“We didn’t call him Weird Uncle Willard for nothing. He never seemed quite normal. Much to everyone’s astonishment, he sold one of his inventions for big bucks and ended up with more money than the rest of the family put together.”
“What was he going to do with the place?”
“I don’t know. I think some renovation work has already been done. Where in town is the hotel located?”
“It isn’t. It’s up Devil’s Canyon about five miles.”
Stacy’s mouth was suddenly dry. “Why was it built there?”
“God only knows. The Haverlys were a well-to-do couple from Tennessee. They built a modest hotel in the style of southern architecture, and I guess they planned on doing a thriving business with affluent summer visitors to the area. Unfortunately, the resorts of Vail and Aspen were too much competition for the small logging town of Timberlane. When the Haverlys couldn’t make ends meet, they gave it up.
“A series of owners after them left the place more dilapidated than before. Then Malo Renquist bought it and turned it into a hang-out for modern-day hippies.” His jaw hardened. “After Glenda’s death the place was closed until your uncle came along and bought it.”
“Well, I guess I have my work cut out for me,” she said with as much bravado as she could manage.
“Isn’t there someone else in your family who could help you out. A brother—?”
“I lied. I don’t have any family in Timberlane. I’m an only child. My father passed on from a lingering illness when I was five, and my mother never married again. I lived at home until she died. There’s just me. I had a fairly good job with a marketing company until a few weeks ago. And now I’m here.”
Josh could hear the uncertainty in her voice. And for good reason, he thought as he stopped the car in front of a tall brick building on Main Street.
“I need to make a quick stop and talk to the men who have been repairing the bridge. I’ll call the service station and ask Hank to see if he can pull your car back on the road with his tow truck. It’ll only take a few minutes, and then I’ll drive you up to the hotel and let you off.”
The blunt way he said it gave her the impression he was intending to set her suitcases on the front steps and get away as quickly as possible. Not that she could blame him. The place must open some deep wounds.
As Stacy waited for him, a feeling of being totally displaced in this crude alien place came over her. The physical trauma of the last twenty-four hours had completely dispelled any feelings of excitement or anticipation. She wondered if Josh Spencer’s attitude toward her and her inheritance was indicative of what she could expect from other people in the town. What if he wasn’t the only one who had a personal vendetta against the place her uncle had left her? She knew that some houses and places seemed to harbor bad luck and evil miasma despite attempts to change the karma. Was the Haverly Hotel like that? Was her accident a warning?
Foreboding settled on her so heavily that she couldn’t just sit there any longer. Across the street, she could see a saloon, a general store, a café and a filling station on the corner. Not much to see, but anything would be better than just sitting here getting more and more depressed. The thought of being stuck in this run-down place for God only knew how long wasn’t doing much for her sense of well-being.
She slung her bag over her shoulder and had just taken a few steps away from the pickup when Josh came out of the brick building.
He wasn’t alone. Walking beside him was an attractive brunette wearing tight western jeans, a man’s shirt, and a belt that flashed a large silver buckle. Almost as tall as Josh, her well-rounded figure suggested an athletic firmness. She had a casual arm linked through his, and Stacy knew with feminine certainty that there must be some romantic history between them. Josh frowned when he saw that Stacy was out of the car. Where was she going? He’d taken care of his business as quickly as he could, explaining to Marci’s boss what had happened and what needed to be done right away to keep the whole bridge from collapsing.
He’d even told Marci that he was in a hurry, but she’d insisted on walking out with him to meet the woman who had crashed into his bridge. When he’d told her that Stacy Ashford was the new owner of the Haverly Hotel, Marci’s hazel eyes had nearly popped out of her head.
“You’ve got to be kidding. Does she resemble that kooky Willard?”
“I’ll let you judge for yourself,” Josh answered with a slight smile.
When he introduced them, Josh could tell Marci was astounded to find kooky Willard’s niece to be a petite, shapely young woman whose steady blue eyes regarded her with clear assessment.
Marci quipped in a light, not-so-amused way, “So Josh played the hero and waded through rain, wind and lightning to save you.”
Stacy nodded, thinking that it didn’t take a psychic to know that Marci Tanner wasn’t pleased about her having spent the night at Josh Spencer’s house. There was jealousy sparking every word. Impulsively Stacy gave Josh a smile that could mean anything. “Yes, he was very hospitable.”
“Oh, Josh doesn’t pay any attention to what people think, do you, handsome?” Marci came back with deadly aim. “He was one of the few townspeople who didn’t go around talking about your uncle’s stupidity when he had a heart attack carrying a huge hunk of marble up the hillside all by himself.”
Stacy knew that her uncle had died of a heart attack, but the lawyer hadn’t elaborated. What else didn’t she know?
Josh gave Marci a silencing look as he urged Stacy back in the truck.
“I’ll see you later, Josh, won’t I?” Marci queried in a suggestive tone.
“Don’t know,” he answered shortly. Marci was still standing there, watching as they pulled away from the curb. Damn, he silently swore. Women!
He saw Stacy swallow hard as if trying to get control of her emotions. Marci’s remarks about her uncle had hit home. No telling what she was going to have to face when he delivered her to that abominable hotel. Josh had sworn he never wanted to lay eyes on the place, and he had purposefully avoided it after Sheriff Mosley had concluded his halfhearted investigation into Glenda’s death and Malo Renquist’s disappearance.
“Time for a midmorning coffee,” he said as much for himself as for her. Without waiting for her nod of agreement, he pulled into the parking lot of a small restaurant at the western edge of Timberlane named Alice’s Pantry.
“I’ll wait for you,” she said with a determined lift of her chin.
“Is that what you plan to do? Hide out and run scared?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Then you’d better figure it out,” he said flatly. “Unless you forge your own path and reputation, you’re going to be stuck with your uncle Willard’s. Is that what you want?”
“I don’t care what other people think or say about me.”
“Maybe you should,” he answered flatly, wondering why in the world he was bothering to try and steer her into making her own impression on the town. Just because she’d plowed into his bridge didn’t mean that he had any responsibility
