Chapter 12 #2
She loved her dad, but sometimes, he frustrated her.
He was known for his easy-going nature, which was great—he was one of the reasons their repeat guest rate was so high—but that only went so far.
As her mom liked to say, her father had always been content with enough, while she and Willa were wired for more.
On the very outskirts of town, right before the bison preserve, the driver turned up a road Willa had never noticed before. Low, boxy buildings sat shoulder to shoulder, all steel-sided warehouses and equipment yards.
Beyond the corrugated metal walls and roll-up garages, the Tetons rose starkly, the only reminder she was still in Calamity.
“What is this place?” And what’s Dad doing here?
“It’s the Service Yards. An industrial park.” The man leaned forward to get a better view out the windshield. He slowed, pointing to a one-story building. “Here. It’s this one.”
What in the world? She wouldn’t have believed him if she hadn’t recognized her dad’s faded blue F-250 parked in the driveway. “Thanks very much.” Willa paid and got out. She stood in the sunlight, trying to make sense of her dad spending time in a warehouse and not at the inn.
As she passed the truck, a memory pulled at her.
She’d learned to drive in that truck. Once, she’d turned parallel parking into a game of bumper cars.
As she’d reversed into the spot, her dad had quietly said, “Probably not the best angle. Let’s try again.
” She’d tried several times before finally wedging in between two cars.
After that, it was a chaotic mess of pulling forward and back, forward and back, bumping both fenders that blocked her in.
In the end, she and her dad were cracking up. He got out of the car to assess the damage, ready to deal with the financial repercussions, but other than a few scratches, she hadn’t dented anything. Still, it had been a total nightmare.
Her dad had always been so patient. Such a good man.
I have to stop pushing him. We’re just built differently.
And if I’m not willing to step in and help him run it, then who am I to judge his choices?
The tinted glass door was unlocked, so she walked right in.
And came to a hard stop when she took in a sea of high-end Western craftsman furniture. Every single piece—from sideboards to coffee tables, dressers to armoires—was made of dark-stained, hand-finished wood. Like the kind you’d see in luxury mountain homes, resorts, and wealthy ranch houses.
She was so confused. Is he selling furniture to keep the inn in the black?
“Dad?” She moved through the showroom, touching the smooth wood. Light spilled from an open door, and she headed to it. She found him at a desk covered in invoices, his glasses halfway down his nose. “Hey.”
He didn’t respond, and his gaze was unfocused. A sheen of sweat gleamed on his flushed features. His jaw was tight with pain.
“Dad?” She rushed into the room. “Are you all right?”
He glanced at her with a pained smile. “Willa-Bear. What’re you doing here?”
Always so sweet. “Your friend, Maria, gave me the address. She said she worked for you.” She touched his clammy forehead. “You don’t look so good. What’s going on?”
“Just a headache.”
A pretty bad one if the tension around his mouth and eyes was an indication. Also, he was squinting, like he was having a hard time focusing. “Have you eaten today? You left awfully early.”
“Wanted to get some stuff done so I could take you to the airport.”
“I don’t understand. Is the inn in trouble? Are you selling furniture to support it?”
Here I am accusing him of slacking off, and he’s been working two jobs.
“What? No. The inn’s doing just fine. Any hotel located right in the middle of town’s going to be booked year-round.”
“Then what are you doing in this warehouse?”
Her dad stood, his chair scraping across the floor, but he planted his palms on the desk to steady himself.
Papers scattered, and she picked them up. “Holland Woodworks?”
Invoice #: 2048
Client: Ridgecrest Lodge
Balance Due: $118,450
“What is this?” She held them out to her dad.
“I make furniture.” His speech was slow, like it took tremendous effort to get each word out.
“We’ll talk about this later.” She pulled out her phone. “Right now, I’m calling an ambulance.” Something’s very wrong.
“You’re not calling—” He pulled in a sharp breath, his features pinching.
“Sit down, please.” She eased him back into the hard wooden chair. Just the sight of it hurt her heart. This man served guests three hundred sixty-five days a year, he’d raised her on his own—entirely—and what did he have for himself? A crappy office chair.
She made a mental note to buy him an ergonomic one as soon as she got home.
“Wills, I’m fine. It’s just a headache.”
“Maybe it is.” She punched 911 into her phone’s keypad.
“But I’m not taking chances with my dad.
” As the line rang, she kissed his damp cheek, breathing in the scent she’d known all her life.
