Most?
“If you’re not sure, open the top flaps. It should be easy to tell what’s Christmas stuff and what’s not.” She moved past him and straightened. “Thanks, dear. I’ll leave you to it.”
He closed his eyes and shook his head, not for the first time wondering if maybe staying in the city and putting his life at risk was such a bad option after all.
Of course the department hadn’t left him much choice. It was either get out of town while the gun smoke settled on the bust that had gone wrong or be permanently removed from the force.
Heading farther into the space, he grabbed several nearby boxes and propped open the door.
“Oh, Jake, please close that while you’re in there. That draft is really cold.”
Right. “Okay, Mrs. Kelly,” he mumbled, moving the boxes aside and letting the door close behind him.
He was grateful for his jacket and gloves as he moved toward the corner where she said the boxes would be. Dishes... Clothing... Christmas decorations—in a far back corner behind dozens of other boxes. He sighed. It had been a long time since he’d needed to dig out holiday decorations...and he’d been hoping to avoid any reminder of better, happier times. He reached for the boxes and tried to simply focus on the task ahead of him. He just needed to get through the season.
* * *
HEATHER DESCENDED THE refinished hardwood staircase at the Brookhollow Inn the next morning, skipping the third from the bottom step that always creaked, despite Victoria’s husband’s many attempts to fix it.
The inn had been Heather’s home for a year and a half, but when she’d moved in, she’d had nowhere else to be. Visiting the quiet, laid-back small town had seemed like a great break from her stressful life in the city, but the desire to move on was increasing each day, especially as her bank account balance dipped lower.
She scanned the dining room, but it was empty. The B and B’s occupancy rate had dwindled in recent months, since the weather turned colder and the roads were less than ideal to travel on. And they wouldn’t be filling up again until the week before Christmas, when the inn would be full with guests visiting local family for the holidays.
She turned the daily calendar at the check-in desk. Almost another year wasted, without figuring out a plan for her future.
Well, it was time.
She reached into her jeans pocket and retrieved the piece of register tape from the bar. Mike Ainsley and the position at Highstone Acquisitions might be the answer to that. Tucking it in her hand, she poked her head into the kitchen.
Empty.
She headed toward the back of the house, listening carefully for Victoria’s voice. Her friend habitually sat in the back sunroom, feeding her baby girl, Harper, around this time every day. Usually, her off-key singing voice could be heard torturing a lullaby, but today it was quiet. Maybe she hadn’t arrived yet.
One glance through the glass walls of the sunroom revealed that it was snowing heavily, big fluffy white flakes collecting quickly on the already-covered ground.
The grandfather clock in the front sitting room chimed. Nine o’clock. Cameron had texted to say Rob had reluctantly agreed to give his boss a heads-up that she would be calling and that Mike Ainsley was expecting her call at nine. Heading back to the front desk, Heather pulled her cell phone from her purse.
Crap! She had to start remembering to plug in her phone at night. The dead battery light flickered a second longer, then the phone shut off completely. Wonderful. She’d have to make the long distance call at the desk. Luckily, she’d recently taken over paying the B and B’s invoices, so she would know how much to reimburse Victoria for the call.
She wondered if her friend would accept a payment plan schedule.
But what if her friend noticed the acquisition firm’s number on the bill? She bit her lip.
Two minutes past nine.
Picking up the receiver, she heard nothing. No dial tone. The line was dead.
What the...?
Glancing at the display screen on the phone revealed the connection with the server was down. Fantastic. She jiggled the mouse for the computer and waited for the reservation screen to appear. Great, the internet was down, too.
She wanted to scream. Stupid weather caused this to happen often around here. How many times had she told Victoria’s husband, Luke, that the internet phone system may be cheap, but it wasn’t reliable? And now was not the day to have her point proven. 9:04. What had her sister said about Mike Ainsley? He was old-school and didn’t appreciate lateness.
This wasn’t exactly her fault, but unless the other man had ever lived in a middle-of-nowhere town, he was probably not going to accept her excuses. Sitting in the chair, she noticed the old rotary phone on the corner of the desk. The phone lines should still work, just not the computerized system. Diving for it, she held her breath as she picked up the receiver.
Dial tone. Success. Thank God they’d kept the landline as a backup.
Man, this thing was heavy, she thought, retrieving the number and slowly dialing it. Good thing this wasn’t a real emergency. Finally, when the phone started ringing, she sat straighter, mentally rehearsing her pitch.
“Happy holidays. Thank you for calling Highstone Acquisitions, how may I help you?” a chirpy receptionist’s voice said.
“Hi, this is Heather Corbett. I’m calling for Mr. Ainsley.”
“Mr. Ainsley, Junior or Senior?” she asked.
Great, there were two of them. Thanks for the heads up, Cam. “Senior, I believe. Mike.”
“Mike is Junior. Michael is Senior. Which is it?”
Oh, come on. “The one in charge of hiring?”
“I’ll put you through to HR,” the young woman said in a tone that made it possible to imagine her rolling her eyes.
“Oh, no, actually Mr. Ainsley, Senior, I think, was expecting my call at nine,” Heather said.
“It’s ten after.”
It is now! “I know, I apologize. I was having technical difficulties this morning.” With a phone. Wow—could she sound any less competent?
“Hold the line,” the receptionist said.
A second later, the sound of voices outside the B and B caught her attention, followed by the scrape of a metal shovel clearing the steps. Victoria and her husband, Luke, were there. Heather’s eyes widened.
“This is Michael Ainsley,” a deep voice said on the other end of the line.
She swallowed hard, watching the front door, hoping her friends would remain outside long enough to get this man to agree to review her résumé. “Hi, Mr. Ainsley, this is Heather Corbett, Rob Ashley’s sister-in-law.”
“Yes, he said to expect your
