The Sleigh Bells Chalet: A Small Town Romance (Christmas House Romances Book 2)

by Jennifer Griffith

  That was basically how she’d worded it, right?

  Ellery looked at him, as if to gauge his sincerity—and his trustworthiness. Not his teeth. After a moment, she heaved a sigh. “I might as well be frank. The hotel is not at its financial best, and I’m doing a major branding revamp. I’m changing its whole vibe.”

  “And you need a contractor? For the renovation?”

  “Uh, no. Lenny is handling that. He paints, he repairs. We couldn’t manage without the big old koala bear.”

  He did resemble a koala, now that she mentioned it. “So, like a branding specialist? SEO, advertising, and such?”

  “Chuh! I wish.” She looked so forlorn. Things must be pretty grim. “I’ve got to have something to advertise first. Meanwhile, I went a little nutso and booked a bunch of tourist experiences. About fifteen for the weekend after next. And it has brought in lots of guest bookings for then. Well, lots for us, I should say.”

  “That’s good news, right?”

  “It would be if I had the faintest idea how to accomplish it.”

  “What kind of guest-experience?”

  “Horse-drawn carriage rides through town.” She shudder-sighed. “I mean, I have access to a carriage. It might be in rough shape, though. And I’m in the middle of the permitting process with the city. My grandpa was well-regarded, did a ton of service and community-building, so they’re fast-tracking my application out of respect to his memory.”

  “The hotel was his?”

  “Yeah.” She looked at her feet. Most likely because she was going to lose the hotel, from the way it sounded. “But what I don’t have is anyone to handle the horses.”

  Bing heard the final two syllables of that sentence, and then everything else she said got garbled and muted and indiscernible, like the dialogue of Charlie Brown’s teacher. He shouldn’t tune her out and make her inhuman when she’d been so nice, but Bing had shot down a long, metallic funnel, and was sliding fast.

  “Well, don’t look at me.” He stepped away from her as quickly as he could. “I have to go now. Freya is probably done. See you later. And, uh, good luck with that.”

  His cowardly feet carried his yellow belly and his lily liver into the street. A single horn honked, and a jeep slammed on its brakes, but Bing didn’t break stride or raise an apologetic hand—he just rushed into Newberg’s Chocolate Shop, where he yanked Freya’s phone out of her hand and her earpiece from her ear.

  “Ouch! What are you doing?” she tugged it back, shoving her earpiece back in. “I’m sorry, Dr. Schaffhausen. My cousin is auditioning for a straight-jacket.”

  “This isn’t funny, Freya. You’re not with a client—or with a doctor, for that matter. I happen to recognize your movie reference to Dr. Emil Schaffhausen. Dirty Rotten Scoundrels? Do you have any idea how many times I’ve watched that show?” He pulled her to his feet and slapped a twenty-dollar bill on the table. “Come on.”

  “Where are you yanking me, may I ask? I’ll go quietly, I swear.” She held up her hands in peace. “Stop it, Bing. Did your witness protection ID cover get recognized? Are we on the lam again?”

  “Not funny. We’re going back to Massey Falls. I’m hiring a temporary manager—for three months. And I’m selling my portion of Whitmore Stables. After that, you and whoever else can make decisions.”

  They were out in the winter sunshine now, and icicles dripped all around them. The temperature had risen in the time he’d been walking with Ellery Hart—harbinger of doom.

  “Wait a red-hot minute, young man.” Freya wrangled her arm free of his grasp and tugged her jacket down on her hips. “I booked this vacation on my own dime, thank you, very much. And I was just having a lovely conversation with the barista in there. Is that what you call a bartender in fancy coffee shops? Anyway, he was about to get my number—after his next customer—so I’m not leaving town until I get at least a day to see where it goes.”

  “Stop lying. You’ve got a doctorate. You don’t seriously see yourself with a guy who makes hot drinks.” He wasn’t usually this classist.

  “He’s a school teacher. He’s off work for Christmas vacation. It’s his family’s business. You, of all people, should know what it means to be loyal to a family business. Which is why you’re being freakily ridiculous right now with this get out of Dodge rant. We’re not leaving, and I’m not even going back to the hotel until after you do some ’splainin’. You were with Ellery Hart. How shocking could her good company be—unless it’s the electric spark I saw zapping between you two every time you’ve chatted.”

