warm pastries. “Honestly? No. But it’s eye-opening.” Like how the kitchen staff moved in a choreographed dance around each other, communicating in half-sentences and knowing looks—the rhythm that only came from years of working together.
“Ms. Horton,” Fernando nodded toward where Amelia was teaching a new server the espresso machine, her voice patient despite the growing pre-breakfast pressure. “She does everything. kitchen, housekeeping, maintenance—whatever needs doing. No job too small.”
“How long has she been running things this way?” The question came out more concerned than I’d intended.
Fernando’s expression grew serious as he arranged croissants with practiced care. “Since her father stepped back two years ago. The economy got bad, staff started leaving for bigger resorts. She just...” he shrugged, but I caught the protective note in his voice, “picked up the slack. Like her mother used to do.”
Something in my chest tightened, watching her. The careful way she demonstrated the machine’s features, her patient smile as the server practiced—it all looked effortless. But I caught the slight droop in her shoulders, the way she subtly massaged her neck when she thought no one was looking. The same tells I remembered from debate tournaments when she’d push herself too hard.
The morning rush hit like a wave. Suddenly, I was busing tables, refilling coffee urns, and even manning the omelet station when one cook called in sick. Through it all, Amelia was everywhere, greeting guests by name, solving problems before they became crises, and keeping everything running with a grace that reminded me painfully of how Mom used to manage our household.
It wasn’t until the breakfast rush finally died that I overheard something that made my blood run cold.
“The new Crystal Ridge Resort is going to be amazing,” a well-dressed woman said to her companion at a corner table, her voice carrying that tone of someone used to being listened to. “Right up the mountain from here. My husband’s firm is handling the permits.”
I slowed my coffee pot refills, staying within earshot.
“Another luxury resort?” her friend asked, stirring her tea with a look of practiced concern. “Won’t that hurt places like this?”
The first woman’s laugh was dismissive—the kind I’d heard too often in corporate boardrooms. “Oh, this place won’t be around much longer, anyway. I heard from Sonia at the bank that they’re about to foreclose—“
I moved away before I could hear more, my mind racing. A new resort? Foreclosure? The pieces started clicking together—the fast-tracked permits I’d been investigating, the pressure from the bank, Arthur’s increasing anxiety. But I couldn’t let Amelia hear it like this, as callous gossip over breakfast.
She was in the lobby when I found her, helping an elderly guest with his luggage despite wearing heels that had to be killing her by now. I waited until she finished, then caught her arm gently. Her skin was warm under my fingers.
“Take a break,” I mumbled, noting the tension in her shoulders. “You’ve been going since five.”
“I’m fine,” she pulled away, but I held firm, remembering how she’d push through debate tournaments until she nearly collapsed.
“Amelia.” I kept my voice low, intimate. “Ten minutes. That’s all I’m asking.”
Something in my tone must have convinced her, or maybe exhaustion won out. She followed me to our deck, as I’d started thinking of it, where I’d already arranged coffee and those bear claws she loved but never bought for herself.
“What’s this about?” she asked, sinking into a chair. The morning light caught the shadows under her eyes that makeup couldn’t hide.
“Can’t a guy bring his partner coffee?” I tried to be casual, though my heart jumped at the word ‘partner.’ But her eyes narrowed—she’d always been able to read me too well.
“Hunter.”
I sighed, sitting across from her. The mountain air carried the scent of pine and fresh pastries. “I made some calls this morning. There’s a temp agency in town that specializes in hospitality staff. They can have people here this afternoon.”
“We can’t afford—“
“I’m covering it,” I cut in, watching her expression shift from exhaustion to that familiar stubborn pride. “Consider it an investment in Pine Haven’s future.”
She stood abruptly. “I don’t need your charity.”
“It’s not charity.” I caught her hand before she could leave, remembering too late how every touch between us seemed charged lately. “It’s me refusing to watch you work yourself into the ground. When was the last time you took a day off?”
She pulled her hand away but didn’t leave. The morning sun caught her face, highlighting her beauty and her exhaustion. “This is my responsibility.”
“And you’re doing an amazing job. But Amelia...” I stood, needing her to understand, to see what I saw—a woman trying to carry her family’s legacy alone. “You can’t save Pine Haven if you burn out.”
Something flickered in her eyes—vulnerability, maybe, or the same loneliness I’d glimpsed at Taylor’s wedding. “I can handle it.”
“I know you can. But you don’t have to handle it alone.”
The morning sun caught her face, highlighting the shadows under her eyes she’d tried to conceal with makeup. Watching her fight her instincts, I remembered all the times she’d refused help in high school—carrying too many books, taking on extra debate research, always insisting she was fine.
“Let me help,” I said. “Please.”
