The Sleigh Bells Chalet
Christmas House Romances Book 2
Jennifer Griffith
Bing
Bing Whitmore stomped toward the stables, the gravel crunching beneath his work boots. “It’s not about the loss of income, Freya.”
Yes, he should have developed thicker skin for this business by now, but when Rose Red’s leg broke, it nearly broke Bing in the same type of complex fracture.
Splintered him.
Yes, horse breeding and racing were risky ventures, and getting too attached to individual horses increased the risk exponentially, but the problem was, Rose Red’s fracture followed hot on the heels of losing million-dollar Torrey Stakes winner Snow White just that summer.
“You love the horses.” Freya double-stepped to catch up with him. “More than anything or anyone. I get that, Bing.” She brushed the collecting snowflakes off her shoulders. “We all do. It’s in our Whitmore blood.”
“Then you get why I need to quit.” Quit horses. Quit all of it.
“Quit! Owners don’t quit.”
“They do if they sell their shares of the business to the other partners.”
“But, Bing!” Freya gasped. “You’re the one who runs the day-to-day aspects of Whitmore Stables. The rest of us are owners because of Grandpa, but we’re not exactly involved, not like you are.”
“Well, then you can hire someone to replace me. A professional.” Someone who wouldn’t go Three-Mile Island every time he picked up a curry comb to clean off a dusty flank or smelled leather. “Lots of guys out there would kill for a chance to manage a stable full of thoroughbreds.”
“Bing.” Freya slid her glasses off her head and balanced them on the end of her nose. “What’s really going on here?”
Uh-oh. It never worked in his favor when Freya started using her PhD in psychology on him. “I don’t need any head-shrinking, not even with the family discount.”
“Is this about the surgery? Rose Red is getting better.”
She’d never race again. Although—at least she was alive. If that rookie veterinarian hadn’t shown up, Bing would have lost Rose Red, too.
And then what? Bing would have wandered off into the snow-covered hills with just the clothes on his back and become a statistic.
“Fine. No head-shrinking. And I can see you’re not going to answer any of my probing, empathetic questions—so I’ll just give you some unsolicited advice.”
Which he would reject, obviously.
“Don’t quit. Or sell. Or whatever. Not today.”
Maybe tonight, then. “It’s what’s best for Whitmore Stables, Frey.”
“What about a vacation?”
“People in my line don’t take vacations.” Animal care wasn’t the kind of thing that could just be put on hold. The horses needed food, exercise, and close supervision. “In my eight years at Whitmore, I haven’t missed a day.”
“That’s what I’m talking about.” Freya punched his upper arm. “You need a break. Maybe some easygoing socialization with humans instead of animals. You’ve been through a lot this summer and fall. That’d be rough on anyone.”
No kidding. He crossed his arms over his chest. And he wasn’t getting into dating, if that was what Freya was hinting with her easygoing socialization verbiage.
They stood at the door of the stables, the wind howling and the snow collecting.
“Fine. Say you did quit, walk away from this—that would be a permanent vacation. You might not like it. Did you think of that? How about just giving it a trial run first? Just like you’d do with the horses, practice runs before a race.”
Bing shut his eyes. Freya would gloat if he agreed she was making sense.
“Honestly, I wouldn’t even know how to take a vacation. I need something long term.”
“Look, I’ll talk to Dr. Harrison, see if he has someone he can recommend to man the stables for a few days”—she startled when she must have seen his face—“make that weeks. Then, I’ll look around online for a good vacation spot and book you something completely quiet. A hotel with nobody else even staying in it. Maybe in the mountains somewhere like Steamboat Junction or Wilder River. You used to ski when we were kids. Remember?”
This wouldn’t work. Going away wouldn’t make him want to come back. However, being in the mountains might give him some peace. “I totally beat you down that black diamond run.”
“Ha! That was the beginners’ hill and you know it.”
“But the story is better my way.”
“So you’ll do it? I’m a great sleuth when it comes to finding off-the-beaten-path vacation spots. Not that I ever go to them, but this will be my big chance.”