  Freya was impossible. He didn’t have to ’splain anything. “I’m the one who brought you here, if you’ll recall. I’ve got the truck and am heading out of this place post haste.”

  “If you’ll recall, you gave me the keys, which are locked in the hotel room safe, and you don’t know the combination.”

  Defeat.

  “Now, spill it. All of it, including about Ellery.”

  No. He wasn’t spilling it, and he wasn’t staying in this place.

  Most of all, he wasn’t helping even the most beautiful, vibrant girl he’d ever met with any kind of horse problem. Ellery Hart could just forget it. And him.

  And he’d forget her.

  Ellery

  Ellery walked back to the Bells Chalet at top speed for a snowy day, avoiding ice patches, her hair still afloat from the wind coming off Bing Whitmore’s violently fast about-face. What had she said to throw him into a tailspin?

  It stung, whether she wanted to admit it or not. Hadn’t they been clicking? Like faster than a telegraph’s message?

  Maybe she’d only imagined it. Just like she’d imagined Greg’s commitment to her and to their relationship.

  Why did she always do this to herself?

  Whatever. She had too much to accomplish at the hotel with this renovation and with the impending guest onslaught to worry about Bing.

  Even though Bing Whitmore was taking up the bulk of the available storage space in her brain.

  Clear the cache. That was what she had to do. Now.

  “Do you like it? The sign?” Lenny and Kit stood at the top of the steps. Lenny pointed over his head with his long arms to a freshly painted sage green sign with a blackletter style that read Sleigh Bells Chalet. “I hung it up there for you, Miss Ellery. Did I get it straight?”

  “You got it perfect, Lenny! Who painted it? The calligraphy is incredible.”

  “Kit did it.” Lenny squeezed Kit’s shoulders. “She gots skills.”

  Yes, indeed. “I didn’t realize how artistic you are.” Ellery climbed the steps to inspect it a little more closely.

  “Oh, I typed it with a cool font first, and then traced it the best I could.”

  But Kit had added shading, outlining, and a sheen to the brick-red lettering. “I love the gold leaf accent. It looks amazing.”

  Inside, lots more work was already underway. The lobby was a demolitionist’s dream. Carpet gone, curtains eighty-sixed, the sofas nowhere in sight.

  “I gots a roll-off out back and it’s already more than halfway filled up to the top.” Lenny beamed. “You want to watch me yank the carpet off the stairs?”

  Whoa, whoa, whoa. “Uh, before that, can we double check if there’s hardwood underneath?”

  “There is,” Kit reassured her, coming to her side. “The whole place is—top to bottom. But we should keep carpet in the rooms for now.”

  They didn’t have time to refinish every floor in the place at once. “We should stick to the lobby for now.” And maybe the stairway.

  “What about the restaurant?” Mom asked, a tuft of carpet like a little oriole’s nest in her hair. “Are we going to remodel it and open it, too?”

  Oh. Ellery hadn’t thrown that into the mix of this two-week whirlwind. “Too much to bite off right now. But maybe sometime?”

  Mom smirked. “Okay.”

  Lenny and Kit worked the foyer. Ellery ran the electric sander for a while. It was coming along. G
ood thing their two guests were out for the day, or the noise and dust of the construction project would probably have driven them to check out for good.

  If Ellery hadn’t already driven them to check out by … whatever she’d said to make the guy bolt faster than Comet and Cupid.

  Bing Whitmore was an enigma.

  “I told you about the fabric hoard, right?” Kit came downstairs with an armload of folded linens. “What do you think of these for the sofas? I watched how-to videos all night on upholstery techniques, and I think I get it.”

  “Hey, that would mean we could save the couches and not have to buy new right now.” Which they definitely couldn’t afford. “I like this one.” Ellery chose a deep red fabric that looked sturdy.

  “Good. That’s going to look great paired with this one for throw pillows.” Kit held up a green plaid. “What do you think?”

