“My dress and I are avoiding Mitch.” Laurel was propped upright in bed, knitting. She wore jeggings and a celery-green, off-the-shoulder tunic with iridescent pearl beads at the neckline. “He still thinks I’m a bad influence on Gabby.” She rarely came across someone she couldn’t win over with a smile, some kindness and common sense. But that man...
“I can’t wait to hear what he thinks of me, the instigator of the event.” Sophie flounced on the bed, making her glasses go askew. She straightened them. “I guess you apologized again and he didn’t accept? You can’t force everyone to get along the way you tried to when we were kids.”
“I wasn’t so successful one year. Do you remember how angry Grandpa Harlan was at us over the toppled Christmas tree?” Laurel shook her head.
“Was that the year of the Victorian choir? When Grandma Estelle was dying?” At her nod, Sophie patted Laurel’s leg. “You’ll win Mitch over. I’m off to get coffee before the boys get out of the shower.” Sophie moved toward the door, opened it and nearly toppled into Shane.
He frowned. “What’s with the do-not-disturb sign?”
“It’s defective.” Sophie poked her brother in the chest. “Because everyone seems to be disturbing Laurel.”
“Except Mitch,” Laurel murmured, although it was too early for him to come by to clean.
“Speaking of Mitch...” Shane ushered his sister back into the room and closed the door behind them. “I need a favor from you two.”
Sophie pushed up her glasses with one hand and propped her other hand on her hip. “I have a bad history with you and favors, brother dear.”
“Likewise,” Laurel said.
With his usual panache, Shane ignored them. He had thick skin and a smile slicker than a shady salesman. “I know I promised to drive you both to Laurel’s doctor’s appointment tomorrow, but I need to stay here.”
“Fine. I’ll drive her,” Sophie grumped, hand still on her hip.
Shane’s smile hardened into place. “I’d rather have Mitch drive.” At their openmouthed silence, he added, “I need him out of town.”
“Mitch will never agree to that.” Laurel unraveled a row of uneven stitches Odette would never approve of. “He doesn’t like me.”
“His loss,” Sophie murmured.
“I’ll take care of Mitch,” Shane promised. “But it would be an easier sell if Sophie and the boys weren’t part of the transportation deal.”
Laurel and Sophie exchanged looks.
“Why?” Laurel was the first to ask. “You’ve been disappearing every day for weeks on Mitch’s snowmobile and haven’t told us anything.”
“He’s got a woman somewhere,” Sophie mumbled. “He’s always got a woman somewhere.”
“Wrong. Cousin Holden is the ladies’ man.” He tried to look sincere, but this was Shane, master of the Machiavellian. “As for what I’m doing, I’d rather not say.”
“Whatever,” Sophie huffed in apparent disbelief. “What’s in it for us?”
“Yeah, what’s in it for us?” Laurel nodded, although she wasn’t convinced Shane could get Mitch to drive her two doors down to the Bent Nickel Diner, much less sixty miles away to the doctor.
“I’ll watch the twins so you two can rummage to your heart’s content in the trading post and the mercantile for a day.” He nodded toward Laurel. “As long as Laurel gets the medical go-ahead to do so.”
“You never babysit, Uncle Shane.” Sophie narrowed her eyes at her twin. “And we could be in there for hours.”
“You can take all day,” Shane promised.
“Agree. Quickly.” Sophie turned to Laurel so fast her short brown hair swung in the air. “Agree. Before my brother changes his mind.”
“Not so fast.” Now it was Laurel’s turn to give Shane a narrow-eyed stare. “What’s in it for me?”
“You’re catching on to the game.” Shane nodded his approval. He walked to the bathroom door and pointed inside. “I’ll back you up when you’re ready to confront Ashley about that pink dress.”
“There will be no confrontation with Ashley.” She hoped. Laurel waved his offer aside.
“A yet-to-be-named favor?”
“Better.” Laurel could hardly contain herself. A favor from Shane was golden. He didn’t do anything by half measures.
