Under The Mistletoe. Kristin Hardy

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      “We’re still trying to dig down to it.”

      Gabe frowned. “It shouldn’t be that hard.”

      “Frozen ground. Winter staffing levels. Plus it’s ten degrees out there and dropping. We can only keep the guys outside for short stretches.”

      Gabe nodded. If he cursed a blue streak in his head, it was nobody’s business but his own. “How long?”

      “We’re working on it. No later than tomorrow afternoon. I’d like to repair the whole line while we’re at it. Otherwise, it’s just a matter of time until this happens again.”

      Not what Gabe wanted to hear at the start of a heavily booked weekend. “Mona, how’s our linen supply look?”

      “Enough for today and maybe half of the rooms tomorrow. After that…” She shrugged. “I keep telling you we need more.”

      New linens, new plumbing, new pillars to replace the rotting ones on the west porch, new carpeting in the ballroom.

      Old budget. When his coal-dark hair eventually turned gray, he’d know where to place the blame. Gabe suppressed a sigh. “All right, we go to the laundry in Montpelier. Mona, get the number from Susan. One of the grounds guys can truck it over.”

      “Not if you want that trench dug,” Burke reminded him. Gabe closed his eyes a second. “Right. Okay, find a bell hop but get on it now. We need the laundry to turn the job around by the end of the day.” Pulling from the bell staff would leave them short up front during checkout, but they’d manage.

      If necessary, he’d drive the damn truck himself.

      Trees, unending trees. Hadley yawned. No wonder she was in a bad mood. Taking the morning flight out had sounded good when she’d bought the ticket. It had only been when the alarm sounded at five that she’d realized she’d been out of her mind to book it. When she got to the hotel she could give them their first test—how they dealt with grumpy early arrivals.

      She swung the sporty little rental car into another curve, and the line of trees fell away, revealing the valley ahead.

      And her jaw dropped.

      The Hotel Mount Jefferson perched on the hillside like a white castle, a sprawling fantasy of turrets and porticos. The roof glowed red under the rays of the winter sun. Flags atop the towers snapped in the breeze. Hadley could practically see women in pale Victorian gowns and parasols promenading along the veranda that ran the length of the building. A snow-covered hillside rolled away from the hotel. It would be green in summer, she thought, green and magical.

      The pictures hadn’t done it justice. She’d done her homework, of course. She knew the financials by heart, understood that it wasn’t just a little mountain lodge. But she hadn’t been at all prepared for a place that looked as though stepping through the doors would be to walk back in time. For a place that instantly made her think of ball gowns and afternoon teas, of hot toddies sipped by a roaring fire.

      She hadn’t been prepared to be enchanted.

      This isn’t about enchantment, she could practically hear Robert saying. It’s about business.

      And with that the enchantment dropped away. How did they heat that many rooms, no doubt drafty after withstanding nearly a hundred winters? Radiators, probably. Radiators installed by Civil War veterans. How often did the radiators break down? Hadley sighed. However enchanting the hotel was on the outside, she had to meet her numbers or else she’d be in exile a whole lot longer than she’d like. And even enchantment got old.

      She considered her strategy. Come in like an ordinary guest and spend the weekend looking for ways to economize, ways to increase occupancy. Shameless romance was one angle to play, she mused as she drove past the white, Victorian-style lampposts that marched up the access road to the hotel. Hopefully, they had an in-house consultant for that part, because that one she was going to have to delegate.

      At the pillared portico of the hotel, Hadley paused for a moment. Up close, the Hotel Mount Jefferson was all her first glimpse had promised. The front facade of the building gleamed with broad windows. Marble steps led up to a green-carpeted porch where a small fleet of shiny brass luggage racks held the bags of departing guests. To one side sat an antique sleigh, painted gleaming red. Christmas was drawing near and whoever ran the place was laying it on just right, she admitted.

      The valet opened her door. “Welcome to the Hotel Mount Jefferson. May I get your bags?”

      “In the trunk.”

      “Very good.” He passed her a green ticket in trade for her keys. “If you’ll just call this number when you get to your room, we’ll have your bags brought right up for you.”

      Hadley walked up the steps and over to the sleigh. The cut glass lamps reflected the daylight, the brass fittings gleamed. Someone at the hotel paid attention to detail, she thought, tracing the graceful curve of the front panel. Someone knew the little things counted.

      A smiling doorman in a caped greatcoat opened the wide white front door with its curling brass handles. “Welcome, miss,” he said, tipping his cap. Hadley stepped through the door and straight back to the turn of the previous century.

      For a moment, she simply stopped and stared, carried back to a time when the world was a slower, more graceful place. Nineteen oh three, or so her research said. From where she stood, the lobby seemed to stretch the entire length of the east wing of the building, all space and light, airy and open. Ornate white pillars soared to the coffered ceiling twenty feet overhead, their inset panels gleaming with gold luster, capitals at the top curling elegantly. Overhead, bronze-and-crystal chandeliers threw a warm glow that competed with the sunlight spilling in the enormous picture windows.

      And yes, there was a carved granite fireplace with a leaping blaze. All she needed was a fancy-dress ball and a hot toddy before bed to make the fantasy complete.

      Shaking her head, Hadley approached the front desk.

      “Welcome to the Hotel Mount Jefferson.” The young, au burn-haired and obviously pregnant clerk gave her a friendly smile. Angie from Albany, or so her badge said.

      “Checking in, name of Stone,” Hadley said, sliding her credit card over the polished wood. “I know I’m early but I was hoping you might have something ready.”

      Angie looked at her apologetically. “I can take your card and get you signed in, but we won’t have any rooms ready in your class until at least two-thirty. I’m sorry, but we just had a big group check out. We were full up last night.”

      Impressed despite herself, Hadley raised a brow. “Full?”

      “Oh yes. A big corporate meeting.”

      Hundred percent occupancy, Hadley mused. Perhaps things weren’t quite hopeless. Maybe it was just a matter of making some cuts to control costs, and things would be fine.

      “All right, you’re all set.” Angie handed her card back. “If you’ll just come by at two-thirty, we should be able to get you in. In the meantime, Cortland’s downstairs is open for lunch, and we have a complimentary afternoon tea at two. We also have changing rooms if you want to go ski. The shuttle runs to the slopes about every fifteen minutes.”

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