Chapter Thirteen
Carson watched as his sister headed back toward the kitchen.
He could tell she was anxious about the article, and he didn’t blame her.
She and Chet had invested a lot into this place.
And they did such a damn good job with it.
He’d seen their reviews, and his own experience here had been mostly positive.
Sure there’d been some screwups. But no one was perfect, right? He hoped Larkin would understand that and would focus on the best things in her article. Maybe a subtle hint from him would help steer things in the right direction.
He had only started ascending the first flight of stairs when Larkin exited the third-story suite carrying her laptop in one hand and some papers in the other. They met on the second-floor landing.
“Good morning.” Despite the problems from yesterday, and his concern about her article, just seeing her face was enough to put a smile on his. Unfortunately, she didn’t appear as happy to see him.
“What are you doing here?”
“Trying to find you, obviously.”
She pursed her lips and rolled her eyes. “After last night don’t you think we need a breather?”
Larkin was only scheduled to stay in Marietta for two more days. They did not need a breather. There was no time for a breather. “Wasn’t twelve hours enough?”
She checked her watch. “You owe me another hour. I’ll see you at breakfast, okay?” She tried to move past him toward the room with the sign Montana Sapphire over the door.
Thanks to his size, it was easy to block her. Also, it wasn’t unpleasant to feel her close to him, to smell the almond scent of her hair, and see the flecks of gold in her coffee-colored eyes.
“What’s that you’re working on?” He nodded at the papers.
“My article. I want to email it to Marly before breakfast.”
“I’d be glad to proofread it for you.”
“Oh, would you? Thanks, but no thanks.” She tried again to circumvent him, but all he had to do was shift his weight from one foot to the other, to block her access to the door handle.
“I remember playing this game as kids,” he said.
She almost smiled. “Honestly, I think you still are a kid.”
“Oh, I’ve added some real grown-up games to my repertoire. I’d like to teach you the rules sometime.”
“Be serious. I have work to do.”
“And I get that. I just hope that when you write about Bramble House you remember all the good stuff. All the special touches and the hard work that Amy in particular, but actually all the staff, puts in to make guests comfortable and happy.”
Larkin pulled back. “Are you trying to tell me what to write in my article?”
“More like hoping you’ll leave certain things out. Like the dead mouse. And the pot brownies.”
Larkin’s face reflected disbelief. And not the good kind. “I’m sorry I lectured you on the evils of physical violence last night. Because right now I feel like smacking you on the side of your head.”
They’d been joking around, or so Carson had thought. But Larkin was deadly serious now and he worried he’d gone too far.
“Hey, I was just joshing you.”
“What you’re doing is pissing me off. Now get out of my way, Carson.
I mean it.” She put her hand on his chest and pushed.
He could have resisted, but he let her move him away from the door.
Seconds after she slipped into the Montana Sapphire room, he heard the snick of her dead bolt shutting into place.
Well, hell. That had not gone well. He may have done more harm than good to his sister’s cause. Plus, he’d given Larkin one more reason to be angry with him.
Across the landing came the sound of another door handle turning. Gibson Adlington stepped out from the Copper room, adjusting the cuffs on his maroon-colored shirt.
“Ah. Carson Wilcox,” he said. “What are you doing in this part of the house? I thought you had the suite over the garage?”
“Good morning,” he said, opting to ignore the questions. How did Gibson know which room was his? It was none of his damned business anyway.
*
Despite her determination to remain cheerful and relaxed that morning, Amy was gritting her teeth by the time Jo served her classic breakfast of poached eggs on a bed of hash brown potatoes, with crispy bacon on the side.
She, Chet, and Jo had worked so hard to serve up a perfect breakfast, with perfect made-to-order coffees, in a picture-perfect setting, and yet the mood around the table was ornery.
It started with Gibson sending back his plate. “I asked for soft poached eggs, not medium.”
They were soft and runny, but Amy took them back anyway. When she returned with a fresh plate, he asked if there was any crispy bacon. Did he mean burnt? Amy wondered, holding back the sarcastic question.
On the other side of the table, Carson and Larkin were obviously not speaking to one another, and even Ethel seemed a little grouchy.
“My back is so sore. I can’t wait to sleep in my own bed again.”
Amy, who had often been complimented on the comfort of the beds at Bramble House, tried not to take this as an insult.
Even the normally cheery Kettles were testy.
“If you don’t want to go shopping, and you’re not interested in taking a tour through Paradise Valley, what do you want to do?” Peter asked as he spread Jo’s homemade marmalade on his toast.
“Now’s a fine time to ask me that question,” Marjorie said quietly.
“Pardon me?”
“Never mind. Pass the marmalade when you’re done, please. I guess we might as well go shopping. I’d like to buy some boxes of chocolates to send to the kids.”
Amy topped up water for those who wanted it and escaped back to the kitchen. “I’ve had it,” she announced to Chet and Jo. “There is no pleasing some people.”
“My eggs and bacon were perfect,” Jo agreed. “I think some people just enjoy being difficult.”
“Whatever the reason, there are some grumpy people out there. Kris was the only one who smiled and said thank you to me.”
Chet put his arms around her waist. “You need a break.”
“Your husband is right,” Jo agreed. “I get to go home every day at two. You have to live with these people.”
“Even I get a break when I go into the rodeo school,” Chet said. “So what would you like to do today? Go get your nails done? Do some Christmas shopping? Meet a friend for coffee?”
All the options sounded wonderful, but Amy thought what she needed most was fresh air and exercise. Before she’d injured her leg, she’d been a runner, and she still missed the high she would get after a good five-mile run.