“Good enough for a deal?” Shane extended his hand to Sophie.
“Good enough for a deal,” Sophie confirmed. She opened the door and held up the do-not-disturb sign. “Should we take this down?”
Laurel shook her head. “Let’s wait and see if Shane can pull this off first.”
“Oh, I won’t disappoint. But I’m going to broker this tomorrow morning at the last possible minute. Wouldn’t want Mitch to back out.”
“My brother, the king of the Hail Mary.” Sophie scoffed.
“Just call me the king.” Shane preened, a look he could pull off with his overly confident attitude no matter what he wore.
Sophie scoffed again and then cocked her head. “Do you hear that?” She hurried down the hall toward her room—in the opposite direction of the stairs and caffeine.
Shane left, too, but headed toward the stairs.
“Baby.” Laurel rubbed her tummy. “Let’s practice our speech.” The one about Wyatt that she had to give her family. Because once she had the all clear to travel, she was coming clean.
Sad, though, to think one handsome, ornery innkeeper would be happy to see her go.
CHAPTER SEVEN
“DAD.” GABBY TROTTED beside Mitch on the way to the Bent Nickel the morning after her grounding. “You can’t be serious. I’ve apologized about the phone, and I took responsibility for the hair and makeup.”
She wanted her phone back.
“Overruled,” Mitch said. It hadn’t even been twenty-four hours. He adjusted his grip on the logs he was carrying to contribute to the Bent Nickel’s woodstove.
“Well, at least let me sit with Laurel to do my knitting later.” She switched tactics. “I learn a lot from her.”
That was just the thing. She learned all the wrong things. “Overruled.”
“Well, that’s not fair.”
They walked along the path he’d cleared earlier with the snowblower, passing the general store. Mack waved from behind the checkout counter.
“As your father, I reserve the right to limit the time you spend with the Monroes.” Meaning Laurel. She’d made some good points last night, but he wasn’t ready to reach out to shake her hand and declare a truce. Not unless it meant she’d leave.
“And now you’re just being stubborn.” Gabby hefted her neon-yellow backpack higher on her shoulder. “You let me hang out with Roy as much as I want, and he nearly started a forest fire when we went camping last summer!”
Mitch didn’t have to look at his daughter to know she was rolling her eyes. She used that roll-your-eyes tone of voice he was coming to hate.
“Dad, this thing you have against the Monroes is getting old. What Laurel said last night—”
“The only thing getting old is me.” He wished Gabby hadn’t heard everything Laurel had said. He was cold. The wind chafed his face. And he felt as if his daughter was slipping out of his protective embrace. Balancing the wood, he opened the door to the Bent Nickel, determined to keep trying.
“Dad.” Eye roll. Shoulder drop. Attitude. “You have to accept the fact that I’m growing up.” Gabby skipped to the rear of the diner with the other kids.
“No, I don’t,” Mitch said under his breath. He deposited the logs on the stack by the woodstove and moved toward the community coffeepot, stuffing a couple bucks inside the jar. It was going to be a several-cups kind of day.
“What’s shaking?” Roy got up from his chair near the woodstove and slapped Mitch on the back. Lucky for Mitch, the old man was wiry or that might have hurt. Roy l
owered his voice. “Meaning what’s the Monroe situation?”
“Same as yesterday.”
But it wasn’t the same as yesterday because he’d learned too much about Laurel. She was hurting. She tried to make light of the rift in her family, but he could see in the lines framing Laurel’s blue eyes that it pained her. And that pain made him soften.
Mitch sat at the counter near Ivy, close enough to hear Gabby talk to her friends. Roy claimed the stool next to him.
Mitch studied his daughter, who didn’t seem as broken up about things today as she’d been yesterday. Her face wasn’t pale. In fact...
Was that makeup on her face?
Holy smokes. It was.
“Unbelievable.” He caught Gabby’s eye and swiped his hand over his own brown orbs. “Seriously?”
“Dad.” Ginormous eye roll.
Had Shannon sent cosmetics, too? Or was that something else Gabby had ordered online?