She stared at me for a long moment, and I could almost see her weighing pride against practicality. Finally, she nodded once. “One week trial. But I’m paying you back.”
“We’ll discuss terms later.” I pulled out my phone, already texting the agency before she could change her mind. “Now, drink your coffee before it gets cold.”
The rest of the morning passed in a blur of activity. I shadowed Amelia through every department, learning the complex dance of resort operations—how housekeeping coordinated with maintenance, how the kitchen timed deliveries with meal service and the hundred small details she juggled effortlessly.
By lunch, I had pages of notes and a deeper appreciation for just how much she managed daily. We were reviewing staffing schedules in her office when raised voices from the adjacent conference room caught our attention. One was distinctly Arthur Horton’s, carrying that edge of desperation I recognized from my father’s final business days.
“The bank won’t wait forever, John! If we can’t show significant improvement—“
“There are other options,” a second voice cut in. “Crystal Ridge Developments has expressed interest—“
“Over my dead body,” Arthur growled. “I won’t sell to those vultures.”
I glanced at Amelia, but she had frozen in her chair, her face draining of color as she listened to her father. The staffing schedule she’d been reviewing slipped from her trembling fingers.
“Then we have thirty days,” the second voice—John—said grimly. “After that, foreclosure proceedings begin automatically.”
The voices moved away, but their words hung like smoke in the office. Amelia clenched her hands so tight that her knuckles turned white, a gesture like my mother’s before we lost our family business, and my chest ached.
“Amelia,” I started, but she held up a hand.
“Don’t.” Her voice was barely a whisper. “Just... don’t.”
She stood shakily, moving to the window. The morning sun that had warmed our coffee break now felt harsh, highlighting every line of tension in her posture. I wanted to go to her, offer comfort, but something in the way she held herself—like she might shatter at a touch—warned me away.
My phone buzzed—the temp agency was confirming staff arrivals. But looking at Amelia’s rigid back, watching her fight for control, I knew we needed more than temporary solutions.
We needed a miracle.
Or maybe just one corrupt official’s worth of dirt on Crystal Ridge Developments.
The idea formed as I watched her, remembering every ruthless takeover I’d witnessed in my corporate years. Crystal Ridge wouldn’t play fair, neither would I. Not with Pine Haven at stake. Not with her.
***
The afternoon sun beat down as I made my way into town, my mind churning with what I’d overheard. Crystal Ridge Developments wasn’t just planning competition—they were circling like vultures, waiting for Pine Haven to fail. The same way Morrison Industries had circled Dad’s company before the end.
I pulled into the small parking lot behind the county records office, adjusting my tie with a grimace. Time to put my corporate reputation—and unfortunately, my charm—to good use. I’d always hated this part of business, the schmoozing and flirting for information. It reminded me too much of the games played during Dad’s final days. But for Amelia? For the way, her eyes lit up when she talked about Pine Haven’s legacy? I’d play whatever part necessary.
“Mr. Miller!” The clerk’s eyes widened as I approached her desk. According to her nameplate, Pearl looked to be in her mid-thirties, her blonde hair arranged in careful curls. “What brings you to our little office?”
I leaned casually against her desk, letting my smile turn warm and intimate—the same smile that had closed million-dollar deals. “Please, call me Hunter. And I was hoping you might help me with something.” I loosened my tie slightly, noting how her eyes followed the movement.
“Of course!” She sat up straighter, smoothing her hair. “What can I do for you... Hunter?”
“Research for a potential development project.” I moved closer, lowering my voice conspiratorially. “I was hoping to look at some recent permit applications. Though I’m sure you’re too busy to help me dig through all those dusty files...”
“Oh, no!” She jumped up eagerly. “I mean, it’s no trouble at all. The permit files are right back here.”
I followed her to the records room, mentally apologizing to Amelia for what I was about to do. The familiar mix of guilt and necessity settled in my stomach. Pearl chatted animatedly as she pulled files, clearly enjoying the attention.
Twenty minutes of careful flirtation later—complimenting her filing system, asking about her work, letting my hand linger when she passed documents—I had what I needed. Crystal Ridge had filed permits for not just one but three properties in the area. All mysteriously fast-tracked through the system, just like the permits that had surrounded Dad’s company before the end.
Back in my car, I loosened my tie completely, feeling slightly dirty. Pearl seemed nice—someone who genuinely took pride in her work. But the ends justified the means. Pine Haven was worth it. Amelia was worth it. When she talked about saving her family’s legacy, the thought of her face made the uncomfortable flirtation fade to nothing more than a necessary evil.
My phone buzzed. Amelia’s name lit up the screen, and my genuine smile returned instantly. This—her—was real. Everything else was just a means to an end.