“How about we put on our snowshoes, bundle Robin into his carrier, and hit some trails?” she asked Chet. “Or do you need to go into your office today?”
“There’s nothing pressing at work. That’s a terrific idea. What do you think, Jo? Can you handle this crowd?”
Jo pointed out the window. “There’s Shelley, almost at the door. And Ella will be here in an hour. We’re fine. Get outside and have some fun.”
*
“How’s the book coming along, Gran?” Larkin asked. She’d taken her grandmother back to the Mable Bramble suite to do some stretching exercises on the floor to help her back. Now she helped her gran back to her feet.
It had been a relief to leave the breakfast table. She was still so angry with Carson she didn’t dare look at him. The other guests hadn’t helped. They all seemed to be a little cranky, which was odd. Wasn’t Christmas supposed to be a happy time?
“Oh, the book is marvelous,” Gran said. “I’ve only got a few chapters left.”
Larkin could tell she was dying to get back to it.
“Where would you like to read? In your room or the library?”
“I do enjoy the library. That way I get to watch the comings and goings. What about you, dear? Now that your article is finished what would you like to do?”
“I was thinking of checking on your house.” She needed to make sure it would be ready for her grandmother to move in to on the twenty-fifth.
It would be the best gift her grandmother could get, being able to spend Christmas night in her own home.
Larkin hoped the transition went smoothly.
She needed to know her grandmother was going to be okay before she could fly back to her life in Denver.
Which she was anxious to do, she told herself.
“That’s a good idea. You and Carson need to have a long talk about whatever it is that’s upsetting you.”
Of course her grandmother would have noticed the tension between them. Larkin felt she owed her an explanation. “He tried to tell me what to write about in my article.”
“Oh? Was he worried you would mention the brownies?”
“Yes. And the mouse in the bathtub. And the overbaked cookies. Basically he’s afraid I’m going to report that standards at Bramble House are slipping, when obviously what is happening is some prankster is making trouble for Amy and Chet.”
“Yes, I’ve been thinking the same thing. But who would want to hurt Amy and Chet and Bramble House?”
“I’m not sure, Gran. If only someone had noticed who it was who put out those brownies.”
“Hopefully whoever it was is finished having their fun,” Gran said, her mouth pursing at the word “fun.” “In the meantime, I wouldn’t be too hard on Carson. He’s protective of his sister, and that’s an admirable thing. You’ll work this out. Just talk. That’s always the key.”
Larkin wanted to take her grandmother’s advice, but as she plowed her way along the snowy sidewalks toward her grandmother’s house, her anger at Carson only grew.
What had he been up to this week, claiming he still had romantic feelings for her? He sure wasn’t planning to leave his ranch and move to Denver. No, he’d expect her to drop her life and everything she’d worked for to be with him.
But she didn’t need a man who felt he had to punch out her adversaries or believed he had the right to control what she did and what she said. She was a trained journalist. An intelligent professional capable of exercising good judgment. But obviously he didn’t see her that way.
Like her grandmother, she did believe in communicating to resolve differences, but what was the point in trying to work out things with Carson? He was still in love with the girl she’d been at eighteen. Not the independent and strong woman she’d become nine years later.
She wasn’t surprised to see his truck parked outside her grandmother’s house. Carson wouldn’t renege on his commitment, no matter how sideways their relationship had gone. She wasn’t impervious to his good qualities. He had many.
She let herself in through the back door, parking her snowy boots on the large rubber mat next to the duck boots her grandmother used for gardening.
Country music was playing from her grandmother’s old radio and beyond that, scraping sounds were coming from the bathroom.
She rounded the corner and, through the plastic dust barrier, saw Carson on his knees, applying something with a trowel-like implement.
“That you, Larkin?” he asked without turning his head. She could see now that he was applying a gray shade of grout to the spaces between the tiles. A smear of the grout was on the thigh of his jeans, another dab was on his strong chin.
“Yup.” She moved closer, parting the plastic curtain between them. “The grout looks good. Is that the final step?”
“It still needs to be sealed, which I plan to do tomorrow. And then I’m done.”
He made the words sound very final. Like it wasn’t just the job he’d be finished with.
“Are you upset with me?”
“Is that so hard to understand?”
She didn’t like this new tone of his. So cold, so blunt. “Actually yes, it is. Exactly what have I done to offend you?” She put a hand to her hip and wondered why her heart was suddenly racing. He shouldn’t have this power over her. And yet, it seemed that he did.
With one finger he delicately cleaned the line of grout he’d been working on, then he put his hands on his thighs and stood.
“I tried hard to see your point of view when it came to Andrew. Why couldn’t you extend the same courtesy for me when it came to my sister?
Amy may have been in my life for just a short time.
But she and Chet and Robbie, they’re family. ”
Her stomach muscles clenched tight. “I know that.”
“So why come down so hard on me for wanting to protect them? Amy invested all the money she got after the car accident that killed her mother into the bed and breakfast. You’ve seen how much she loves the place and how hard she works to preserve the history and provide the best possible experience for her guests. ”
Larkin swallowed the bitter taste accumulating in her throat. All her muscles were so tense now she’d begun to tremble. She stared into his deep blue eyes and waited for the rest.
“All the things that went wrong this week—they weren’t Amy’s fault. Why can’t you see that?”
She let his sentence sit in the air between them for a moment, wondering if he could hear how unfair he was being. But the grim line of his mouth remained hard.
“What makes you think I don’t?” she asked. And then her phone buzzed, signaling an incoming text. Worried about her grandmother, she pulled the phone from her pocket.
But the message wasn’t about Gran, it was from Marly. Can you come to my office? I want to talk about your article.