“You’re going, too?” A little company might not hurt. “Uh, okay.”
Freya pulled off her glasses. “You’ll do it? I can make the plans?”
“Like you said, a trial run.” But his gut said he was through with horses forever.
Ellery
The numbers on the ancient ledger blurred. Ellery Hart blinked to get them to come back into focus. They couldn’t be right, could they? She gripped the counter of the hotel’s front desk and willed the number on the negative side to be mistaken—and to float over to the positive side of the ledger.
It didn’t.
Which meant one thing: the Bells Chalet was in trouble.
“Hey, cutes!” Kit slid up to Ellery and bumped her hip, a sprig of holly glued to the headband in her voluminous yellow hair. “We got a booking through that clearinghouse site online. It’s for the suite.”
“A booking?” They’d need more than a booking to erase this big, scary number in the red column. “That’s great. Thanks for setting up our account with them. You’re getting really good at the marketing stuff.”
“Uh, not really. You don’t have to fib. But hey, what I’m here to tell you is that they’re arriving today. Soon! Should I get Lenny to shovel the walk?”
Had it snowed again enough to cover the steps? Already? This winter’s snow should have brought scads of guests to the Bells Chalet. The ski slopes were teeming with out-of-towners. So why wasn’t Ellery’s hotel teeming as well?
“Sure. Shoveling the walk is a good idea. We don’t want anyone to slip and fall.” Especially since Ellery might be behind in her liability insurance payments, along with all her other payments. “Are they an older couple?”
“Bing and Freya Whitmore from Massey Falls is all I know.” Kit shrugged.
Massey Falls was south of the border, not a short trip. They’d be tired. Ellery wished the mattresses in the suite were better and guaranteed a restful night’s sleep. Not that she could afford to upgrade them now.
“Their names do sound old. I’ll track down Lenny.” The back door banged and Kit hollered, “Lenny, my boy! Where are ya?”
Maybe Ellery needed to hold a staff meeting on professionalism. Not that any guests were around to hear Kit’s bellowing.
A commotion outside the front door blasted through the reception area like a winter storm. Ellery practically jumped over the desk as she ran to see what caused the clatter and yelps. “Are you all right?” Ellery hustled out into the chilly afternoon air on the porch. “Oh, my goodness, let me help you with this.”
A man and a woman and five suitcases created a jumble at the bottom of the icy front steps beside a shiny black truck. The man crouched down, and the woman patted his shoulder. “I’m so sorry, Bing. Is your ankle okay? I can take you to urgent care. There’s probably one nearby.”
Hol
y crud—the guy was hurt! Dang it! The one day Ellery hadn’t made Lenny clear the walkway and steps of snow and ice.
“I have some medical training.” Ellery might only have her CNA license, but a certified nurse’s assistant was better than nothing in an emergency. “Can I take a look?”
The woman helped Ellery pile the suitcases out of the way. This was a lot of suitcases. How long had these people been planning to stay? A month?
Well, not a chance of that anymore.
Worse, Ellery was going to get sued. Just when she’d thought things couldn’t get worse!
Finally, Ellery came around and knelt in front of the guy—and caught sight of him. Kablam!—what a looker. Dang, with that thick head of dark hair and those soulful brown eyes, she was gazing at the best-looking man to ever set foot in Wilder River.
Of course, he was with his wife, so Ellery shouldn’t even be noticing his looks. Or his scent. Something like leather, earthy and strong.
Dang it. It had to stop now. She’d never been this unprofessional toward a guest in all her years working at Grandpa’s hotel.
“Should we pull off your boot so I can take a look?” Ellery reached for the heel of the well-worn work-boot. This footwear wasn’t for show, like that of so many of the fancied-up tourists who usually came to Wilder River.
“It’s fine,” he said. “It’s nothing.” He looked up and met Ellery’s gaze, locking it there for a moment too long.
“It’s not nothing, Bing,” his wife said, cutting off the source of the buzzing electricity inside Ellery at last. “Let the cute nurse look at it.”