“Where are you?” She sounded stressed. “The temp staff arrived, but they need orientation, and the Hendersons’ anniversary dinner setup needs—“
“I’ll be there in ten,” I cut in. My heart rate picked up at the strain in her voice. “Everything okay?”
A pause, then, “Just... hurry.”
I made it in eight minutes, breaking at least three-speed limits. The scene at Pine Haven was controlled chaos, which reminded me painfully of Mom coordinating family events while trying to hide how much she was struggling.
The temp staff—four housekeepers and two servers—stood awkwardly in the lobby while Amelia attempted to handle their paperwork and a maintenance emergency in the kitchen. Her professional mask was slipping, showing the exhaustion underneath.
“Hot water’s out in the east wing,” she explained breathlessly as I walked in, her hair coming loose from its careful styling. “Jorge’s trying to fix it, but—“
“I’ve got the staff,” I said, taking the orientation packets from her trembling hands. “Go deal with the water heater.”
She hesitated. “Hunter—“
“Trust me, I’ve got this.” The words carried more weight than just temp staff orientation.
Something shifted in her expression—gratitude, maybe, or relief. Or maybe recognition of what I was offering. She nodded once and hurried toward the kitchen.
I turned to the temp staff with my best CEO smile—the real one, not the one I’d used at the records office. “Welcome to Pine Haven. Let’s get you sorted.”
The next hour was a crash course in resort operations. I walked the new housekeepers through room protocols that Amelia had drilled into every staff member, showed the servers the dining room layout where generations of families had celebrated milestones, and helped Jorge diagnose the water heater issue over the phone while remembering Dad’s lessons about hands-on management.
By the time Amelia returned, looking slightly damp but triumphant, the temps were working efficiently and the crisis had passed. Watching her interact with the staff reminded me of how Mom used to handle our household staff—with warmth and respect that inspired loyalty.
“The water heater?” I asked as she approached.
“Fixed. Turns out it just needed—“ She stopped, really looking at me for the first time since I’d returned. “You’re wearing a tie.”
I glanced at my outfit, realizing I was still dressed for my records office visit. The guilt from my earlier manipulation flickered. “Had an errand in town.”
Her eyes narrowed. “What kind of errand?”
Before I could answer—or lie—Mrs. Henderson appeared, looking distressed. “Oh, Ms. Horton! I’m so sorry to bother you, but we’re having trouble with our room’s air conditioning...”
“I’ll handle it,” I blurted, grateful for the interruption. “You focus on their anniversary dinner setup.”
Amelia’s expression softened slightly. “You don’t have to—“
“I want to.” Our eyes met, and for a moment, the bustle of the lobby faded away. “Let me help, remember?”
She nodded slowly, then turned to Mrs. Henderson with the kind smile she reserved for longtime guests. “Hunter will take care of everything. Now, about those special flowers you wanted for tonight...”
I watched them walk away, something warm settling in my chest at how naturally Amelia remembered details about each guest’s preferences. Then I remembered what I’d discovered at the records office, and the warmth turned to ice. Crystal Ridge wasn’t just targeting a business—they were going after a community, just like what had happened to Dad’s employees.
Making my way to the maintenance office, I pulled out my phone and dialed a familiar number—one I hadn’t used since my corporate takeover days.
“Derek? It’s Hunter Miller. Remember that favor you owe me? I need everything you can find on Crystal Ridge Developments. Focus on permit applications and any connections to local officials.”
I lowered my voice as a group of guests passed, Mrs. Henderson’s grandchildren racing toward the play area. “Something’s not right here, and I need to know what we’re up against.”
“Anything specific I should look for?” Derek asked, his tone sharpening with interest.
I thought of Arthur Horton’s words: “I won’t sell to those vultures.” Of how Amelia looked when she talked about Pine Haven’s legacy. Of Mom’s face when we lost everything.
“Yeah,” I said grimly. “Look for patterns. Other properties they’ve gained through foreclosure. And Derek? Make it quick. We’re running out of time.”
After hanging up, I stood for a moment in the quiet hallway, listening to the hum of Pine Haven’s daily operations. Somewhere above me, the new housekeepers were getting rooms ready, their voices mixing with returning guests’ welcomes. The dining room echoed with preparations for the Hendersons’ anniversary celebration—their fiftieth, Jorge had proudly told me. And through it all, Amelia moved like a conductor, keeping every piece in harmony.
I’d be damned if I’d let Crystal Ridge destroy any of it.
***
Evening settled over Pine Haven like a soft blanket, the Hendersons’ anniversary celebration in full swing in the main dining room. I stood at the back, watching Amelia work her magic. She moved among the guests with effortless grace, her simple black dress elegant against the warm glow of candlelight. Something about her reminded me of old photographs of Mom hosting charity events—that same natural ability to make everyone feel special.