  “I think it’s going to feel like a sleigh bells chalet in here in no time.” She hugged Kit. “Thank you. So much! This is above and beyond, you know.”

  “Are you kidding? This is my dream come true.” Kit clutched the fabric to her chest. “Every day I have been coming to work and looking around wishing I could have free rein to update.”

  Seriously? “I never knew.”

  “I didn’t want to tell you. I know you love your Grandpa Bell, and this was his dream and his legacy to you.”

  Yeah. Very much so. “I like to think he’d love what you and Lenny are doing.”

  “If we can finish by the time the sleigh rides are booked, we’ll be serious champs.”

  That was a big if. Two weeks for a major renovation of a space this size—they were crazy. They needed more manpower.

  Ellery couldn’t afford to hire anyone, not even the hostler she’d advertised for.

  The bells on the front door jingled—they made so much more sense now that this was the Sleigh Bells Chalet—and in came their guests.

  Freya and Bing dodged the cord on the sander and headed for the now-uncarpeted stairway toward the rooms. Freya waved in Ellery’s direction, a sheepish look on her face, but Bing didn’t even make eye contact.

  Wow, Ellery must have really done something to irritate him. Which hurt a lot more than it probably should have.

  Bing

  “Are you kidding me right now?” Freya stomped her foot. “Stop packing. You aren’t leaving. Not after the way you treated that incredibly nice girl. She has been nothing but sugar and kindness to you, and you’re acting like a crusty bear to her. All growly and snarly and … well, jerkish.”

  “I’m going through stuff.” He wasn’t a jerk. And Freya shouldn’t accuse him of being one. It was irritating and made him want to go crusty bear on her face. Couldn’t Freya see he was going through stuff? “I’m not a jerk.”

  “You’re doing a mighty good imitation of one. Ellery Hart would definitely agree.”

  Would she? Oh, geez. She probably would.

  “You were out and out rude to her just now. You owe her an apology.”

  Well, he wasn’t giving her one. “Not in this state of mind.”

  “It will make you feel better.”

  Would it? Possibly not. “Being rude isn’t usually my default setting.”

  “Ever since Rose Red’s accident, you’ve been on the razor’s edge. But that’s no excuse.”

  Fine. An apology to Ellery Hart might smooth over her feelings. He’d hate to leave her feeling bad due to his prickliness. It really wasn’t her fault he flipped out when he thought about dealing with horses. For pity’s sake, Ellery Hart wouldn’t be likely to even know that Bing even owned a horse, let alone the troubles they’d caused his emotional state over the past few months.

  “If I dial down the porcupine and apologize, will you stop hounding me?”

  “Yes.”

  “And will you let us go home?”

  “That remains to be seen.” Freya folded her arms over her chest. “It depends on your apology’s effectiveness.”

  “You’re not making it easy for me to resist resorting to violence.”

  “You don’t have a violent bone in your body.”

  Probably true. But she shouldn’t keep pushing to find out. Everyone had a breaking point. “I’ll go apologize. But you promised to get off my case. Don’t forget.”

  “Do you want me to come and observe, or will you be content to give me a play-by-play when you return?”

  Bing shot her a look to let her know she was again pushing the limits, tugged his sweater over his head, and headed out the door of the suite and down the stairs to where the dulcet tones of a giant electric sander played on the winter air.

  “Hi,” he shouted, walking up to her. “Can I talk to you for a second?”

  She wore clear plastic goggles, a dust mask, and a thick layer of sawdust coated all her visible surfaces.

  His throat tightened. It was one of the most incredibly sexy sights he’d ever seen: Ellery Hart with full command of a power tool.

  The sander’s motor whirred down to a quiet roar. “Of course. Is the construction noise bothering you? We can resume it later when you’re away from the hotel. We’d be glad to provide complimentary theater tickets, if that would compensate.”

  No, that wasn’t necessary, and it had nothing to do with the noise. “It’s not a customer complaint. Or even a business matter. It’s personal.”

  She blinked at him a few times from behind the plastic goggles. Was she going to listen to him or tell him to get lost like he deserved. Oh, she’d be polite about it, like telling him she preferred to keep all customer relationships professional, or something. But he had to hope she’d listen. He had to try.

