she’d done her best not to be an albatross around her patron’s neck.
“Sorry for the interruption.” Denny joined her again, tucking away his phone. “You step out the office door for a few days, and suddenly nobody can live without you.”
As was the case with her former fiancé, undoubtedly that made him feel good about himself. Important. Indispensable.
“As I was saying,” she continued, “the winter wedding was lovely, with snow flurries setting a romantic mood for the exchange of vows.”
Could he picture that? Or was his mind focused on the drawbacks of the inn and alert to the nuances of her aunt’s flagging health? Thankfully, there was no need for a walker or cane this morning. But had he noticed how carefully she turned? How she occasionally gripped the back of a chair or casually leaned against a door frame to steady herself?
Please, Lord, don’t let Denny expect Aunt Vi to accompany him to the second floor. Her aunt hadn’t navigated the stairs since the fall that broke her hip. Realistically, despite her steady progress, she might never again see those upstairs rooms.
“Your aunt maintains this garden by herself? And manages the inn?” A probing, underlying skepticism seemed to edge his words.
“Mostly.” Or at least she had, up until last winter when Lillian had been given a crash course on innkeeping, and later gardening. “Breaking a hip is serious business, and while there are still limitations, she’s making remarkable strides.”
They were indeed blessed, for she’d read that each year 20 or 30 percent of the several hundred thousand who broke a hip died from the complications within a year. The vast majority never fully recovered, which made Lillian doubly grateful for the steady progress they were seeing.
“My mother will be pleased to hear that.”
“She has a housekeeper who comes daily, a woman who does the laundry, and a few others who fill in when she needs to be away for PT or other reasons. I help as I can.” Which ate up all her free time away from the library. “And, of course, she brings in someone to do the heavy work out here. But the garden design is all hers, based on how she recalls her own grandmother kept it. It had deteriorated considerably, of course, by the time Aunt Viola came here. I have before-and-after photos if you’d care to see them.”
“That sounds interesting.”
But it didn’t sound as if it interested him.
He tilted his head. “Taylor’s in school today?”
What did that have to do with anything? “She is.”
“And the two of you live—where?”
That was none of his business. Or would his mother frown on providing free housing to a great-niece and great-great-niece? It had never dawned on her that perhaps their residing here would be unacceptable once her aunt was more mobile. But she still had a long way to go. It was very likely she would never fully recover. “For the time being, we share the apartment with my aunt.”
“Because...?” He was probably fishing for confirmation that her aunt wasn’t fulfilling her duties at the inn.
“Aunt Viola and her sister—my grandmother—were the sole siblings in their family. The inn was sold when Aunt Viola was a young woman, and by the time their parents passed away, my grandma had married and moved elsewhere. Other relatives gradually left town to look for what they thought were better opportunities, as well. That left Aunt Viola on her own. I took a leave of absence after her fall last winter...and stayed on.”
He seemed to give that some thought, but she continued before he could misconstrue the situation. “I’m working as a library clerk part-time right now. The current library manager will be retiring soon, and I’m hopeful that as a degreed, experienced librarian, I’ll qualify for the position.”
However, a few days ago she’d heard rumors that another librarian might be taking early retirement from her job in Denver and would be returning home to Hunter Ridge—to apply for the opening.
“It’s commendable you’re assisting your aunt.” He studied her with evident concern. “But that’s a considerable sacrifice for a young woman with her life still ahead of her. Sequestering yourself in a no-prospects, sleepy town like this. I mean, you can only listen to the crickets chirp for so long, right?”
Irritation flared in Lillian. Having spoken like a true city boy, he smiled, confident of his assessment. Counting to ten, she bent to pluck a blanketflower, then twirled the stem between her fingers as she returned his measuring gaze.
“It’s not like that at all. I love it here. The beauty of the forest. Knowing your neighbors. Being active in a local church. My parents moved around a lot, so I spent quite a few holidays and vacations here while growing up. In fact, I’ve never thought of any other place as home. But prior to this year, I never dreamed I might get to live in Hunter Ridge. I’d like to remain here.”
“Not what I’d care to do, but to each his own.” He offered what could only be taken as a look of commiseration. “I imagine to keep your sanity you make frequent trips to Phoenix? Shopping? Professional sports? Live theater, museums and upscale restaurants? You know, keeping your finger on the pulse of civilization.”
If that was his definition of civilization, she was happy to do without it.
“Actually, I don’t go down there but a few times a year.” He probably thought her a dull-as-dishwater bore for admitting that. An unsophisticated bumpkin. Well, let him think whatever he wanted. It didn’t much matter to her. “I spent the past decade in the Phoenix area’s Valley of the Sun enjoying pleasant winters, palm trees and saguaros, and the extras you mentioned that a metropolis offers. But I endured record-breaking summer heat. Lengthy bumper-to-bumper commutes, scorpions, air-quality alerts and high crime rates. Now I enjoy walking to work, cool summer days and pine-fresh air. I’m looking forward to autumn and hopefully a white Christmas. It seems like a fair trade.”
If only she could remain here.
If only Mrs. Gyles wouldn’t close the inn.
Denny chuckled as she concluded her lengthy sales pitch for mountain country Arizona. “I know my Hunter side of the family has been rooted to this region for over a hundred years. Must be a marker my personal genetic makeup skipped.”
“My family has also been rooted here a long time.”
He raised a brow. “But in your family’s case, everyone except your great-aunt managed to make the great escape.”
Did he think closing the inn would be the perfect opportunity for Aunt Viola to flee, as well? To at long last reach the “civilization” she’d missed out on most of her life?
He had no idea the toll that the possibility of closing the inn was taking on her aunt. If the light coming from under her bedroom door last night was an indication, she’d slept little. Her aunt didn’t own the inn—although that was an idea they’d explored last evening, only to conclude they didn’t have the combined resources required should Denny’s mother be persuaded to part with it.
Selling a property she’d acquired when divorcing Denny’s father, however, was something Charlotte had done but once. As Aunt Viola recalled, the person she’d sold to—an artist she thought she could trust—immediately resold to her ex-husband and put it back into his hands. So going forward, she chose to lease only—or to let buildings stand vacant and boarded up, a much-resented blight on the community.
Unquestionably, the inn wasn’t a big moneymaker, and Mrs. Gyles had every right to close it down when Aunt Viola’s contract was up for renewal. Was there any way they could convince Charlotte’s son that the inn was worth the time and expense involved to make it a viable endeavor?
“Do you think perhaps—?”
But she’d barely started to speak when Denny raised his hand apologetically and stepped away to take another call.
Both