“It’s not his decision. It’s Char’s.”
“Well, she sent him, so I assume she trusts his judgment. But in the meantime, please don’t risk doing something that could give him further reason to deliver a negative report.”
Aunt Viola touched her hand wearily to her forehead. “This is my fault. For breaking my hip. For sending those emails that apparently provoked Char.”
“Now stop that. You didn’t fall on purpose. And feel free to blame me for the emails. That was my doing. But Mrs. Gyles needed honest communication on the state of things here. Her lack of interest in the property has had you losing business every single day for who knows how long. She needs to step up and take care of things.”
“But it’s you who has to take care of my business. And take care of me. Taylor, too. That’s not right, you giving up your career and—”
“There’s nowhere on earth I’d rather be than here with you and Taylor.” In fact, in addition to loving the closeness of their crazy mix of a family, she’d discovered a love for innkeeping and gardening that she was just beginning to tap into.
Her aunt’s eyes filled with a sadness that tugged at Lillian’s heart. “What are we going to do, Lil? If the inn is closed, I mean?”
She had no idea. But she didn’t dare let her concerns further upset her aunt. Slipping her arm around her waist, she gave her a squeeze and a rallying smile. “We’ll cross that bridge if and when we come to it. And trust God every step of the way. But while we await the verdict, please don’t do anything to jeopardize what little hope we do have.”
Which didn’t appear to be much.
“So how is Viola?” Denny’s mother had inquired when he’d stepped away from Lillian to take the call—his parent having first filled him in on the agonies of her physical therapy at the rehab center. The innkeeper’s niece had gone inside, giving him some privacy.
“She’s holding her own surprisingly well,” he said, keeping his voice low as he gazed around his picturesque surroundings and filled his lungs with the rich blend of earth, pine and flowers. It did seem a shame to pull the plug on an events venue like this one. But it couldn’t be helped. “The niece you’d mentioned earlier—Lillian Keene—is helping out as Miss Everett continues to recover.”
“I didn’t know her niece was still there.”
“Oh, yes. And if I’m not mistaken, she’s the source of the emails you’ve been badgered with.”
“Is there legitimacy to those requests? Viola never said anything about those issues until recently. I was taken off guard.”
“They’re legitimate.” He mentally skimmed through the lengthy list he’d compiled. “But a good venture to keep pouring money into? Doubtful.”
“While the inn’s never been profitable, Elden’s never once objected, since it’s mine from the divorce settlement. He knows Viola was the one person who tried to understand when I was unhappy and confused. Didn’t blame me for everything. She was the sole person in town who took the time to get to know me. Who seemed to care.”
“But you don’t owe her for the rest of her life.”
“No, but I hate to see her lose her home at her age, maybe be forced to leave Hunter Ridge altogether.”
“Some things can’t be helped and, realistically, how many more years do you think she can handle the job?”
“What would it take to fix the place up?”
She hasn’t been listening.
With an inward groan, he paced the garden patio. He didn’t want his mother underwriting what would likely never amount to more than a fancy rest home for her friend. “I can forward the list to you and ballpark what it might cost. But for a more accurate estimate, I’d have to engage a contractor and touch base with suppliers. That could take considerable time.”
Which he did not have to waste.
“Would you do that, Denny?”
Picturing her propped up in her bed at the rehab center, he discerned the wheedling tone she’d used when he was a kid to persuade him to her way of thinking. But he steeled himself.
“Mother, this isn’t a good idea. You need to let it go. If you want, I’ll look around for housing options for your friend while I’m here. Then you can decide if you want to subsidize those costs. It would be considerably less expensive than what upgrading the Pinewood Inn will be. Much less risky, too.”
And take up a lot less of his time, as well.
“But she’s always enjoyed the guests, whipping up goodies for them in the kitchen, working in her garden.”
Denny stepped into the gazebo and turned to gaze out over the walled space. “I admit it’s one amazing garden. But the niece was vague about how much Viola’s done with it since her fall, and how much of it she and others have been doing.”
“This Lillian seems capable. A hard worker, from what her aunt told me. If there’s a chance that with her help Viola could stay there...”
With a sinking feeling, he stared up at the azure sky. It wouldn’t kill him to get estimates. Do online window-shopping for an idea of what it would take to revamp the furnishings. No doubt someone once had a bright idea that with Hunter Ridge located in the Southwest, the carved dark wood and paintings of cactus and sunbaked Mexican streets would be suitable. While that might work in a Tucson adobe-style inn, it wasn’t cabin-country Hunter Ridge by a long shot. If he had his druthers, he’d go for a more contemporary, streamlined look. A contrast to the traditional exterior.
“I can do the research, but there’s no market here for this kind of lodging. People who come up this way stay at outdoorsy places like Hunter’s Hideaway.”
What did the family’s new logo tout? The one he’d seen on their website? Oh, yeah. Where rustic meets relaxing—without apology.
“Please, Denny? This would mean so much to me. I know it’s never going to be more than a break-even proposition, but...” His mother paused, and he could hear a low male voice in the background on her end, although he couldn’t understand the words. “One second. Elden wants to speak to you.”
Denny’s jaw clenched. His stepfather wanted to speak to him now? Where had he been a few weeks ago, before turning the vice-president position over to Vic? Without a word of warning—or of apology afterward.
“Den.” The rumbling voice sounded genial enough—but then, that was standard, even when delivering news of budget cuts and severances of contracts with longtime loyal vendors. Denny could picture the sixtysomething hotelier, his salt-and-pepper hair thick and neatly styled, his deceptively casual manner of dress belying that his attire was purchased from top-notch clothiers.
Denny gripped his phone more tightly. “Yes, sir?”
“I understand Char sent you to Arizona to take care of personal business for her.”
“With the understanding that I’d be gone from work only a few days.” Had his absence not been taken well? “I’m staying on top of business long-distance and will return shortly.”
“I’m not concerned about that. But I am concerned that you agreed to see about upgrading a property Charlotte’s friend manages, and that it sounds as if you’re now unwilling to follow through on that.”
A muscle in Denny’s throat tightened at the misinterpretation, just as a bird in a nearby tree started into an annoyingly repetitious solo. “What my mother originally asked me to do was evaluate the situation and determine if retaining her ailing friend as manager of the Pinewood