Cute nurse? Ellery’s glance darted at the wife, who had a severe haircut, cat-eye glasses, and the same dark hair and eyes as her husband’s. They say opposites attract. However, sometimes like draws like—and this couple exemplified it. Weird that the woman would compliment Ellery to her husband, though. That was strange, right? Did wives do that?
Only those very secure in their relationships, most likely.
“At least let her check whether your leg is broken.”
His eyes flashed up at his wife. “It’s not broken,” he nearly growled.
Wow, he could be intense.
He exhaled, closed his eyes and shook his head. “Sorry.” He turned to Ellery and opened his dark eyes. “I just don’t like talking about broken bones. It’s a thing with me.”
Noted. “I’m sure you know best.” The customer always did. She backed up, bumping against the huge truck.
“Fine.” The wife huffed. “If it’s not broken, then get up and carry our suitcases up the steps.”
“Oh, no-no-no.” Ellery popped to her feet. “I’ll have our porter do that.” Lenny could be termed a porter, right? Handyman, gardener, porter, etcetera.
Lenny appeared at the top of the steps with a snow shovel. “I gots the salt, too, Ellery.” He grinned wide as the Wilder River itself, making the crow’s feet at the edges of his eyes more pronounced. “The salt melts the ice, Pops always said.”
Pops. Lenny still called Grandpa Bell Pops, though he’d been gone five years.
“Thanks, Lenny. But could you help our guests with their luggage instead?” She stood up and indicated the pile of suitcases. “They’ll be in the suite on the top floor.”
“Nice!” Lenny grinned again. “That’s the room with the best view. You’ll like it a lot.” He bounded down the stairs, squeezed Ellery around her shoulders, and collected all five suitcases at once, the lovable hulk. “Won’t they, Ellery?”
“I hope so, Lenny.”
“Is you hurt, mister?” Lenny paused, looking down at the guest. Then, balancing everything, he reached a hand down and lifted the guy to his feet. “It’s cold out here. Come inside. There’s a hot tub in your room. You and the missus should warm up.”
The two guests exchanged horrified glances. What—they didn’t like hot tubs? They were worried that it wouldn’t be clean? If nothing else, Ellery kept the rooms sanitized.
“Oh, we’re not—” Mrs. Whitmore said.
Ellery didn’t want to hear about their fears about cleanliness. “The jets in the hot tub get great reviews.” She bustled to hand a small piece of luggage to Lenny, who tore up the steps. “Now, if you’re sure you’re okay to walk, let’s get you checked in.”
He was sure, and they started climbing. As they approached the top of the stairs, Ellery stole a glance at Mr. Whitmore’s reflection in the glass. Why were all the best ones taken?
“You work here?” At the top of the steps, he held the door for her. “I thought you were some kind of angel or good Samaritan sent to help men tripped by too much luggage before they even start climbing the stairs to the hotel.”
Ah, so maybe no one had fallen down icy steps after all. Hallelujah. It was a Christmas miracle. “I own the Bells Chalet.”
“Isn’t that nice?” the wife said, winking at her husband. “So, I take it that means we will be seeing a lot of you while we’re here?”
“Only as much of me as you’d like.”
“Oh, I think we’ll want to see quite a bit of you, Mrs.—?”
“Ellery Hart.” Miss Ellery Hart. Sure, she’d almost been a Mrs. once. Not that the almost mattered now. “Pleased to have you at our hotel. I hope you’ll find it a quiet retreat.”
“That’s exactly what Bing needs.” The wife cuffed his chin with a curled fist.
“Thanks, Freya.” He smirked.
Ellery led them into the lobby, shooting a silent prayer upward that this nice—if slightly strange—couple wouldn’t notice the emptiness or the run-down nature of the chalet and immediately check out.
∞∞∞
“Who was that couple?” Mom fluttered up to Ellery’s side as soon as the Whitmores disappeared up the stairs. “So stylish! And he’s like that one movie star from that detective show I used to watch all the time. Dreamy. You should get to know him.”