No matter what kind of laundry detergent they bought, his flannel shirts always held the pine and crisp air of the mountains.
He might use a generic brand of soap, but his skin smelled of freshly chopped wood and campfire.
“911. What’s the address of your emergency?”
Her mind went blank. She grabbed the invoice off the desk and read the address straight from it.
“What’s the problem, ma’am?”
“My dad—he has a terrible headache.” She set a hand on his shoulder. “He’s shaky. Dizzy. He’s sweating.”
“How old is he?”
“Forty-nine.”
“Is he conscious?”
“Yes, but his speech is slower than normal. I don’t know what’s happening.”
Her throat tightened.
I’m scared.
This is my dad.
Willa was glad she’d called an ambulance because they’d bypassed the waiting room and taken her dad straight into a treatment room.
Now, after a battery of tests, she sat with him in a curtained-off bay.
Her heart still hadn’t settled down, but the steady beep of monitors reminded her he was getting the care he needed.
She wanted to text Finlay so badly, but she couldn’t interrupt their wedding weekend. Her thumb hovered over the last chat with Decker. But what would she even say? My dad’s in the ER, and I’m scared?
No. He had his own problems.
She couldn’t just sit there, so she got up and waited for the attention of someone at the nurse’s station. “Excuse me? How much longer till we get the results?”
“Not sure yet. They’re running a few tests, and those take time. The doctor will come talk to you as soon as we know more.”
“Is he going to be okay while we wait? His blood pressure was so high.” She’d never seen anything like it.
“We’ve started an IV, so he’s getting something to bring it down. We’re on it.” The nurse smiled. “Promise.”
“Okay. Thank you.” She hurried back to her dad.
He lay propped against a thin pillow, the white sheet pulled up to his chest. A blood-pressure cuff was wrapped around his arm, inflating with a soft mechanical squeeze every few minutes. Clear tubing ran from the IV taped to the back of his hand to a bag hanging on a metal pole.
Adhesive pads dotted his chest, thin wires trailing to the monitor beside the bed. Green lines crawled across the screen in steady rhythms, punctuated by soft, periodic beeps.
She’d never seen her dad vulnerable like this. He was built like a lumberjack with a full head of thick, dark hair, a mountain man beard, and shoulders broad enough to carry an elk on them.
Now, though, his skin looked gray under the fluorescent lights, and the color had drained from his usual sun-browned face. Damp strands of hair clung to his forehead, and he looked exhausted. “Hey, kiddo,” he murmured, his voice rough and slightly thick, not quite his usual easy tone.
“Hey, Dad.”
“Come on. Don’t worry about me. I’m as strong as a mule.”
“Okay, but we’re not talking about you pulling a plow. We’re talking about your heart.”
He didn’t need her to make it worse. “I know you’re going to be fine. It was just scary to see you that way. You’re my dad. You’re the only one I’ve ever been able to count on.”
She wasn’t sure she knew that until the words came out of her mouth. But nothing had ever been truer.
“And you’re the light of my life.” He closed his eyes, and the tension around his eyes eased.
As she watched his chest slowly rise and fall, regret hit her with a powerful punch. Her dad had always been there for her. He’d gone to every science fair and debate. Every soccer and volleyball game. He’d sewn her tutus for dance classes.
And what had she done to thank him? When she moved to New York City, she’d moved on, taking for granted he’d always be there.
A rolling cart rattled by, and nurses murmured. She brought a chair over and sat beside him.
His big hand covered hers. “Sweetheart, I’m going to be fine.”
She lifted her chin. “I love you so much, Dad. But when you told the doctor you haven’t been taking your medication, I was so upset because I didn’t even know you had high blood pressure.
” Tears blurred her vision. “I didn’t know you made furniture.
It’s like I left for college and never looked back. ”
“That’s what kids are supposed to do. It’s why they call it an empty nest. We raise our baby birds to fly.”
“I just don’t understand. If you wanted to make furniture, why didn’t you go into your family business?” Her great-grandfather and granddad had owned Holland Cabinetry. “Why did you choose to run the inn?”
He looked down at his feet and shifted uncomfortably.
What was she missing? “Your work is beautiful, Dad. You’re so talented.”
“Thank you. I’m glad you think so.”
“You have a whole warehouse of it. How come you’re not selling more?”
“I guess I always viewed it as more of a hobby.”
Except she’d seen the pile of invoices. “But it’s not anymore?”
He looked her in the eyes. “No. It’s not.”