The Christmas Inn. Stella MacLean
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Название: The Christmas Inn

Автор: Stella MacLean

Издательство: HarperCollins

Жанр: Современные любовные романы

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СКАЧАТЬ the desk, placing his mug on a coaster Marnie’s mother had crocheted for the office—to give it a homey touch, as she’d put it. “For a minute, I thought I’d left something out of the agreement,” he said, hefting his size-twelve shoes up onto the corner of the desk.

      “Not at all.” She took a sip of her coffee, letting the aroma infiltrate her nostrils while the caffeine hot-wired her mind.

      “Well, what do you think? Is it all right?”

      “I’m sure it is.... I’ll miss this place.”

      “I know you will, honey. If you’d like to work in the salon until you decide on a new career, that’s fine by me,” he offered, his words holding the nuance of a man who just realized that he should run the idea past his woman.

      “Thanks. I appreciate it,” she said. “But I think I’m going to concentrate on what I want to do next.”

      “Have you considered going back to university?”

      Having flunked her first year, she didn’t intend on repeating the experience. Besides, she didn’t want to waste her hard-earned cash on learning things she’d never use. She was far too practical. Of course, not having made up her mind about her future would mean she’d have to sit through the next dozen or so family dinners, and be subjected to all sorts of unwanted advice.

      “School isn’t for me, at least not right—” A loud banging sound interrupted her.

      “Someone’s at the back door at this hour of the morning?” Shane asked, a frown on his face.

      “I’ll go and see,” Marnie said, hopping up from her chair and heading out back. Deliveries didn’t start until 9:00 a.m., and there was little chance that any of the staff would appear ahead of their shift. She peeked through the little hole in the middle of the door.

      “No!” she moaned. Turning, she braced her back against the hard surface. She would unlock the door and let her nuisance of a brother into the salon when pigs wore roller skates. Scott couldn’t be certain she was there, and besides, even if he persisted in banging on the door, she wasn’t going to answer.

      “Marnie. I know you’re in there, and we need to talk.”

      * * *

      LUKE HARRISON HAD ZERO interest in Christmas. As far as he was concerned it was everyone’s excuse to run up bills they couldn’t pay, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t excited for other people and for all the planning that came with the season.

      As of today, The Mirabel Inn was fully booked for what he and his staff had named the Christmas Getaway Event. The event had been designed for married couples who didn’t have family plans or who had finally decided to skip the Christmas madness, and simply have a quiet, elegant holiday by themselves. He’d done it on a smaller scale last Christmas but had run into problems when other guests booked into the inn who weren’t part of the program—one of the single women had flirted with one of the married men, resulting in the wife packing up and leaving. A messy, uncomfortable situation he didn’t want to have repeated this year.

      This year the event included five days—three before Christmas, plus Christmas Day and the twenty-sixth. It had taken months to put together a good marketing campaign, but it had paid off. The only room left in the inn was a small one, with a double bed, that was earmarked for renovation, making it into an office for the housekeeper Mary Cunningham.

      He’d been up since six that morning, thanks to his four-year-old son, Ethan, who’d been promised a chance to help decorate the huge balsam fir that was presently being strung with lights in preparation for a tree-trimming party. The staff and their families had been invited to a luncheon due to start at noon, after the tree trimming, a party to show appreciation for the staff of the inn. Luke, as the manager, had to be there to kick off the celebration. It was important to hold this party before the getaway event began as many of the staff would be working throughout the holidays.

      Despite his aversion to Christmas, Luke enjoyed this event because he got a chance to give back to the staff and their families whose support was important to the success of the inn. The lunch buffet would be set up in the glassed-in patio along the south side of the two-hundred-year-old inn. The chef, Max Anderson, was making lobster quiche, this year’s special dish, along with the usual turkey, ham and all the vegetables, rolls and condiments people enjoyed as part of the Christmas festivities. Family members of the staff, who liked to bake, provided the desserts, showcasing the recipes of some of the best bakers in the region.

      Tidying the cost projections report he’d been reading at his desk, he placed it on top the pile, intending to work on it later. When Luke had first come to work at The Mirabel Inn, he’d gotten rid of the stark furnishings in the office and added his own touches along with state-of-the-art computers to assist in managing the inn. But his favorite piece in the office was an antique oak desk with hidden drawers, pigeonholes and a roll-up top, a special gift from his grandfather. Grant Harrison had left the desk to him in his will, and now it was a part of his life. A daily reminder of his grandfather, who had owned one of the largest inns in Connecticut years before.

      He was closing his computer when someone knocked on the door. Before he could answer, Mary Cunningham opened the door and Ethan rushed in behind her.

      “Well, hello there, big guy,” Luke said, getting up from his desk in time to catch Ethan in his arms.

      “Daddy!” the little boy yelled, a red-and-green cap balanced precariously on his head.

      “Where did you get the elf hat?” Luke asked. Scooping Ethan up and holding him close, he breathed in his scent—usually a mixture of dirt from playing with his dump trucks in the garden plot next to the back patio, and sweat from racing around the property. But today there was just a hint of cinnamon, enhanced by frosting smudges on his cheeks, which meant Ethan had been in the kitchen driving the pastry cook crazy with his questions and his pleas for more sweets.

      “Mary gived it to me,” Ethan said, triumphantly.

      Luke had planned to spend the day with his son, but an urgent call from the owners of the inn had meant he’d been forced to work on cost figures this morning. He was proud of his management of the inn, which was located only a few miles from some of the best skiing in the eastern United States.

      Digging a tissue from his pocket, he wiped the frosting off Ethan’s cheeks. “Hope he hasn’t been too much trouble.”

      Mary smiled, a warm smile that had been so welcome in those early months after Anna’s death in a car accident. She’d been the mother figure to a one-year-old toddler who had no comprehension of why his mommy had left, only that she was gone from his life. Mary had helped both his son and him through the proceeding months of agony and loss, and her generous support and advice had held Luke’s life together during a very difficult time.

      “Evelyn and Ethan made a batch of sugar cookies with Santa faces on them for the children who are coming.”

      “How many cookies did you eat, Ethan?” he asked.

      The boy grinned and held up five fingers.

      “You didn’t! Did you share them with anyone?”

      Mary laughed. “Henry probably has a tummy ache. I put him in his crate in your apartment. It seemed safer that way.”

      Henry was a stray part-terrier, part-spaniel that had arrived at the inn СКАЧАТЬ