His daughter huffed. She puffed. And then she blew down any chance she had of being seen as a mature young adult. “When can I get my phone back?”
From behind the lunch counter, Ivy gasped, horrified. “You gave her a cell phone?”
The kids stared at Gabby in awe.
“I didn’t.” That earned him a sympathetic glance from Ivy.
Ivy understood exes and their inappropriate gifts all too well. Just last Christmas, her ex-husband had sent a video game console to her young boys with a set of video games rated for older teens.
The door opened and Shane came in. “Good morning,” he called out as if he was Second Chance’s favorite son.
Mitch wanted to roll his eyes, especially when several residents greeted Shane warmly in return. He grabbed some coffee and sat in his regular booth by the front windows.
Dori Douglas entered the diner next. She was seventy if she was a day and didn’t come out much in the deep winter months. She cast her gaze around before heading toward Shane’s booth.
“What’s that all about?” Mitch asked Ivy, tilting his head toward Dori.
Frowning, Ivy took a rare moment to stand still and stare.
Roy had spun his stool around when Dori came in. He spun back and pointed his thumb toward the odd couple. “Do you see what I see?”
“No.” Mitch glanced at Dori and Shane. There wasn’t anything wrong with Dori eating with someone, except she was here with a certain Monroe. And according to Harlan, Shane was a dynamo who could accomplish anything he put his mind to.
What had he put his mind to?
Maybe Mitch should worry. “What do you see?”
“Oh, my.” Ivy’s slim brows bent toward each other. “Shane is making friends. Is that a good thing? For us, I mean.”
Roy nodded. “I’ll take it as a sign. Shane wouldn’t sell out his friends.”
Mitch wasn’t so sure, but kept that thought to himself.
Roy bent over his mug and whispered to Mitch, “Where are you on your surprise for those Monroes?”
Mitch had told the handyman about his plans yesterday afternoon. He answered in a whisper of his own. “I found out how to file for historical significance. I requested more information and hope to hear back today.”
“Shane won’t see this coming.” Roy spun his stool back and forth, a quarter turn each way.
Odette entered the diner. She, too, surveyed the occupants before heading straight for Gabby. “I’ve come to check your work.”
“Uhhh...” Gabby closed her laptop. “It’s at home.”
“And...” Odette’s bushy brows lowered.
Gabby’s shoulders slumped. “I’m not as far as I should be.”
“I told you this was your last chance.” Odette didn’t wait for Gabby to say how far she was on her knitting. She turned on her snow-booted heel and stomped off. “Bring me what you’ve got later.”
“I bet Laurel is further along on her knitting than I am,” Gabby mumbled.
Mitch caught her attention. “Aren’t you here to do schoolwork?”
His question earned him another eye roll.
* * *
A LIGHT KNOCK on Laurel’s door preceded the door opening, which wasn’t unusual. Everyone seemed to barge right into Laurel’s room.
It was a good thing she was always dressed.
This time her visitor was Odette. Same bright red snow pants, same three-layered style above the waist—pink turtleneck, gray V-neck sweater, chunky black sweater over it all. “What’s with the do-not-disturb sign?”
“It was a test.” No one had passed.
The old woman hung the sign on the interior doorknob. “I came to look at your stitches.”
“I have a lot of stitches for you to see.” She’d gotten several feet of narrow scarf done, more than her end result since she’d unraveled row upon row of uneven stitches. “I used up more than one ball of yarn.” Laurel laid her work in progress across the bed.
Bending over, Odette inspected Laurel’s teal stitches between her thumb and forefinger, every inch. She straightened and frowned. “You’re productive, I’ll give you that.” She took three balls of fuzzy coppery yarn and thick metal knitting needles from a jacket pocket. “Try this.” She turned to go.
“Did I do something wrong?” Laurel held up her teal scarf like a sacrificial offering. “You want me to abandon this? What about quilting?”
“You didn’t stitch with patience.” Odette slipped out the door.