“Mom. I’m not in the habit of flirting with married men.”
“Fine.” Mom harrumphed. “So ethical. Who taught you to be that way?” She swiped one of the red and white mints from the bowl and crinkled the cellophane.
“You did.” Ellery pinched Mom’s cheek. “Now, listen. We have to do everything we can to make sure they enjoy their stay. They already had a bumpy start.”
“I heard about the guy’s leg. It didn’t look broken to me. It looked fine.” She held out the i in fine.
“Mom!”
Mom huffed. “Ellery, I’m only prompting you because I wish you’d quit shutting your eyes to handsome men. Notice someone, already.”
Oh, Ellery had noticed. Her spine still tingled from the effect of his gaze. “What I noticed was his wife, Mom.”
“Oh, bosh. He wasn’t married to her. Zero chemistry between them. Speaking of noticing, sniffing out chemistry is my specialty.”
Oh, was it now? Eye-rolling could be Ellery’s specialty in that moment. “Let’s move on.”
But Mom couldn’t. “If you’re not going to flirt with the guests, then at least rip the blindfold off and realize that Allard Allman is buzzing around you like a fly to honey.”
It was bees to honey. “The banker? He just wants to be paid, not date me.” The loan Ellery had taken out eighteen months ago to keep the hotel afloat in the expectation that Bells Chalet’s business would pick up once the ski season rolled around, had a balloon payment coming due. Not good news for the Big Red Number in her ledger.
“I wouldn’t put money on that bet, if I were you.”
“Frankly, Mom, I couldn’t put money on anything at this point.”
Kit appeared. “Money troubles?” Her fingers did a spider-crawl across the desk toward the ledger again. “You’ll think of something.”
Mom tossed her high ponytail. “Have you considered the idea that if you were to date and marry Allard Allman, your assets would combine and the loan payment would poof! disappear?”
“Mom!” How unethical would that be? Far worse than noticing a guest’s
fathomless dark eyes and legend-inspiring dark hair. “I’m not interested in Allard Allman. Ice that whole idea.”
“You’re the icy one.”
Lenny lumbered down the steps from the guests rooms. “You gots money problems, Ellery? I can help. I’ve been saving my change from eating at YooHoo Chicken for about, oh”—he looked at the rafters—“seventeen years. It’s all the way to the top of my Rudolph jug now. You could have it, if you need it.”
Lenny’s earnestness thawed Ellery’s glacier heart. “That’s so generous, Lenny. But you don’t have to do that. Things will work out.”
“But you could. Just so you know.” Lenny was sweeter than candied pecans. “If I gots it, it’s yours.”
“You’re the best man in this whole town, Len.” Ellery squeezed his arm.
Kit slid the ledger off the counter and flipped it shut. “I’m sure you’ll think of something, Ellery. And we’ll all support you.”
Mom chuckled slyly. “Especially if it involves marrying a rich man.”
“Truvie!” Kit said. At least someone was coming to Ellery’s defense. “Ellery is going to marry for love.”
“She tried that once. Didn’t work out. Now, she should know better.”
Mom was hopelessly gauche. Too bad the truths didn’t bounce off Ellery as easily as they should have.
“Everyone! Back to work.” Ellery took the ledger and its terrible truth from Kit’s grasp. “We’re going to make these guests’ stay the best they’ve ever experienced. And I’m going to come up with an idea to save the chalet.”
Mom beamed.
Ellery threw a shroud on that beam. “An idea that does not involve exploiting a man for his bank account.” She pounded a fist on the counter, and the decorative pile of sleigh bells Kit had set out for charm jingled.
Were they the merry bells of hope, or the death knell of the Bells Chalet? Bong, bong, bong.
Bing
“Bingham Whitmore! Wake up!” Freya flopped down on the bed beside him, jostling his shoulder and making his ankle sting. “You’re on vacation. Don’t sleep it away.”
The Sleigh Bells Chalet: A Small Town Romance (Christmas House Romances Book 2) Page 1