My phone vibrated silently in my pocket. Derek’s text was brief but concerning: Found something. Call ASAP.
I slipped out onto the deck, making sure I was alone before dialing. The night air carried the scent of pine and Mrs. Henderson’s roses—flowers that had been part of every anniversary celebration here for fifty years.
“Talk to me,” I said as soon as Derek answered.
“It’s worse than we thought,” Derek’s voice was grim. “Crystal Ridge has a pattern. They target family-owned resorts, usually ones with financial troubles. Then they mysteriously get fast-tracked permits for competing properties nearby.”
My stomach clenched. “Forcing the original properties into foreclosure?”
“Exactly. They’ve done it three times in the past two years. And Hunter? The same county official approved all their permits. A guy named James Wheeler.”
I wrote the name down, my hand tightening on the pen. The same predatory pattern that had destroyed Dad’s company. “Send me everything you’ve got.”
“Already done. But there’s more.” Derek paused—never a good sign. “Wheeler’s wife just bought a vacation home. Three times what they could afford on his salary.”
“Interesting timing,” I muttered, pieces falling into place like a nightmare I’d lived before.
“There’s something else. Crystal Ridge just filed paperwork for a new holding company. Guess who’s listed as a silent partner?”
Before he could answer, I heard voices approaching the deck. “Send me the details. I’ll call you back.”
I ended the call just as Arthur Horton stepped out, accompanied by a man I didn’t recognize—probably the John from earlier. They were deep in conversation, neither noticing me in the shadows.
“The bank won’t budge on the timeline,” the stranger said. “Thirty days, Arthur. Then they’ll start foreclosure proceedings.”
“Damn it, John,” Arthur’s voice was strained—a father’s voice, fighting for his family’s legacy. “There has to be another way. Amelia’s working miracles with that Miller boy—“
“It’s not enough.” John’s tone was sympathetic but firm. “Unless you can come up with two million in cash, Crystal Ridge’s offer might be your only option.”
“I’d rather burn it down,” Arthur growled, and I recognized that tone—the same one Dad had used before the end.
“Then you better pray Miller’s as good as his reputation.” John sighed. “Because right now, he’s all that stands between Pine Haven and foreclosure.”
They moved back inside, leaving me with the weight of their words. Two million. The number echoed in my head as I stared at the mountains, their peaks now dark against the evening sky.
“There you are.”
I turned to find Amelia in the doorway, silhouetted by the warm light from the inside. She looked softer somehow, more vulnerable in the evening light. The breeze caught strands of her hair, and something in my chest tightened at the sight. She belonged here, among these mountains, these memories.
“The Hendersons are asking for you,” she said, stepping onto the deck. Her heels clicked softly against the boards I’d helped replace. “Apparently, you promised to tell them about the time you pitched against the Yankees.”
“I’ll be right in.”
She moved to stand beside me, close enough that I could smell her light floral perfume. The mountain air had cooled, but her presence brought warmth.
“Thank you,” she whispered. “For today. For everything.”
“Amelia—“
“No, let me finish.” She turned to face me, her eyes bright in the dim light. “You didn’t have to help with the staff or Mrs. Henderson’s air conditioning. You didn’t have to spend your day doing manual labor in a borrowed polo shirt.”
She stepped closer, and I caught the slight tremble in her hands as she straightened my collar—a gesture so like Mom’s I had to look away for a moment. “You didn’t have to care about the old photos in the lobby, learn everyone’s names, or remember how Mrs. Henderson takes her coffee.”
The simple touch of her fingers against my collar sent warmth through my entire body. Every instinct urged me to pull her closer, to confess everything—about Crystal Ridge, my investigation, how she’d haunted my thoughts long before her father called. “Actually, I do.”
“Why?”
“Because that’s what partners do.” I met her gaze steadily, letting her see the truth there. “And because this place matters. These people matter. You—“
My phone buzzed again—Arthur Horton’s name on the screen.
Amelia stepped back, the moment shattering. “You should get that,” she said, turning toward the door. “I need to check on the Hendersons, anyway.”
I watched her disappear inside before answering, my voice heavy with resignation. “Yes, sir?”
“Hunter, we need to talk. About what’s really at stake here.”
Through the window, I could see Amelia with the Hendersons now, her face glowing in the candlelight as she laughed at something Mrs. Henderson said. Fifty years of anniversaries celebrated here—the tradition Crystal Ridge would destroy without a second thought.
“Yes,” I said, watching the woman who was becoming everything to me share another family’s joy. “I think we do.”
The mountains loomed dark against the star-filled sky, witnesses to too many family legacies lost. But not this one. Not her legacy.
This time, I’d fight harder. Fight smarter. Fight dirtier if I had to.
Because some things—some people—were worth risking everything for.