Laurel followed her into the hall. “So there’s nothing wrong with my scarf? It just missed patience?” Sadly, there was no hiding Laurel’s impatient disappointment with her would-be mentor. She hadn’t realized how important Odette’s approval was to her.
Odette scurried off around the corner and down the stairs.
“Come back and see us sometime,” Zeke said from below. “Maybe stay a little longer.”
The front door slammed.
“We don’t bite!” Zeke called after her.
Laurel came slowly down the stairs still carrying her eight-foot-long teal scarf.
“What was all the hubbub about?” The ginger-haired cowboy adjusted the wheelchair so that he could face her squarely, the leg in the brace propped straight out in front of him. “Odette was like the wind, blowing in and blowing back out.” He rolled toward her. “Hey, are you okay?”
“I was hoping she’d give me quilting lessons.” Laurel sank onto the couch. She wrapped the scarf around her hand like a thick blue bandage.
“You don’t seem okay.”
“Odette didn’t like my stitches.” Laurel fell back on the cushions and stared into the large fireplace across from her. It was full of cold ashes. “And I don’t know how to do them any better.”
Zeke positioned his elbows on the wheelchair’s armrests. “Can I tell you a story?”
“Why not? I seem to have time on my hands.”
The cowboy wiggled his bare toes. “Like Odette, my dad was a bit of a perfectionist. Which would have been fine if he was also a people person. But he wasn’t much for people or talking, and he tended to find imperfection in me or what I’d done when I thought things were good enough.” He put these last two words in air quotes.
She had a feeling she knew where his story was going.
“Now, I’m thinking you may be from Hollywood and unfamiliar with the way things work in a small town.” Zeke’s voice was kind, stitched with a thread of cheerfulness that invited Laurel to lighten up. “Most of us are social, especially in the winter months.” He glanced toward the door. “Now Odette and her ilk, she’s different. She’s more like my dad, if you get my meaning.”
“I do.” Laurel dug her fingers into the soft yarn. “You’re saying no matter what I do I won’t be good enough for her.” Laurel’s heart sank. It was like her situation with the pink dress and her family. It was like the situation
with Mitch and Gabby. “What do you do when you can’t win?”
Zeke stared across the room as if he was looking at something more interesting than the check-in desk. “Well, I created a new set of rules for myself.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
DAY TWO WITHOUT Gabby in possession of her cell phone dawned clear outside.
The storms were inside the Lodgepole Inn.
Mitch squinted at the computer screen behind the check-in desk, reading the fine print regarding submission for historic status for the third time. He didn’t want to mess things up.
The lodge was quiet this morning. Gabby was at the diner doing schoolwork. After telling anyone who’d listen about his loyal, talented cutting horse, Zeke had returned to his room, smile strained. The Monroes were upstairs, only the occasional creak in the floorboards indicating they were awake. That she was awake.
He hadn’t seen Laurel since their conversation two nights ago. He stayed in his apartment with the door closed around the times she usually came down for tea or passed through on her way to the diner for meals. He didn’t know if her eyes were filled with laughter or hurt.
All good.
But that meant he was stuck in the same prison cell as one unhappy teenage girl.
Not so good.
He’d hit his limit with dramatic sighs and door slams. So as soon as he heard Laurel get her morning tea from the kitchenette at the bottom of the stairs, the check-in desk was it. And it was where he stayed when Gabby left for the diner where she was scheduled to take a math test.
“What are you looking at, Kincaid?” The familiar male voice dropped from the stairs above him.
Mitch startled, clicked the computer window closed and swung around to face Shane. “You’ve either been taking sneak-around-the-house lessons from my daughter or vampires do exist.”
Shane smiled, moving closer, placing his loafered feet on spots only Gabby had learned didn’t creak and groan. “Your daughter tells me you’re going to Ketchum this morning. I was thinking...” Shane put his arm around Mitch’s shoulder as if they’d belonged to the same fraternity in college. “I was supposed to take Laurel to the doctor today, but something’s come up and I need to stay.”
Snowed in with the Single Dad Page 8