  At last, she peeled back the goggles, switched the OFF button on the power tool, and brushed off a tiny fraction of the voluminous dust coating her skin and clothes. “Maybe we could walk out back.”

  Sure. That worked.

  She led him down a hallway beneath the stairs and out a back door to a fenced, open area he hadn’t noticed before. “It’s nice back here.” There was a massive shed and some other kinds of out-buildings all painted neatly, a split-rail fence, and a huge field blanketed in snow.

  “Yeah,” she said, obviously not in the mood for raptures over the hotel’s back yard. “What can I do for you, Bing?” She had that jackrabbit-like, skittish thing going on with her eyes, like the look she’d worn when he’d seen her trying to get away from that oily banker fellow.

  Great. Was Bing now the creep she was dying to escape?

  Freya had been right. He was a jerk, and Ellery Hart knew it, and she’d been hurt.

  Great. He was blowing this whole thing known as human relations. And this after he’d botched horse relations, too.

  “I owe you a huge apology.”

  “Okay.” She looked at the ground. “Noted. I forgive you.” She turned to leave.

  “Wait.” He reached for her but hesitated and didn’t touch her. “Where are you going?” He wasn’t through yet, at least it didn’t feel like he’d achieved a full apology. Freya would not be impressed, anyway.

  “I just have a big project going on in the lobby and there’s a time crunch.” She gave him another one of those scaredy-bunny looks. “Sorry.”

  “Ellery. I’m truly sorry.” He quit mentally making excuses for his behavior—quit blaming his past experience on his present behavior—and just broke open. “I was a jerk to you. I want to do something to make it up to you.”

  “How about a nice review on TripAdvisor?”

  “That’s a matter of course.” And not nearly enough to atone. “How about I help with your lobby?”

  “You’re a guest at the hotel. Guests don’t jump in and offer to do manual labor. They’re staying somewhere to be pampered. Or have you never been on a vacation before?”

  “Actually …” He searched her face, and in a few seconds it softened.

  “You’re being serious.” Slowly she began to nod. “No vacation? Ever?”

  He shook his he
ad. “Not as an adult, anyway.”

  “Tell me.” Her eyes tightened at the sides like she was processing clues in a mystery. “Are you here in Wilder River because your cousin is forcing you to take a vacation?”

  Something like that. “I want to do more than say I’m sorry. You deserve better treatment than that. I’m good with power tools. I’m good with heights. I can roll a mean paint roller.”

  “Painting, eh?”

  “Yep. And staining. I’m great with staining.” He’d done most of the woodwork in Whitmore Stables when he’d first taken charge of the business. “It’s in my blood.”

  “So, say I cut you open right here”—she touched his arm lightly—“Minwax English Chestnut two-three-three would ooze out, and not blood?”

  Her touch sent repeating tremors up his veins. “Let me prove it.” And his sincerity. “I’ll help you prep the floors, and then I’ll demonstrate my genius with transforming that wood grain from bad to blessed.”

  The rabbit skittered away from her face, and a side of her mouth tugged into a smile.

  Cha-ching. He’d done it. Even Freya would approve.

  But now, he couldn’t leave.

  ∞∞∞

  Several days of sanding, sweeping, prepping, and staining sailed by. The work kept Bing’s mind occupied. Well, so did being so near Ellery Hart all day long.

  Anyway, the floors in the lobby and up the stairway looked better than new.

  When the stain was fully dry, and the job was complete, Bing stood back and placed his hands on his hips. Not bad, if he did say so himself.

  “I bow to your genius.” Ellery came and stood beside him, her shoulder bumping his bicep. “You did not overstate your skills.”

  “Never.”

  “Once we get the oak finish stripped off the front of the reception desk, we can put a chestnut-colored stain there, and it will look worlds better.”

  Chestnut. Like her hair.

  “Sounds really good.”

  That other girl, Kit, had already disguised the ugly pink and green tiles that were strung across the front of the reception desk. Each tile was now painted a Christmas color and had a little depiction of a silver bell with a red bow and some fir boughs.